Chapter 3
Caught still in the safe unreality of early morning in Vasiliev's dim bedroom, he feels a little daring, enough to nudge at Vasiliev's head until he can put his mouth by his ear.
he grits out again, the word chased by a moan he doesn't intend to make.
From the way it feels like it shakes Vasiliev to his bones, though, it seems like it was a good thing.
"Fuck, Brennan," Vasiliev grits out, an intoxicating echo.
"You are close?"
"What-" His breath catches, and it takes him a moment to finish the tease.
"Hm," Vasiliev says, sounding breathless and smug in equal measure.
"I think–
–I think you are easy."
"Pot-pot meeting fucking kettle," Ethan says, half a laugh.
"I'm not the one with a reputation for–oh, fuck, please, please, don't stop."
"What about my...
reputation?" Vasiliev pants in his ear, breath going satisfyingly heavy when Ethan gets a hand on him in return.
He makes a noise of frustration when the glide is too dry and pulls away, Vasiliev stopping at once and pulling back.
"You are okay?" He asks, eyes searching.
"Did I-"
Ethan lunges up to get a hand on the knob of the bedside drawer, yanking it open with enough force that he almost sends it flying, having to stretch even further to catch it with his other hand long enough to grab the lube out before letting it clatter to the floor.
If Vasiliev minds the wanton destruction of his property, Ethan getting a slick hand on him seems to make amends quickly.
His shared shower with Brennan can only be described as playful.
Their time together for today is coming to an end, so there's a mutual understanding that this shouldn't progress into anything sexual, but that doesn't keep them from flirting around the edges of teasing, hands on hips for "balance" when reaching around the other, particular body parts suddenly seeming to look like they could use a little extra attention from a helping hand.
A showerhead "accidentally" angled in just such a way to hit the other in the face with a spray of water.
"Mother
fucker,"
Brennan says this time after his third splashing, but the heat is ruined by the way he grins, reaching for the showerhead and trying to wrestle it away, managing to get Roman right in the face before he regains enough control for neither to have full control over it, a shoving match ending in it pointing to the ground.
"Was an accident," Roman lies blatantly, unable to stop grinning.
He shakes his hair out just to get Brennan yet again, repaid for the mischief with a slap to his side.
"You're such a fucking child," Brennan complains, shaking his head but still smiling.
"Knock it off, or I'm getting out."
"When you are still soapy?" Roman challenges.
He sees Brennan see what he's doing right before he does it.
It doesn't save him from yet another faceful of water.
The morning feels easier to settle into than the day before did, the newness of being in Vasiliev's space for something beyond a scheduled fuck worn in enough to not sit so strangely.
Nothing catastrophic happening has helped soothe his initial nerves, and Vasiliev remaining, well,
has helped more.
He knows he absolutely has to go soon, but Vasiliev bullies him into breakfast, and he takes his place at the bar once again.
It feels more natural than he knows what to do with, sitting and watching Vasiliev move around his kitchen.
"You only eat certain things for game day?" Vasiliev asks.
"Or is anything okay?"
Ethan starts to open his mouth, to tell the truth, but he knows from past experience that other people don't find his routines normal, reactions usually ranging from confused acceptance to judgmental attempts at convincing him to change.
His nerves from the day before pop up again, making him suddenly reticent to admit to something Vasiliev might find strange, but reticent, too, to fuck up what he's always done on-
"Brennan," Vasiliev says, sounding amused as he sets down a carton of eggs and then leans forward, resting his weight on his forearms against the counter and tilting his head slightly in what Ethan could read as fondness if he was feeling particularly stupid.
"I already know you are very strange.
You will not surprise me.
What is your special secret breakfast?"
Almost despite himself, he feels his shoulders go a little looser.
He's right, after all.
Vasiliev's known him for years now, even if only in the context of fucking each other.
He's already ridden out plenty of things Ethan thinks others would find strange, and he's still here, still in front of him, still inviting him to spend the night.
Still willing to hear him out about his very specific game day breakfast habits.
Ethan's nerves dissolve into nothing once again.
Roman knows he has to let Brennan go now, has to let this little bubble of together pop.
They're both captains and have work to do, and they can't spend all day fucking and flirting and teasing around the edges of something Roman knows damn well isn't remotely casual.
There's a difference between knowing and doing, however.
"I have to go," Brennan says now, but he doesn't fight the way Roman has him crowded against a wall that hard.
"Mm," Roman agrees, still nosing along his jaw, "yes, you have said that for ten minutes now."
"Yeah," Brennan agrees, and Roman can hear the smile in his voice, "and it's extra-true now, ten minutes later."
"So boring," he teases.
"And so ungrateful.
I make you super secret special game day breakfast, and you run away now?"
"It's not running," Brennan says, nudging at his chest without any real force.