Game Changers

“You’re not too eager, are you?” 

Kip startled at his father’s teasing. He’d been caught looking out the window to the street in front of their house. Again.

“Maybe a little.” Kip felt that he could be forgiven for being excited; Scott had wrapped up a nine-day road trip last night in Dallas, and had boarded a plane home to New York that morning. It was afternoon now—Christmas Eve—and Scott had three days off.

And he would be here soon.

It had been Scott’s suggestion for the two of them to spend Christmas Eve night with Kip’s parents. Kip had moved in with Scott back in June, and Scott had been concerned that his parents would be lonely on Christ-mas Eve. Kip suspected it had more to do with Scott’s romantic ideas of a Christmas spent with family in Brooklyn. Either way, he was more than happy to oblige.

Scott had texted earlier to tell him that he had ar-rived back at their apartment and would be heading over to the Grady house in Bay Ridge soon. The only disadvantage of their plan was that Kip wouldn’t be able to greet Scott the way he wanted to. He supposed they could abstain for a day or two. They had just lasted nine days, after all.

Nine long goddamn days.

The house was deckedKip’s mother always went all out for Christmas. She may have put a little extra care in this year, what with their special guest and all. Kip fiddled with one of the three wise men from the nativity scene that had once belonged to his grandparents as he looked out the window.

He was anxious about a few things. One was the gift he had made for Scott. Being a full-time student with a part-time job, even with Scott covering most of their expenses, Kip had needed to get creative this year.

Another thing he was anxious about was the present that Scott was being very secretive about. He truly hoped it wasn’t elaborate or overly expensive. Especially given the homemade gift Kip would be offering in return.

The third thing that he was anxious about was sharing his little twin bed with Scott tonight, just down the hall from his parents. It was an old bed. It creaked.

But he was also excited. And appreciative. And touched that Scott wanted to spend Christmas at his family’s home. Kip’s parents were pretty pumped.

“Come help me in the kitchen,” his mother called out. “No use staring out at the street all afternoon.”

“Sorry. All right.”

In the Grady house, Christmas Eve meant lasagna.

“You can make the salad dressing,” Mom said. “We’ll just let it sit in the fridge when you’re done.”

“Got it.” He got to work assembling the ingredients for the Caesar salad dressing she’d taught him to make when he was a teenager. He’d always enjoyed helping out in the kitchen.

There was a plate of gingerbread men sitting on the counter. Kip helped himself to a couple.

“Those are for our guest!” his mother scolded him.

“Allof them?!”

“I want the plate to look nice!” She moved the remain-ing cookies around the plate to fill it back out.

“You know,” Kip said, “Scott’s not really coming here to judge us or anything.”

“I knowthat, it’s just...well, I don’t want to sound maudlin, but I imagine it’s been awhile since he’s had a real Christmas.”

Aw, Mom.

Kip hugged her. “It has,” he said. “Thank you.”

His mother really had gone all out. The fridge was full of every festive beverage imaginable: eggnog, apple ci-der, cranberry juice, some weird holiday-flavored sodas, wine. There was also a wide array of snacks and treats crammed into the cupboards.

Kip had also made a particularly heartwarming dis-covery that morning: there was an extra Christmas stocking hanging off the mantle for Scott.

His parents lovedScott. The fact that the son of Marga-ret and George Grady was dating the superstar captain of the Admirals was common knowledge around their neighborhood. To their credit, his parents didn’t brag about it. They didn’t treat Scott like a celebrity. They treated him like family, and Kip loved them for it.

Elvis’s Christmas album played from the living room as Kip and his mother busied themselves in the kitchen. Kip worked fast because he really didn’t want to smell like garlic and anchovies when he greeted Scott at the door.

Finally, minutes after the salad dressing had been put in the fridge, and Kip’s hands had been thoroughly washed, there was a soft knock on the door. Kip bolted, skidding to a halt in front of the door and managing to take a second to compose himself before he opened it.

And there was Scott. In a parka and a scarf and…a Santa hat. Smiling so big and bright it was blinding. And carrying a wreath.

Kip practically jumped into his arms, and Scott laughed and kissed him.

“I brought a wreath,” Scott said, unnecessarily. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, and...oh.” Scott’s eyes found the large wreath that was already hanging on the door.

Kip kissed him again. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll find a home for it. I think there might be an inch of house somewhere that isn’t covered in Christmas.”

They went inside and as soon as the door closed be-hind them, his parents were there.

“Did we wait long enough?” Mom asked. “We wanted to give you two a moment.”

“You’re good,” Kip said. “Come say hello.”

They took turns hugging Scott like a son. Mom was extremely touched about the wreath. Scott was clearly just embarrassed about it. He was corralled into the liv-ing room and instructed to sit on the sofa. “What can we get you to drink?” Mom asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’m fine, really.”

Mom looked devastated.

“Just pick something,” Kip whispered to him, settling beside him. “She bought literally everything.”

“Okay, then. Coke?”

Mom looked delighted. “Regular, or gingerbread spice?”

“Um, regular?”

Kip could tell she was trying to hide her disappoint-ment as she went to get him his drink.

“I’m going to go find a home for this,” Dad said, hold-ing up the redundant wreath. Kip knew he was making an excuse to give them some privacy.

When he left, Kip snuggled into Scott’s side. Scott wrapped an arm around him and kissed him. “Every-thing looks so great! Look at that tree!”

“Yeah, Mom loves Christmas.”

“It smells amazing in here.” Scott nuzzled Kip’s hair. “Yousmell amazing.”

“You miss me?”

“So goddamn much. You know I did.” The heat in Scott’s eyes had its usual effect on Kip’s heartrate. He leaned in, with the plan to bite down on Scott’s plump bottom lip, but was interrupted by Mom’s return from the kitchen. She was carrying a tray with a glass of Coke for Scott, and an array of snacks, including cookies, clementines, and spiced nuts.

“Oh wow. This is amazing,” Scott said. “Thank you.”

Mom beamed at him. “I’m just going to get myself a glass of something. I’ll be right back.”

Scott took the Santa hat off his own head and playful-ly placed it on Kip’s. 

“You wanna sit in my lap, or something?” Kip asked, grinning.

“Maybe later.” Scott leaned forward and grabbed a gingerbread cookie. He bit the head off with gusto. “Man, this is the best! This is what Christmas is like ev-ery year for you?”

“More or less.”

“You’re so lucky!”

Kip entwined their fingers together and brought Scott’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I know.”

Scott gazed at him warmly and squeezed his hand. “Is your sister coming tonight?”

“No, she’ll be here in the morning. She and Andrew had a thing they were doing with friends tonight. They’re pretty social.”

“Probably for the best they’re not coming all the way here tonight,” Scott said, glancing outside at the flurries that had started. “We’re supposed to get a few inches of snow.”

Kip’s mother returned with a glass of eggnog for her-self, and a platter with a cheeseball and crackers.

“Geez, Mom! No one is going to be able to eat dinner if you keep feeding us.”

“I will!” Scott said cheerfully, helping himself to a cracker with a giant scoop of cheeseball on it. “Don’t worry about it. I can alwayseat.”

“See, Kip? He needs his calories.” Mom sat in the arm-chair next to the sofa and started chatting with Scott, asking him all about his recent road trip. Kip excused himself to get himself a drink, because he didn’t have one and he would never ask his mother to get him one.

Kip was thrilled that Scott got along so well with his family. He supposed it should be weird, how much he was a part of the Grady family already, but it kind of fit with the whole intense, superspeed relationship thing he and Scott had going since the start.

It had almost been a year since they’d first met. A few weeks after that, they’d hooked up. Then they’d started dating officially (and secretly). It had been a little over six months since Scott had kissed Kip in front of the whole world after winning the Stanley Cup. A little over six months since Kip had moved in with Scott. And since Scott had made a now legendary speech at the NHL awards that openly professed his love for Kip.

Kip still buzzed with happiness every time he thought of it. It had been an indescribable feeling, sitting in the audience of the NHL Awards, surrounded by hock-ey players—Scott’s peers—and hearing Scott speak so bravely and openly about his sexuality. About being in love with Kip.

Kip grinned and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then returned to the living room.

“That for me?” Dad asked, nodding at the beer in Kip’s hand.

“It is now,” Kip said, handing it to him. “Merry Christ-mas.”

After Kip returned (again) from the kitchen with a beer for himself, the four of them sat and enjoyed each other’s company.

“Big win last night,” Dad said.

“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding. “Good effort by the whole team. Nice way to break for the holidays.”

“What did you do last year for Christmas?” Mom asked.

“Oh, um...nothing, really. Just enjoyed a little quiet time to myself. Watched It’s a Wonderful Lifeon televi-sion.”

“You were all alone?”

“Well, that was nothing new. I was kinda used to that, honestly.”

“At least you won’t have to worry about that any-more!” she said cheerfully. Kip blushed because manshe was presumptuous.

“That’s true,” Scott said, smiling at Kip. He had so much confidence in them. It was staggering.

***

The night went on and on. They ate their dinner, and then sat in the living room and chatted next to the fire-place until they were hungry enough again for cookies. Then they played a game of Trivial Pursuit—which Kip’s dad won because he always won—as the snow that had started gently had soon turned into a blustery, howling winter storm. It was nice to be in their cozy house with nowhere to go.

Scott had switched to beer after his Coke, and then to rum and eggnog and now he and Kip were both pleas-antly tipsy as they climbed the stairs. Scott was wearing the Santa hat again, and Kip was wearing a festive green headband with plush reindeer antlers attached, provid-ed by his mother. The antlers had little bells on them. Earlier in the evening Scott had taken a selfie of the two of them wearing the hat and antlers and had posted it on Twitter. It had thousands of likes already.

It was now almost one o’clock and Kip’s mother had shooed them both to bed because, she had said, “Santa is coming to fill the stockings!”

“I love your mom,” Scott slurred as they went upstairs. “I love your parents. And your house.” He grabbed Kip at the top of the stairs and kissed him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Can’t believe you’re really here. It’s kinda surreal.”

The wreath Scott had brought was hanging on the outside of Kip’s bedroom door. Kip snorted. “Nice, Dad.”

“There any mistletoe in there?” Scott asked, nuzzling Kip’s neck.

“Do we need any?”

“Nope.” 

Kip opened the door and jingled his way into the room. Scott wrapped his arms around him as soon as the door was closed behind them and nipped under Kip’s ear. “Anything you wanna give me early?” Scott purred in a low voice.

“I don’t know. Have you been a good boy?”

“Most of the time.”

“You were pretty naughty the other night. On Skype.”

“Worth it.”

“Fucking right.”

They kissed hungrily, because it had been too fucking long since they’d been able to really touch each other the way they’d both been craving. Scott’s sweater and T-shirt came off over his head, taking the Santa hat with them. Kip’s antlers were already halfway down the back of his head. He tore them off as the two men tumbled onto Kip’s tiny bed and—

Creeeeeeak!

Kip buried his face in Scott’s shoulder and shook with laughter. “This isn’t gonna work.”

“It’s okay. We can just—”

“Wait!” Kip stood up and shooed Scott off the bed. He grabbed the mattress and hauled it onto the floor. “That should help.”

Scott smiled and unbuttoned Kip’s plaid flannel shirt. “You’ve still got that mark I gave you?”

“It faded,” Kip said, a little apologetically. “You can still see it a tiny bit.”

“I’ll give you a new one before my road trip next week.”

Kip shivered happily. Scott took his shirt off and pulled the collar of his t-shirt down to see where the mark had been. He huffed when he saw the remnants of it, a low, primal noise that did crazy things to Kip. He grabbed Scott’s crotch through his jeans, needing to feel him. Scott groaned.

“Shhh!” Kip hissed.

“I’m trying!”

“C’mere.” Kip sank down to the mattress on the floor and pulled Scott down with him. Kip lay all the way back and Scott covered him with his weight like a blan-ket. Now it was Kip who groaned too loudly.

“Shhh!” Scott hissed. Then they both cracked up.

“This is fucking tragic,” Kip said.

“I dunno, I think I can work with it.” Scott raised him-self up with one arm and moved his other hand down to unfasten Kip’s jeans.

Kip shook his head. “That’s not gonna help.”

“We’ll just have to do our best to be quiet. Silent night, and all that.”

Kip bit his lip and watched Scott’s hand unzip his pants.

“I mean,” Scott said casually, “we couldstop. Just go to sleep.” He brushed his knuckles over the bulge in Kip’s underwear that was now straining through his opened fly.

“Ah,” Kip gasped. Then he whispered, “Fuck you. Keep going.”

Scott smirked and pulled Kip’s jeans all the way down and off. Kip sat up and removed his own t-shirt. Scott slowly pulled off one of Kip’s socks, and then the other, which was weirdly erotic. 

over the bones in Kip’s ankles. It tickled, but it also sent electric jolts through Kip’s whole body.

“I somehow manage to keep forgetting how beautiful you are,” Scott murmured. Kip just stared back at Scott, desire making his tongue thick. His brain struggled to reconcile the fact that the NHL superstar he’d watch lead his team to victory against Dallas on television last night was now crouched, shirtless, at his feet in Kip’s childhood bedroom.

“Come here,” Kip said. “Please. Kiss me.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. He covered him complete-ly again and curled his tongue into Kip’s mouth. Kip arched his hips up a bit to get some friction on his cock. Scott grunted into his mouth and pressed his own crotch against Kip’s thigh.

They kept kissing each other madly and rubbing against each other, until Scott couldn’t stand it anymore and roughly pulled away to unfasten his own jeans and yank them down with his briefs. He mercifully pulled down Kip’s underwear too, and then shifted so their cocks could rub together.

“I’ve got lube in my bag,” Kip choked out.

“Me too.” Scott smiled, then reached for the strap of Kip’s bag because it was closer and hauled it over. He rummaged around for a moment, then pulled the small bottle out. He slicked them both up, and Kip had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out as Scott stroked the silky liquid onto his cock.

When Scott took both of their cocks in one of his giant hands and started stroking them together, Kip scrunched up his face and balled his hand into a fist and tried like hell not to make any noise. He had no idea how Scott was managing to keep so quiet. It wasn’t fair.

Kip raised himself up on his elbows so he could be closer to Scott’s ear when he whispered, “You’re good at keeping quiet. That come from practice? From always having a roommate?”

Scott pulled back so their eyes met, a mixture of amusement and challenge on his face.

“You jerk off when you think they’re asleep, Scott?” Kip continued. “You think any of them knew? Maybe listened. Maybe watched?”

Scott pressed his lips together and closed his eyes as his face flushed pink.

“I’ll bet you can come without making a goddamn peep, can’t you, Hunter?”

Scott’s eyes opened and this time it was allchallenge in them. His lips quirked up. “Can you?” he asked.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Scott quickened the pace and Kip’s mouth flew open. He was so fucking close already. Scott was holding him-self up with one arm, and his bicep was straining. Kip stared at it, and then at Scott’s hand furiously stroking them, and then up at the determined look on Scott’s face and fuck.

He could feel his orgasm coming, and it was going to be a goodone. He shifted so he could balance his weight on one elbow and shoved his hand in his mouth, biting down on the knuckles. He came so hard he felt like his eyes were going to burst. But he stayed quiet, other than a few muffled grunts against his hand.

Scott watched him, then his face went slack and he came, perfectly silent and beautiful, spilling himself onto Kip’s stomach. He collapsed on top of Kip and whispered, “How’d I do?”

“Top marks, sweetheart,” Kip panted.

“You’re a fucking troublemaker.”

“I’m not the deviant who jerks off next to his sleeping roommates.”

“I don’tdo that! I mean... not often.”

“Mm.”

“It’syourfault anyway. You know how hard it is to lie in bed at night and not think of you?”

Kip’s stomach fluttered the way it always did when Scott said excruciatingly sweet things to him. “I think of you, too. Every night we’re apart. I love you.”

“Love you.” Scott kissed him. “How’re we gonna get cleaned up? I’m not going out to the bathroom like this.” He gestured to the mess on his stomach.

“Look in my bag.”

Scott reached over and pulled a plastic shopping bag out of Kip’s overnight bag. In it were tissues, baby wipes and a couple of hand towels from their apartment. “You brought a clean-up kit?”

“I like to be prepared.”

Scott smiled and shook his head. “Impressive, Grady.”

Scott cleaned them both, then they settled onto the little mattress. They more or less had to sleep on top of each other so they could both fit. Scott lay on his back and Kip threw a leg over him, lying on his stomach with his head on Scott’s chest and one of Scott’s arms wrapped around him.

“This isn’t so bad,” Scott said.

“No. It isn’t.” Kip brushed his thumb over one of Scott’s nipples.

“Quit that,” Scott murmured. “Go to sleep. Santa’s go-ing to be here soon.”

***

Kip registered Scott slipping out from under him in the morning, but he must have gone right back to sleep. When Kip finally woke up, it was nearly ten o’clock and Scott was nowhere to be seen.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Then he remembered it was Christmas morning.

He pulled on some clothes and went to the bathroom to get freshened up. As he descended the stairs, he was greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of breakfast cooking. He followed it to the kitchen, and found Scott sitting at the table with a coffee, talking to his parents.

“Well look who’s awake!” Mom said, at the same time Dad said, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Kip said. “Uh, sorry I slept in so late.”

“Do you know what your wonderful boyfriend did while you were asleep?” Mom asked.

Kip shook his head.

“He shoveled our driveway and the walk! All by him-self!”

Of course he did.Kip looked at Scott. “You trying to make me look bad?”

Scott looked embarrassed. “It’s no big deal. I used to shovel all the time for the family I billeted with in Que-bec when I played junior there.”

“He’s a keeper, Kip,” Mom said, beaming at Scott.

“Don’t have to convince me.” Kip ducked to kiss Scott on the cheek as he made his way to the coffee.

“I didn’t realize you played junior in Quebec,” Dad said. “I thought you played college before the NHL.”

“I did. But I did two seasons of junior in the Quebec league first. Then two years of college.”

“He can speak French!” Kip said proudly.

“A little. Not perfectly,” Scott said.

Kip looked at him expectantly. Scott knew how much Kip loved it when he spoke French.

Finally, Scott rolled his eyes and said, “Votre fils a le sourire le plus adorable.”

Kip had no idea what he said, but he loved hearing it.

“You know,” Dad said conversationally, “I also speak a fair amount of French.”

Scott blushed.

“Kip, help me set the table for breakfast,” Mom said. “Megan and Andrew will be here soon.”

Kip took a sip of his coffee then put it down and grabbed the stack of plates that his mother was handing him. Scott stood and insisted that he help, too. Within half an hour, Megan and Andrew had arrived with—

“Suzy!” Scott bent to enthusiastically pet the little dog that was spinning in excitement at Scott’s ankles. “Mer-ry Christmas, girl! Have you been a good girl this year? Did Santa find you? Yes he did! You’re such a good girl!”

Kip could swear his heart was bursting out his chest as he took in the adorable scene. Scott had a lot of fans in New York City, but he doubted any of them were as devoted as Suzy.

“Merry Christmas,” Megan said, leaning in to hug Kip. “All Suzy wanted for Christmas was tummy rubs from Scott.”

Me too“Well, she’s getting them.”

Andrew gave Kip a quick hug, and then nodded awk-wardly at Scott. Megan and Andrew were still starstruck every time they saw him. Megan could not believe her little brother had managed to land such a dream man. At least she’d stopped voicing her concern about his life. Between the solid relationship with Scott, and the fact that he was in grad school, Kip actually had his shit more or less together for once.

Kip had become a bit of a celebrity himself since the famous Madison Square Garden kiss incident. He was shy about it, because really he was only famous for dat-ing someone and that wasn’t anything worth bragging about, but he was happy to support Scott. He had been included in the Sports Illustratedarticle that had run about Scott in the summer. He had even been included in the photo shoot for it. It had been a mix of studio pho-tos, and some candid ones of the two of them at home. It had ended up being a very romantic spread, and he was proud of the magazine for publishing it.

The paparazzi were kind of a lot to take. They always seemed to show up whenever he and Scott had a rare opportunity to go out together. Kip had told Scott very firmly that he wouldn’t let them ruin their evenings. He would not feel like they needed to stay locked in their home. He could put up with a few unwanted photos if it meant having a life with Scott.

Plus, now that Scott was out, it was good for them to be seen together. To show that they weren’t at all ashamed.

“There are plenty of scrambled eggs left,” Mom said, holding up the bowl. “Kip, you want more?”

“Oh my god, Mom. No. I’ll actually explode.”

“Everything was delicious,” Scott said, always the better son. “Thank you.”

“Well then,” Dad said, pushing his chair back, “I think it’s time for presents!”

Scott smiled at Kip and he looked like a six-year-old kid; bright-eyed and giddy.

They all emptied their stockings first. They were mostly filled with candy, but Scott’s had something in it that Kip did notapprove of.

“Oh man!” Scott laughed. “Look at you, Kip!”

“Aw, no. Mom!”

Scott was holding a framed copy of Kip’s ninth grade school photo. “Look at how cute!”

“Why, Mom?”

“Oh, hush, Kip. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You were a very handsome young man.”

“Lemme see that,” Megan said. Scott passed her the photo. “Ha! I forgot about that stupid hemp necklace you always used to wear.”

“All right,” Kip grumbled.

“I love it,” Scott said. “Thank you.”

When it came time to open presents, Kip got nervous again. A few nice, but standard, gifts were exchanged amongst them: sweaters, pajamas, socks, books, kitchen utensils. There was a present under the tree for Kip that Elena had sent: an action figure of Scott, which meant it was Scott’s turn to be embarrassed.

“I haven’t seen this one yet,” Scott said, examining it. “My eyebrows aren’t thatthick, are they?”

Eventually, Scott was handed the gift that Kip had made for him, and Kip held his breath as Scott opened it.

“I, uh, I was on kind of a tight budget this year, y’know…” he said, already making excuses for it before Scott had the paper off. He suddenly wished he’d waited to give it to Scott when they were back at home.

“What’s this?” Scott asked, turning the book over in his hands. He opened it.

“It’s not—it’s just an idea I had…”

“Oh, Kip,” Scott said quietly. He silently flipped a few pages.

“What is it?” Mom asked.

“It’s, um…” Scott looked up. His eyes were wet. “It’s a collection of all of the, um…” he swallowed and looked at Kip. “It’s all the nice things people said about me. About us. After I came out. Things people posted on-line.” His face crumpled a little, and Kip hugged him.

“Thank you,” Scott whispered into his shoulder.

“I just wanted to make sure you saw them,” Kip said. “I know you don’t go online much.”

Scott sniffed and pulled back, composing himself. “I love it. It’s...it really means a lot, Kip. Thank you.”

Kip let out a breath and smiled at him. Now every-one’s eyes were wet.

“Okay, so that’s gonna make our gift seem kinda shitty by comparison,” Andrew joked to ease the tension. Ev-eryone laughed, and Andrew slid a gift bag over to Kip. It contained two six-packs of what Andrew explained was very limited edition small-batch local beer.

“What? This is a greatgift! Thanks guys!” Kip said.

“Carter will be jealous,” Scott said. Carter Vaughan—Scott’s teammate and best friend—was a lover of food, drink, and life in general. Andrew seemed pleased that he had been able to impress an NHL superstar with a gift.

Scott and Kip gave Megan and Andrew the gift of a reservation at a very popular Manhattan restaurant that normally had a months-long waiting list. Scott explained to them that the meal would be completely paid for.

“No way,” Megan said.

“Are you serious?” Andrew said. “How did you even manage this? I mean…I guess that’s a stupid question.”

Scott shrugged sheepishly. “This town loves hockey.”

When the excitement over the restaurant reservation died down, Scott turned to Kip and said, “Before I give you my gift, I just want to say a couple of things.”

Kip tensed up. What on earth was this?

“This time last year, I was celebrating Christmas alone. I was lonely, closeted, miserable, and I had no idea that in just a few short weeks, I would meet the love of my life.”

Oh god. Scott. Don’t make me cry.

“You have made everythingso much better, Kip. And I racked my brain trying to come up with the perfect present for you. Every idea I had wasn’t nearly enough. And,” he held up a hand to stop the expected protest from Kip, “I know you don’t want me spending money on you, and you don’t want lavish gifts. But I would give you anything, Kip.”

“I know,” Kip said hoarsely.

Scott nodded. “So…I thought about what would truly make you happy.”

“Oh my god!” Mom burst out. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Please continue, Scott.”

Scott looked at her, and he seemed puzzled. “I—” he glanced around the room, probably taking in the stunned and excited expressions on everyone’s faces. Even Suzy had raised her head with interest from where she’d been dozing on the rug. “Wait. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Megan squeaked. Scott frowned, then shot Kip a questioning look. Kip couldn’t say anything in re-sponse. Was Scott about to—?

“So,” Scott continued, “I’ll understand if this is too much, and you can absolutely say no.” He was looking at Kip’s parents now as he said this, which was kind of weird. “I just thought the timing was right and—”

Kip’s father was slowly dragging the coffee table away from the sofa, providing, Kip realized, more floor space in front of where Kip and Scott were sitting together. He winked at Kip. Kip felt like he was going to pass out.

“So, my gift to you, Kip…” Scott stood, and Megan gasped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out…

…an envelope.

Which he handed to Kip’s mother.

“Is a gift for your parents,” Scott finished.

Bewildered, Mom opened the envelope. Dad leaned in so he could read the folded papers she pulled out. There was a moment of silence and then Dad just start-ed laughing.

“What is it?” Kip asked. Because at this point he really couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Oh my god, Scott!” Mom said. “This is… is this…?”

“Kip told me that you’ve never been to Europe. So, I enlisted Carter to help me plan a month-long trip, all-expenses-paid.” He leaned over them and pointed to the paper. “You fly to Dublin to start, and then go on to Scotland, England, France, Germany, and then Italy.”

Scott looked at Kip, and Kip knew he was seeking his approval, but Kip was still reeling from what he’d thought was about to happen.

“Are you okay, Kip?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, I mean… of course. I’m just…”

“If it’s too much—”

“It’s way too much,” Dad laughed. “But, my god, Mar-garet! Europe!”

“I can’t believe it!”

Scott smiled at that, but he still shot a worried glance at Kip. “Sorry I didn’t ask you first, Kip. I just wanted it to be a surprise, you know?”

“I don’t think that’s what Kip is being all weird about,” Megan said.

“It isn’t?”

“I think he was expecting you to pull something elseout of your pocket,” Dad suggested.

“I think we allwere,” Mom added.

“What do you—?” Scott froze, understanding dawn-ing on his face. “Shit. Oh shit, Kip. You thought I was go-ing to—”

Kip waved a hand. “No. No, forget it. I wasn’t…I mean, I’m relieved, honestly.” He grimaced. “Not that I don’t want to…someday.” He buried his face in his hands.

Scott was by his side in an instant. “I can’t believe I messed this up. I need to cool it with the speeches. I’m sorry, Kip.”

“Please don’t apologize. Jesus, Scott. You’re sending my parents to EuropeThat’s amazing! I’m being a weird asshole.”

“If you didwant to propose to our son,” Dad said cheerfully, “please know that you have our blessing. But don’t plan for a June wedding because we’ll be in Europe!”

Kip touched a hand to Scott’s cheek. “This is the best present you could have given them. Or me. Let’s just for-get the other thing, okay? I love you. Thank you for this.”

Scott nodded, and smiled. “Okay. But now that it’s been suggested, it’s all I’m going to be thinking about.”

“Stop it.”

“I’d be a great husband.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Knock it off.”

“You guys are gross,” Megan complained affection-ately. “We got Mom and Dad a god damned toaster. I’m going to open some wine.”

Kip laughed. “Okay, but it’s a four-slicetoaster!”

She flipped him off as she headed for the kitchen, followed by Andrew, and then Suzy.

Kip’s parents were poring over the details of their vacation, grinning and talking excitedly. Kip kissed Scott quickly and said, “Shall we join them in the kitch-en for wine?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They had a nice time hanging out in the kitchen. Me-gan played some Christmas music from her phone and Kip started peeling potatoes for dinner. Scott insisted on helping so Kip set him up with a peeler. Megan made cranberry sauce. Andrew made them drinks. The room was full of laughter and the aroma of turkey roasting in the oven, and Kip felt emotional. Everyone in the house was happy and with someone they loved.

Just before dinner, he and Scott snuck upstairs under the guise of needing to pack their bags. Instead, they made out for a while, and Kip said “That really was the perfect gift, Scott. I can’t believe how much planning you put into that! I’ll have to thank Carter next time I see him.”

“I think he’s coming to The Kingfisher with me to-morrow night.” The Kingfisher—the Greenwich Village pub where Kip worked—was always a popular spot on Boxing Day. Kip was working until close tomorrow night, and he expected to see a lot of friends there.

“By the way,” Scott said, “that book you gave me is incredible. I can’t believe you did that.”

“It’s about what youdid. That book just shows how incredible youare.”

“Well, I love it. And I love you so much. I can’t wait to get you home,” Scott said in a low voice. He kissed just under Kip’s jaw, and Kip shuddered.

“Oh, fuck. Okay. We’ve gotta stop.”

“Mm…” Scott said, continuing to scrape his teeth along the stubble on Kip’s face.

“Stop, you asshole!” Kip laughed. He playfully shoved Scott away. “When we get home. I promise.”

Scott came right back and kissed him on the mouth before saying, “There might be a couple of toysfrom Santa at home.”

“Ooo! Big ones?”

“Big,” Scott slid a hand into the back pocket of Kip’s jeans, “small. Vibrating.”

“So Santa did get my letter!”

Scott smiled at him. “Seriously. Thank you. For all of this. Best Christmas ever.”

“We’ll have to do it again next year, huh?” Kip said, uncharacteristically shyly.

“Yeah,” Scott said, gently brushing a lock of hair to the side of Kip’s forehead. “Wouldn’t mind a whole lot more Christmases just like this one.”

Kip was full to bursting with love for this man. He had no idea how he was going to fit turkey dinner in there too. He stretched up onto his toes and nipped Scott’s ear. “What are you doing New Year’s?” he purred.

“Playing against Toronto. But after that, no plans.”

Kip sighed. “I can’t believe we both have to work on New Year’s Eve.”

“Capitalism. What are you gonna do?”

“You’ll come to the Kingfisher after the game, though, right?”

Scott pulled back and looked at him with so much affection Kip nearly melted on the spot. “Hell yes. I’ve never kissed anyone at midnight before. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

“I’d better make it good, then.”

“I expect you to bring your A-game.”

They both laughed. “Let’s go eat and then go home as fast as possible,” Kip suggested.

Scott fixed his best Captain-of-the-New-York-Ad-mirals admonishing glare on him. “A lot of work went into that meal, Grady, and we will give it the respect it deserves.”

“Ooo, yes sir,” Kip drawled.

“And tuck your shirt it. This is Christmas dinner, not a mosh pit.”

Kip laughed and shoved the hem of his plaid shirt into his jeans. “Are you looking for me to call you ‘Dad’?”

“No,” Scott said quickly. “Please don’t.”

Kip bit his lip, and silently made a New Year’s resolu-tion to bring out Scott’s authoritarian side in the bed-room more often.

He reached for the doorknob, but Scott gently wrapped his fingers around his wrist, stopping him. “I really am so happy, Kip. A year ago I would never have been able to imagine that I’d be out, and in love. It’s been amazing, and I can’t wait to see where this year takes us.”

Kip swallowed, because he wasn’t going to let himself get all choked up again. “Are you sure it can’t take us to our bedroom? Right now? Immediately?”

“If you rob me of a Christmas dinner with your lovely family I will never forgive you.” He opened the door and gestured toward the stairs. “March,” he ordered.

“Kinda really want to call you ‘Dad’,” Kip teased him.

“Try it and see what happens,” Scott said in a low voice. 

Kip’s eyes went wide. “Holy fuck. Is that supposed to deter me?”

Scott blushed. “That wasn’t supposed to come out that way.”

Kip laughed and took Scott’s hand. “Come on. Dinner. Then sex. Then the rest of our lives.”

Scott beamed at him. “Lead the way.”

Ilya only had three minutes to pull himself together.

Two minutes and fifty seconds, actually.

He was gripping the counter in a bathroom backstage at the NHL Awards, trying to force down the panic that had taken hold of him. It had been simmering all day, finally boiling over when he’d spotted Shane Hollander backstage.

It had been a wild few months. He was a Stanley Cup champion now, and it intermittently felt incredible and surreal and…empty.

His father wasn’t well. If there had been any uncertainty about that before, going back to Russia for the Olympics had ended it. It had to be Alzheimer’s, and Ilya needed to deal with it because no one else would. Not his brother, not his father’s wife. They both insisted that nothing was wrong with Grigori Rozanov.

Ilya was flying to Moscow next week. First back to Boston tomorrow to pack and take care of some things before leaving for the rest of the summer. He wished he could stay in Boston, or go somewhere else entirely. Somewhere relaxing, or fun. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a summer?

He’d bet Hollander enjoyed every moment of his summers. Soaking up the sun along with the adoration of his friends and family at his stupid fucking lake house thing. Not a care in the world.

Ilya hadn’t seen Hollander off the ice since the Olympics. Hadn’t spoken to him since then.

He’d thought about him every day.

He’d thought about the way Hollander had found him in the stands of the Sweden vs. Finland game in Sochi, and had asked if he was all right. He’d thought about how strong the urge had been for Ilya to wrap Hollander in his arms and just hold him. Pull him against his chest so Ilya could bury his face in his short, glossy hair and breathe him in. It had been so fucking scary, that urge. The way Ilya’s heart had skipped when he’d spotted Hollander approaching him, and the way he’d wanted to tell him everything.

Hollander was waiting for him, now. Not because he wanted to see him, but because they were presenting an award together. Most Sportsmanlike, which, Ilya had to admit, was funny. He’d told himself all day that it would be fine, seeing Hollander again. But as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, Ilya had felt an overwhelming need to hide. He’d dashed away, hopefully without Hollander seeing him.

So now Ilya was hiding in a bathroom when he was supposed to be standing at Hollander’s side, about to walk onto a stage to play up their rivalry for laughs. He stared at himself in the mirror. Despite his father’s unhappiness with the length of Ilya’s hair, Ilya hadn’t cut it since well before the Olympics. Maybe because of his father’s unhappiness. It was now long enough that he often tied it back, as he had tonight. He thought it looked good, with the tuxedo. Distinguished. Sexy.

He could really stand to get laid tonight. He’d love to stop thinking for a while.

He checked the time on his phone and decided that, yes, he needed to get out there. Uncurling his fingers from the counter, he straightened and rolled his shoulders back. He took one slow breath, forced his face into a more relaxed, unbothered expression, and left the bathroom.

He spotted Hollander at the edge of the stage, glancing around frantically. Ilya sauntered up behind him. “Looking for me?”

Hollander spun around. He was wearing a tuxedo and a scowl, and his hair was neatly parted on the side like a child who was getting his school picture taken. “Fuck, Rozanov. What the fuck? We’re on in like five seconds!”

Every time Ilya encountered Hollander, whether on the ice or off, he hoped that maybe this time he wouldn’t find him so fucking irresistible. He hoped he wouldn’t want to watch the irritation in Hollander’s dark eyes shift to desire. He hoped he wouldn’t want to be thrown against a wall by the man, and let him take his anger out on Ilya for a bit.

This time, like every time, those hopes were swiftly shattered.

“Fifty seconds,” Ilya said calmly. “We are fine.”

Hollander’s mouth dropped open, eyes blazing. “Does it matter to you that everyone backstage has been having a heart attack looking for you?”

“Not really.” At the moment Ilya didn’t care about anything other than the way Hollander’s freckles looked darker than usual, as if he’d been out in the sun recently.

“Where were you, anyway?” Hollander asked tightly.

Ilya went with the most infuriating answer. “Busy.”

Hollanders eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? With who?”

God, was he jealous? Did he hate knowing that Ilya slept with other people? It was dangerous to even consider. “We’re on.”

He walked quickly onto the stage, wishing he could see the furious expression on Hollander’s face as he trailed behind him. The audience—most of whom hated Ilya, loved Hollander, and were jealous of both of them—applauded as he made his way to the podium. Ilya found the teleprompter with their dialogue, and took a breath. He wasn’t a fan of reading English aloud to an audience.

“Sportsmanship,” he said cheerfully, “is very important.”

The audience laughed.

“I didn’t know you knew what that word meant, Rozanov,” Hollander read. He sounded authentically angry with Ilya.

“Of course I know. It is like when I steal the puck from you and score a goal, you are not a sore loser about it.”

“Or when I score a hat trick against your team, you graciously accept defeat.”

“Or,” Ilya said in his most obnoxious tone, “when I win the Stanley Cup, you are impressed by my achievement.”

That got a lot of laughter.

“Anyway,” Hollander said grumpily, “here are this year’s nominees.”

“Hey,” Ilya said, still reading from the teleprompter, “before we give out the award, can I get a selfie?”

“What?”

“Just a quick one. I mean, when will this happen again, right?”

“Fine, but hurry up.”

Ilya was excited for this part. He took out his phone, actually opened the camera app, then wrapped one arm around Hollander’s shoulders while holding the phone out with the other. He could see Hollander’s irritated expression on the phone screen.

Ilya took several photos. It was stupid, wanting to have them, but that didn’t stop him. He did want the photos, even if Hollander’s face was all tight with disapproval. Even if Hollander never wanted to touch him again, Ilya would have these photos.

He curled his fingers against the soft fabric of Hollander’s tuxedo jacket, and into the hard muscle beneath. He turned his head, just slightly, to bring his lips momentarily closer to Hollander’s hair. He smelled like mint and citrus, just as he had the last time Ilya had been this close to him. When Ilya had kissed him breathless before pushing him onto a bed.

Hollander’s irritation was so strong that Ilya could practically see the waves of it radiating from his tense shoulders. Ilya wanted all of it. He wanted Hollander to unleash it on him, then kiss him and order Ilya to fuck him. Ilya wanted Hollander to overwhelm him until he couldn’t think of anything else.

Ilya let his fingers drag across the back of Hollander’s neck as he removed his arm from around his shoulders. He didn’t miss the tiny gasp that escaped from Hollander’s lips. Ilya’s own lips twitched with the urge to stretch into a wide grin.

When they finished their spiel, and after Hollander grumpily thrust the trophy into the winner’s hands—a forward for Edmonton. Nice guy. Whatever—Hollander turned on his heel and marched off the stage. Ilya sauntered after him.

Hollander entered the same backstage bathroom Ilya had been hiding in earlier. Ilya silently counted to ten, then followed him, not at all surprised that Hollander had left the door unlocked.

Ilya barely managed to lock the door behind him before he had Hollander pressed against a wall. Hollander’s dark eyes gleamed with anger and lust, a combination that Ilya had never been able to resist. A combination that Ilya had missed.

He’d missed him.

“Well?” Ilya asked.

“Well what?”

Ilya’s stomach flipped and his cock twitched. This fucking guy. Ilya decided to push his luck, and pointed to the floor. “Are you not going to suck my dick?”

“Fuck you! Why don’t you suck mine?”

That definitely wasn’t going to happen in this gross bathroom, but Ilya kept his expression neutral and hummed softly, as if considering the offer. Helplessly, he brushed his fingertips along the sharp line of Hollander’s smooth jaw. “Maybe ask nice.”

Ilya wondered if he had pushed too far. If anger would overtake the lust in Hollander’s dark eyes and Ilya would be shoved backward. If Ilya would have to watch him walk awa—

“Please.”

It was barely a whisper, but Hollander’s single word rocketed through Ilya. He managed to maintain his cool exterior, but barely. Instead of giving in to what they both wanted, Ilya pushed further.

“You want me to kneel on this dirty bathroom floor? You have to ask nicer than that, Hollander.”

“Please,” Hollander said again, his voice strained and shaking, probably from the effort it took to not punch Ilya. Or to not die of embarrassment. “Get on your knees and suck my dick. Please.”

Ilya raked his gaze over Hollander’s body, pausing at the obvious bulge in his tuxedo pants. Ilya cupped him through the sleek fabric, and enjoyed the way Hollander had to close his eyes, and the way he gasped.

Ilya leaned in, hovering his lips next to Hollander’s ear and said, “No.”

Hollander’s reaction was even better than Ilya had hoped. His eyes flew open, brow pinched with confusion. “What?”

“No. I will not do anything to you in here.” Ilya was suddenly struck by a fantastic idea. “We will go back out there, and sit in our seats, and then go to the party. And then, when you have been waiting all night for it, you will come to my hotel room. And I will maybe do more than suck your dick.”

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” Hollander asked, stalling pointlessly.

“Yes. For now.”

Another few seconds of hesitation, and then, with an absurd amount of irritation, “Fine.”

“Aw. I will make a deal: if you win MVP tonight, I will blow you, fuck you…whatever you want.”

Hollander stared at him, and Ilya could practically see the suggestion rolling around in his brain. He would say yes to this. He wouldn’t be able to resist such an offer. Not when Ilya had made it a competition with a winner and a loser.

“And if you win?”

Ilya grinned. He knew this man so well, without really knowing him at all. “I will let you know.”

Now would be the moment to make his exit. Leave Hollander confused and horny without showing how badly Ilya wanted him too. How much he’d missed him. But Ilya couldn’t resist stealing a kiss, now that he finally had him alone.

Before he could overthink it, he grabbed Hollander’s lapel and kissed him. It was hard and messy and probably more urgent than Ilya would have liked. It still wasn’t the way he wanted to kiss Hollander. But if he kissed him the way he wanted to—a slow exploration of Hollander’s mouth that would provide Ilya with enough memories to get him through the long summer ahead—they would never leave this bathroom.

It was fucking stupid.

Ilya let him go. “Good luck tonight.”

He left without looking back.

***

Why was Ilya so nervous?

He’d won the MVP award (of course), and now he was waiting for his real prize. Hook-ups didn’t ever make him nervous. And Hollander was just a hook-up. More interesting, maybe, than other people Ilya slept with. More fun to tease. And, yes, hotter. Objectively.

But still. There was no reason for the butterflies in Ilya’s stomach.

In his hotel suite, Ilya removed his tuxedo jacket and his bowtie, then his shoes and socks. He felt over heated when he wanted to seem perfectly in control of everything, including his own body temperature. He unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt, then, after a quick glance in the full-length mirror, a fourth button.

He smoothed his palms over his slicked back hair, taming any strays that had escaped.

Jane: I’m here.

Ilya smiled at his phone, the butterflies settling immediately. He unlocked the door and opened it just in time for Hollander to grab the handle on the other side. Ilya walked to the middle of the room, and turned to face him.

Hollander was still wearing his tuxedo jacket, but had removed his tie. His cheeks were slightly pink, either from rushing up to Ilya’s room, or from alcohol.

“Here to congratulate me?” Ilya said calmly.

“I guess.”

Ilya playfully spread his arms, waiting for Hollander to actually say the word.

“Congratulations,” he said, not sounding like he meant it at all.

“Thank you. Now take off your clothes.”

To Ilya’s delight, he obeyed immediately, and in a very Shane Hollander way. Each piece of his suit was folded flat and draped over the back of the sofa, as if he’d need to wear the tuxedo again tomorrow or something. Ilya watched him, finding the whole thing more amusing than seductive.

“Shouldn’t we—” Hollander said when he was wearing only his boxer briefs. “I mean. There are windows.”

“We are on the sixteenth floor.”

“Yeah, but…”

So much for fucking Hollander against the window with the Vegas strip stretching out beneath them. Oh well. Ilya had lots of ideas. He silently headed for the bedroom, letting Hollander follow behind him. He drew the curtains closed, but didn’t let Hollander get too comfortable.

“On the bed,” Ilya said firmly, without looking at him. When he finally turned to face him, Hollander was already on the bed, still in his underwear. His skin looked flawless and golden in the low lamplight, his hair slightly disheveled from undressing. He was absently chewing on his lower lip, and staring at Ilya as if awaiting further instruction.

Ilya left the room.

He shouldn’t have invited Hollander to his room. They’d managed to avoid each other for months and Ilya could have simply let that continue. Forever. Because that was what made sense. Shane Hollander sprawled out on Ilya’s bed, offering himself as a fucking prize, did not make sense. The way Ilya was more tempted to gather Hollander in his arms and hold him all night than fuck him didn’t make sense. The way Ilya knew that if he kissed him he’d never stop didn’t make sense.

He needed to be careful tonight.

Ilya poured vodka into a glass, downed it, then poured another. Finally, after a long, steadying breath, he returned to the bedroom, drink in hand. Hollander was still on the bed, still waiting. God.

Ilya sat in a chair at the end of the bed, and silently took a sip of vodka. “Mm. I am impressed with this hotel. This vodka is not so easy to find.”

“Okay,” Hollander said. There was clear impatience in his tone, which only made Ilya want to stretch this out more.

Instead, he decided to test the limits of Hollander’s obedience.

“Touch yourself.”

Hollander’s eyes went wide. “What?”

This wasn’t something they’d ever done before. Maybe Hollander would give his own dick a few lazy strokes while waiting for Ilya to put a condom on, or a few desperate strokes to get himself over the edge while Ilya plowed him. But not like this.

“Show off for me,” Ilya clarified. “Let me watch you.”

Hollander did not seem any less confused. “You—what?”

“Is my special night, Hollander. I want to watch you.”

Blush spread across Hollander’s cheeks and down his neck to his chest. “I—I’ve never…”

Of course he hadn’t, which is exactly why Ilya wanted him to now. For him. “I thought maybe not. So show me. How do you touch yourself, Shane Hollander?”

For a long, tense moment, both men were silent, their gazes locked. Ilya certainly wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. He took another sip of his drink, and waited.

“Give me some of that vodka, then,” Hollander finally said. “I’m too sober for this.”

Ilya wanted to pump his fist in celebration, but he kept his cool. “No. The vodka you can have after. As reward.”

“Fuck. You.”

Ilya was having a great time now. He’d forgotten how much fun it was with Hollander. “Is good vodka! Come on. Look at your poor dick, Hollander. Give him some attention, yes?”

The bulge in Hollander’s underwear was hard to ignore. As much as Hollander looked like he was going to punch Ilya, he must have been dying to touch himself

“Close your eyes,” Ilya said encouragingly. “Pretend you are alone. How do you start?”

Finally, slowly, Hollander brought his hand to his stomach. He kept his eyes closed as he dragged his fingers gently over his skin, barely touching. It was somehow sexier than anything Ilya had ever seen in his life. Hollander was nervous, but he was doing this. For Ilya.

When Hollander finally pressed his hand to his erection, it was like a switch was flipped. The nerves disappeared, released with a filthy moan as Hollander began to show off. Ilya was mesmerized, impressed, and so turned on he was having a difficult time staying cool. He was leaning forward eagerly in his chair, and didn’t realize it until Hollander opened his eyes, catching him.

Ilya fought for control. “Come on, Hollander,” he managed to say. “Show me.”

Hollander slid his underwear down until it stretched across his enormous thighs. His cock was already dripping.

“Stroke it,” Ilya heard himself saying. “Make yourself come for me.”

Hollander slowly spread a pearly drop of precome over the head of his cock, watching Ilya’s face the entire time. Ilya was going to have a heart attack.

“There is lube in the drawer,” Ilya said, somewhat haltingly because he’d almost forgotten the English words “drawer,” “lube,” and “the.” He definitely wasn’t the one in charge anymore. “Beside the bed.”

As if to prove it, Hollander said, “Get it for me.”

Ilya got it for him. In an attempt to regain some control, Ilya childishly pulled the bottle away as Hollander reached for it. Then, he tossed it on the bed and delighted in watching Hollander angrily retrieve it.

He wanted more anger.

“Would you like to know how it feels?” he asked as he sat back in his chair.

“How what feels?”

“The Cup. Do you want to know what it feels like to hold the Stanley Cup?”

Hollander’s eyes were furious. “Oh fuck you.”

Ilya laughed. “I cannot describe it anyway. Impossible.”

“I’ll find out for myself soon enough.”

Ilya had no doubt. “Of course. Now, show me how you like it, Hollander.”

Hollander did. He pleasured himself shamelessly—eagerly—as if he was hoping for positive feedback when he was done. He was breathtakingly beautiful, and Ilya needed to be inside him. He couldn’t possibly just watch.

“Open yourself up,” Ilya instructed. “Use your fingers.”

Hollander did. He poured lube over his fingers and began massaging his hole. Ilya’s cock was straining against his pants, and his mind was crumbling apart. “Yes,” he said. “Let me see you open yourself for me.”

It was an unnecessary instruction. Hollander already had a finger inside. “You gonna fuck me?”

Ilya might never stop fucking him. There was nothing ever in his life that he’d wanted more. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice remarkably steady. He sipped his vodka, hoping he wouldn’t give himself away.

But then Hollander broke him with a single word: “Please.”

Oh god. Hollander was begging. Ilya swallowed hard. “Please what?”

“I—I need…”

Ilya wanted him to say it. He wanted him to tell Ilya to fuck him, to hold him, to stay with him. “What do you need, Hollander?”

“You. Fuck me. Please.”

The “You” echoed in Ilya’s ears, pounding along with his blood as he stood. He began to undress, but only got as far as removing his shirt before Hollander—on all fours—was rubbing his face against Ilya’s crotch.

English left Ilya. Everything left Ilya except raging lust and something sharper and more painful that he needed to ignore. “Why does it have to be you?” he said aloud in Russian. “Why are you so perfect? It’s fucking awful.”

He was wondering if Hollander might have been sent as some sort of test from God, something Ilya was supposed to resist, when Hollander wrapped his lips around Ilya’s cock.

Sorry, God.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moaned, finding his English again. “You love it.”

Hollander kept sucking, and Ilya enjoyed it for as long as he could. When he was dangerously close to coming, he pulled out and said, “Turn over.”

Ilya wasn’t even trying to be cool anymore, not when Hollander was presenting his ass so obediently. Ilya barely managed to get the condom and lube on before he sank into Hollander, fucking him with no finesse or patience at all. He jackhammered into him, mad at Hollander for existing, mad at himself for needing him. Hollander kept repeating “please,” and Ilya tried his best to give him everything he had.

His orgasm was violent and wonderful, and Ilya cried out as it ripped through him. He was dimly aware that Hollander had come too, and wished he could have seen it. He rested his forehead between Hollander’s shoulder blades, panting and breathing him in. Finally, he fell to the bed beside him.

“Jesus, Hollander.”

Hollander looked wrecked, all flushed and glistening and messy. He smiled at Ilya and said, “How about that vodka?”

Ilya laughed, and his heart swelled. “Yes. Give me a minute.” He didn’t want to leave the bed, because when he did, this would be over. Hollander wouldn’t be smiling at him, gorgeous and spent. He’d get dressed, he’d leave. Ilya would be alone.

He let himself look at Hollander, trying to memorize every detail of that moment. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to roll on top of him and kiss him until they both fell asleep. He wanted to kiss him in the morning, and all day tomorrow.

Ilya left the bed. He got cleaned up, and he brought a washcloth and a glass of vodka back to the bedroom for Hollander. He brought a cigarette and a lighter for himself. He wanted Hollander to be annoying about the cigarette, though Ilya knew it wouldn’t make him like Hollander less.

Hollander didn’t say anything about the cigarette, even when Ilya released long, obnoxious clouds of smoke over the bed they were both reclining on. Hollander quietly sipped his vodka while Ilya waited for the moment to crumble apart.

“Are you heading back soon?” Hollander asked.

“Back?”

“To Russia. For the summer.”

Ah. There. Moment ruined. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

Ilya was surprised when, after a moment, Hollander asked, “Why?”

Irritated, Ilya gave a short answer. “It is home.”

“But… do you like going there?”

Hollander may as well have stabbed Ilya in the gut. Ilya could practically feel the blade twisting, tearing up his insides. He hoped Hollander didn’t notice his shaking fingers as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. In that moment, Ilya wanted to tell Hollander everything. Instead, he closed his eyes and said, “I should sleep.”

“Oh.” Hollander sounded disappointed. Or maybe just embarrassed. “Yeah. I should…I need to get going, anyway.”

Ilya kept his eyes closed so he wouldn’t need to watch him leave. “Yes.”

He heard Hollander moving around the hotel room, first in the bedroom, then in the main room, gathering his clothes. Ilya stayed on the bed.

“See you,” Hollander said from the other room.

Ilya dropped his cigarette butt into Hollander’s not-empty vodka glass, watching the ash turn something pure and perfect into something dark and ugly. “Goodbye, Hollander.”

It took me several tries to land on an epilogue for Heated Rivalry that I was happy with. I tried a few different scenes, including one that, despite ultimately rejecting it, I kind of liked. It was a scene where Ilya and Shane are hosting Hayden and his wife, Jackie, for an awkward dinner party shortly after Hayden learns that his best friend is secretly dating Ilya Rozanov.

I’ve decided to take what I had written of that scene and expand it into a short story. This story takes place slightly before the actual epilogue in Heated Rivalry. So it’s an…epilogue prologue? It takes place almost sixteen months after the last chapter of Heated Rivalry, and about three weeks before the epilogue.

Okay, here is what happens when Ilya and Shane try to host a dinner party. Enjoy!

***

Ilya opened the door of Shane’s house to greet Hayden and his wife (Jessica?). He could have waited for Shane to finish washing his hands in the kitchen so he could join him at the door, but this was more fun.

“Oh god,” Hayden said, as soon as he was faced with Ilya, “I don’t think I can do this.”

Ilya smiled, and stepped aside. “Please come in.”

Hayden moved past him, his wife following closely behind. She, at least, offered Ilya a friendly, and possibly apologetic, smile as she handed him the bottle of wine they had brought.

“Shane!” Hayden called out. “Don’t want to alarm you, but Ilya Rozanov is in your house.”

Shane emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands with a dishtowel. He was wearing dark pants and a blue button-up shirt that was open at the collar. Ilya was struck, not for the first time that night, by how good he looked, and by how right this all felt. Shane and Ilya, at home, having dinner with friends.

Even if the friends sucked a little.

“You promised you weren’t going to be an asshole, Hayd,” Shane complained.

“That’s true,” Hayden’s wife confirmed. “You did promise that.” She offered Ilya her hand. “I’m Jackie, by the way.”

“Jackie,” Ilya repeated. “Is nice to meet you. Your husband I am not sure about yet.”

“He’ll behave.” Jackie was a beautiful woman with long, dark hair, sparkling green eyes, and an athletic body. She was much too good for Hayden.

Shane directed them all to the spacious living room. Ilya went to the kitchen to deposit the gifted wine and to get the (better) wine he had already opened. He definitely needed wine. When he entered the living room, things were already looking dire; Jackie was making small talk with Shane about his electric fireplace while Hayden was looking at the floor with his hands clasped between his knees.

Ilya set four wineglasses on the coffee table, then immediately plucked one and filled it generously. He handed it wordlessly to Hayden, because he looked like he could use it. Hayden accepted it with a wary nod and, because he had no class at all, took a giant gulp. After he’d swallowed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, made a move to place the glass on the table, then seemed to think better of it and brought it back to his lips for another mouthful.

“I was just telling Shane how beautiful this house is,” Jackie said.

Ilya handed her the next glass of wine, which she thanked him for before taking a small, sensible sip. “Yes,” Ilya agreed. “We should give you a tour. The master bathroom has a very good shower.” He looked directly at Hayden and winked. “Big enough for two.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched as he reached for the wineglass he’d only just set down.

“How are the kids?” Shane asked quickly. “How’s Amber?”

“Great!” Jackie said brightly. “She’s into everything of course, now that she’s walking.”

Ilya considered his options for where to sit. Shane and Jackie were occupying the two armchairs closest to the fireplace. Hayden was sitting at one end of the sofa that faced them. Ilya could sit at the other end of the sofa, but he chose the more obnoxious option of perching on the arm of Shane’s chair. Instead of handing Shane his wine, Ilya draped his arm around Shane’s shoulders and hovered the glass in front of his lips. Shane tilted his head back to give him a look that was more annoyed than charmed, then took the wineglass.

“I would love to meet your kids,” Ilya said. “Shane has told me lots of stories about them.” It wasn’t really true. Not the stories part, anyway. Ilya did legitimately like kids, though, and the Pikes had more than enough of them. He smiled warmly at Jackie, who beamed back at him.

“That’s sweet,” she said. “Maybe next time you’re in town we can have you guys over in the afternoon. The kids love their Uncle Shane.”

Ilya nudged his boyfriend. “Uncle Shane.”

“I haven’t been a good uncle lately,” Shane said. “I’ve been so busy.”

“My fault,” Ilya confessed.

“Jesus,” Hayden muttered.

Jackie shot her husband a pointed look, and Shane stood. “Maybe we should eat.”

Hayden stood just as quickly. “Yup. Definitely. Let’s eat.”

As Ilya made his way to the dining room, Shane tugged on his arm to hold him back. “Stop doing that,” he hissed.

“Doing what?” Ilya asked innocently.

“You’re intentionally bothering Hayden.”

“Am not. I have not even asked his wife what she sees in him! I am being very good.”

Shane’s face got stern and adorable. “Behave,” he warned.

In response, Ilya kissed his forehead. “Always, moy lyubovnik.”

He took a moment to enjoy the flush that always appeared in Shane’s cheeks when Ilya used Russian terms of endearment. He would definitely need to keep Shane’s wineglass full tonight. He wanted him to loosen up and enjoy himself, and then get all snuggly in bed later.

Shane invited Hayden and Jackie to sit at the dining room table before rushing off into the kitchen. Ilya topped off their guests’ wineglasses before saying, “Sorry to leave you alone, but I should help him.”

“Of course,” Jackie said. Hayden nodded through a mouthful of wine.

Ilya went to the kitchen, but paused a moment to lean against the entryway and watch as Shane dipped a spoon into the large pot on the stove and brought it to his lips to sample. He blew gently a couple of times before sinking the spoon into his mouth. His brow furrowed in concentration as he worked to determine if it was good enough to serve his best friends. It was cute, and Ilya loved him.

“How is it?” Ilya asked, moving away from the entrance to stand unnecessarily close to Shane in the spacious kitchen.

“I think it’s good,” Shane said, though he didn’t sound sure. “Do you think it’s too salty?”

Ilya kissed him, tasting only the barest remnants of the coq au vin on his tongue. “Tastes perfect,” he said when he pulled away.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shane said, but his voice was unsteady. He cleared his throat and said, “Taste it properly.”

Ilya rolled his eyes and grabbed a fresh spoon. He dipped it into the pot, then made a show of dragging the sample into his mouth with his tongue. He slipped the spoon between his lips and hollowed his cheeks, moaning wantonly as he sucked and savored the rich flavor of the broth. The stew was fine. The plain arousal on Shane’s face was delicious.

“Is good,” Ilya said after he pulled the spoon from his mouth with a wet pop. “Where is the parsley I chopped?”

Cooking was something that he and Shane had gotten into together. It was enjoyable, finding recipes and learning new kitchen techniques. Working together on something, rather than competing (not that it was never competitive). Plus, there was delicious food to eat when they were done. And Ilya was pretty sure that the feeling of accomplishment made Shane horny. Win-win-win.

They ladled the stew into white bowls, Ilya wiping any stray drops from the rims with a towel. He artfully sprinkled the parsley on top of each one, then grabbed two of the bowls. He paused for a quick kiss before carrying the food out to their waiting guests.

“Wow!” Jackie enthused when Ilya placed one of the bowls in front of her. “You guys made this?”

“We did,” Ilya said. Looking at the food now, he felt a little bit proud. Shane brought the remaining two out, then darted back to the kitchen to grab a basket full of bread he had purchased at a bakery that morning.

“What is this?” Hayden poked at the stew with his spoon like he suspected Ilya may have dropped some razor blades in it.

“Coq au vin,” Shane said proudly (and perfectly) as he returned with the bread.

“That’s French,” Ilya added helpfully. Hayden glared at him.

They all ate without speaking for a few spoonfuls. Ilya wondered who would crack first. Not surprisingly, it was Shane.

“Did you hear about that McFarland suspension?”

Hayden’s eyes shot up, and Ilya could see the relief in them. “Yeah! Holy shit, right?”

They gossiped with each other about the latest off-ice conduct suspension, and Ilya took the opportunity to offer Jackie a sympathetic smile. She smiled back, and rolled her eyes. When Shane brought up the proposed new rules regarding defensive line changes, Ilya decided to step up and be the hero.

“Let’s not talk about hockey tonight,” he suggested mildly.

“Thank you,” Jackie said.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have an alternate topic to discuss, so the four of them fell back into awkward silence.

“Well, we need to talk about something,” Shane complained after a minute had passed.

“We could talk about how Hayden is eating around the mushrooms like a five-year-old,” Ilya offered.

Hayden put his spoon down with a loud clank. “We could talk about what the fuck Shane sees in you.”

“Hayden,” Jackie scolded.

“Ah.” Ilya nodded sagely. “You are jealous.”

“What? No!” Hayden sputtered. “I’m not jealous of you. I’m not—Shane, I love you. You know that. But I’m not—” He turned to Ilya, who was now thoroughly enjoying himself. “Jesus, my wife is right here, you fucking asshole. And you know that’s not what I meant.”

Ilya just shrugged. He hadn’t actually meant it, but now he was starting to wonder.

“The food is delicious,” Jackie said, probably wanting to steer the conversation away from whether or not her husband had a giant crush on Shane. “I didn’t even know you cooked, Shane.”

“He’s full of surprises,” Hayden grumbled.

Ilya could see the tension in Shane’s jaw and in his eyes.

“I got into cooking this past year,” Shane said. He took a sip of water, and Ilya noticed a slight tremor in his fingers as he set the glass back down. “It’s something we’ve been doing together, when we get the chance.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, and sounded like she meant it. “We should cook together some time, Hayden.”

“I suck at cooking.”

“You suck at hockey,” Ilya pointed out. “But you still play it.”

Hayden looked pleadingly at Shane. “Seriously? This guy? I’ve got no problem with you being gay—”

“What a hero,” Ilya said flatly.

Hayden turned to Ilya. “Shane can date all the men he wants! But you are a relentless douchebag and I’ve never liked you.”

“Jesus, Hayden,” Jackie mumbled.

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You should save some of that for our wedding.”

“Fuck, don’t even—” Hayden shook his head, then went back to pushing mushrooms around his bowl.

There was a tense minute where no one said anything, and then Jackie asked, with a noticeable amount of forced cheerfulness, “So, Ilya. Did you get back to Russia over the summer at all?”

Jesus, this was a nightmare. “No,” Ilya said. He couldn’t think of anything to add, so he didn’t.

“He was at my cottage, mostly,” Shane explained. “And then dealing with moving to Ottawa.”

“Right,” Jackie said. “How are you liking Ottawa?”

“Fine,” Ilya said. “Team sucks, but the city is not bad.”

“I don’t understand why you’d leave a contender like Boston to play for Ottawa,” Hayden said.

“I am sure you don’t understand a lot of things.”

“Ilya,” Shane said wearily.

“What happens when you guys break up, Rozanov?” Hayden continued, jabbing a fork between Shane and Ilya. “You gonna sign with Anaheim or something?”

Shane must have sensed Ilya was about to say something that almost certainly would have made Hayden smash the wine bottle on the table and come for Ilya’s face with it, because he put a hand on Ilya’s forearm and said, “Could you guys give it a rest? Please?”

“Yes, Hayden. Grow the hell up,” Jackie said. “And besides…” She leaned in, hands cupped around her wineglass and eyes glinting. “I want to hear how you two met.”

Ilya snorted. He couldn’t help it.

“I mean,” Jackie said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “not how you met. We all know that, obviously. But when was the first time you… felt sparks?”

“I’ll bet Shane was drunk as hell,” Hayden grumbled.

“We don’t all need alcohol to make people sleep with us,” Ilya said. Hayden flushed, possibly realizing that Shane had told Ilya all about how he and Jackie had met at a nightclub years ago.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Shane said quietly. “I wasn’t even old enough to drink legally.”

“Wait,” Hayden said. “Back the fuck up. You told me it had been going on for a while. I thought you meant a season or two. Not—how fucking young were you when you first—I mean. When you first…fuck, I can’t. You know what I mean.”

“Nineteen,” Ilya said at the same time Shane said, “Eighteen.”

Ilya shot him a curious look. “We were nineteen the first time we—”

“Oh,” Shane said. “I thought the question was the first time we felt, um, sparks.” His ears were bright red and Ilya wanted to bite them.

“Yes,” Ilya said. His voice has gone soft, but he didn’t care. “Eighteen then. That’s right.”

The look that Shane gave him in response was so heated and adoring that Ilya wondered how rude it would be to shove Hayden and his lovely wife out the door right now.

“So, where were you?” Jackie asked, breaking the moment. “When you were both eighteen?”

“It was, um…” Shane started, but then appeared to be overcome with embarrassment at the memory.

“A hotel gym,” Ilya finished for him. “The night we were both drafted.”

“A public gym?” Hayden looked like he was going to faint. “Before you were even rookies? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nothing happened!” Shane explained quickly. “It wasn’t like that. I just… felt something.”

“Lust,” Ilya supplied.

“No. Maybe. Shut up.” Shane sighed. “Can we stop talking about this?”

“Absolutely,” Hayden said.

The four of them stopped talking altogether. They ate in silence for another several uncomfortable minutes before Hayden rested his spoon beside his bowl of mushrooms and said, “So, you go back to Ottawa tomorrow, Rozanov?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I will be gone for a while.”

This visit, like he suspected most of them would be during this first season of living a couple of hours apart, was a short one. He’d had a day off, so he’d driven to Montreal immediately following his game in Ottawa last night. He’d arrived after midnight, and despite Shane having to get up early for practice, they’d kept each other awake for hours. Tomorrow afternoon Ilya was flying to Vancouver and wouldn’t be back in Ottawa for two weeks. He had a day off when he got back, but unfortunately Shane would be on the road then.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was definitely better than it had been before. Last season had been agony. Ilya had still been playing for Boston, and knowing that Shane was in love with him had made keeping their secret so much harder. Before they’d admitted their feelings to one another, Ilya had always enjoyed the sneaking around. He’d liked Shane Hollander being his sexy secret. But the past fifteen months hadn’t been much fun at all.

It was why Ilya had been unenthusiastic when Shane had suggested having Hayden and Jackie over for dinner. Their nights together were so few and far between that Ilya didn’t want to share a single one with anyone else. Especially not Hayden stupid Pike.

Hayden had inadvertently stumbled on the truth a week ago by joking that Shane was secretly dating Ilya. Shane, who Ilya knew had been trying to figure out the right moment to tell his best friend that he was in love with Ilya Rozanov, had seized the opportunity and come clean. Hayden had been, understandably, dumbfounded.

This dinner was important to Shane, and Ilya knew the purpose of this evening was to make Jackie, and especially Hayden, understand what Shane saw in him. As far as Ilya was concerned, it wasn’t anyone’s business why Shane loved him. Ilya certainly didn’t need to convince anyone that he was worth Shane’s affection. Fuck them. It wasn’t his job, or Shane’s, to explain their relationship to anyone.

After dinner they retired to the living room. Other than the occasional comment on a piece of furniture or question about Shane’s parents (both from Jackie), the room was silent. Ilya decided to put on some background music so it didn’t feel like they were in a hospital waiting area. After another fifteen minutes of stiff conversation to a backdrop of Post Malone, he went to the kitchen to get more wine.

He briefly considered the vodka, but decided it would not be the best choice given his early morning the next day. Or the fact that he would prefer a cuddly Shane later to a horribly ill Shane.

When Ilya returned, Shane and Jackie were standing near the hallway that led to the stairs. “I’m going to show Jackie the house,” Shane said. Ilya could very clearly read the unspoken message in Shane’s words, Stay here and bond with Hayden.

Fuck. Ilya should have grabbed the vodka.

He refilled Hayden’s wineglass, then his own, and then sat at the opposite end of the couch from Hayden.

“So,” Ilya said.

“What are you doing with him?” Hayden asked abruptly. “What’s your game here?”

“Game?”

Hayden stood up, and loomed over Ilya in what was probably supposed to be a threatening manner. “Is this a joke to you? Or do you just get off on fucking with him?”

“I do get off on fucking him. Yes.”

Hayden’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not what I mean and you know it! Shane is, like, forbidden. Is that the appeal?”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. “You do not think much of your best friend.”

“I don’t think much of you.”

Ilya sighed and nonchalantly crossed his legs. “And who should Shane be with?”

“A nice guy! Someone who… I don’t know!” Hayden threw up his hands. “Someone who fucking cares about him?”

All right. That was quite enough. Ilya stood, which gave him a good seven inches of height on Hayden. In the tight space between the sofa and the coffee table, their chests bumped together. “You think you know what is best for him?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since we were rookies.”

Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Maybe you were not listening at dinner, but so have I.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know it! He never fucking mentioned you.”

“Funny. He didn’t talk much about you either.”

“I’m his best friend.”

“I’m his boyfriend.”

“You’ve also slept with like a thousand women!”

Ilya scrunched his nose. “Is probably not a thousand.”

He began doing some rough calculations in his head, but was interrupted when Hayden said, “Who do you think you are kidding here? You obviously aren’t, y’know, gay.”

Ilya stared at him blankly. “You have not heard of bisexuals?”

Hayden narrowed his eyes. “Bisexual, huh?”

Ilya switched to an overly animated, educational tone. “Some people like apples. Some people like oranges. Some people like apples and oran—”

“Oh fuck you. I know what it means.”

“Then you know I can sleep with a million women and still fall in love with your best buddy Shane.”

Hayden shook his head, looking more frustrated than ever. “Do you have any idea of what it will do to him if this secret gets out?”

Ilya snorted. “Yes. I have thought about it a bit.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” And then Hayden shoved Ilya’s chest with both hands.

“Are you guys fucking kidding me?” Both men whipped their heads around to see Shane standing in the entranceway. “Like, are you guys serious right now?”

“He started it,” Ilya said. It sounded stupid even to his own ears.

Shane pointed at Ilya. “Do you know how long I have been wanting to do this? To introduce you to my friends as my boyfriend? Hayden and Jackie are my best friends and you are being an asshole.”

“Fucking right,” Hayden said smugly.

“And you!” Shane said, turning his fury on Hayden. “You’re acting like I met Ilya yesterday or something. Just because you only found out about us recently doesn’t mean our relationship is new. It’s pretty fucking solid, even if you don’t want to believe it. Even if you don’t want to consider the fact that we have been keeping this thing a secret for almost ten fucking years now!”

“Shane,” Hayden sputtered. “I—”

 “Do you know how scared I’ve been this whole time? Do you know how fucking terrifying it is to feel attracted to your archrival when you are eighteen and your rival also happens to be a man?”

Okay, maybe Ilya shouldn’t have refilled Shane’s wineglass as many times as he had.

“I have been so fucking scared and alone for so goddamned long and tonight was supposed to end some of that and you guys are acting like children. Fuck both of you.”

There was a loud silence that hung in the room for what felt like an hour, and then Hayden said, very quietly, “You could’ve told me, Shane.”

“What?”

This time, Hayden’s voice was stronger. “You could’ve told me. I hate that you kept it from me all this time. That you thought you needed to.”

Well, that was unexpectedly sweet.

“It hurts, y’know?” Hayden finished.

Shane’s mouth was hanging open, and Ilya was torn between speaking on his behalf, and waiting to see what Shane would say. Curiosity won out.

“I couldn’t,” Shane said finally. “We hadn’t even told each other. It took us seven years to figure out how we felt about each other. For me to figure out that I’m gay. But once we sorted all out, I wanted to tell you. And I did. Eventually.”

“And,” Ilya added, because he couldn’t help himself, “you’ve taken it super well.”

Shane shot him a warning glance. Ilya looked away.

“I thought you hated him,” Hayden said. “We talked about how much we hated him all the time. For years! And then I find out not only that you don’t hate him, but you… I mean, you must love him so fucking much, right? Like, you’d have to, to go through all of this.”

The unwavering way Shane met Hayden’s eyes when he replied, simply, “Yes, I do,” took Ilya’s breath away.

“Wow,” Jackie said, reminding Ilya that she was also in the room. That there were other people on earth besides him and Shane right now.

“Yes,” Ilya murmured, unable to take his eyes off Shane’s raised, determined chin.

“I’m sorry,” Hayden sounded like all the fight had left him. “I’m making this about me, and it’s not. This dinner was a big deal for you, and I fucked it up.”

Shane didn’t look like he’d been expecting that because he opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he finally nodded and said, “All right. Thank you.”

“And,” Hayden turned to Ilya, “if Shane loves you or whatever, then I guess you can’t be such a bad guy.”

“There are good things about me, I think.”

Hayden scrubbed a hand over his face. “How the hell are you going to keep this a secret? Do you even have a plan?”

“Actually,” Shane said, “we do. Go sit down and Ilya will get the cookies I bought for dessert.” He fixed his gaze on Ilya, and Ilya nodded. “Then we’ll tell you about the Irina Foundation.”

***

Two hours later, Shane was closing the door behind Hayden and Jackie. Ilya placed a gentle hand on Shane’s lower back, only to have him turn on his heel and march into the kitchen.

Uh-oh.

“Shane?” he called after him, but he knew Shane wouldn’t turn back, or even acknowledge him. So he followed after his pissed-off boyfriend, and found him angrily loading the dishwasher.

“You are still mad,” Ilya observed.

In response, Shane forcefully shoved the bottom rack of the dishwasher so it hit the back of the machine with a loud clatter of plates and cutlery.

“At me?” Ilya guessed.

“Yes,” Shane ground out. “No. I don’t know.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window. “I hate this.”

“The window?”

“No. All of this.” He gestured between himself and Ilya.

Ilya’s heart dropped to the floor. “You hate…us?”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his gaze was more miserable than angry. Ilya preferred angry. “I hate how we have to hide. I hate only getting these stolen moments with you. It’s been so many fucking years of this, and I’m tired.”

Ilya’s heart returned to his chest. He took a step toward Shane, wanting to touch him but not wanting him to stomp away again. “I know.”

“It’s not fair! Hayden and Jackie get to just, y’know, exist. The night they first got together, I watched them make out on a dance floor.”

“Pervert,” Ilya teased.

“I mean I saw them. I wasn’t watchi—shut up. The point is, they’d just met that night, and they were making out in front of the whole world without having to worry for one fucking second about anyone seeing them.”

“Or their weird friend watching them.”

Shane pressed his lips together, and Ilya knew he was trying not to smile. He counted that as a victory.

“They started dating, and then a few months later they were engaged and everyone on the team was congratulating Hayden. They had a big wedding and no one was, like, baffled and horrified that they were together.” He exhaled. “What is that even like?”

“Probably like when you were dating Rose Landry.”

Shane groaned. “Oh my god, Ilya. That was like two years ago. Let it go.”

Ilya loved to tease him about Rose Landry, so, no. He would not be letting it go. Rose had since become one of Shane’s closest friends, and was one of the few people who knew about Shane and Ilya. Ilya liked Rose a lot, actually.

“I wanted to feel normal tonight,” Shane sighed.

“You want a normal relationship?” Ilya hoped not because that was something he could definitely never offer Shane, as much as he wished he could.

“It isn’t fair. That’s all. Hayden criticizes the hell out you, and my relationship with you, as if it’s all some ridiculous joke. And you don’t do anything to help. I mean, I want people to understand why I love you, but you are so fucking terrible at showing them.”

Oh.

“You want me to be different?” Ilya asked.

Shane let his arms fall to his sides. “I want you to not be a dick all the time.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, and he hoped his words sounded as sincere as he meant them.

Shane snorted and turned toward the sink. He banged a couple of pots around, pretending to be busy, until Ilya stilled him by resting a hand on his arm.

“Do you know what I was thinking all night?” Ilya asked gently. “When I was being a dick?”

Shane’s shoulders tightened. “What?”

“I was thinking,” Ilya moved closer, lining his body up with Shane’s. Letting his chest brush against Shane’s back. “About how much I loved this. Being at home with you. Even having friends over. Being a couple.”

Shane’s shoulders relaxed as he exhaled loudly. “I love it too. I just want more of it.” He turned to face Ilya, and his eyes were much too sad.

Ilya placed a hand on the side of Shane’s face, brushing a thumb over his freckles. “Maybe I don’t think about how it is unfair because…” He paused a moment, trying to choose his English words carefully. “I feel lucky. This is more than I have ever had.”

Shane’s face scrunched up in confusion. Definitely one of Ilya’s top three Shane Hollander expressions. “More what?”

Ilya shrugged. “Love. Family. All that stuff.”

Shane’s face descrunched. For a moment, Ilya could swear he saw a tremor in his lip, but then Shane thunked his forehead against Ilya’s chest.

“Why are you like this?” Shane moaned into Ilya’s shirt. “Can’t you let me be annoyed with you? Do you have to ruin it by saying romantic shit like that?”

“Romantic? I thought it was more pathetic.”

Shane shook his head against Ilya’s chest, and Ilya wrapped his arms around him.

“I love you,” Shane murmured.

Ilya kissed the top of his head. It never got old, hearing Shane say that. Nothing had grown stale between them, even though it had been over a year since they had first said those life-changing words to each other. Maybe it was because their time together was always short, and precious. Maybe one day, when they were old and retired and making dinner together for the millionth time, Ilya’s blood wouldn’t heat at the sound of Shane’s voice.

That day was not today, though.

Ilya tangled his fingers into Shane’s hair and lightly tugged, pulling his face away from Ilya’s chest and tilting it up to meet his gaze.

“Don’t you have something to say to me?” Shane asked wryly.

Ilya’s lips quirked up, and instead of saying the words back, he leaned down and kissed him, slowly. Adoringly. The kind of unhurried, careful kiss that Ilya knew Shane wouldn’t put up with for long. As expected, within a minute Shane let out a growl and took control. He kissed Ilya hungrily, wrapping one ankle around the back of Ilya’s leg and pulling their bodies tight together.

This was the man that Ilya loved. Right here. Sexy and challenging and unabashedly on fire for Ilya. Without even looking at what might be in the way, Ilya hoisted Shane up and sat him on the counter. Something clattered into the sink, and something else fell to the floor, but neither man reacted. They kept kissing and yanking each other’s shirts out of their pants. Shane shoved Ilya’s shirt up, bunching it under his armpits, then slid his palms over Ilya’s chest. Over the grizzly bear tattoo that covered most of Ilya’s left pec. Ilya could admit to himself now that the tattoo was a bit much, but he’d been eighteen when he’d gotten it, and it gave Shane something to tease him about, so he couldn’t hate it.

Ilya broke the kiss and pulled back a bit, smiling as Shane eagerly chased his mouth, leaning too far forward and nearly falling off the countertop. Ilya steadied him with one hand, but Shane wrapped his legs tight around Ilya’s waist and yanked him back toward him, gripping the back of Ilya’s head and locking their mouths together. Ilya responded by lifting Shane off the counter, placing his hands firmly under his ass. He spun them until Shane’s back was pressed against the wall by the door, then kept kissing him.

He kissed his way down Shane’s neck as Shane writhed against the wall. “Bedroom,” Shane gasped. “I need you in me.”

Ilya grinned against his neck. He loved it when Shane asked for what he wanted. “I can fuck you right here, moy vozlyublenniy.“

”No. Fuck, maybe,” Shane panted. “What does that one mean?”

“My horny animal,” Ilya lied.

“Eat shit.” Shane unwrapped his legs and lowered himself to the floor. “Bedroom. Come on.”

He pushed past Ilya, darting toward the stairs. Ilya caught up with him on the landing, halfway up. He grabbed his arm and spun him, pinning him against the wall with hands on both of Shane’s biceps. Ilya’s lips hovered a breath away from Shane’s.

“Whatever happens, I’m…” Ilya huffed in frustration, English escaping him again.

“What?” Shane’s eyes were wide.

Ilya loosened his grip on his arms, sliding his hands down to grasp Shane’s hands instead. “I will tell the whole world right now, if it is what you want.”

Shane’s brow pinched. “You would?”

“Yes.”

Shane squeezed Ilya’s hands. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “I want to just…be with you. But I also don’t want to deal with everything that we would have to deal with. And I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“What if no one will sign us? What if you get deported?”

“Then I will fake my own death. We will move to a cabin in the mountains.”

Shane shook his head. “I’m being serious.”

“I am serious. If we hide forever, or tell the world right now, I am with you. I will quit hockey, or fight to stay. Whatever you want.”

“It shouldn’t be only my decision.”

Ilya sighed. “I mean… I am yours, yes? To protect that, I will do anything.”

Shane’s eyes went gooey. “You’re mine. Yes.”

“Then…” Ilya brushed Shane’s bangs aside. “Let me show you.”

When they got to the bedroom, they stayed standing at the foot of the bed, kissing for long minutes. Eventually, Ilya began to slowly undress Shane. He carefully removed each item of clothing, covering the newly exposed skin with soft kisses and gentle bites while Shane shivered. In the morning, Ilya would be gone, and they wouldn’t see each other again for weeks, but he would make damn sure Shane wouldn’t doubt Ilya’s devotion while they were apart. He would spend the rest of this night worshipping him. Ilya could sleep on the fucking plane.

“Yours,” Ilya said again as he sank to his knees. He peppered light kisses around Shane’s bellybutton and over the ridges of his abs. He flicked his gaze up to catch Shane’s and found desire burning bright in his eyes. He was gorgeous, backlit by the soft light of the bedside lamp. Shadows dipped into the hard lines of this chest and stomach, accentuating his muscle definition.

“Yours,” Shane whispered back.

Ilya nodded slowly, and trailed his fingers to the button on Shane’s pants. He flicked it open, then followed the zipper’s descent with kisses down to the base of Shane’s cock. Ilya slid his pants down to the floor, then tapped Shane’s ankle so he would step out of them. Once the pants had been kicked into a corner of the room, Ilya pressed his mouth to the bulge in Shane’s underwear.

Ilya breathed hot on Shane’s cock through the black fabric of his boxer briefs. He traced the outline of Shane’s erection with his tongue, then dipped his head to mouth at his balls.

“Holy fuck that feels good,” Shane gasped. He curled his fingers into Ilya’s hair, gripping but not controlling. Ilya was still in charge. Ilya would convince Shane with his body that everything would be all right. They were good. They would always be good.

When Shane’s underwear was thoroughly damp and clinging to his erection, Ilya peeled them down and off, then reunited them with Shane’s pants in the corner. Shane’s cock bobbed eagerly in front of Ilya’s face, but Ilya ignored it, returning his attention to his balls. He loved Shane’s balls. They were naturally smooth and perfectly shaped. He loved the feel of them in his mouth, the weight of them; heavy with Shane’s need for release.

“God, Ilya. One of these nights you’re gonna make me come just from this, I swear.”

Ilya waggled his eyebrows. “Could be tonight.”

Shane groaned, but he was smiling. “No way. I need you to fuck me tonight. Please.”

“Well…” Ilya ran his tongue up the length of Shane’s cock. “You did say please.”

“And could you take off your clothes? Pretty please?”

Ilya stood, then gave Shane a quick kiss before unbuttoning his own rumpled shirt just enough to pull it over his head. “On the bed,” he instructed. “And take your fucking socks off.”

In less than a minute, Shane was on his back, and Ilya was stretched over him, naked, and kissing him into the mattress.

There were a lot of reasons why it would be messed up if the world could see them right now, but if the world could see them right now, they’d have to get it, right? They’d have to see that what he and Shane had together was real and good and unstoppable. He knew it would be a shock to the hockey world when they finally held their planned press conference. They would only be announcing that they had started a charity together and that they were friends, but even those basic facts were going to blow some minds.

He could kiss Shane at that press conference. Just pull him in and kiss him in front of the cameras and reporters. Then it would be done.

Ilya grabbed the lube from the nightstand drawer. He sat up, straddling Shane’s thighs, and drizzled the lube into his palm and over his fingers.

Ilya Rozanov and his boyfriend, Shane Hollander.

Ilya liked the sound of it. The idea of hockey commentators saying those words.

Ilya Rozanov and his husband, Shane Hollander.

Oooh. Better.

Hollander passes the puck to his sexy husband, Ilya Rozanov…

Okay. Maybe Ilya had gone a little heavy on the wine himself tonight.

Ilya took his time working Shane open, savoring every gasp and moan his gorgeous boyfriend gave him. Shane opened for him beautifully, welcoming Ilya’s fingers inside. Ilya was always overwhelmed by how easily Shane gave himself to him; how much he trusted Ilya to give him exactly what he needed. Even when they had ostensibly been enemies, Shane had trusted Ilya not to hurt him.

Ilya had never been brave enough to give himself to someone in this way. Maybe that wasn’t the right way of thinking about it, but when Ilya watched Shane take his fingers, or his cock, he couldn’t help but marvel at his courage. As much as he’d heard the endless locker room insults about taking it in the ass, Ilya knew there was nothing weak about what Shane was doing right now.

“Please. Ilya.” Shane’s voice was stretched thin. Deciding that he had tortured Shane for long enough, Ilya reached again for the nightstand drawer.

Shane stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Not tonight.”

Ilya’s breath caught. They had gone without condoms a few times over the past year, but Shane was weird about mess, and usually preferred using protection.

“Are you sure?” Ilya asked.

Shane’s certainty was clear in his eyes, the same way it had been when he’d told Hayden that, yes, he did love Ilya so much. “I’m sure.”

Well, Ilya certainly wasn’t going to argue. He took his hand away from the drawer and placed it on Shane’s cheek. Shane gave him a heartbreakingly adorable grin, and then Ilya kissed the hell out of him.

Entering Shane felt perfect. It always felt perfect, but doing it like this, with nothing between them, was exhilarating. Ilya had never had sex without protection before Shane, and the thrill of it nearly did Ilya in immediately every time they tried it.

Shane’s face went slack and euphoric. “God, that’s so fucking good,” he murmured. He spread his legs wider, drew his knees in closer, begging Ilya with his body language to bury himself deeper. Ilya gripped Shane’s thighs, pushing them back astonishingly far so he could slide in as deep as possible.

Jesus. Ilya needed to buy a thank-you gift for Shane’s yoga instructor.

“Good?” Ilya asked, checking in.

“Amazing,” Shane confirmed.

Ilya smiled. He still fondly remembered the first time Shane had sucked him—had sucked anyone—back when they’d been nineteen and Shane had been terrified of his own desires. He’d been so unsure of what to do, but so determined to do it well.

The truth was that Ilya had probably been as terrified as Shane, back then. He’d just been better at hiding it.

The first time Ilya had fucked Shane had been a few months after that, and Ilya had been overly concerned with making it seem like it hadn’t been a big deal. Like being inside Shane hadn’t been a revelation. He’d left the hotel room as soon as possible after, afraid of what he may have said or done if he’d stayed even a minute longer.

He could say or do whatever he wanted now. There was no need to hide his heart now.

“I love this, Shane. I love you so much. You’re beautiful. Perfect.” He turned his head and kissed Shane’s ankle. “Perfect,” he repeated.

“I love you. Love you inside me. Fuck, it’s so good. Always so good, Ilya. Want you to come in me.”

Ilya grunted in response and sped up his thrusts, wanting to give Shane what he needed. Wanting to fill him up. Shane was stroking himself, which Ilya always enjoyed watching. His strong fingers flew over his cock as his back arched off the bed. Christ, he was spectacular.

He cried out as his release showered over his chest, his ass spasming around Ilya’s cock. “Gonna come,” Ilya warned, because holy fuck.

“Yeah,” Shane rasped. “Give it to me. Come on.”

Two more thrusts and Ilya was emptying himself into Shane. He tried to keep his gaze locked with Shane’s as pleasure ripped through him, making it impossible to speak. When his orgasm finally subsided, he pulled Shane up and kissed him, holding him close.

“Fuck,” Shane said breathlessly. “We’re really good at that.”

“The best,” Ilya agreed.

Later, after they had cleaned themselves up and were snuggled together under the blankets, Shane said, “So. Three weeks?”

“Three weeks.” Three weeks until their teams would meet for a Saturday night game. They had decided that they would hold their press conference the following morning.

A heavy silence stretched between them. How much would change for them? How much harder would it be to keep their true relationship a secret? Would it be easier to hide in plain sight as friends? Friends who spent their summers together? Who visited each other during the season, even? Who started a charity together?

Ilya supposed it didn’t matter. They were doing it, and they would deal with the consequences when they happened.

“I’m ready,” Shane said. His voice was clear and steady.

“Yes,” Ilya said softly. “Me too.”

“I saw that you were picked for the All-Star game again.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice, that you get one last one.”

Eric nodded. He could take or leave All-Star games, but he did appreciate the opportunity to play in one in his final season.

“Where is it this year?”

“Dallas.”

Holly scrunched her nose. “Could be worse.”

“Are you and Dean traveling anywhere this year?” Eric never felt even a twinge of jealousy or resentment when they talked about Holly’s new boyfriend, which was probably a definite sign that divorce was the right decision.

“We’re going to Hawaii next month.”

“Nice.” Holly had always preferred vacations that involved beaches and private pools. Eric was more interested in museums and historic landmarks. He liked to explore more than relax.

“What about you? Big travel plans for after retirement?”

Eric poked at his vegan paella. “None yet.”

“And no potential travel partners?” she asked coyly.

“No.”

“Really? Even now that you’ve widened your net?”

Eric frowned at her. “Widened my net? Seriously?”

She shrugged. “I just thought you’d be, you know, exploring men. As an option.”

Eric almost didn’t say anything, but then he blurted out, “I am.”

Holly put down her fork. “This just got interesting.”

“I’ve been with a man. That’s all I’m saying.”

“But you’re not with that man?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Let’s change the subject.”

Holly studied him a moment, then chuckled and said, “I’ll bet you were sad to miss the Oakworth’s New Year’s Eve party.”

Eric huffed. “Nope.” The Oakworth’s had been their neighbors, and their lavish New Year’s Eve parties were a society highlight.

“Well, we went and Dean didn’t like it anymore than you used to.”

“I knew I liked him.”

“Oh god. Do you know what the talk of the party was? Ed Webber showed up with his new fiancé. Guess how old she is.”

Eric didn’t like where this was going. “Young, I assume?”

“Twenty-six. Everyone was making jokes about them. Not to their faces, of course.” She leaned back in her chair and gazed into the distance. “Poor girl.”

Eric shifted in his chair. Thank god he hadn’t given her any details about Kyle. “Maybe they’re in love,” he argued weakly.

She scrunched her nose. “Ed must be nearly fifty. He’s at least forty-five.”

“Right.” Eric set his fork down, no longer hungry.

“I just can’t imagine being with someone that young, can you? I mean, what would you even talk about?”

Eric had met Kyle for lunch the previous day, and Eric had listened intently as Kyle had shared some highlights from the Assyrian art seminar class he’d just gotten out of. That had turned into a discussion about the ethics of museums and artifact preservation. Then they’d moved on to lighter topics like the most beautiful places they’d travelled to, and what their favorite books were. They had still been talking when they’d left the restaurant, so they’d walked in Riverside Park for an hour or so, talking about hockey, bartending, men, food…everything. They’d only parted because Kyle had needed to get ready for work.

“Depends, I guess,” Eric said, now. “But, no. You’re probably right. The age difference would be too much.”

“And what about in ten years? There’s a big difference between thirty-five and fifty-five.”

“Yeah,” Eric agreed quietly. “There is.”