Page 92 of Two for Roughing

But their presence meant Kilian had changed his bedsheets and let them sleep in his room, which meant he had to stay in Damir’s room since Ketchup was due to return before Kilian’s parents left. So, Damir spent two nights in a row wrapped around Kilian, who had delicate lace panties in multiple different shades. He wore them casually around the bedroom, and Damir couldn’t even fuck Kilian about it.

Damir had myriad reasons to practice such restraint. Firstly, Kilian was too loud. Secondly, Damir really needed to refrain from fucking him again without at least talking about limits. Thirdly, Kilian wanted them to “keep it professional,” and Damir now knew that was his way of letting Damir down gently, given he’d known his former team captain lived with one of his alternates.

Damir was a moody asshole, not a masochist. If Kilian didn’t want him, didn’t at least want the vague future potential Damir had seen in what they had together, then Damir couldn’t do it again. He had that much self-preservation.

Unfortunately, he lacked the self-preservation to keep from touching Kilian while sleeping. Damir woke on December 26th with his left arm draped over Kilian’s side and his dick a brand of iron pushing against the lace-clad swell of Kilian’s ass. His nose was buried in the back of Kilian’s neck, breathing in the expensive scent of his shampoo as the alarm buzzed on the bedside table.

Damir groaned, rolling his hips forward.

Kilian sighed and arched into the touch.

“We have to go to morning skate,” Damir said into his skin, his voice gravelly with sleep and lust.

“I wish I could blow you instead.”

That made two of them. But Kilian had said they would stop after the break, and Damir couldn’t let himself get too tempted.

“Christmas break’s over,” Damir reminded him gruffly and slid out of bed.

Kilian’s parents tagged along to the practice rink, intending to check out a few stores in the area.

“You never know,” Kilian’s mom said brightly as she fastened her seatbelt in the back of Damir’s SUV. Kilian was driving again, but everyone else had been kind enough to allow Damir to sit up front. He was too tall for the back seat, even in a car this size. “Someone may be looking for a new wool deliverer, and maybe getting it from a local star hockey player’s family is a selling point.”

She wore a blue blazer with a white turtleneck under it, the materials all soft and homespun. Damir found the final look much more elegant than he’d pictured when Kilian said his mother ran a farm.

That left Damir, Kilian, and a jetlagged Ketchup—who couldn’t shut up about how good a driver Kilian was—attending skate practice.

Ketchup had a point. Kilian hadn’t stalled out once. Damir was only a little jealous.

If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, Damir wouldn’t have noticed how measured Kilian’s breathing became as they followed the corridors to the locker room. He let their arms brush together in the hope it would provide some comfort.

Even Ketchup couldn’t miss the expression on Kilian’s face right before they opened the door. “You’ll be fine, dude,” he said through a yawn. “Your statement was the bomb.”

He patted Kilian on the shoulder, propelling him through the door and into the room.

Everyone fell silent as they entered.

Not an auspicious start.

Damir drew himself up to his full height, wondering if he could keep the A if he called out the whole team for being dicks. No one had said anything before Kilian’s statement. Why couldn’t they keep up the trend?

Beside him, Kilian took another deep, steady breath and brushed his knuckles against Damir’s so fleetingly he barely felt it. “Hi guys. I’m guessing you all read…the thing, or heard about it or whatever. We don’t know each other well yet, but I’ve really liked playing here so far, and I hope we can keep the momentum going. I promise I won’t make things weird in the locker room. None of you are my type anyway.”

A small ripple of laughter spread.

Damir scowled.

“Not your type?” Lissy was bare-chested and dismayed, although he wore compression leggings for once. He stepped into the middle of the room and struck a few poses highlighting his well-defined shoulders and pecs under all that hair. “Are you sure?”

Kilian gave him an exaggerated once-over and then wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, dude. Sweaty hockey gear does not do it for me.”

Petterson looked up from his corner. “It doesn’t? But my wife always says…” He stopped short of finishing the sentence, but it was too late. Matheson next to him burst into loud guffaws.

“Bro, keep your weird married kinks to yourself,” Fulls agreed. “Fucking ew.”

“What a helpful segue. Thank you, Fulls,” Lissy said. “We have a mandatory team meeting with PR after practice. Nothing bad, just a few dos and don’ts, and some tips from Brianna.” Lissy’s loud, booming voice carried throughout the entire room. He’d accepted not being Kilian’s type very easily.

Damir, who was also big, somewhat hairy, and frequently wore sweaty hockey gear, hadn’t fully recovered from the blow.