Chapter Text
Ilya
“Brother, something happened after All Stars week, and I need to tell someone…”
Ilya blinked a couple times in confusion and pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time. It was late afternoon on an evening game day. He'd answered it half-asleep from a nap, expecting it to be Shane.
“Marley, are you okay?” he croaked out.
He had known Cliff Marlow for many years now, long enough that Ilya considered him a friend, but Cliff had never opened a conversation with something so serious. Yes, they both loved women and shared plenty about their conquests while Ilya played in Boston, and yes, Ilya had witnessed some rather dramatic breakups between Cliff and his many girlfriends, but he never sounded like this. God, he hoped this wasn't someone else hoping for help from his non-existent mafia connections…
“Rozzy, you’re the most, like, I don’t know… open-minded? Yeah, open-minded dude I know,” Cliff began.
Ilya was momentarily offended before he remembered that open-minded was not the same as empty-headed. English was stupid. “Marley…”
“What? It's true. I…” he sounded stricken. “...did you ever, you know, go there, with someone who wasn't a girl?”
Ilya’s stomach dropped. Had they been found out? Had Cliff heard Shane's moans through the door at All-Stars? But why would Cliff sound so panicked? Ilya knew better than to jump to conclusions or give anything away. This was too much English riddles. Unless…
“Marley, did you have sex with a man?” Ilya asked bluntly.
Silence followed for a moment before Cliff cleared his throat. “Uh. Damn. I didn’t intend to have sex with a man, but…”
“So you, what? Fall onto dick? Right into your asshole?”
“No!” Cliff spluttered, “not like that.”
“Then explain.”
What followed tested Ilya’s limits as he strained to make sense of what Cliff was trying to tell him, the hidden meanings of English challenging his internal translation.
Something about a petite woman with pink hair and small breasts giving off freaky goth girl vibes. The party was dark with poor lighting and really loud. Her entire outfit was incredibly feminine, with high waisted black denim jeans and a cropped top that showed off an adorable pierced belly button. Her skin was smooth and pale. Cliff took her back to his house as soon as he could get her out of the party. Oh, she had a mouth on her, too; the whole ride home she talked about how good Cliff’s cock was going to feel in her. So much so that he had to hide his boner as he walked to the door.
In the light of his bedroom, Cliff soon realized that his petite, freaky, goth girl was actually… a petite, freaky, femme goth boy.
“So, what did you do?” Ilya asked with baited breath, ignoring his half-chubbed up cock. The guy sounded hot, but this situation was delicate.
“Well… I didn’t want to freak him out, and I also was far too proud to admit my mistake.”
Ilya breathed out and was silently relieved that the femme boy had gone home with Marley and not one of the other brutes from the MLH.
“So…uh…I figured a hole was a hole,” Cliff stammered out.
Ilya cackled, his face stuck on a wide grin. “Marley, you dog.”
“Jesus, Roz, I've been going nuts over here with no one to talk to about this.”
“Is okay. You need to get this off your chest. I am, like you say, open-minded. Like therapist. So…”
“He was wearing a goddamn cock cage, so I didn’t even have to think about that, uh… no gag reflex, took me all in, and then rode me like a mechanical bull,” Cliff said sheepishly, though he sounded a little awed. “I mean, s’not like I never took a girl up the back lane before, but Jesus.”
Ilya thought pensively and channeled his inner Galina. “So… what did you learn from this experience?”
“Well,” Marley began before pausing. “A couple things. Cock cages confuse me. Uh, and I guess I need to reconsider the power of the prostate.”
“Oh?” Ilya was getting to know his better thanks to Shane’s patient exploration. “You made him come?”
“I mean, yeah. It’s like the guaranteed g spot for dudes, I guess? I didn't even know you could shoot with your junk all locked up like that.” Marley continues, “but it's not just that…”
“Hmm?”
“I guess I’d had a lot to drink and he was done bouncing or whatever.”
Marlow clearly was going to drag this out. “So you did not get off? Is okay. You tried something–”
“No, I mean, fuck you Rozanov, I'm trying to say the guy said he could get me there if I trusted him so…” Cliff trailed off.
“Marley, did he put finger in your asshole?” Ilya could practically feel the blush emanating from Cliff through the phone.
“Maybe…”
Ilya felt weirdly elated. “And you liked this.”
“Honest to God, Ilya, I came like a fucking train.”
Ilya erupted into giggles. “Yes! You are a man now Marley! Congratulations!”
There was stunned silence from the other end of the phone. Ilya wondered if he’d got carried away until–
“Fuck. So, you don't think that's weird? I'm a straight dude, Roz.”
Ilya shrugged even though he couldn't be seen. “People get upset about these words. Weird or normal. Gay, straight. Bisexual. But pleasure is pleasure. Everyone deserves release. And if God doesn't want you to touch it, why did he put a fun button up there?”
“So have you–”
“I have had a lot of sex, Marley.” Ilya replied hurriedly. “This thing you have done is not so uncommon I think, just not something people always talk about,” he replied vaguely. “And you liked it. So now you know more about yourself. Can make choices.”
“Gotcha. Thank God.” He laughed. “I knew the former Don Juan of Boston would have my back. You gotta come out with me next time we play.”
“Yes!” Ilya said cheerfully. It would be good to see his old friend. “So we are looking for gay bars for you now?”
“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov!”
“Oh you didn't like it? You didn't come like train?”
He could hear Cliff wheezing with laughter down the phone, and it made Ilya laugh, too. Fuck, it was good to laugh.
“Never say never, but I want it like the old days. You and me, two beautiful chicks on our arms, about to take them to heaven.”
Ilya coughed. “Well, yes. Those were good days. But,” he stalled, “my playboy days are over. I have a partner now.” It was a little reckless, but by the summer it would all be out. At least he hoped so.
“No way. I don't believe it. Details, bud. I need details.”
Ilya thought through the details he could share. “Very beautiful. From Ottawa,” he continued, banking on the ambiguity of ‘from Ottawa’ being misconstrued. “I am engaged.”
“Oh shit! Congrats man! I'm shocked! This is fast!”
“No, we have known each other a long time. But my fiancé is very private person. We are very happy, but we want to avoid press, so please don't say anything.” Fiancé was a good word; unless it was written down it sounded gender neutral.
“Aw, Roz! I won't say a thing to anyone. You sound happy, dude that's awesome!”
“It is.”
“You're making me feel very single right now. Well, brother, I'd love to meet her.”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, we are busy but… I am sure you will see my fiancé soon.” Very sure in fact. Montreal was playing Boston tonight.
“Okay. Look man, damn, I appreciate it. This is a load off. And, this conversation stays between us. Steel vault both ways, yeah?”
“Agreed. And we will go out together soon.”
“You know it! Gotta bounce, gotta go kick Shane Hollander’s ass.”
Ilya laughed, though he was a little jealous. He hadn’t seen Shane for three days. “Tell him I miss him.”
“You're a grade A piece of shit, Rozanov. Never change.”
Ilya’s phone call with Marlow fired him up in ways he didn’t anticipate. After his near-death airplane experience and Shane’s romantic proposal, he had been riding an amorous high-on-life sort of attitude, but now… he just loved love. And he wanted his friends to be happy! Ilya had been reading different books lately to help improve his English, including an anthology of various myths. One of his favorites was Cupid, depicted as a mildly mischievous, minor god that fostered desire, and Ilya fancied himself similarly — chaotic, bisexual, and with an eye for when people wanted to fuck.
It didn’t help that he knew now that under the right circumstances, Cliff would do freaky things with guys. If anything, that gave him even more ammunition to steal Cupid’s thunder. Sadly, Ilya would miss Valentine’s Day with Shane, as they had a string of away games on the east coast, while Shane was in Montreal. He had a special delivery planned for that day and a “make-up” Valentine’s Day planned for when he got back. Fortunately, that road trip meant they would be in Boston instead, and so Ilya made plans to take his most single and hapless teammate and Cliff out for some fun that evening.
Surely at the right club, he could find safe, willing partners for both Luca and Cliff?
Luca
Luca couldn’t quite understand the urgency with which Ilya Rozanov had coaxed him out of their hotel in Boston after the game, but he stopped trying to make sense of his captain’s whims months ago. It was bad enough trying to get to grips with some of the odder cultural mores of Canadians and Americans, but the complexities and idiosyncrasies of Ilya Rozanov? Nein.
The idea of clubbing after a brutal game of hockey sounded unappealing to Luca, let alone clubbing with the intention to hook up. Growing up in Switzerland’s 44th largest city while commuting to Zurich to play hockey had instilled him with industrious values and a degree of seriousness often unheard of in North American hockey culture, save perhaps for the notoriously boring Shane Hollander. But Luca had adapted, learning to enjoy the camaraderie of a beer (or five) at a hotel lobby, sports bar or house party. It was part of the culture. But a nightclub? If anything, he desperately needed to rest his sore muscles before they took off tomorrow morning for another game. But Ilya had worked his usual charm, a magnetism that Luca looked up to, and laid out both an emotional and logical appeal to Luca.
He was worried that Luca was too lonely, too isolated, he said. Luca needed to branch out, to engage in “a traditional American Valentine’s Day” celebration. What loud music and sweaty dancers had to do with the martyrdom of a saint, Luca wasn't sure. But it was rare enough for Ilya to offer such special attention that he daren't refuse. Ilya Rozanov clearly noticed things about him, enough to know that Luca’s nerdier cultural anthropological side would cave to such persuasion, and he wouldn't mind the chance to find someone to at least kiss.
Standing outside The Grand Boston, his ears were already thrumming from the music just inside. There was a queue of fashionably dressed patrons, and an expensive-looking floral arch of roses and giant fibreglass hearts decorating the entrance way. It was probably someone’s idea of tasteful kitsch.
As he gave his name to the VIP usher, he glanced about him to see a stylish young queer couple with their hands in each other’s back pockets. The taller of the two men caught his eye and winked before kissing his partner on the mouth. It was so passionate, Luca found himself blushing. Still, it suggested the venue was at least LGBT-friendly. Luca cringed at the memory of a beer-muddled conversation with Ilya in which he'd shared a little too much about his sex life. Or more specifically, lack thereof. And now he was about to walk into a fairly pretentious club in the Seaport District to be wingmanned by his childhood idol. On the plus side, he was pretty sure Ilya had understood that he was gay, and it seemed it wasn't inconceivable he might find someone interested in him inside.
He wasn’t quite sure he would survive the night, given Ilya’s legendary flirting abilities. Ilya had left the hotel earlier than Luca, claiming he had to “meet someone” before their evening out. Luca rationalized that Ilya himself was getting laid, perhaps to minimize the chance of ruining his wingman role. That would make some sense at least; for such a reputed ladies man, Haas had never seen him do more than dance playfully with a woman, so perhaps he preferred to be discreet.
So it was somewhat unexpected that when he was shown through to the VIP area he found Ilya reclining casually in a booth with Boston Raiders’s Cliff Marlow.
“Haasy,” Ilya shouted over the music, waving him over to the booth, both he and Marlow standing to greet him.
Under the flashing lights of the club, Luca made some critical observations about Cliff Marlow that he was unable to easily do on the ice. For one, the sheer masculine ruggedness of Marlow’s jaw alone probably attuned many women to him. It didn’t help that he was also even taller than Ilya, coming in around 6’5”, dwarfing Luca’s 5’11”. Rich, dark brown hair and eyes, along with a nearly permanent five o’clock shadow brought a sort of sophisticated handsomeness that made Luca’s boyish looks pale in comparison. Luca didn't know if he was single or not, though he had to assume Marlow was straight. But if the idea had been to find Luca someone to take home tonight, he felt Rozanov’s plan was doomed to fail. Marlow was a neutron star, attracting all admiring glances from the crowd toward like inescapable gravity.
In fact, Luca would swear he felt the time dilation as the world seemed to pass into slow-motion as he was drawn into the Raider’s orbit. Was he imagining Marlow’s eyes raking over him? Surely that appraising glance was another reality distortion.
Time caught up with itself. “Hi,” Luca said, awkwardly.
“You made it!” Ilya said gleefully. “Marlow, Haas, Haas, Marlow. We are all friends now. Good.”
Luca wasn't sure about that. “Nice to meet you,” he said politely, holding out his hand. Nevermind that the man’s teammates had slammed him into the boards multiple times not two hours earlier. The other man shook it firmly, making confident eye-contact. Luca took in a breath, the guy was hot.
“You want a beer, Haas?” Marlow said cheerfully, standing up. “I'm going to the bar.”
Haas agreed that yes, he would have a beer, please, and smiled as graciously as he could muster as Marlow walked away. He immediately turned to Rozanov.
“Captain, I didn't realise you were bringing your friend,” he said helplessly. He had no idea how to broach this subject.
Ilya slung an arm around him. “Ah, I understand. I am sorry. I did not know if Marley would be free tonight, so I did not mention it. But, you followed Boston for years. If I say he's coming and he doesn't show up, then you are disappointed fanboy. This way is a good surprise. This is teenage Haas' wet dream, yes?”
Haas was momentarily speechless.
Rozanov winked.
“I … damn you, Rozanov.” Luca shoved Ilya playfully, although maybe a little harder than was reasonable. “For the record I followed you, not the Raiders – oh, mein gott.” He scrubbed his hands over his face as Ilya snorted.
He took a deep breath. “You said you hoped I’d meet someone but… maybe Marlow isn't someone it would be a good idea for me to go looking around?”
Ilya frowned, and Luca recognised that the meaning was getting lost in translation. “Won't it be a problem if I meet someone I like, and Marlow sees? Someone… my type?” A man, because I'm gay, thought Luca. Why couldn't he just say it? He'd said it a bunch of times in Switzerland.
Ilya shook his head. “Do not worry about Marley. He is a dumb fuck but a good man. Treats women well. No slurs about people. Calls his mom before games. He will not judge you. He thinks Scott Hunter is brave. Old, like fossil, but brave.”
Luca laughed, half with relief and half at Ilya’s ridiculous way with English. Ilya looked serious for a moment. “I would not put you in danger, младший брат.”
Luca wasn't familiar with Russian, and wondered what Ilya had said. Certainly, his expression was sincere and somewhat intense. It was a little unnerving. Luca only had a moment to ponder the meaning of all this before Marlow reappeared.
“Fellas, quit man-spreading and make some room!” Marlow called out, carrying a tray of beer and an expensive bottle of vodka. Ilya and Luca separated and Marlow sat down next to Luca.
“Almost didn't recognise you without the helmet on,” he said, looking over Luca’s body again. Luca was dressed as well as he knew how, and had been reasonably satisfied with his outfit choice of a powdery blue, long-sleeved polo that perfectly framed his pectoral muscles and his first pair of dark-washed, custom selvedge denim that had earned him several wolf whistles on the street from rowdy, drunken women.
“Looking sharp there, rookie,” said Marlow.
Luca felt himself flush, and made the mistake of making direct eye contact. Marlow’s eyes held a small, but obvious glint in them. Was Ilya noticing any of this? Was Luca overthinking whatever look Marlow had just given him?
Judging by the way Ilya launched into a veritable one-man show of anecdotes about their Boston glory days, he hadn't picked up the energy Marlow was giving off. Such was the banter between the two former team mates, Luca found it incredibly difficult to get a word in, so contented himself to listen in quiet awe. Mortifyingly, Rozanov was right – this was the stuff of his adolescent fantasies. Although if that were truly the case the evening would end with the men forming a Luca sandwich, which, he thought sadly seemed unlikely.
Marlow really was handsome. Despite the DJ’s efforts to drown out all conversation with thumping bass, Luca found Marlow’s incredibly deep voice rose above the din to find his ear drum. He was incredibly animated with his hands, allowing Luca to take in the sheer size and thickness of his fingers and palm. Entranced, Luca found his eyes tracking each gesticulation. He was so focused, it was only when a meaty palm landed on Luca’s thigh did he notice that Ilya had left the booth.
“Haas, you doing okay there, bud? Didn’t take someone’s party favors, did you?”
Luca blinked furiously. “Party favors?”
“Drugs, Haas.” Marlow chuckled. “You look a little–” he waved a hand over his face “–spacey.”
“No, absolutely not,” Luca replied, his face immediately starting to flush. “Perhaps I am a little tired. Sorry, clubs… they are not my favorite place to be.”
“Hah, let me guess, Roz made you an offer you couldn't refuse.”
“Something like that.”
Luca nervously swirled the bottle of beer in his hand, only realizing shortly thereafter that nearly all of it was gone, an unusual occurrence for him. Not that it did anything to calm his nerves, the American pisswater. If he was to endure this evening, he would probably need a more potent elixir of liquid luck.
“Is that Russian?” he pointed at the ornately shaped vodka bottle Marlow had brought to the table.
“Nah,” Marlow replied. “Still good, but not quite up to Roz’s standards.”
Luca motioned for Marlow to pour him a glass, but as Marlow reached for the bottle, he hesitated. Something stilled in those dark brown eyes, a briefly detectable modicum of concern. Everything Luca had heard from Ilya about Marlow, his party guy tendencies and penchant to overindulge, felt contrary to how he was acting right now.
“I'm not sure I should give this to you,” with a thoughtful expression.
Luca stuck out his chin. “I'm over twenty-one. That is the law here,” he said defiantly.
Marlow chuckled. “Sure thing, champ, I just mean, you drank that a little quickly. Don't want to get blasted too soon on vodka shooters.” He fixed his eyes on Luca. “I want us to have a good night.”
“Oh. Right.” That actually made sense. Marlow was being thoughtful. “Can I have another beer, please?” he asked, his insides squirming. “I’ll drink it slowly.”
Oh God. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say “I’ll be good.” Cliff Marlow, much to Luca’s dismay, unwittingly tapped into his handsome older-than-me-but-not-by-too-much caring man kink. Oh, who was Luca fooling? It was a daddy kink. And for whatever goddamn reason, Luca’s brain had equated the watchful concern of an attractive older man who was not his teammate as a reason to immediately fixate on Marlow as a potential sex partner. An incredibly unobtainable sex partner.
“Well, alright then,” Marlow replied, handing it over. “See that you do. He winked as their hands touched, clearly amused.
They both took a really deep swig of their beers, Luca’s eyes immediately fixating on Marlow’s strong lips on the bottle, only to find that when he looked up, Marlow’s eyes didn’t fall far from Luca’s lips, either.
“So, clubbing isn't really your scene?” Marlow asked, leaning back. He stretched his arm above his head to scratch his neck, revealing a thick thatch of armpit hair and accentuating the muscles of his arm.
Luca sat up a little straighter. “I'm afraid not. Although, I am enjoying your company,” he said awkwardly.
Another of those slow smiles. Marlow examined him critically for a moment before tilting his head. “Rozzy said you were a soft boy under all of that fierce play and hockey padding.”
“What the hell, Marlow?” Luca spluttered out.
“Relax,” Marlow said, holding his hands up. “He meant it as a compliment, I think.”
Luca’s face must have only deepened in color, as Marlow tried to pull back some of the awkwardness from that comment. “You can call me Marley, by the way. If you want.”
Damn. He needed to respond in kind, but Haasy was a terrible nickname, but no one has yet come up with anything better.
“Thank you. And you can call me Luca.”
A slow grin appeared across Marlow’s face. “Damn, your first name already? You flirting with me, kid?”
Luca’s heart damn near stopped. “I–” he began, but Marlow patted his thigh.
“I'm just fucking with you. Luca.”
This must be what purgatory feels like, thought Luca. The weight of Marlow’s hand on his leg lifted, which was just as well, given that Luca’s dick was definitely starting to take an interest in the proximity.
This was Luca’s personal hell at this point — flummoxed by the definitely awkward, possibly flirty conversation in an environment he found particularly uncomfortable and on a downward internal spiral about being unable to recover. Marlow, on the other hand, seemed hell-bent on salvaging the situation.
“So, where would you rather be then?”
That caught Luca’s attention. The honest answer was between your thighs with my legs in the air. Not that he'd ever said that. Not that he'd ever really done that. He couldn't figure Marley out. Was it genuine interest, or just another smooth operation to keep small talk flowing until Ilya returned?
“I like to draw, so I’d rather be in bed, sketching, or trying to improve my digital art,” Luca admitted sheepishly.
It was genuine, apparently, as Marlow’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? That’s different. You got any samples of your work?”
Luca took out his phone and scrolled through his photo stream. In another world, he’d have his art organized into folders to show people this, but his brain struggled with an optimal organization scheme. His art was all so different, it felt wrong to place it in just one folder. Marlow appropriately oohed and ahhed at different drawings, even some of the more basic sketches he had done. Unfortunately, he swiped a bit farther back than he had hoped and landed on a charcoal of a nude model he had done at a class over the summer.
“Oh, now what’s this?” Marlow grabbed at the phone, his reflexes beating out Luca’s own.
Luca could feel his neck and face heating up as he spluttered out, “I took a drawing class, over the summer.”
“Uh huh. And they somehow magically procured this guy, all jacked and caked up?” Marlow teased.
“We don’t know the models ahead of time,” Luca whined, his eyes widening nervously as Marlow scrolled through some more sketches. Oh god, that was from the time Luca had —
“Oh? Now here’s the goods,” Marlow smirked, his eyes sparkling with delight as he turned Luca’s phone around to show…
A slutty mirror photo Luca had taken during one of his brief experiences using Grindr. Oh, would he just combust and the Earth open up and swallow his ashy remains, whole? How would he live this down? His skin practically itched as Marlow flipped the phone back over, assessing the photo critically, his mouth curling up into a smile.
“Not bad, rook. Tasteful, excellent towel placement, and with an excellent ratio of foggy-mirror to unfogged-mirror. Solid 8/10.”
Luca made a quick grabbing motion and snatched the phone back, pulling it into his chest. “Sorry, I should have deleted that… tried to be slutty last year, turns out I’m just as bad at that as I am clubbing.”
“That’s slutty?” Marlow asked curiously. “Should show you my phone. I think I’ve taken more dick pics in the past ten years than most men, not nearly as artistic as your photos…”
Luca froze at that, not even remotely sure how to respond to such a comment in a reasonable, non-sexual way. Luckily, his miserable embarrassment was saved by Ilya’s return to the table.
“Gentlemen, tonight, I have a mission for you,” he said, clapping his hands together decisively. Ilya was an odd captain. Nice, welcoming, worryingly perceptive. But he usually deferred his pep talks to Bood. Tonight though, Luca recognised the tone as the wind up to one of the rare occasions he wanted to personally rally his troops.
“I brought you here tonight because I love you. You are both sad single fuckers. We are here tonight to find you eternal love!”
Marlow snorted. “Fuck off, Rozanov!”
“Or maybe just love for tonight! And we will not find anyone sitting on our asses. So we will go downstairs to the dance floor and show off those bodies you work so hard on and teeth you paid so much for.”
Luca ran his tongue nervously over his teeth. His parents had indeed paid a lot in orthodontics to straighten his smile, and he had yet to get any teeth knocked out. It was a worrying thought. But also, Ilya had just confirmed that Marley was single. Luca’s imagination was suddenly full of possibilities. Sexy, sexy possibilities.
Filing out of the VIP section onto the dance floor heightened Luca’s anxiety and insecurity, despite the beers loosening him up. Strange women in his space did little to comfort him and, if anything, made him worry incessantly. He was an awkward dancer, especially because he was the one who’d rather dance up on someone, not be the one danced upon. Leading women on was also the last thing he wanted to do and despite being out to his team captain, he wasn’t going to tell random women in the club that he was gay. And so he swayed his hips and bounced up and down, swerving around women that approached him for a few minutes.
The music changed – the DJ doing something complicated and unknowable to blend together two seemingly irreconcilable tracks. The crowd whooped and hollared, and the number of dancers swelled as people took to the floor, arms and glasses raised to the ceiling. The queer couple from earlier caught his attention as they swayed together, their hips grinding. Luca didn't so much dance as let the music take over, hypnotised by the layered synthy beats and heavily digitally altered voice, swept away in a press of moving bodies, sweat and sickly sweet perfume.
Until suddenly… cologne. A bulky, hard body behind him. Luca didn’t need to turn around and look at who he was backed up against; there could not be that many people in the club that were tall enough and possessed the body of a hockey player. Not to mention the ratio of men to women in this club was strangely lopsided toward women. The sultry, sexually charged lyrics from the male vocalist set something alight. Gently, he leaned his head back against Marlow, shivers of arousal coursing through him. No hands pushed Luca away, nor did a voice chide him and tell him to find another post to grind up on. And so Luca did it. He pushed back and moved his hips up against the man, hearing a breathy “fuck” that sounded exactly like Marlow’s voice. Luca leaned back further, only for too large hands to clamp down on the side of his waist.
A husky voice said, “Bad rookie,” right into his ear, immediately causing Luca’s cock to thicken.
Instinctively, he grabbed one of Marlow’s hands and dragged it around his hip, so Marlow’s fingers were grazing the tip of his swelling cockhead, all while continuing to grind against the man. Marlow gasped in response, and while Luca didn’t keep Marlow’s hand there very long, pushing it back to his waist, it had the intended effect. Within a minute, a rock hard mound pressed against Luca’s ass, practically begging for entry. Luca would tear a hole in his custom jeans and take him right there if it wouldn’t cause a scene and wasn’t against the law.
Damn, that alcohol was really hitting.
“We better cool off for a second,” Marlow said into his ear, pulling his hips back and away, taking Luca’s hand. He was tugging Luca toward the VIP booth. Luca went willingly, without hesitation.
Upon their arrival, Marlow immediately poured himself a glass of vodka on the rocks. “Can I ask you a question, Haas?”
“Of course,” he replied, acutely aware of the next few moments being critical.
“Are you–” he looked around him. “Are you queer?”
Luca looked at him with wide eyes. “Queer?” They'd just been getting hot and heavy on the dancefloor, but now he was asking?
“Ah nuts, is that like an f word thing? You can say it but other people can't? Goddamn mandatory sensitivity training didn't prepare me for this shit.”
Luca let out an involuntary laugh. “No, I think queer is fine to say. Unless you mean it as a slur,” he replied carefully.
“Cool. And fuck no. I’m not a homophobe. So uh, kinda didn't answer my question there, buddy.”
“You first.” Luca said, shocking himself with his brazenness. “Are you queer, Cliff Marlow?”
Marlow looked a little surprised, but his slow smirk came back. “Good for you, man.” His expression held a kind of pride, like Luca was a puppy who’d learned a new trick. Woof woof, thought Luca. He’d heel to this man, but he had to know if he was interested in holding the leash in the first place. Luca let silence do the asking as Marlow toyed with the label of his bottle for a moment.
“So, ask me that a couple of years ago, and I’d have said absolutely not. I dig chicks, man. But it’s a brave new world. Maybe things aren't so straight-forward.” He emphasised the straight. “I wouldn't call myself queer but…” He shrugged.
Luca’s heart leapt.
“I'm gay,” Luca offered bravely. “It’s not exactly a secret. But it's not something I've told people. I am an NHL rookie, you know. The culture… well. Scott Hunter is just one man.” Luca swallowed, suddenly feeling foolish. “Please don't tell anyone.”
Cliff nodded. “No sweat. We oldies know how to keep our mouths shut. Affairs, secret kids, cross-dressers, locker room fist fights. What happens in Vegas, you know?”
Luca fed that through his repertoire of English idioms and relaxed. He felt there was probably something problematic about that entire statement, but he was too turned on to start unpacking it.
“Thank you.”
“Does your team know?”
Luca shook his head. “Just Ilya. I mean, Rozanov. Well, I didn't tell him exactly. ”
“He guessed? Sounds like him.” They both looked over to where Rozanov was entertaining two women wearing plastic tiaras, one with a veil at the back. It was casual and flirty in a non-sexual way, Luca realised, Ilya jiving and spinning them around like a dad dancing at a wedding. They were laughing. Rozanov's face was relaxed and happy.
There was a pause. “So… Ilya, huh? You got yourself a little crush there, boy?”
Luca thought about lying. “Yes. But it's more like… hero worship. From when I was a teenager.” He laughed, giddily. “But, now I know his personality.”
Marlow laughed. “Oh that'll kill a crush, right there.”
Actually getting to know Rozanov had only deepened his admiration, but he didn't want to tell Marlow that.
“So is that your type then?” He gestured at Rozanov. “Blond and light eyes and shit? Designer clothes? Must be a lot of pretty boys interested in you.”
Luca took a shot. “Not really, I mean. He's handsome, and I like attractive men. But clothes, colouring are not so important to me. More, I like, masculine men. Bigger than me. Big muscles. And–” Wenn schon, denn schon. “Older men.”
Marlow leaned back and folded his arms. “How much older?”
Luca fluttered his eyelashes innocently in stark contrast to what he was about to say. What he was about to imply. “I'm not sure. How old are you, Marley?”
“Almost 29,” Marlow replied.
Luca hummed. “Eight years difference. That’ll do.”
Fire burned in Marlow’s eyes. He walked past Luca to exit the booth, pausing for a minute to mouth in his ear, “Men’s room. Last stall. Follow me after a minute or two.”
Luca barely had a chance to react before Marlow headed out across the floor. He could feel his pulse thrumming, his mind racing. Fuck, what did Marlow want to do? It had been a very long while since he last played with his butt plug, not to mention they had no lube and if the dance floor revealed anything to him it was that Cliff Marlow packed quite a cock. Seeing that Marlow had nearly reached the bathroom, Luca took off after him. Whatever he wanted, Luca was far too eager to give. A bathroom attendant lurked outside the door, a very obvious fat wad of cash in his pocket. Luca walked in and casually walked by the urinals for a larger stall at the end.
The dividers for the toilets ran from the floor to the wall. Luca’s hand shook as he tapped the door, almost immediately knowing that Marlow had clearly done something like this before at this club. Without delay, the door opened quickly and Luca found himself being pulled into the stall. Marlow stared down at him and Luca took notice of how he already had the button fly of his jeans undone. Luca’s spine tingled.
He knew what Marlow wanted.
Walking closer to Marlow, he dropped down on his knees and pushed his face up against the man’s crotch, feeling the heat and smelling the aromatic masculine scent of his crotch mixing with a slight tinge of sweat and sweet combination of tobacco and vanilla. Bringing his lips up to the soft cotton fabric of Marlow’s briefs, Luca mouthed at the fast growing bulge, eliciting a muffled groan from him.
“That’s right, fuck. Such a good boy,” Marlow rushed out breathily. “You want me to take it out for you? Let you suck it?”
Luca let out a little whimper of assent as Marlow pushed down his briefs just enough to release his cock.
His fat cock. Because holy shit, it might not be eight or nine inches in length, but a solid seven and thick enough that the stretch from it would rock anybody’s world. Luca cautiously took his tongue to the tip of it, teasing Marlow a bit before taking it into his mouth. It had been a while since he last did this, so it took Luca a minute to fully stretch his mouth around Marlow’s cock. Trying to avoid choking, Luca put one free hand on it, stroking as he worked into a rhythm. His other hand fussed with his own jean fly and underwear, desperately trying to free his own cock.
“Oh that’s so good, rook,” Marlow moaned. “Yeah, stroke and suck. Fuck.”
The encouragement drove Luca to keep at it, even though the stretch already was impacting his jaw. Pulling away briefly, Luca spat on his own hand, the moisture and his foreskin allowing him to stroke himself at a furious clip. He was already close enough that he bet he could come before Marlow. Sinking back down onto Marlow’s cock, Luca resumed sucking him, working in fluid motions, making sure to pause and play with the tip before plunging back down. He could see Marlow’s legs start to quiver, his orgasm surely building.
“Fuck, I’m going to come.” He moved to pull back, but Luca whined as Marlow’s cock left his mouth.
Pouty lips pointed up at Marlow, all Luca could say was, “Please?”
“Fuck,” Marlow growled as he shoved his cock back into Luca’s mouth.
Within seconds, Luca swallowed Marlow’s load as the soft sounds of grunting echoed throughout the stall. Luca’s own orgasm ran through him like a jolt of electricity, ropes of thick come flying out and landing squarely between Marlow’s legs. Despite being slightly out of breath, they both cleaned up and got themselves ready quickly. If anyone was in the bathroom, they had already been in that stall long enough to be suspicious. Luca left first, heading back to the VIP booth.
His face felt warm, a creeping feeling shooting through him, as if everyone in the club knew exactly what he did in that bathroom and with whom. There was no hope of wiping that look from his face, either. That was one of his hallmark traits, being unable to temper his emotions easily on his face, most particularly that of embarrassment. Unfortunately for him, Rozanov waited, a grin on his face growing even more massively as Luca approached.
“Haasy, sweet angel child, did not know you had it in you,” Ilya shouted over the music, almost like a proud father.
He could feel his eyes widen. “What?”
“You leave booth and dance floor for ten, fifteen minutes,” Ilya continued. “I see another man go in bathroom after you.”
Marlow entered the booth seconds later, his own voice filled with faux-surprise. “Luca, you dog! Getting some in the bathroom?”
Truly, if Luca could initiate self-combustion, he would. Although he supposed the deflection on Marlow’s part wasn’t a bad idea.
“And you,” Ilya said, turning to Marlow. “Just as much of a dog. You left, too. Saw several women prowling around after you.”
Plastering a megawatt smile on his face, Marlow simply replied, “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
Ilya tutted, “You are no gentleman, Marley. Boo, both of you are boring. I want to hear stories about both of your conquests!”
“Maybe another time, Roz,” Marlow said, before patting Luca’s shoulder. “I think we need to get Cinderella here home before he turns into a pumpkin.”
Luca spluttered out, “Excuse me?”
“Right, good idea,” Ilya said as he nodded his head fervently. “I will call a car.”
As they went their separate ways, Cliff Marlow acted so incredibly normal about what they had done, Luca could barely handle it. Internally, he was freaking out at levels previously unheard of, externally, still very visibly embarrassed to be caught so obviously by Rozanov. Teasing aside, Ilya assured Luca that his secret club hook-up would be safe with him. It relaxed Luca slightly to know that, and given that he didn’t push Luca further in their shared car back to the hotel, also helped lessen the feelings. Luca suspected that what just happened between him and Marlow was a one time thing, in a heated moment. He didn’t know how much Ilya knew about Marlow’s sexuality, and as much as he trusted his captain, there was also a limit to how much Luca wanted him to know about his sex life, for now.
A twinge of fear ran through Luca. Surely Rozanov wouldn’t be upset if he happened to find out that Luca hooked up with one of his good friends, right?
Right?