Chapter Text
Chapter 1: blushing
JULY 2021: OTTAWA. The wedding.
Rose
"I need to get laid," Rose announced, plopping herself down into Svetlana's lap. She wrapped her arms around her friend's neck and made her best pout, the one a New Yorker critic called her sexy baby face in a scathing review Rose swore she never read.
Completely unfazed by her charms, Sveta handed her the vodka soda she'd been drinking, smoothing back Rose's hair as she took a sip.
"Mm, I don't fuck straight girls anymore, Принцесса," she said, her voice barely carrying over the music.
Rose's pout was real now. It'd been months of re-shoots of the latest X-Squad sequel and after their director's recent fall-out with the studio, there would likely be more. The wedding was her first real time off in what felt like forever. And after her break up with her costar Erik, Rose desperately needed the feel of someone else's body on hers.
"But we had fun, didn't we, бабушка?" she whined, remembering Sveta's strap from over a year ago with a blush creeping up her cheeks.
The Russian just laughed at Rose's horrible pronunciation, taking back her glass.
"That means grandma," she corrected with a twinkle in her eye. "You just need a, how do you say, palate cleanser. From whatsisname with the perm. Someone who actually likes pussy for once, yes?"
"Erik likes…" Rose began with a roll of her eyes before Svetlana raised one eyebrow knowingly. She shrugged then, not caring enough to defend the man who she'd caught sucking the dick of her stylist three weeks ago. "Fine. My dad says I have a bad picker." She took Sveta's drink again, wanting to feel the burn down her throat as she choked down another sip.
Sveta laughed again, but not cruelly.
"You do," she agreed too enthusiastically, her smile widening into a wicked grin. Rose grimaced; she knew that look all too well: Sveta had an idea. "So let me pick."
"Here?" Rose laughed out loud, handing back the glass. She gestured around them to the lively party that was the hastily-thrown Hollander-Rozanov wedding reception around them. After the wedding outside, someone had the bright idea to move the party indoors. A couple Centaurs moved the boys' incredibly uncomfortable modern sofa to the edge of the room, where she and Sveta were lounging now, to make room for dancing. David Hollander was currently pop-locking to a Ke$ha hit with the Pike children, surrounded by giant hockey players and their partners in various levels of drunken dancing. Hayden was twirling Jacki around, laughing at something Fabian said to him. Shane and Ilya had already disappeared hours ago, probably tucked somewhere upstairs knowing the two of them. "Everyone's either gay or married!"
Svetlana made a clicking noise with her tongue, her eyes scanning the room around them with a laser focus. Rose was too tipsy from champagne to follow her gaze. The room roared around them: a song change to some emo hit from over a decade ago. Apparently it was a favorite of hockey jocks given the shouts of "fuck yes" and tone-deaf singing that surrounded them now. She lifted up Sveta's glass in a salute, allowing herself to sway with the beat of the party around them.
But Sveta was on a mission.
"Ah, not everyone," she shouted above the music. She pinched the bare skin exposed in the cut-out of Rose's dress, then pointed in the direction of the bar.
"Don't point, Jesus!" Rose almost fell off her lap to shove her hand down, the movement jostling the vodka soda onto both of their laps. "Shit!" She unsuccessfully blotted at the wet spot on her dress, knowing the attempt was futile given the grass stains on her ass already.
Sharp, manicured nails gripped her chin and directed her gaze across the room: Yuna Hollander was being poured a glass of red wine by Cliff Marleau. From her red face and the cackle that traveled across the house, she was either clearly feeling the alcohol or Marly had just made the greatest joke known to man.
"Wait, the Boston Chin? He's a fuckboi! And like, dumb even for a hockey player."
Svetlana just rolled her eyes. "I didn't say marry him, Принцесса. Use him and lose him," she yelled above the music, her accent lazing around the ooh and s sounds. She made an obscene gesture with her hands that brought out a snort of laughter from Rose. "Marly's good for it, trust me."
Rose cocked an eyebrow. Who hadn't Svetlana slept with?
"What, have I never told you about my night in Paris?"
Rose adjusted in her lap, sloshing the vodka soda more.
"Oh my god, I looooove Paris. Were you there for fashion week last year?"
Svetlana let out a startled shriek of laughter to rival Yuna's and lightly patted Rose's cheek.
"Oh, Принцесса, you have much to learn. No, I will explain later. The point is, you want to get laid, yes?" Rose nodded. Svetlana lowered her voice, the twinkle in her eye gone for a moment of seriousness. "And you still have your problem, yes?"
Rose winced at the word problem, her good buzz from the evening immediately lost. She knew Sveta meant well, but the word still hurt. Besides, she reminded herself, 'problem' is certainly a word for it.
"So then I pick for you," Svetlana continued, not perceiving the change in Rose's demeanor, "and I pick Cliff Marleau."
She slapped Rose's thigh hard enough to elicit a squeal and a red mark. Then with a devilish grin, she was pushing them both off of the sofa. Before Rose could protest again, she was being dragged across the room by her wrist. Sveta half-danced across the living room, her hips swaying to the beat as they walked and holding her glass up high to avoid another spill. Svetlana was always like this: queen of every room she walked into, like no party really began until she'd arrived, like no one was really dancing until she'd decided to move to the music, too. Ever confident. Ever cool. Rose was always a little jealous. Sveta was saying something in Russian now. Rose elbowed her in the ribs, not understanding the words but knowing from her friend's wiggling eyebrows that it was something dirty. Sveta just laughed, her nails lightly digging into Rose's wrist and then there was no chance to escape: they were here at the bar and there was Cliff Marleau.
He was alone at the bar now, Yuna having been pulled away to dance by Ryan Price.
So Rose flipped her hair again. Casually, like it was just a coincidence that it was perfectly timed to the beat of the song. She made a show of allowing her eyes to rake up and down Marleau's entire 6'3" frame suggestively and cocked one brow, in a move she knew to have about a 90% success rate. She could play through the scene in her head: he'd blush, smile, maybe stumble over his words, shocked that a celebrity was flirting with him, and in 3, 2, 1… he'd say―
"Svetlana Vetrova, have you finally decided to ditch the rest of these fuckers and come marry me?"
Well, he wasn't supposed to say that.
"Marly, Лучик," Sveta shouted, her arms raised in greeting. "I told you, not with that slapshot of yours!" They kissed each other's cheeks in that European way and then he was grinning: all white teeth and chin.
Rose took a moment to really look at him now. For all her jokes about his deep brow and large chin, she had to admit that he was hot. His suit jacket long forgotten, he was now in just a silk dress shirt she doubted he picked out for himself and matching trousers. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and Rose couldn't help but notice how his muscles casually flexed in conversation, his hands moving a mile a minute as he continued some joke with Svetlana.
"I want you to meet my friend, Rose Landry. Rose, this is Marly, Ilya's second line best man."
"Second line?" He smiled wide again and Rose wondered how many of his teeth were real. "Nuh uh, I told you, I'm giving the speech, Sveta!" He pounded his chest once with his fist, like this was a locker room and not a wedding reception.
"We shall see," she winked. In a flash of motion, she looped her arm through Rose's, like physical touch would force her to join the conversation. "But Marly," she exaggerated his name now, laying her accent on thick in a pretend-whine, "my friend Rose has a dreadful problem."
And this was how Rose was going to die. She could feel her face grow bright red, her eyes snapping to Sveta's. Problem?? Svetlana ignored her.
"Clumsy Принцесса, she has spilled my vodka on her pretty dress," her lips formed a perfect frown as she continued, that devilish twinkle in her eye giving the game away. "You know where the laundry is, don't you Marly?"
"Oh yeah, of course, it's just downstairs to the r―"
"―Oh, but you must show her, Лучик. You wouldn't want the Rose Landry to get lost in this giant house, no?"
No, this was how Rose was going to die. Between the embarrassment and the vodka, she had no doubt that her face was beet red. She turned her paparazzi-friendly smile to Marleau just as she lightly stepped on Svetlana's foot. If it hurt, Sveta didn't show it, instead shoving Rose forward and winking at Marleau.
Blessedly, he seemed oblivious: that giant white smile his only expression. He reached for a handshake. And Rose must have still been tipsy because her hand felt tiny in his and he was impossibly warm, his calloused palms applying the lightest of pressure before he pulled away just as Rose leaned into his touch.
"Cliff, but pretty much everyone just calls me Marly. Wanna follow me?"
She did. And to her great surprise, she didn't even check to see if anyone was looking. The guests were probably dancing or involved in their own conversations. Sveta was yelling something out to them in Russian from the bar and Marly was saying something ahead of her, probably something about getting vodka stains out of pretty dresses. The music boomed loud, even as they went downstairs to the lower level. Her heartbeat was louder. It pounded in her ears as Marly turned to the right, pushing open the double swinging doors to the fancy laundrette she knew Shane had actually paid an interior designer to style.
Swinging doors, reminded a voice in the back of her head. No lock. She didn't care.
Rose Landry was many things, had been many things, could shape herself into whatever a director or casting agent asked of her. But a patient woman she was not. She waited only until Marly flicked on the light. The doors were still swinging.
"Hollander probably has like, a Tide pen in here or something, oh―"
He was interrupted by her mouth on his. Even with her heels, she had to practically climb him to reach. After maybe a second of hesitation, he caught up with her, his big hands reaching down to grab her waist and lift her up.
Rose knew she was being desperate, aggressive. No game whatsoever, that voice scolded. But it had been weeks, maybe months since someone had touched her. Really touched her. Not to apply body makeup or to curl her hair or to move her hips so the camera could get a better angle of her ass. When Erik had held her, he was… tepid. She'd given him a strip tease once to try to liven up the bedroom and he'd actually patted her on the back when she'd straddled him. Heavy thumps, like he was telling her good job. Cliff Marleau wasn't patting her on the back.
He gripped her waist carefully, holding her to his body as his tongue explored her mouth. His hands were warm and strong, delicate on her dress even as he held her tighter. She could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. She wanted more. She threw her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, suckling on his tongue. Even through their clothes, she could feel him start to grow hard against her stomach. That's new, the last working part of her brain thought. Then he pulled away.
"Wait, wait." He carefully let her down back onto her, now admittedly shaky, legs. He bent low, his forehead touching hers as they panted together. "You sure you're good? You want this?"
Had his voice always been this deep? She began fumbling with his belt buckle. Marly took the hint, his big hands lifting her up by her ass now and setting her on top of the dryer. Rose took advantage of the better height placement to wrap her legs around him, pulling him into the bracket of her thighs by his belt.
"Slow, slow, we have time," he whispered against her throat. His lips traced a gentle path from the hinge of her jaw to her lips. And this time, his kiss was soft. Gentle. It was close-mouthed at first, his tongue only teasing at her lips before she sighed, giving him entry. He pulled away again, his deep brow furrowed into a wordless question. Rose gave a slight nod, biting her lip where his tongue had just grazed. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then his mouth was on hers again, his other hand at the curve of her face, softly choreographing their movements.
They kissed for awhile then. And Rose forgot about what she looked like. About the best angle for the light to hit her face, about practiced bedroom eyes peeking up from long lashes, about where her hands should go. She forgot the voice in her head. She forgot her lines. She forgot everything except Cliff Marleau's mouth and the weight of his hands. She just let herself be kissed.
They broke apart only to catch their breaths. Marly wasted no time, planting kisses down her neck and bare shoulder where one strap of her dress had fallen, exposing the skin for his mouth. He teased her with his teeth, sharp nips softened by his tongue and feather-light sucking where her skin flushed. Her spine arched as his hands began to explore her, moving to palm her breast through her dress before they moved south, sliding up her hem above her knees and―
And her brain started up again. This was the part she hated, the script she knew all too well. She rehearsed the scene in her head: he would touch her, try his best. And it'd feel okay, maybe even bordering on good. But nothing would really happen. She'd have to explain, to apologize, to offer platitudes like it just doesn't happen for me or something worse like my body just doesn't do that. Maybe Marly's brow would deepen further, pity in his eyes. Maybe even mockery. Maybe he'd see it as some kind of personal challenge, like her body was just waiting for his dick to rock her world. And then she'd moan and sigh at all the right times and say thank you, that felt good and wait until it was over.
It wasn't that sex didn't feel good. It did. Sometimes it was even great. Like with Sveta's strap-on last year, when she'd felt the beginning of a climb upwards. But then it was just… over. No fireworks, no rockets red glare, no porn star screams. Sveta had called it a problem, but it wasn't really. Just a fact of life, trivia about her own body she left off the casting sheet: Rose Landry couldn't orgasm. It had never happened to her and at this point, she didn't think it ever would.
Marly's hand was traveling lower now, bunching up her dress to get better access. With expert dexterity, his one finger hooked around the line of her panties and with one flick, they were out of the way. He kissed down her neck and chest, mouthing at her breasts through the fabric of her dress as that one finger slipped inside of her.
Rose knew her lines well. She was the willing ingenue, the pliable doll, and she'd played this part before. She arched her neck and threw her head back, exposing the line of her throat just as her curls fell strategically where she knew they would. She closed her eyes and let out an exaggerated whine, the familiar oohs and ahhs, licking her lips before letting them fall open slightly. Just enough. Like it was all just too good.
Both the finger and mouth retreated immediately.
Rose opened her eyes to find Marly staring at her, his eyebrows pulled into that question again. She felt the heat rise to her face, her heart racing again. The party upstairs was still going, someone yelling for shots, but Marly was silent. Just watching her. Not playing his part.
"You… don't have to fake it," he said finally.
And she was wrong before. This was how she'd die.
"Oh, I wasn't, I mean, it's just― I can't, I mean, thanks― like, thank you for you know, I just won't um, you know," the words stumbled out of her, completely off-script. "Cum or anything, like it just doesn't― but you know, good job, like it's― it's fine, it's good. We can, you know, move past that part and keep going."
She thought he would laugh. Or worse, ask questions. That brow would perk up again and instead of getting laid in this laundry room, there'd be a sexual interrogation. Questions like never, ever? in disbelief and mock-sympathy before he'd finally find his line. Something awful and humiliating like, not 'til me, baby. Regardless, the scene would end like it always did and he'd leave this room telling everyone that he'd banged Rose Landry.
She waited. Marly just shrugged, like it was no big deal, his eyes never leaving hers.
"That's okay. But you don't need to fake it with me, okay?" He waited for a response.
Off-script again. Rose swallowed hard and just nodded. His head dipped forward again to kiss her, both of his strong hands now cupping her face, guiding her deeper into his embrace. His tongue felt more familiar now, caressing and twisting with her own. She let herself fall into it again, focusing on his mouth and the heat of their bodies together. He waited until she relaxed before his hands journeyed south again.
This time, he slipped two thumbs in the string, adjusting her so her panties slid down her body until they were by her ankles. He pulled away from the kiss but maintained eye contact as he finished the job, hooking the fabric over her strappy heels. It looked like he'd tucked them into his trouser pocket. The dryer was cold under her bare ass, her dress hiked up to her waist now. Still holding her gaze, he reached behind her and fumbled with the knob on the machine. It roared to life beneath her and she rocked her hips in shock.
"Oh," she heard herself say, stupidly.
Those strong hands were back on her within the second, guiding her to lean back into his grip. He was holding her up with just his palm on the small of her back, his other hand trailing from her bare hip to her ass to her thigh. And it felt… well, good. The callouses on his hands gave a pleasing pressure and his touch was so light, so teasing…
Once he was at her ankle, he adjusted her again and she let him, allowing her ankle up on his shoulder with only the slightest of guidance from that wandering hand. He kissed her ankle where the glittery strap of her high heels met the bone and this time, her eyes closed for real.
"Can I?"
"Y-yes," she said, finding it suddenly difficult to speak.
She kept her eyes closed. The machine below was rocking gently, like it'd been placed on the delicate setting. She could feel the vibrations sending small waves of pleasure up her spine, soft lips trailing kisses up her long leg. Marly was slow, so slow, taking his time, learning where her skin would tingle at the lightest touch. She could feel the wetness between her thighs grow and when the cool air of his breath joined that sensation, her spine arched against his hand without her permission.
"Shh," he whispered, and that sent another, interesting sensation up her body.
She felt his nose first, exploring the curves of her flesh like a nuzzle. The machine continued its low rumble beneath her, the surface of the dryer warming from either itself or her own heat. She tried to move, to chase the friction, but it was like invisible strings held her in place: Marly's steady, sure hand at the small of her back her only leverage. He opened her softly, almost politely, with one finger― and this alone was almost too much. How big could one finger be? She tried to squirm from the fullness, but found herself leaning further back, her entire weight now held up by Marly alone.
His finger explored her for a minute or maybe two, just lightly stretching her, increasing her wetness. When it retreated, she expected two fingers. Instead, it was Marly's tongue. And now, he was not gentle. His tongue dipped inside her impossibly far, in and out, fast and hard, fucking her.
A sound escaped her, a real one. She winced at how unsexy it was, a sharp ah like she was surprised and―oh fuck, his tongue was flat and wide now, applying pressure and weight against her clit. She was panting now, those invisible strings the only thing holding her back from pushing herself into his face. Waves of pleasure pulsed up her spine as his tongue matched the rhythm of the dryer below her. Those invisible strings snapped: her hips rocked against him without her permission and her nails dug into his scalp.
This was not Rose's first time. Men had gone down on her before. And it was fine, nice even. She appreciated the effort, if not the end result. But nothing like this. Marly was just so enthusiastic, devouring her, swallowing her, his tongue making shapes inside of her―sharp and then soft over and over.
Suddenly, Svetlana's rude hand gesture from before made sense. No wonder this man had a weak slap-shot; his talents were lost on the ice. He belonged here, face in between Rose's legs.
He moaned inside of her, bringing her back to the current moment in her body and this vibration, too, sent an interesting swell of sensation through her. She was making noises, embarrassing ones, panting and whining at every twist of his tongue until she could no longer keep still. Her hands were in his hair, yanking, pulling. It was too much. It was way too much. Her heart was pounding, throbbing, pulsing, but it wasn't her heart at all: it was coming from below, the spot where Marly's tongue kept thrusting and this had never happened before and it was too much, so much she was squirming and bucking and aching and she was going to die like this she needed out she needed to pull away she needed―
"Oh, fuck, oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod," she was yelling, but the rush in her ears was too loud to recognize the sound of her own voice. Her hips bucked and she tried to retreat, but Marly held her firm: his mouth below and his hand on her lower back. The dryer continued its tireless pace beneath her. And this. This was what people talked about when they―
Marly moaned inside of her again and she was climbing and then she wasn't, nothing to catch her but Marly's mouth and Marly's hands and she was falling, she was coming apart, she was coming, oh fuck she was coming― and there was no end to it. It felt like one of those dreams where she was flying, suspended in the air: when you know you're dreaming because this is impossible, but you're too asleep to remember to fear the ground. Her body was shivering, quaking really, and Marly was stroking her, guiding her through it. His voice was her only direction: like gravity.
The edges of her vision were streaked white and when she blinked hard to find focus again, her lashes were wet. Like she'd been crying. Jesus Christ, had she actually cried? Marly was coming up for air now, his face soaked and before she had time to doubt, she was kissing him and tasting herself: salt and skin and tears and ecstasy. She gripped his hair again, pulling him deeper into the kiss, fascinated by the things his tongue could do.
They were interrupted by a sharp knock on the laundrette door and suddenly Rose became aware of three crucial facts. One: the music upstairs had stopped. Two: her throat was hoarse from the noises she'd been making just a moment ago. Three: she had no idea how long ago the music had stopped. Or frankly, how long they'd been in this room as she made such noises while the music was stopped.
They scrambled to make themselves presentable, Marly slapping the knob behind her to turn the dryer off and wiping his face. Rose struggled with the straps of her dress and tried to smooth down her hair.
"Is just me," Sveta was calling from behind the doors. "Marly, they want to do the speeches now. Илюша is asking for you."
"Now?" Marly called out, but his eyes were only on Rose. His thumb gently wiped at her lip, fixing her smudged makeup. Her chest was still heaving, sweat pooling down the line of her breasts. She couldn't look away from him, even with Svetlana just outside of the door.
"Yes, now! Or I do it without you!"
With a look of apology, his hands were around her waist again, lifting her off the dryer back onto her feet. She slid down his body, needing his stability to quell her shaking knees. She could feel the press of his erection through his pants and the heat flushed to her chest again. He bent down to kiss her, soft and chaste once more. She had to force herself not to chase his lips when he pulled away.
"Later, maybe?" He whispered, gazing into her eyes again. "I could come find you?"
Rose just nodded, not trusting her voice. He pulled her dress back down her bare ass and she buckled his belt for him, blushing when he adjusted himself to hide how hard he was. When she moved toward the door, he pulled her back, kissing her again before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'll find you after," he promised. And then he swung open the laundrette doors to a smiling Svetlana.
"Good job, Лучик," she said, her hand at her face barely concealing her giggle.
"Shush," he scolded, playfully tugging on one of her curls as he passed, taking the stairs two at a time.
Svetlana had a smug look on her face, a flash of her manicure as she golf-clapped.
"Brava, Принцесса, oh I'm so proud of you!" Then with a kiss to Rose's cheek she was gone too, chasing Marly up the stairs.
Heart still pounding in her ears, legs still wobbly, Rose waited until the sounds of their footsteps retreated before she followed. Ilya and Shane were sitting in two dining chairs in the middle of the living room now, the rest of the crowd encircling them in a horse-shoe shape for speeches. Marly and Svetlana were standing arm in arm for their speech, Sveta laughing at something while he shuffled with his pockets.
"Uh, maybe let's let Pike go first," his deep voice carried across the room. A few people laughed. Ilya caught Rose's eye from his seat and winked. She flushed again, escaping to the closest bathroom.
Grateful for a lock, the door had barely been barred before she was overtaken by a fit of laughter. Giggles and emotion poured out of her like a flood. It was ridiculous! How many partners, men and women, vibrators, dildos, cock rings, the tantric therapist who smacked her with a feather… She thought she had tried everything. Rose had never climaxed once in her life and her body decided the first time should be in the laundry room at Shane Hollander's wedding reception with Cliff Marleau? She laughed until tears flowed again, her waterproof mascara her only saving grace.
When the giggles finally subsided, she took a hard look at herself in the mirror. She thought there'd be some sort of physical change, a mark or sign that could signify the Before and now the After. But Rose Landry's face stared back at her. Perhaps a little weepy, lipstick a little smudged, curls a little frizzy, no Photoshop or touch-ups. But it was the same face she always found in the mirror.
She went to work to clean herself up, wiping under her eyes to adjust her mascara and eyeliner. There was a soft hum flowing through her entire body. She felt warm and tingly and… very exposed. She suddenly remembered that she was wearing nothing under her dress, her panties tucked safely into Marly's trouser pockets. She let herself laugh again, splashing cool water on the back of her neck to reduce her flush. The water felt amazing on her skin and for a brief second, she even considered just hopping into the shower to feel it all over. What am I now, some sort of pleasure fiend? She shook her head at her reflection disapprovingly and took a few deep breaths. It felt like her every nerve ending was open and bare, like she was sober with desire. Painfully awake for maybe the first time in her life.
Rose wanted more.
She straightened her dress, giving the mirror one last look-over before rejoining the party.
People were clapping, Shane hugging Hayden. Rose found her place standing next to Yuna, who may have smiled slightly but graciously said nothing about her performance downstairs. Her cheeks threatened to flush again, but Rose could play this part. She flicked her hair back, refusing to be ashamed, and plastered that practiced smile on her face like it was her job. Because it was, of course.
The clapping subsided and now Svetlana was saying something in Russian, emotion clear in her voice without translation or a mic. Rose watched as emotions flickered across Ilya's face as Sveta's words settled in him. Shane was smiling and holding his now husband's hand. He looked so happy, so very different from the boy in that Montreal restaurant all those years ago, the tears in his eyes refusing to fall for a very different reason now. Her heart swelled somewhere in her throat and she had to look away. She found Marly's eyes, watching her. Caught like he'd done something wrong, she watched as the blush reached his ears. He smiled that smile of his, all teeth and chin, and Rose found herself smiling right back. Smiling for real this time. Struck by the feeling that she'd seen the ending of this movie before.
***
Cliff
He wiped a tear from Svetlana's cheek when she finished speaking, the crowd clapping despite only Roz knowing what she'd said. Cliff thinks he got the important parts though. He twirled one of her curls in the way she liked to get a smile out of her, which worked immediately.
"Ladies and gentleman, a man of many talents, Cliff Marleau," she said with a wink, all jokes and fun again. He and Roz both barked in laughter, the way only two men who'd shared a locker room for as long as they did could. He was grateful they could still do that, after all this time.
Suddenly nervous, he fiddled with his cards and cleared his throat.
"Uh, I actually started writing this speech years ago. Roz and I were in the locker room, getting ready for a game. Connors was arguing about a song to set the mood." Here, Connors whooped at the name drop and someone else chirped about his terrible taste in music. "I look over and I see this guy hunched over his phone, like he was often in those days, blushing red―"
"―Russians do not do this!" Roz interrupted, his face in a mock-frown. The crowd laughed.
"―Because he was texting his Montreal girl!" Marly shouted back without breaking a beat. "And I knew then. I swear on the Cup, I started writing this speech that night because I knew that one day I'd be here, in front of all you pretty people, saying it. Now I had no idea that Roz's famous Montreal girl was the star center we were about to face, of course, but I knew, maybe before these two idiots did, that one day we'd get here. That I'd be giving the best man speech for my brother."
Something stuck in his throat but he continued.
"I knew because of the look on your face. You were stupid in love, man. The kind of love that you can't hide. And I wanted to write it down so I'd remember to chirp you in front of everyone that you were down bad, even as a rook. But it turns out, there's no point right? I mean, look at you two now. No one would doubt what the two of you feel for each other. And when you finally told me that the mysterious Jane you'd never introduce me to was not only a man and a hockey player, but the fucking Shane Hollander, well it made a certain sense. Because you deserve the fucking best, Roz, so of course you'd go for the best of us. Now Shane, that's the only nice thing I'm gonna say about you because Ottawa's getting their asses handed to 'em next year," and he waited for the laughter and jeers to die down before continuing, "so I'll just finish up here to say that I hope you know how lucky you are. Because I watched that rookie fall in love with you and become a man and it was my greatest privilege. I was gonna be your left wing, Roz, for the rest of my career and it broke my heart, broke my heart, man, when you left Boston. But I knew who it was for. And I knew, like I knew that day in Montreal, that it was gonna bring us here, to your wedding day. Because, and Shane write this one down, when Ilya Rozanov loves you, that's it, man. It's for life. I wish you both all the happiness in the world and zero fucking Stanley Cups."
The crowd laughed again, then broke out in chirps and cheers. Marly's eyes were swimming, but he bit the emotion back, shoving the note cards back in his pocket. The left one, the one that didn't have Rose Landry's g-string hidden inside. Before he could process that thought, Roz was in front of him, clapping him on the shoulder with a tear dripping down his cheek.
"Great fucking speech!"
"Go fuck yourself," he chirped back, pretending that he wasn't sniffling.
Then Sveta was hugging them both, laughing at something Roz said that probably didn't need a translation. Shane came over to shake his hand and someone started the music again, probably Connors. But Roz kept his arm on his shoulder, in that way he used to after a practice, when he wanted Marly to hang back once no one was looking.
"What you said before―"
"I meant it, Roz. You were blushing."
"Shut up, listen to me, Marly." He gripped Cliff's shoulders with both hands, squeezing the muscles there hard and jostling him. "Are you listening? You are my brother and I love you. But do not fuck this up, yes?"
He didn't need to guess what Roz meant. Cliff could feel his ears turn pink, but he said nothing. Whatever was written on his face, Roz read it: he burst out laughing and lightly slapped Cliff's cheek a couple of times.
"You beauty, go, get the fuck out of here. Make me proud."
"Shut the fuck up, Rozy. Go dance with your husband."
On cue, Hollander was pulling him away to the center of the living-room-turned-dance-floor. Cliff tried not to be conspicuous: he nodded his head to the beat of the song, poured Yuna Hollander another drink, smiled politely when Pike tried to make small talk about something. But his eyes were scanning the crowd, looking for her. Then there was a tap on his shoulder.
"I think you have something of mine," she said, her voice barely audible over the music.
The blood rushed to his head and other inconvenient places again. Rose Landry stood next to him, a glass of champagne in her hand. And she was fucking smiling at him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, for Rose Landry's arm to lightly brush against his, for her to find him first and then look at him like that in the middle of all of these people and―
You're Cliff fucking Marleau, he reminded himself. You have at least some game, fucking use it. He swallowed hard, considering his answer before actually speaking.
He leaned his head down closer to speak in her ear, like he needed the closeness just for conversation.
"Almost fell out of my pocket when I went to grab my notes," he admitted.
That pleasant rush of redness reached her cheeks again as she sipped her champagne.
"I liked your speech."
"Thank you." Then feeling brave, he added, "Uh, by the way, you didn't just like, say that you couldn't as an ego boost or something, right? You know about not…"
She took a giant gulp of her champagne and he tried not to focus on her throat. When she shook her head, he got another whiff of her perfume: something light and airy. He'd caught it last when his face was at her chest, a mouthful of freesia he could taste through her dress. He resisted the desire to follow the scent now.
"Um, no, that's," she lowered her voice even more, looking around like someone was monitoring their conversation in this loud party, "that's literally never happened to me before." She bit her bottom lip, a look of apology and maybe-shame in her eyes.
And for once in his fucking life, Cliff Marleau said the right thing at the right time.
"Wanna see if we can catch an encore?"
He was upstairs in her guest room ten minutes later.
He'd waited like she'd asked, an appropriate amount of time before he followed her ― like no one would think twice about Cliff going upstairs, despite the fact he was staying in his own hotel room across town. He was sure Svetlana would call him out when he said goodnight, but she said nothing, just gave that crooked smile every Russian in his life seemed to have. He checked his watch. Once. Twice. Waiting for the hand to hit the exact point she'd requested and forcing himself to walk casually up the stairs. He didn't take a breath until he'd locked the bedroom door behind him.
She was sitting at the foot of the bed, her heels kicked off, bare toes on the carpet. She looked like something out of a movie: the low light of the nightstand lamp casting shadows across the room, her bangs falling across her eyes like they'd been strategically placed there, and she was looking up at him from beneath those lashes. It'd be romantic, but there was something …false about it. Something off.
Feigning confidence he didn't feel, he strolled, all nonchalant, over to the bed, his hand in his right pocket. He pulled out her panties from earlier and without saying a word, he knelt in front of her, slipping them around her ankles and then up her legs. She flicked the hair out of her eyes, a look of confusion on her face as she let him move her body, sliding the fabric up her thighs and then over her ass. He didn't let his fingers linger, but he didn't break eye contact either.
She looked like she did earlier in the laundry again, her baby blue eyes searching his face as a flush crept up her chest and throat. There you are, he thought. The seconds ticked by on the watch on his wrist, but still he said nothing.
"Marly," she started, taking a deep inhale of breath on the word.
"―Cliff, please," he interrupted. He gently moved an errant strand of her bangs out of her eyes as he spoke, his other hand caressing the hem of her dress between two fingers. "I think you should call me Cliff. Not Marly."
She nodded, swallowing hard and his gaze naturally fell to the line of her throat. She noticed, a hint of a smile on her lips.
"Cliff. I don't want you to get the idea that I'm inexperienced or something, I'm not. I'm very experienced, it's just that that part hasn't happened before. But like, I know what I'm doing."
He watched her stumble over her words as he played with her hair, smoothing it in places or tucking it behind her ear. It'd been all done up in curls and hairspray earlier, the way women were always doing for formal events. But the shape of it had mostly fallen now, hanging limply, revealing what he guessed to be her natural texture from root to tip. It was beautiful. She was beautiful, the blush rising on her porcelain skin as she babbled on about sexual experience and inexperience. It took everything in him to listen to her words instead of kissing her, which is all that he'd wanted to do since Svetlana had first introduced them.
She grew more flustered at his touches.
"Are you going to kiss me?" she said, sounding frustrated.
"Do you want me to kiss you?"
She raised one eyebrow in response and his dick twitched, still hard from earlier and tired of being ignored.
"I want you to do more than kiss me."
He matched her expression, his right eyebrow cocked as well. Say it. Tell me, he thought. He cupped her face with his hands, tilting her head back the way she'd held it down in the laundrette, when she'd relaxed and let him see her. Her gaze locked into his with a confidence that would have had him on his knees if he wasn't already, like she knew what he was thinking and what he wanted.
"I want you to fuck me," she said. "I want you to make me cum again."
He kissed her. He'd meant to be slow and gentle, like before. But she was unbuttoning his shirt with expert hands, her painted nails exploring his abs, and he couldn't get his belt off fast enough. That freesia scent was intoxicating and Cliff's mouth was on a mission to discover its source. His pants were somewhere around his ankles and her hand was on his cock and her tongue down his throat and he forgot that he wanted to take his time, to really enjoy this. He forgot that all of their friends were downstairs and one of Pike's babies was probably asleep just down the hall and Rose had indicated she wanted no one to know. The noises of her were replaying in his head like a symphony and he wanted to hear them again, here, now, in this bed, in this room. He kissed her again and again, lifting her up to toss her further back on the bed and she was giggling, her dress caught somewhere around her shoulders. And he forgot to be embarrassed about the awkwardness of it because her bare breasts fit perfectly in his hands and he could cum like this, frankly. Just from the sight of her in his hands.
Condom. Condom. Focus. He forced himself to pull away from her long enough to kick off his pants and socks.
"Come back," Rose whined.
Thank you Roz for apparently having condoms in every room of this god damn house, he thought, slamming the nightstand drawer closed and ripping the packet open. It was his last clear thought of the night.
He slipped the condom on, giving his hard dick a much-needed stroke. Rose was panting, wearing only that thin strip of cloth that had been in his pocket just moments earlier. She was spread on top of the covers, her hands touching her nipples that were still wet from his mouth, and looking up at him with those blue eyes.
On his hands and knees again, he crawled up the bed to her. He kissed and licked up her legs and thighs the way she'd liked before, taking mental note of where she sighed. When she squirmed underneath him, he held her down with his hips.
"God, fuck me," she moaned.
"Patience," he scolded, like he wasn't already leaking pre-cum just from tasting her skin. He was bricked to the point of pain. And if this were anyone else, he'd have already gotten his dick wet. But this was a woman who needed release and fuck if Cliff wasn't going to give it to her. He nipped her thigh, enjoying the soft noise that escaped her. His tongue wandered, soothing the red spot from his teeth. He teased her like this, playing with her nipples and giving gentle bites right at the string of her panties until he could see the fabric grow wet.
When she was ready, he flipped her onto her knees. His cock twitched at just how willing she was. Like she trusted him to throw her around and not break her. Later, he would replay this moment and wish he could see her face when he first took her. But Cliff wasn't in control of himself. With one finger, he yanked her underwear to the side and thrust himself fully inside.
She made that noise of surprise again, thrusting herself back against him like he could go deeper. His dick throbbed from the heat of her, jerking in protest when he pulled out to plunge into her again. She gave one of those fake pornstar moans she'd tried earlier and he smacked her ass hard, leaving a bright red hand print. She quieted immediately. As a reward, he rolled her hips into him, his grip firm. He buried himself into her, his other hand reaching under her to cup her breasts, then down to finger her. She was gasping and panting, letting out a whimper when he found her pulsing clit. This time, her noise was real.
Rose bucked against him and then he couldn't wait anymore. He pounded into her again and again, matching the rhythm of his hips with his hand as her sounds grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to lose the sight of her under him like this but needing the focus to wait for her. She was so tight and so warm and he started to lose control of it, his hips moving faster as she gripped him. When she called out his name, he was only seconds after her. Shivering and twitching as he filled the condom with everything he had in him.
After he disposed of it all, he took in the sight of her: ruined and flushed and sweaty. There were tears in her eyes and she was biting her bottom lip. Something in his chest twisted. Before he'd consciously made the decision to move, he was pulling her into his arms. She let him.
"I've got you, honey, I've got you," he kept whispering. He wasn't sure if she could even hear him over her sobs. He just kept saying it, smoothing and kissing her hair and holding her tight.
He didn't know when they fell asleep. There were birds outside of the window and something warm was stirring underneath of him. He'd been having the best dream. He opened his eyes, the previous night coming back to him with the bright sunlight. They were both still naked, his head on Rose Landry's stomach, his arms still around her. It wasn't close enough. He pulled her tighter, kissing the spot just above her belly button.
She giggled, clearly ticklish. Her fingers were in his hair, her nails scratching his scalp in a way that made him close his eyes again.
"Good morning."
Christ, even her voice was gorgeous.
"Mm, morning," he grumbled, wishing it wasn't.
"I'm surprised you didn't sneak out."
He opened his eyes, lifting his head to look up at her. That muscle somewhere in his chest pulled again, a not-quite pleasant twist, at the look of her. Her bedhead was adorable, bangs all frizzy and fluffed from sleep, and her makeup was dark and heavy under her eyes. He'd watched Rose Landry in movies on long flights, worked out under TVs playing her interviews and dissecting her red carpet gowns, and there was no doubt in his mind that this was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her. He wanted to commit the image to memory, to never look away, to hold her here like this and have her let him.
"Was I supposed to?" He asked instead.
"No, just… people will be up soon and… And most guys would." She shrugged.
He kissed that ticklish spot again and let her go, rolling over onto his back.
"I'm not most guys."
She got up from the bed, rustling around with her luggage in the corner to find fresh clothes. It was cold without her body. He pulled up the sheet around his waist to hide his soft cock, watching the curves of her as she pulled on a t-shirt.
"Is this the part where you say most guys don't make me finish once, let alone twice?"
He carded his hand through his hair, but didn't answer her. The air in the room felt different than it had last night. She was different. Flippant, casual, barely looking at him. Like the daylight had done something and now here they were, in the After. He felt that twist again. Ignoring it, he stood up, finding his briefs and trousers where he'd left them. His back was stiff.
They dressed in silence on opposite sides of the room, the bed dividing them: his and hers. When she was pulling her hair up into a messy bun and he only had a couple buttons left on his shirt, he finally spoke.
"What was different this time, do you think?"
She rolled her eyes.
"I knew it, you think it was your magic penis."
He left his belt unbuckled and crawled over the bed, pulling her down by her waist. Like before, she let him, falling down onto the mattress exactly where he wanted her. She let out a giggle when he nuzzled the hinge of her jaw, his five o'clock shadow tickling her again. He made a mental note of the spot, but continued their conversation.
"No, I mean it. What was the difference?" He kissed the hollow of her throat. The scent of her perfume had faded in the night. He missed it. "What changed for you?"
"Hey, don't… like, tell anyone about this, okay?" Rose said instead, changing the subject. He tried to hold her gaze, but she was looking somewhere up at the ceiling. He let her go again and she rolled off the bed. "It was just, you know, two adults having fun after a friend's wedding. Not like the Boston forward banging the actress, you know?" She stood, adjusting her hair again.
Cliff could take a hint. He glanced at his watch. 5:30. He could probably sneak downstairs without waking anyone, though someone might hear his car back out of the drive.
"I won't say anything," he promised.
"Thanks."
She kissed him then, a quick peck on the lips like Svetlana would give to say goodbye. Unacceptable, he thought, and he pulled her into his arms again. If this was the last time he got to kiss Rose Landry, he was going to make the most of it. He kissed her soft and gentle, the way he should have done last night. The way a first kiss is supposed to happen. She relaxed in his arms, fitting into him with her hands around his waist.
Finally, he let himself pull away.
"Goodnight," he whispered, tucking that same strand of hair behind her ears.
"Good morning," she corrected with a smile.
And then he was out the door. He made a show of slowly closing the bedroom door behind him, waiting for the click before he finally let go of the doorknob. His shoes squeaked down the stupid modern stairs Hollander had probably made custom, but the hall was silent and empty. When he got to the landing, he remembered his belt was still undone. He fumbled with the buckle, looking up to find the bewildered expression of Hayden Pike coming out of the kitchen, baby bottle in hand and burping cloth tossed over his shoulder.
Shit.
"Don't say a fucking word about this to anyone, Pike or I'll steal Jacki from you and you know I could."
Pike looked like he would laugh out loud and wake up the whole damn house.
"Dude, everyone knows. Rose was… not subtle," he smirked.
"Not any fucking more they don't," Cliff scolded. He forced his expression into one he knew worked on the ice, as threatening as he could be, and stared Pike down. "It's completely casual and it was a one time thing and she doesn't want anyone to know, so shut the fuck up."
Pike looked him up and down and then quirked one eyebrow.
"Oh, you are so fucked, buddy."