Chapter 1
Nikolai, what the fuck
These have become Nikolai's favorite string of words in the entire English language behind the blaring '
And Volkov scores
!' broadcasted through a rowdy arena and a murmured '
I love you
' spoken against his skin in the dark.
Nikolai had, unfortunately, developed a Pavlovian sort of response to being yelled at by his husband.
And that response was immediate and extreme arousal.
Blood rushing to his cock so fast that he grew dizzy with the lack of circulation to his brain, starbursts dancing across his vision as he fought to remain conscious.
This, he supposed, was an inevitable side effect of falling for your archrival, for falling for the boy you met when you were a scared and lonely teenager and he looked at you with indignance and contention and a whole lot of curiosity sparking in his brown eyes.
When Tristan was angry with him, when he yelled at him, Nikolai thought of hockey and hotel rooms and hot-blooded commands whispered into desperate lips as the clock counted down to the moment they would regretfully part ways, unsure when they would see each other next.
More shamefully, he was unhealthNiko obsessed with the shift in Tristan's expression and demeanor when he was upset with Nikolai over the most trivial of grievances.
His brows scrunched together and his lips twisted and two spots of blush burned on his freckled cheeks.
So pretty that Nikolai could cry.
And, fuck, his
voice
When Tristan was displeased with Nikolai, there was a certain intensity in his speech that called to Nikolai like a siren song, dragging him to an early grave with its vehemence.
Sometimes his voice would pitch higher, bossy and prissy and so stridently righteous it should be intolerable.
But Nikolai was, for all intents and purposes, a whore.
And nothing made him harder than his husband putting him in his place.
He had found various ways to chase this certain high, carefully toeing the line between minor misconduct and egregious acts of war to elicit these aggrieved admonishments from Tristan.
Giving an inch to test the waters, then taking a mile when he realized he'd struck gold.
The most recent of which was arranging the spices in the pantry in the entirely wrong order after making dinner for himself and Tristan the night before.
Tonight, it was Tristan's turn to make dinner, and if the frustration lacing his voice was anything to go by, he'd just discovered all of his spices lined up outside of their mandatory alphabetical positions.
Nikolai smiled to himself, leaning his head back into the couch cushion and soaking it in. A warmth stirred in his stomach, and he was already attempting to decide which piece of furniture he would bend Tristan over when his face reached that perfect shade of angry red.
When he heard footsteps approaching, he sat up straighter and attempted to conceal his delight.
Tristan padded into the room on socked feet, hands curled into fists at his sides and his glare trained on Nikolai.
He looked like an angry little duckling.
So very cute.
"What the fuck did you do?"
Nikolai tucked an arm behind his head and hooked his right ankle over his left.
"What are you talking about, Blake?"
"You know exactly what the fuck I'm talking about."
"I am sure I do not."
Tristan unfurled one fist to reveal a jar of oregano.
He held it out and shook it.
"You destroyed the pantry!
Nothing is where it's supposed to be.
The oregano was next to the cumin for fuck's sake!"
"I do not understand." Nikolai very much did understand.
"What is wrong with this?"
Tristan scoffed as if Nikolai were being purposefully obtuse.
"They belong in alphabetical order.
This is not news to you, Volkov."
"That is how I put them last night.
I know this."
"It absolutely fucking isn't.
The garlic powder is next to the nutmeg.
It's a fucking disaster."
Nikolai shrugged.
His heart was racing.
There was no foreplay he would consider more exhilarating than this.
"Cyrillic alphabet is different order a little.
Sometimes I forget this."
"They're numbered, Nikolai." Tristan turned the jar around to show him the label he'd printed off on his label maker specifically for Nikolai to reference.
"I forget this also." He was an unrepentant liar.
He was also growing harder by the second, heat burning in his gut.
He wanted to pull Tristan onto his lap and make him come so hard he passed out.
"I am sorry, my love."
Most people would've melted at the sultry, accented apology that slipped softly from his lips.
Tristan was not most people.
"You shouldn't forget.
I've told you three times."
Nikolai was seconds away from panting like a dog.
His toes curled at the harsh reprimand.
"I will remember this, okay?
When I cook, I will say to myself, '
Nikolai, you must put spices back in correct order, or your wife will be very upset
', and this will be enough.
I am good husband.
I do not want my wife to be upset."
The thing about Tristan, Nikolai had discovered since they'd wed, was that almost nothing made him wetter than when Nikolai called him his wife.
There might have been various reasons for this, reasons that would send Tristan into a fit of stuttering and blushing if he tried to explain them himself, but Nikolai knew the truth.
He liked being possessed.
He liked being owned.
He liked being spoken about the same way that the other guys on the team spoke about their own loves.
I would go out with everyone to celebrate, but I've gotta get home to my wife, so I'll see y'all later.
You think I care that some fitness influencer asked for my number at the club?
Have you seen the tits on my wife?
Actually, don't fucking look or I'll have to beat your ass.
We've been on the road for so damn long, man.
I miss my fucking wife.
My wife, my wife, my wife.
Mine, mine, mine.
It made him something he wasn't for a while, someone who ceded control, who
belonged
to Nikolai.
Who Nikolai took care of and protected even when he might not need it.
Who was cherished in a way that made him feel...
smaller
It made no sense.
It made all the sense in the world.
Nikolai laid his trap. "Happy wife, happy life.
This is what they say, I think."
Tristan fell right into it.
A pretty pink flush crawled up his throat into his freckled cheeks, and his lips parted on words he didn't—
couldn't
—speak.
"Come here," Nikolai murmured, spreading his legs wide so Tristan could see the thick bulge pulling his athletic shorts taut.
Tristan set the jar of oregano gently onto the table, and then fell into Nikolai, sprawling on top of him and attacking his mouth with a fervor Nikolai hadn't been expecting.
He caught Nikolai's bottom lip between his own and sucked, then soothed the sting with a gentle swipe of his tongue.
His hands were searching and eager, threading through Nikolai's hair and tugging at his curls.
The weight of him on top of Nikolai was tantalizing, crushing him into the sofa and making it hard to breathe.
Hard enough, in fact, that Nikolai was lightheaded and dizzy, the edges of his vision blurring with the lack of oxygen to his brain.
If he could choose any way to die it would be like this, suffocating under the weight of his husband as his lips found Nikolai's throat and pressed wet, messy kisses to his skin.
Nikolai rocked into him, his head falling back into the pillows as he craned his neck to give him more access.
A crazed noise escaped him when he felt through Tristan's clothes just how hard he already was.
A broken whimper fell from Tristan's lips, and his fervent kisses faltered.
He dragged his face up from Nikolai's throat so he could rest his forehead against Nikolai's.
Nikolai kissed him, hard and deep, for as long as he could before he could feel the throb in his cock with each rapid beat of his heart, and all he could do was breathe heavNiko and hotly into Tristan's open mouth.
"Dinner is...
we have..." Tristan couldn't finish his thoughts, too busy keening when Nikolai mouthed at his pulse just below his ear.
Despite himself, he ground down against Nikolai's length, choking on his breath at the friction.
"We will be quick, okay?" Nikolai grabbed a handful of Tristan's ass to hold him steady and lifted his hips up into him, dragging their clothed cocks against one another.
"I will make you feel so good."
Tristan nodded jerkNiko, having all but forgotten about the disorganized spices.