Page 22 of Two for Roughing

Olivia Starling [off-screen]: Howie, can you tell us what just happened at the net?

Kilian: I tried to block Denisov’s shot. And I did, but I got too far into the crease, took away Dmitriyev’s space, and then he couldn’t do his job properly. My fault, dumb play. I’m not a D-man.

Starling: Any update on how Dmitriyev is doing and whether he’ll be able to rejoin the game?

Kilian: No.

Top comments:

sealions4lyfe: yikes gotta hope dmitriyev gets better soon that did not look good

amazetti: Howie shouldn’t blame himself, he should blame Denisov for a literal fucking assassination attempt on our goalie

firecrackers_spark: Howard is the only guy in the league who has spoken up for Denny. Hope this doesn’t ruin it.

(From “Kilian Howard Intermission Interview,” Firecrackers @ Sea Lions, 11/05/2025)

Kilian paced around his kitchen.

What a nightmare of a game.

He opened Instagram. The last messages between him and Denisov consisted of him sending his address and Denisov’s promise to catch an Uber over after the game ended. He’d declined Kilian’s offer to drive him, saying it would be too obvious, and he was probably right.

On the other hand, did discretion matter? Kilian was on The Gay Team. If someone gave him shit for sleeping with a player on a rival team, Kilian would be happy to point out to Tom and Jax how much stupider it was to fuck a coworker. He didn’t actually care about their relationship affecting team dynamics or whatever. He’d done more damage to those with his teenage hissy fit than they ever would. But since Kilian had no idea how to get out of the rut he’d driven himself into, he might as well put fuel on the fire.

Should he write again to see if Denisov was still coming?

Christ, of course Denisov wasn’t coming. Kilian had spent the whole game getting in his face and chirping him with every idiot thing he could think of because Lindy had asked him to. Denisov probably never wanted to see him again.

It hadn’t even won them the game. Instead, they’d lost their starting goalie, probably indefinitely, and it was all Kilian’s fault. Good thing he already wasn’t talking to anyone, or they might yell at him. Kilian hated getting yelled at.

Chose the wrong career path, he thought, not for the first time.

The buzzer went off, and Kilian nearly jumped out of his skin.

He pressed the button to let Denisov in. It had to be Denisov. No one else had said they were coming over. But why would Denisov still bother after that shitshow of a game? After how Kilian had played? He forced the lock open, putting the door on the lean before going back to the kitchen. Shit, what could he offer? Denisov wouldn’t want cheap vodka or day-old takeout. He had some cream soda he used as a mixer in the vegetable drawer. Maybe Denisov liked cream soda?

He should have gone shopping. There was a Russian specialty store somewhere in the South of Market area. Kilian had googled it when he pulled Abrahamov for the team Secret Santa and had been meaning to go.

Not that Denisov was here for tea and chitchat. He was here to fuck Kilian up, and it would be better for them both if Kilian didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t.

The door creaked open. Kilian ought to pick up some WD-40 and get his toolbox out of the hall closet to fix the hinges and the tricky lock. But he’d planned on moving out soon, and he didn’t have any friends to invite over anymore.

“Howard?”

There he was. In Kilian’s apartment, Russian accent in his deep voice, heavy footfalls on the cheap linoleum floor. He actually came.

“In here,” Kilian called and shut the fridge door. “Do you want some soda? Or a sports drink? I don’t really have any food, but—”

“I was under the impression I came here to suck your cock, not have dinner.”

Despite having had the same thought minutes ago, Kilian opened his mouth to say something about how a little courtesy never hurt anyone. Before he could, Denisov crossed the threshold and pushed into his personal space, caging Kilian up against the counter.

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to.” Had Kilian’s voice always been so high? Or was it the contrast to Denisov’s deep rumble making it sound that way? He loved how Denisov made him feel—small and penned in.

“Good.”