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Rozanov’s arms do some very nice things when he lifts himself up and twists to flop back down beside Shane, but when Rozanov turns to look at him, Shane averts his gaze and quickly faces the ceiling instead. Rozanov bumps his knee into Shane’s thigh and leans closer to kiss his shoulder, and then he narrows his eyes and pokes Shane’s sternum.
“Did I make you forget how to breathe?”
“Fuck off,” Shane mutters, and he sits up, moves to the edge of the bed and takes a shaky breath.
Rozanov follows, sitting up and shifting closer until Shane can feel the warmth of him at his back. He kisses the back of Shane’s shoulder, soft and casual. “You are okay? You feel good?”
Shane turns over his shoulder with a frown, finding Rozanov looking… worried? “What? I’m fine.”
“Is okay if you are not,” Rozanov says, “Sometimes after sex, some people need…”
Shane scoffs, trying to fake the state of unaffected nonchalance that Rozanov seems to exist in effortlessly. “What, you’re asking if I want to cuddle?” he says, “You’re saying you’d stay here and—?”
“If that’s what you want, sure.” He cocks his head and seems to consider something, and Shane looks forward again, not wanting to be studied. “For me,” Rozanov says, “I smoke a cigarette, I drink water, I take a shower—alone or together. And I try to do whatever other person needs, like…”
He gestures vaguely, and Shane waits for him to translate whatever he’s trying to say.
“Sometimes people want to cuddle, sure,” Rozanov agrees. “But can also be getting snacks, or telling them what was good, or, I don’t know, my friend likes to watch hockey after. Someone asked if I want pot once. Sometimes people don’t need anything, or they want to be alone after.” He moves to sit beside Shane at the edge of the bed and knocks their shoulders together. “It makes me feel good to take care of other person. So, yes, I am asking if I can do anything to make sure you feel good now and will still feel good about this later.”
“Oh,” Shane says, “That’s… Oh.”
Rozanov smiles a little, a little teasing but not mean, and he doesn’t seem to mind waiting for Shane to process this and give some thought to what he might want. If he can play it off as doing it for Rozanov’s benefit, making him feel good, maybe they don’t have to say their awkward goodbyes immediately.
When Shane figures out the only thing he wants, he twists his lips as he hesitates to ask for it, and his eyes flick up to Rozanov’s face, trying to gauge his reaction before he even asks.
“I am not going to be asshole about it,” Rozanov says, and he grips Shane’s shoulder and jostles him gently. “Okay?”
“Kiss me?”
Rozanov gives him a pleased, boyish smile and slots their mouths together like all he was waiting for was to be asked.
Shane relaxes into it, leaning toward him so easily and immediately that it would embarrass him if Rozanov didn’t seem just as eager, sliding one hand across Shane’s shoulders and up to the back of his head, and gently but firmly gripping his jaw in the other.
The kiss lands somewhere between the softness of their first kiss and the hot, heady desire of all the rest, and when Shane turns his head to catch his breath, Rozanov just hums and turns his attention to kissing and licking along the line of Shane’s jaw instead.
Shane’s breath comes out in a pleased sigh and without really meaning to, he tilts his head, encouraging Rozanov to press wet kisses down his neck.
Eventually, he gets a hand in Rozanov’s hair to pull him back up, and Rozanov resists the tug just enough to let Shane know that he likes it, but not enough to send him spiralling about hurting him, and Rozanov groans, soft and rumbly, right into Shane’s mouth.
Rozanov smooths his hands down Shane’s neck to his shoulders, which he squeezes reassuringly. “See,” he murmurs, “you are more relaxed now.” He presses another kiss to Shane’s mouth. “If you want to be kissed after sex to feel good, you are allowed to ask for it. You should ask. Okay?”
“Okay,” Shane says quietly, swaying toward Rozanov before catching himself and leaning back again. “And you? Did you want to, um, shower here? Or…?”
“No, is okay,” Rozanov says, eyes flicking away, “I should go. I will let you have panic attack in private now, yes?”
“I’m not panicking,” Shane says, too quick and too defensive, even though it’s true. Mostly.
“No?”
“No. This was… It was good. Right?”
Rozanov presses a kiss to Shane’s jaw. “Right,” he agrees, pleased and maybe a little smug—but Shane can maybe forgive him for his ego this time. “Was very good.” He studies whatever Shane’s face is doing. “Okay,” he says thoughtfully, “If you are so calm and cool about all this, maybe you come take shower with me?”
“I…” shouldn’t, Shane should say. Except… now, all he can think about is how sticky and sweaty and gross he feels, and maybe getting to stay close to Rozanov and maybe even kiss him some more will help settle the flurry of feelings in his chest. “Okay.”
Rozanov’s smile is so open and bright and—fuck—pretty, and Shane is very glad for every decision that led him here to see it. “Okay?”
“You just want to see me naked some more,” Shane quips, standing and grabbing Rozanov’s hand with a confidence he doesn’t feel and dragging him to his feet and across the room.
“Uh, yes,” Rozanov agrees, following so eagerly that he stumbles into Shane when he stops by the minifridge. He looks a little awed when Shane hands him a bottle of water, like Shane’s not just doing the same decent thing Rozanov’s been doing for him.
He drains half the bottle and offers it to Shane, who makes a face without thinking. And when Rozanov raises his eyebrows incredulously, Shane remembers, sudden and vivid and hot, where their mouths have just been. He drinks the water.
Showering together is both more and less awkward than Shane would have thought, but it’s nice, and it’s relaxing, and it is reassuring to have Rozanov in his space, touching and bumping into each other in a way that isn’t even suggestive or particularly sexy in the too-small shower.
Even the way Rozanov kisses him has lost some of its heat and urgency, turning soft and sweet and sleepy. Shane’s not entirely sure how he ended up with his arms draped over Rozanov’s shoulders, but it’s helpful in keeping him upright when he suddenly feels very overwhelmed again.
He closes his eyes and drops his head on Rozanov’s shoulder, breathing slowly and deeply.
“Okay?”
Shane gives a tiny nod. “Okay, maybe I’m freaking out a little bit.”
Rozanov huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t feel mean or mocking, just… warm and understanding. He smooths his hands up and down Shane’s arms, steady and comforting. “I tell you secret?”
“Uh. Sure?”
“I am… freaking out too, a little. This is…” He laughs, awkward and sheepish, and dips his head to kiss Shane’s shoulder, then his neck, then the hinge of his jaw. “Is very stupid of us, no? But… we are together in this.”
“Together,” Shane repeats. “Together like… you want to do this again?”
“Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
Rozanov lifts his head to give Shane an unimpressed look. “You are serious? We are children now?”
“Shut up.”
“Mm, maybe you should make me.”
Shane falters, eyes dropping to Rozanov’s mouth.
“Come on,” Rozanov goads softly, “You can get on your knees and suck my cock so nicely but you can’t kiss me first?”
“Shut up.”
Rozanov raises his brows—which Shane only sees out of focus because he’s still looking at Rozanov’s lips.
“Fuck. Okay. Just…”
Rozanov wets his lips and steps even closer, letting his body press into Shane’s everywhere. It’s overwhelming in a good way, grounding and solid, and Shane closes his eyes and kisses him.
Rozanov hums appreciatively against his mouth. “Good,” he murmurs, “Again.”
As he drops his towel and pulls on clean boxer briefs, Shane valiantly and pointedly ignores the way Rozanov’s staring and not even pretending to get dressed himself.
When Shane finally glances over at him, Rozanov flexes.
He looks forward again so he can hide his smile when he puts on a little show himself, flexing his arms and back muscles under the thin guise of stretching sleepily.
Rozanov mutters something in Russian and crowds up against Shane’s back, naked and warm. “Not fair,” he mutters into the side of Shane’s neck, “I do not have time to do any of the things you make me want to do to you.”
“That’s too bad,” Shane says mildly, shifting his hips back the slightest bit, emboldened by Rozanov’s lack of shame and the way he can’t see Shane’s face.
Rozanov groans petulantly, gives one slow, dirty grind against Shane’s ass, kisses his neck, and reluctantly steps back. He collects his clothes from where they’re strewn carelessly across the room and drops it all into a single pile, and when he picks up his underwear, Shane’s train of thought catches.
“Wait, you’re gonna put your dirty underwear back on?” He hadn’t thought about it until now, and maybe if Rozanov hadn’t taken a shower, it might bother Shane a little less, but… it is bothering him. A little. A regular amount. A completely reasonable, normal amount.
Rozanov blinks at him. “They were clean when I put them on before I came here,” he says, “I only wore them for twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, but… You took them off, and you dropped them on the gross hotel floor, so now they’re…”
“What would you like me to do, hm?” Rozanov asks, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. He drops the boxers back into the haphazard pile of his clothes that makes Shane’s brain itch, and, jesus, he’s lucky Shane’s not trying to dress him in a whole new outfit. “Wear jeans with no underwear? Or is this—are you trying to keep me here forever?”
A plot, a ploy, a scheme, Shane fills in absently—and only in the safety of his mind, because this is not that. Still, he’s impressed by how quickly Rozanov’s mind must work to talk around the gaps in his English like that. No wonder he’s so good on the ice.
“Shut up. Just—You can borrow some, I guess,” Shane says, and he doesn’t wait for an answer, just looks down into his bag in an attempt to ignore the way Rozanov’s looking at him. It doesn’t work—he can still feel it, and it’s… a lot.
“You are so weird,” Rozanov says, sounding endeared in a way that baffles Shane, until he forgets it completely when Rozanov steps into his space again and presses a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I will wear your sexy boring underwear if it will make you feel better.”
Shane looks down at the black boxer briefs in his hands. “Boring?”
“Sexy.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get dressed, asshole.”
Rozanov gets dressed, even if he doesn’t quite shut up, and then he lets Shane walk him backward until his shoulders hit the wall, and he gives a little grin. He lifts his chin in a challenge, and when Shane hesitates for all of half a second, Rozanov grabs his hips and flips their positions.
“Fuck,” Shane breathes.
“Mm, maybe next time,” Rozanov quips, gently gripping Shane’s chin and kissing him again, quick and sweet. “Goodnight,” he murmurs.
Shane catches him just as he starts to pull away and shyly returns the chaste kiss. “Night.”