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The game was 1 - 3 in Boston's favor. Shane was racing his rival to the puck, and although he beat him there, Rozanov retaliated by shoving Shane against the boards. That was fine, they didn't take things like that personally. Shane would still suck his dick later. What would piss him off, though, was if he lost this game, so he took the puck from Rozanov and shot it off to his teammate. Having successfully recovered, he tried to skate away—
And realized he couldn't. Some invisible force was keeping his head stuck to Rozanov's.
Shane tugged again. Rozanov's head followed the pull, knocking him slightly off balance. With that, Shane came to a horrifying realization. When he and Rozanov had bent down together to scrap for the puck, they must've gotten hooked to each other.
He will never let me live this down.
Shane grimaced as he was tugged, by his head, to take a step towards the boards. Had Rozanov not noticed that their cages were stuck together?
"Stop trying to walk away, asshole!"
Rozanov took another step. Shane thought for sure he was going to trip and take Rozanov down with him, but then a warm hand on his back steadied him. Shane's body betrayed him by enjoying the touch—he felt a little flutter in his stomach, a slight warmth on his cheeks.
"You like me so much more than I thought," Rozanov purred as he took his hand back. "Don't want me to go anywhere."
"Oh my god, you are completely insufferable."
Rozanov's breath was hot against his cheek. He'd felt that before, but in very different contexts. During a game, the sensation should've been invasive and uncomfortable, but Shane's wires were all crossed, so instead it made him remember what it was like to have that man's body against his in some... other situations. His face got hotter.
Rozanov, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected. Other than having to stay half bent down as they shuffled together on the ice, anyway. Curse him and his height. Shane couldn't see Rozanov's face, but he just knew he was smiling.
"I've never felt so close to you before, Hollander."
Shane blew out a breath. For fuck's sake.
"I'm not taking the bait," Shane said.
Rozanov's voice dropped to its lowest, most seductive tone. "You don't have to. We are both thinking it."
Shane had, in fact, been thinking it. Rozanov had been so much closer to him, so many times. He'd been on top of him, holding him down, so impossibly deep inside him, drawing sounds out of Shane that he should've been embarrassed by—
The ref finally came over, which forced Shane to stop thinking about his and Rozanov's encounters. Getting a boner right now would be just about the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him. The ref tried his best to unhook them but only succeeded in tugging both of their heads back and forth a bit. Shane was tired of being attached to Rozanov, so he pushed his helmet off as he bent down, freeing himself from their predicament. He'd leave his Russian to fend for himself.
"Ow!" Rozanov said as Shane's helmet fell and pulled his head with it. It didn't hit the ground, though—their masks were still thoroughly hooked. Without Shane's head in the picture, the ref was able to twist his helmet almost upside down, untangle his cage from Rozanov's, and return the disloyal piece of equipment to its owner. Shane put the helmet on and turned to skate away.
Rozanov caught his shoulder.
Shane turned back around and glared at him. "What?"
The ice around them was abandoned—the ref had left as soon as his job was done and there were no other players around—but Rozanov still took a few careful glances around before leaning a little closer. His voice was quiet when he spoke.
"Do you think we can do better later?"
Shane rolled his eyes and shrugged off the offending hand. He should've just ignored Rozanov when he had the chance. "Fuck you."
"Yes. Is the plan."
God, Shane hated him.
With a groan, Shane made his escape and went back to the bench. Shane was annoyed with himself. This whole situation had made him even more excited for when he'd find himself in Rozanov's penthouse later tonight. It had to end. This fucked-up, terrible arrangement he'd gotten himself into.
Shane was even more annoyed with himself when he remembered, heaven help him, that he didn't want it to.