even Rozanov envied

“So… do they celebrate Valentine’s Day in Russia too?” Troy gave Ilya a skeptical look as the other man methodically scrolled through his feed, clearly searching for something. “Believe me, in Russia this day is practically Doomsday. If you come home without flowers or sweets, you no longer have a home,” Rozanov frowned and turned the phone screen towards himself. “When I was a kid, I got tons of valentines from girls. But even a little version of me, would envy that one you gave me.” Barrett raised an eyebrow and leaned into his phone screen. It only took him a couple of seconds to blush and grab the phone from Ilya’s hands to zoom the image. “When did he post this?” Troy couldn’t tear his eyes away from the photo. It already had over a thousand likes. Posted… ten minutes ago? “I wish Shane congratulated me like that.” “You didn’t like the new stereo system in your car?” Hollander stepped out of the restroom, frowning. Ever since Shane joined the team, not much had changed aside from the constant teasing at practices and games. And, of course, the endless sugary scenes Ilya staged whenever his husband appeared in the locker room. “Of course I liked it, are you insane? I just mean a gift like the one Harris gave Troy would’ve been a very nice bonus. If you want, I could do something like that for you.” Shane rolled his shoulders and walked over to where Barrett was frozen over Ilya’s phone. He looked over his shoulder for a moment and let out a long breath. “Wow… that must’ve hurt.” Hollander flushed awkwardly, cheeks and ears burning, and Ilya immediately wrapped an arm around his waist over the padding. “I don’t mind a little pain, actually. Let’s discuss that” Rozanov swiftly grabbed his phone back from Troy and shoved it into his bag before heading toward the exit with Shane at his side. Barrett licked his dry lips and exhaled. They didn’t discuss it, and Troy didn’t even know that Drover had taken the photo. Thinking about how good it would be to go and find a guy now, he went to training. It was much more fun than usual: Ilya had fun as much as he could next to Shane and constantly skated next to him, annoying him. Troy himself had a hard time concentrating on the exercises. And after Harris and Charon showed up for training to shoot the content, he stopped trying altogether. The coach was shouting disapprovingly at everyone, but there was no strong malice in his abuse. “That’s impossible. You’ve already felt the holiday and stopped trying. To hell with you. That’s all for today. Harris, you can do whatever you want.” The players beat their sticks on the ice approvingly and escorted the coach from the rink. The moment the gate opens, Charon takes off like a bullet onto the ice, and Ilya is the first to greet him, plopping down on his knees in front of the dog: “Bro!” Barrett doesn’t take his eyes off the smiling Harris until he manages to film the guys playing with the dog. Troy moves like a car without brakes to the guy and, grabbing him tightly by the elbow, wordlessly takes him across the ice towards the exit. “Troy!” Drover looked surprised and indignant, dragging the soles of his shoes on the ice. “I have to take Charon and you down. Did you see I put a leash on him with a heart-shaped address?” But Barrett insistently pulls him along. His skates were more in the way now, but he strode steadily toward Harris' office. He kept talking about how he had come up with a great idea for a Valentine’s Day video with Rozanov and Hollander, and Shane even gave the go-ahead for filming. When the door slammed behind them and the lock clicked, Troy instantly pinned Drover against a wall that was more free of posters and shelves. Harris stared at the guy in surprise and raised his eyebrows: “What happened?” Troy furiously took off his glove, which hit the corner of Harris' desk with a bang, and, running his fingers through the guy’s blond hair, bit into his lips. Drover immediately leaned forward, standing uncomfortably on his toes: their height difference was already good, and Troy was a giant on skates. Barrett himself leaned forward and let him drop to his feet, comfortably wrapping his arms around his powerful neck. Troy kissed almost furiously, alternately biting his lips, then brushing his teeth against someone else’s tongue. Harris was melting, and as soon as Barrett pulled his hair tighter, he made an incredible sound that blew the hockey player’s mind. It was uncomfortable because of the equipment to touch and snuggle up to each other, so Troy decided to act on his own: throwing Drover’s head back, the guy ran his tongue over his adam’s apple, after which he grabbed the skin with his teeth. Harris let out a short squeak, after which he burst into a series of moans, as Troy bit the skin each time, and then caressed it with his tongue. He grabbed onto the guy’s massive forearms, squeezed the training uniform with his fingers and leaned towards him every time. At the moment when Barrett propped the guy up against the wall with his knee between his legs, finally pressing his shoulder blades against the wall, he lost the ability to think. “Troy! What happe… Oh, my God, my God!” He gasps when the guy puts his other hand in the back pocket of his jeans and squeezes one of the halves with force. “The photo…” Troy growls, continuing to scratch the guy’s neck with his teeth. — “When did you manage to make it?” “Are you about the post? Jesus, Troy, slow down a little, I’m very close.…” Harris tried to push him away, but Barrett wouldn’t budge. The SMM operator groaned pitifully and rubbed himself against Troy’s knee, which obligingly held him on his feet. “I couldn’t help but take a photo! You’re just beautiful on it! Are you angry?” “No, I’m not…” Troy grumbles and slightly tugs Harris' T-shirt down by its hem to give himself access to his collarbones. His boyfriend in front of him groans and squints: “Then what got into you?” “I want you. I want to do the same for you.” “Troy…” Drover hits his head against the wall, resting his hands on Barrett’s chest and arching in his arms. His cock was trying to rip his fly, and Harris is afraid to imagine what is happening to Troy himself. “Happy holiday?” He babbles uncertainly, when the guy lowers his knee and Harris can stand on his own. Troy quickly undoes Drover’s fly, and his palm, so big and hot, dives into the waistband of his underpants. All the words instantly fly out of my head. “Now the whole Internet knows that you like to bite.” Troy declares, running his thumb over the head of his penis. Harris hisses and jerks his hips: it was very little. He grabbed his wrist and looked at him pitifully. Barrett smiled charmingly. … “This office is not suitable for having sex in gear.” Harris relaxed into his chair, zipping up his fly. Troy stood against the wall, pressing the back of his head against it, breathing heavily. His legs in his skates were unsteady because of the pleasant tremor of orgasm. “This office is not suitable for sex in general.” Barrett licked his lips and shook his head. Harris took out a couple of napkins and handed them to him while he wiped his lips. “You brought us here yourself. He leaned back in his chair and stared with a smile at Troy, who was drying his sweatpants. — So… Are you sure you’re not mad at me?” “I’m even pleased.” “Are you satisfied?” “Yeah. Rozanov was envious.” Drover blushed and looked up at Barrett, who had come up to him The main gift will be in the evening. I’ll cook dinner and I’ve already brought the cider. “I was planning to cook dinner for us too.” Troy kissed Harris on the lips and smiled. The guy nodded and got up after the hockey player. “I think Rozanov is not the only one who envies you. And at least twenty thousand people.” “Twenty thousand!?” Harris lied a little. His laconic Valentine’s Day post contained a carousel of several photos of him and Barrett together.: here they were walking around Ottawa on the eve of Christmas, here they are at Ilya and Shane’s wedding, here they are at the Drover couple’s house, celebrating the father of the family’s birthday. And here’s a photo of Troy lying face down on a pillow, with a lot of bite marks and a couple of hickeys on his back, arranged as if in an abstract painting.