Epilogue #2
Rozanov ignored his question, and instead swept a hand through the air and said, “So. This is you now?”
Scott wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but he nodded. “This is me. I mean, this has always been me. But now I’m…better at being me.”
Rozanov seemed to consider this. “Is good. What you did. It will be good for…others.”
There was something in Rozanov’s eyes that caught Scott’s attention. He hadn’t ever seen that look on his face before. Was it gratitude, maybe?
“I hope so,” Scott said.
Rozanov held his gaze for another second, and then looked away.
“I’m here with some of the guys,” Scott said. “From my team, I mean. You, uh, you wanna join us?”
Scott knew Rozanov was trying very hard to look like he didn’t care one way or the other, but, as Scott expected he would, he accepted the invitation.
“Hey! The star of Scott Hunter Night is back!” Carter whooped. “And what the fuck is that guy doing here?”
Rozanov smirked and gave a little wave.
“I invited him to join us,” Scott said. He shot Carter a pointed look that he hoped said drop it.
Carter did drop it, beyond a few suspicious glances at Rozanov.
They all sat and talked as well as they could over the music.
Carter ordered some fancy bottles of various things, and it wasn’t long before Scott was feeling very loose and relaxed.
Within an hour, Kip was snuggled against Scott on the couch and talking to Bennett, Gloria was perched on Carter’s lap and talking to Huff, and Matti was chatting animatedly with Rozanov.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Kip murmured in Scott’s ear. “I wanna dance with you.”
Scott nodded and stood. “We’re gonna…” he said to the group, but no one seemed to care at all that they were leaving.
Downstairs, they stood on the edge of the dance floor, the beat of the music thrumming through Scott’s body.
Kip leaned against a pillar, hands behind his arched back and his head tilted up, offering himself.
He looked so fucking sexy, peering up at Scott with those dark-ringed eyes as the colorful lights of the club played over his face.
Scott braced a hand against the pillar and leaned in, pressing Kip against it and devouring him. Knowing that they were in public. Knowing his dick was swelling in his pants, creating a bulge that anyone would be able to see. Knowing that Kip was getting hard too.
“Can’t control myself when you look like that,” Scott breathed into Kip’s ear.
“Come dance with me,” Kip murmured back. Scott kissed him under his smooth jaw, and Kip shuddered. Kip had shaved tonight, and the smooth skin added to the soft innocence of his look. Feminine, almost, except for his gravelly, Brooklyn drawl, and for the hardness that pressed into Scott’s hip.
The music was loud, pulsing, and relentless. The massive dance floor was packed with men, many of whom were probably attractive. But Scott wasn’t looking anywhere but at the man who was leading him by their joined hands.
He was terrified and excited, mentally preparing like he was about to play a game, shutting everything around him out. Focusing on the goal.
Kip found their spot in the sea of bodies, and turned to face him. It was so crowded that they were pressed together, and Kip wrapped his arms around Scott’s neck and smiled at him. Scott smiled back and placed his hands on his waist, then awkwardly tried to match Kip’s slow movements.
It didn’t take long. After a minute, Scott was lost in the way Kip rolled his body, the way his fingers found their way into Scott’s hair, and the intense heat in his eyes. Scott moved with him, and it was easy. He let go of his nerves and just allowed himself to feel his way.
Scott had never been high in his life, but he imagined it had to feel something like this.
The onslaught on his senses of swirling lights and pounding bass, the sweltering heat of the club, and the strong scent of sweat and dry ice filling his head.
The dulling effect of the alcohol, smudging his thoughts and giving him a feeling of relaxed euphoria.
The rush of arousal coursing through every part of him. The thrill of possibility.
Kip must have seen it all in Scott’s face, because he stopped moving and leaned in to brush his lips over Scott’s ear. “Where are you?”
Scott swallowed and turned his head to reply. “I’m right here.”
Kip tilted his head back and Scott pressed hot, open kisses under his jaw. He put a possessive hand on Kip’s ass and pulled them flush together. He could feel Kip’s heart race against his chest, and in the pulse point under his tongue.
He felt Kip’s hands slide up under his T-shirt. He knew his skin was damp with sweat underneath. Kip leaned in and kissed him. Were they even dancing anymore, or just making out in a middle of a bunch of people? Scott didn’t care.
It was madness. They were in public, safe space or not, and Scott felt completely out of control. He needed to get out of here, or make peace with the fact that he was going to fuck Kip against a wall in front of god and Ilya Rozanov.
Kip stepped back and laughed. “Easy, sweetheart. There’ll be time for that later.”
At least that’s what Scott thought he said. It was hard to hear between the music and the molten need that was throbbing through him.
He glanced up at their VIP booth, and saw Carter, Bennett, and Huff leaning over the railing, grinning at him. That cooled him off. Kip turned and gestured for them to come join them. Minutes later, their booth was empty and they were all on the dance floor together.
Carter danced with Gloria very closely, and Scott smiled to himself at how obvious it was that he wanted everyone to be clear he was there with a woman.
It didn’t matter. Carter was there, and Scott appreciated it.
Eric just danced by himself, oblivious to the guys who were trying to engage him, and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
Huff was moving a little awkwardly, and it looked like he was edging slowly off the dance floor.
Matti, on the other hand, was gamely dancing with anyone who approached him.
Scott was pretty sure he was straight, but he was definitely a good sport.
And Scott didn’t have much experience at clubs, but the way Rozanov moved against the men he danced with seemed a lot more deliberate and practiced than someone who was just trying to get into the spirit of the place.
Huh.
It was maybe unimpressive in size, this little resistance group of hockey players who had chosen to join Scott tonight, but it felt like a revolution.
A year ago—hell, a month ago—Scott would never have imagined this scenario.
Out at a gay club with his best friends—his teammates—and his boyfriend and, uh, Ilya Rozanov.
Dancing. Laughing. Celebrating his sexuality instead of hiding it. It was surreal and wonderful.
Kip tilted his chin up, and Scott kissed him because he loved him, and he loved being here with him, and there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.
“You’re happy,” Kip observed.
Scott leaned their foreheads together. “I feel invincible right now.”
“Me too. Let’s change the fucking world.”
Scott kissed him, hard, because Kip had described exactly how he felt.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that.”