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    Summary

    In moments like these, he craves Rozanov in the way he used to crave carbs. It's a gnawing hunger, dark and lined with rows of razor sharp teeth, like his body is warning him he isn’t getting enough of something, which is a feeling he’s achingly familiar with. Maybe it’s because in these moments—where he’s reminded that he doesn’t even belong to himself, that everything down to the amount of steps he takes is recorded and documented to ensure his best performance—he craves the feeling of being owned. In those forbidden hotel room meetups, he can pretend that his body is Rozanov’s, and somehow that’s better than it belonging to faceless strangers who are frothing at the mouth for a reason to tear down the golden boy of hockey. 

    But Shane has been denying himself for as long as he can remember. If he has to add one more thing to the never ending list of things he can’t have, it won’t kill him. 

    At least he doesn’t think it will. 

    Language:
    English
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