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1. The Kingfisher
As far as Eric Bennett knew, Ilya Rozanov was straight. Or at least he appeared to be. So there was really no rational explanation of the fact that Eric was sitting in front of the said man, sipping his beer, inside a New York’s infamous gay bar.
What was even more confusing, it was Rozanov who reached out to Scott after the game, asking whether they were going to the Kingfisher. And here he was, with this annoying smirk permanently on his face and eyes sliding across the dance floor.
He surely did not look uncomfortable.
God, Eric would even dare to say he looked at ease.
Eric forced himself to silence the thoughts in his head and took a sip of Scott Hunter, the painfully sweet, blue cocktail standing in front of him.
His eyes slid to the bar, falling on the familiar figure behind it. Kyle was talking to some men, his lips curved in a smile that made Eric’s heart flip inside his chest. He wanted to kiss those lips.
“He is nice, yes?” An accent-heavy voice brought Eric back from ogling Kyle and he turned to face Rozanov. The man was grinning at him, leaning back in his chair.
“Who?” There was no way Eric was going to talk about his romance issues with Ilya Rozanov.
“The bartender. Kyle.” The name escaped the Russian's mouth overly pronounced, slow. It was almost teasing and Eric found himself gazing at the young man behind the bar once again. He immediately stopped, eyes sliding back to his beer.
“He looks- he’s pretty.” Rozanov chuckled at the words, seemingly enjoying Bennett’s shyness.
“You want to fuck him?” Eric choked on his beer, coughing and looked up at the Russian, cheeks heating up.
“What?” God, Eric, that was dumb. He thought. “I mean, I’m not-“
“It’s fine. He wants it too, I think. He checks you out. All the time.” Rozanov didn’t let him finish, hand brushing off his blonde locks from his face. It looked effortless, practised. Almost like the smirk, that was still on his face.
For a few seconds Eric’s mind shut down. He couldn’t think about anything to say.
“Go get him.” Rozanov winked at him and stood up, groaning. “Fuck, I have to go to the bathroom. I can still taste that Scott Hunter in my mouth.”
He walked away, leaving Bennett unmoving, with his gaze fixed on the blue cocktail and flushed cheeks.
2. New York Admirals vs Boston Raiders
Eric tensed, preparing himself for the shot as he locked his eyes on Ilya Rozanov, skating full-speed toward his net. He gripped his stick, focusing on the puck. Matti Jalo was a few inches behind the Bears captain, still having a chance to interfere with Rozanov’s shot, but Eric knew it wouldn't happen. The Russian skated fast, eyes flicking into the spot on the net, a clear indication of where he was going to aim. Or at least where he wanted Bennett to think, he was going to aim. Eric contemplated on moving in this direction, but he had a feeling it was a trap.
He stayed in his spot.
The puck flew toward him as Rozanov’s stick hit it with great speed. Eric launched to the side, taking the hit on his shin guard. He exhaled as Jalo hit Rozanov, sending the Russian into the boards behind Eric’s net.
“Not nice, Jalo.” Rozanov snickered, breathing deeply, resting, since the refs called a penalty for Matti. The young defenseman laughed, pushing Rozanov in his chest and chirping back.
“Why should I be, Rozanov? Bet you-” One of the Bears skated over, obviously trying to separate the pair, because they already began pushing each other. This could not end well. Bennett leaned over his net, looking at the players. Rozanov was ready to throw a punch on Jalo, gloves already on the ice.
“Shut it, Jalo.” The other Raider said, hand gripping the collar of the latter’s jersey. “Don’t fucking start, you fag-“
Right, there it was. Eric mentally sighted.
The word wasn’t said though, because this time it was the Rozanov, who harshly gripped his own player and pulled him backwards, away from the Admiral’s defenceman.
His voice was low, deep with something Eric couldn’t name.
“Don’t.”
The look in Rozanov’s eyes was dangerous, almost threatening and Eric turned away, not wanting to get into this affair.
He took a sip of his water, preparing himself for Boston's power play.
For some reason he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that Rozanov was offended by the slur that never fully escaped that guy’s mouth. Eric couldn’t think of any reason why, though.
It was common in hockey and players got used to it, even after Scott came out, this hasn't changed.
An idea flashed in Eric’s mind, one that he didn’t really want to think of. He shrugged it off, hearing the whistle.
3. New York Admirals vs Montreal Voyaguers
Playing Montreal was usually nice, in a different way than playing Boston. Rozanov was known for aggressive play and fast, hard shots, so Eric had to brace himself for impact, rather than overthinking the movements.
Playing against Shane Hollander on the other hand was more technical. The Metros’ captain was a quiet guy, with a liking for not-so-obvious shots. It was a pretty nice change from the usual games.
Eric liked Hollander, even though he had never really talked to the man. There was just something about him that was making him hard to dislike.
Montreal won. It was a close game with a result of 3-2. Hollander scored one of the goals and earned one assist. Eric was not proud of himself for that one, it was an easy shot and he could have surely saved it, if not to one of his own players, who stumbled in front of him and blocked his vision.
Eric slid his helmet off as he skated slowly toward the centre, to thank the Metros for the game. He was the last one, just after Scott.
“Great saves Bennett.” Pike slapped his shoulder as they skated beside each other. Eric chuckled, shaking his head.
“Not bad.”
It took almost a minute to reach the end of the players. Eric almost bumped into Scott, failing to notice that the man stopped, talking to Hollander. The two of them patted each other's backs.
“Congrats on, you know, coming out.” Shane blurted out, looking a bit tense.
Scott smiled.
“Thanks. I still can’t believe I actually did it.” There was a short silence, before Hollander inhaled and spoke again.
“It means a lot. For me and-“ Eric listened. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but, well. “I guess I wouldn’t be that brave.”
The short exchange ended and suddenly Hollander was giving Eric a short hug.
“Nice game.” He smiled.
Eric nodded, eyes never leaving the other guy. His mind was working too fast, but he managed to answer.
“Yeah, great shots.”
Now, that was something. Eric would swear that Hollander meant something more than what he said to Scott. It was not a casual conversation, one that was normally said to congratulate somebody. There was almost an implication that Shane was also… gay.
Eric cringed inside at his thoughts. He was making too many assumptions.
4. The All-Stars - bar
This All-Star game was going to be his last one.
Eric made this decision at the beginning of the season, but only now it finally got to him. It was really his last event with all those great players.
He was sitting, arms folded on the bar, sipping his non-alcoholic martini. He didn’t know what made him drink that thing. It was surely too sweet.
There were too many people for Eric’s liking, but he decided to spend his last All-Stars not in a hotel room. He would beat himself up about that for the rest of his life.
He took a sip of his drink, catching a glance of blonde locks. He looked up.
Here he was. Ilya Rozanov in his whole glory, tropical shirt with green palm trees hung loosely over his bare chest.
And there beside him was Shane Hollander with a can of ginger ale in his hand.
The two of them were considered rivals, but apparently during All-Stars they decided to give each other a chance.
Good for them. Eric thought.
“Hey, Bennett.” Ilya threw out, sitting heavily on the chair next to Eric. He pointed at the drink in his hand. “Is it better than Scott Hunter?”
Eric laughed.
“Yeah. Still too much sugar, though.”
Hollander was chatting with some other guys, but Ilya glanced over at him, making sure he was consumed by them. Then he leaned over to Eric.
“How is Kyle?”
Here we go again.
“He’s- good, I suppose.” Eric answered. It was technically true. He didn’t know what the cute bartender was doing now. They met before Eric flew here, but that was a few days ago. Rozanov didn’t need to know that.
“Have you fucked him?” Eric blushed, eyes darting away from the Russian’s face. He suddenly felt overly exposed.
“Oh.” Rozanov exclaimed, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Go for it, Bennett.”
He looked like he was about to say something more, but at that moment Hollander appeared next to them, a small smile dancing on his face as he tapped Ilya’s shoulder. The Russian turned to him, eyes lighting up.
Eric looked between the two of them. He knew he was missing something, but he couldn’t tell what it was.
“Hey, Eric.” Hollander waved at him, then looked back at Ilya. “I think I’m going to sleep. Don’t look for me here.”
And then he was gone, walking to the elevators. Rozanov shifted in his seat, his gaze following the other man.
“Umm.” Eric began, not really knowing what to say. “So, you and Hollander?”
An unusual expression went through Rozanov’s face, one that Eric would detect as fear. It was quickly replaced by the classical smirk, though.
“We are friends. Nothing more.” He replied, standing up, one hand going through his blond locks. “I’m going to head out, don’t get laid Bennett!”
Eric sighed, watching the man disappear in the crowd.
He didn’t want to think about that one possible explanation to this situation. He really didn’t want to, but his mind couldn’t stop travelling to that thought.
5. The All-Stars - Eric Bennett’s hotel room
Eric hoped at least the night would be calm. After the few hours he spent in the club, the only thing he needed was sleep. He was lying on the king sized bed in his room, book closed on his lap. Reading was not something he could do when next door Ilya Rozanov was clearly having a lot of fun.
The noises were muffled, but Eric could still make up some words.
“Yeah, just like that Hollander.”
He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut.
There were some muffled moans and a loud groan.
“Oh God, Shane.”
Eric bumped his head against the headboard. A small laugh escaped his mouth.
At least his theory was confirmed.
Though he would prefer it to happen in some other way.
A loud “Ilya” followed and Eric finally found his earplugs.
He threw a pillow over his head, a small smile dancing on his lips as he tried to fall asleep.