Page 6 of Two for Roughing

He ran his fingers across the fabric reverently. It was so fine. He hadn’t worn any of it yet, convinced the panties would stretch obscenely over his hips and cock. No one wanted to see that. But the shirt… He’d bought it when he was a few drinks in, triggered by a TikTok ad. He couldn’t resist the floral pattern, the sheer fabric, the idea of how it would look and feel on his skin. The package, addressed to an “H. Koward,” had arrived when he was stone-cold sober. He’d shoved it in the bottom drawer and hadn’t tried it on, continuing his stellar track record of being chickenshit about everything important. Now, he realized it was for the best. The shirt would suit a guy like Jax, who was flamboyant in the way he talked and acted, or on Luca, who was just plain gorgeous. Heck, it would look good on tall and skinny Tom too.

On Kilian, it would be ridiculous.

He shoved the shirt back into the drawer decisively. The guys who checked him out wouldn’t think “delicate pillow princess,” not with his muscles on muscles and thick hockey thighs. A lace shirt couldn’t change that.

He grabbed the light blue crop top. It was his favorite since he’d gotten laid in it most often, and it made his abs look great. He pulled it on and considered the chokers. The idea of something beautiful wrapped around his neck compelled him for more reasons than one. Kilian wished that casually wearing jewelry would go unnoticed in the hockey world. But hockey guys only got away with it if they were European. He’d actually considered getting his ears pierced this summer, but then the player magazine held a vote on who was the most fashionable in the league. The top two guys had earrings. Kilian couldn’t start getting that kind of attention. With a sigh, he returned the chokers to the drawer. He shrugged on his suede bomber, zipped it up tight so no one would see what he had on underneath, and headed for the door.

Liam met him in the line outside the club. He was dressed similarly, although on his slim build, the outfit looked all lithe and sexy instead of oafish. He had no jacket, and his crop top wasn’t cut from a T-shirt. It actually was meant to stop at his ribs. Liam took one look at Kilian and rolled his eyes.

“Oh my God, you are a tragedy. No wonder I thought you might be a top.” He dragged Kilian forward by the elbow, simpered at the bouncer until they were let through, giving him a wink, and corralled Kilian into the bathroom as soon as Kilian checked his coat.

“I can’t believe you wore a coat,” Liam said, pushing Kilian toward the sink. “It’s, like, twelve million degrees in here.”

“I can’t believe you walk around outside dressed that way.” Kilian crossed his arms over his bare midriff. In the too-bright lights of the club bathroom, when all he’d had to drink were the last two gulps from the bottle of cheap vodka he’d found under the kitchen sink, he couldn’t quite look at himself in the mirror.

Liam snorted, unimpressed, and dug an eyeliner pencil out of the pocket of his painted-on jeans. He inspected his own reflection, nodded in satisfaction, and turned to Kilian, brandishing the pencil as if it were a weapon. “What are you, closeted?”

“Yeah.” Kilian eyed the pencil warily.

Liam frowned. “Why?”

“My job is super homophobic.”

“Yeah, you and the rest of the world.” Liam came closer.

“Whoa.” Kilian jerked away. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a little pizzazz. Duh.”

Kilian imagined himself dancing under the strobe lights with black lining his eyes. He pictured someone behind him, hands running up across his bare belly and up under his shirt across his chest, his own lined eyes closed as he threw his head back.

He pictured the eyeliner smudging and running with his tears while some guy fucked him roughly from behind and told him he was pretty.

“How do I get it off?” he asked weakly.

“Use some lotion; you’ll be fine. You can always tell your job it’s from a Halloween party.”

Kilian snorted a hysterical laugh. He could not tell his job anything of the sort because everyone he worked with, and every hockey fan on the internet, knew what he’d been dressed as for Halloween. “Okay, hit me.”

After, he glanced at himself. The liner made his eyes look bigger and darker. Maybe it was the lighting or the club’s smoky air from the fog machine. He still couldn’t hold a candle to Liam’s elfin good looks, but it was nice to imagine.

“Here’s the plan,” Liam told him. “We get tequila shooters, we hit the dance floor, we make out a little and get some big, toppy bears to come running.” He studied Kilian briefly. “Well, bigger. Seriously, how much do you work out?”

Not enough, judging by the three updated workout schedules Kilian’s dad texted him after Kilian didn’t take his call.

“It’s a living,” Kilian muttered.

Liam frowned again. “Whatever. Come on—tequila.”

“Can we make it vodka?”

Liam wrinkled his nose. “You do you.”

He let Kilian order what he wanted despite his clear disapproval. Part of Kilian wished he were sophisticated enough to drink wine or classy cocktails, but his fake ID wasn’t good enough to test it, especially with alcohol he wouldn’t get buzzed on immediately. Anyway, he’d developed a taste for the sharp, flavorless burn of vodka. Another topic Kilian had gotten really into researching was Russia and the various ethnic groups there, for reasons he wouldn’t be sharing with anyone. Developing a taste for vodka was an upside.

After a few shots, Liam deemed them ready. “Come on. I wanna get fuuuucked,” he said, giggling.

“You’re bossy,” Kilian observed, but he let himself be dragged out onto the floor. He’d gone home with Liam because of his bossiness, despite Liam being the opposite of his type, physically speaking. So far, big guys hadn’t been mean enough.