Prologue #2
Shane hated this, but he had taken great pains to protect it, and he would continue doing so as long as Rozanov was willing.
Their lives being what they were, this was not an easy thing to get.
Maybe, when they had started seven years ago, they hadn’t expected their lives, their famous rivalry, to get to the point it was at now.
Maybe they should have stopped by now. But, despite the wrongness of it, this was comfortable.
This was familiar. And it was as close to safe as either of them were going to get.
That’s all it was.
Rozanov worked his talented mouth on Shane’s cock, and Shane tossed the lube down the bed from the well-stocked nightstand. Rozanov took it without pausing what he was doing, and poured some on his fingers so he could get to work opening Shane up.
This was never Shane’s favorite part because he felt so fucking vulnerable. He felt weak and ridiculous every time they were together like this, but he always felt it most acutely when Rozanov had his fingers inside him. As a result, the preparation usually took a while.
Rozanov, on the other hand, always seemed completely at ease. He was good at this, and he knew it. He slid his mouth off of Shane’s cock with a parting lick to the head that sent a jolt straight through Shane’s body, and said, “Relax, yeah? Is not much time, but enough.”
Shane took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He hated that voice so much on the ice, and in the interviews he saw on television where Rozanov mocked him in an obnoxious, teasing tone.
But here, in this bed, Rozanov’s tone was patient and gentle, his voice soft and his accent wrapping elegantly around boxy English words.
Shane relaxed as Rozanov opened him with strong fingers and pressed openmouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs.
When he was ready, Shane wordlessly handed Rozanov a condom before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees.
He couldn’t look at Rozanov. Not tonight. Not after that humiliating loss.
Rozanov seemed to understand. He entered him carefully, not taking him roughly like he had many times in the past. This was slow and considerate. Shane felt big hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as Rozanov pushed inside. He even felt Rozanov’s thumbs brush gently over his lower back.
“There. This is what you wanted, yes?”
“Yes.” Because it was. It was what he always wanted.
Rozanov started to move and Shane cried out. It never took long for him to just give in and start moaning and gasping and asking for more.
“Fuck, Hollander. You love it.”
Shane responded by turning, he was sure, beet red. But he couldn’t deny it.
If Shane hadn’t known the building was empty besides the two of them, he would have been worried about how loud he was being as Rozanov fucked him. But he felt safe here, so he let himself go. He cried out with every thrust and maybe said Rozanov’s name a bunch of times.
Shane really hoped no one could hear them.
When Rozanov reached around to take Shane’s cock in his slick hand, Shane became desperate for release and started bucking back against him. This was the point where he was always reminded why he couldn’t give this up. It was too good.
“You gonna come for me, Hollander?”
Hollander was going to. And he did. He punched the mattress and swore loudly and coated Rozanov’s fist with his release.
Rozanov picked up speed behind him, sending aftershocks rocketing through Shane’s body with each thrust. Just as it was becoming too much for Shane, Rozanov stilled and cried out and pulsed inside him.
Afterward, they lay on their backs next to each other, and Shane felt the familiar aftermath of guilt and shame creep in.
“Well, you won at something tonight,” Rozanov mused.
“God. Fuck off.” Shane lifted his arm to flip him off, but Rozanov grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so Shane was on top of his chest, looking down at him. Rozanov’s playful smirk faded as he held Shane’s gaze, and Shane felt suddenly breathless.
“Still have that stupid tattoo, I see,” Shane said quickly, to distract himself from whatever the fuck was happening.
“Aw,” Rozanov said, the obnoxious little grin returning to his face. “He missed you.”
Shane snorted.
“He did,” Rozanov insisted. “Give him a kiss.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but he did dip his head to Rozanov’s chest. Instead of pressing his lips to the tattoo, though, he trapped Rozanov’s nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged.
“Fuck,” Rozanov said, sucking air between his teeth.
As an apology, and also because Shane knew it would work him up even more, he brushed his tongue over the sensitive nipple.
Rozanov put a hand in Shane’s hair and guided their mouths back together.
After a long, oddly tender kiss, Shane lifted his head and saw that Rozanov was, again, looking at him very seriously.
He swallowed, but didn’t say anything as Rozanov brushed fingers through his hair.
He hoped the fear he felt wasn’t showing on his face.
“You are very beautiful,” Rozanov said suddenly. It was said very matter-of-factly.
Shane wasn’t sure how to react. They didn’t really say things to each other. Not like that.
“Hottest Man in the NHL, according to Cosmopolitan,” Shane joked. It was the only way he knew how to talk to Rozanov, besides yelling obscenities at him.
“They are idiots,” Rozanov said, the spell broken. “They put me at number five. Five!”
“It does seem generous.”
Rozanov rolled over, pinning Shane to the mattress. Shane looked up at him, laughing.
“I have to go,” Rozanov said, and he sounded like he truly regretted it. “Shower first, but then I have to get back to the hotel.”
“I know.”
They showered together, and Shane dropped to his knees because he couldn’t let Rozanov go without tasting him.
Rozanov murmured his approval as he loomed over Shane in the spacious rainfall shower.
His strong hands cradled Shane’s head and long fingers curled in his wet hair.
Shane turned his eyes up and found Rozanov gazing down at him with that damn crooked smile.
Shane immediately closed his eyes and felt his cheeks flush and, to his embarrassment, his own cock get harder.
It was bad enough that he loved being fucked so much, that he loved having a dick in his mouth. But for it to have to be this son of a bitch, to the point that on the extremely rare occasion when it wasn’t, Shane was left wanting...
So maybe it wasn’t just that this was convenient. But that was something Shane didn’t want to think about.
He brought Rozanov right to the brink and then pulled off, catching the man’s release on his chin and lips and probably on his neck.
The evidence was quickly washed away, down the drain, and Shane fell back to a sitting position against the shower wall.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled his knees in. He heard Rozanov panting in Russian.
“Shit,” Rozanov said, still standing with his head leaning back against the tile opposite where Shane was sitting. “You been practicing that, Hollander?”
“No,” Shane grumbled.
“No? You been saving it for me?”
Shane didn’t reply, which was as good as confirmation.
Rozanov laughed. “You need to get laid, Hollander. Waiting for a quick fuck every couple of months is not healthy.”
“I’m not waiting,” Shane said. It wasn’t quite a lie. He obviously wasn’t one hundred percent straight, but having sex with women didn’t repulse him. It just didn’t do it for him like men did.
One man in particular.
But women were safe and easy and everywhere. And maybe if he kept trying he might find one he’d like to spend more than a single night with. Someone who could finally put an end to...whatever this was.
Rozanov turned off the water and reached a hand out. Shane huffed, then took it, letting Rozanov pull him to his feet. They stood, chest to chest, and Shane watched the water that dripped from Rozanov’s hair onto his shoulder and down toward his navel.
Rozanov rested a hand on Shane’s face and tipped his head up. He looked at him fondly, with a little smile on his lips, and then he kissed him.
“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“Fuck off.”
“Such a mouth on you.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I preferred it when it was on me.”
“Dammit, Rozanov.” Shane pushed the other man back against the shower wall and kissed him aggressively. It was always like this. Shoving and cursing each other and battling for control until one or both of them gave in and allowed themselves the release they both craved.
“I do have to go,” Rozanov said, but even as he said it he was scraping his teeth along Shane’s jaw.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? I don’t care. I think we’re done here anyway, aren’t we?”
Rozanov stopped kissing him and looked at him, considering. “I suppose we are.”
They left the shower and got dressed quickly. Shane stripped the comforter from the bed and loaded it into the washing machine. He would make sure the place was left as spotless as he had found it.
“Three weeks, then,” Rozanov said as he stood at the door, ready to leave.
“Yup.”
Rozanov nodded, and Shane thought that was going to be it, but then the other man grinned and said, “Was it me tonight?”
“Was what you?”
“Distracting you. On the ice tonight.”
It took Shane a moment to realize what he was suggesting.
“Fuck. You.”
Rozanov’s smile spread. “Couldn’t play at all, thinking about my dick, right?”
“Good night, Rozanov.”
Rozanov blew him a kiss on his way out the door, leaving Shane furious and strangely relieved. It was good to be reminded of the fact that they didn’t actually like each other.
Shane pulled another beer out of the fridge and sat on the sofa to wait for the comforter to be clean. It was late and he was exhausted, but he wouldn’t sleep here. He should really talk to a Realtor about selling this building.
He would sell the building, and he would stay in his goddamn hotel room when they played in Boston and not slip out into the night to Rozanov’s penthouse. He would end this, and he would move on.
He realized, as he was making this plan, that he was brushing his fingertips over his lips. They still tingled from the memory of the other man’s mouth pressed against them.
He knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Shane would never be able to say no.