#rozleau

“…You mean Hollzy?”

They try to turn practice in to a shirts and skins scrimmage and everyone is like no??? We need our pads??? "What's the point of all of these beautiful muscular bodies if we can't even admire them?"

Like they're making out on a hotel bed, they're frotting, Cliff's on top, and Ilya def doesn't mind because that just means he has an easier time groping Cliff's ass and his muscled back, which he very much likes to do.

And just out of curiosity, just as an experiment, he dips his finger between Cliff's cheeks, rubbing a little bit against Cliff's asshole.

And Cliff just... doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he gives a little moan where he's sucking gently on Ilya's neck, and when Ilya presses just a tiny bit harder, he's rewarded with Cliff's cock twitching against his pubic bone and his hips hitching.

"Have you ever?" Ilya decides to ask, using two fingers now to give Cliff's hole a little tap that makes Cliff gasp. Despite the way he's reacting, Ilya is mostly sure that the answer is gonna be no, but Cliff catches him off guard.

"Not all the time," Cliff husks out, dragging his mouth down Ilya's neck to slide along his collarbone. "But I have done, yeah."

Ilya's mind temporarily turns to tv static he's so surprised.

"Really?" he asks incredulously, and Cliff chortles before raising his head.

"Remember that girl I dated a couple summers ago? Jenny?"

Ilya had never met her, but Cliff had talked about her.

"Yeah?"

"She liked pegging."

Now Ilya's brain really turns to static, staring up at Cliff with wide eyes, aghast at this revelation.

"Really?" he says again, eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his hair. "You got pegged?"

Cliff chortles again before dipping his head down and biting Ilya's bottom lip.

"Yeah, asshole. I'm an adventurous guy! And I ain't a hypocrite; she let me fuck her ass, so it was only fair."

Only fair. Cliff Marleau is such a strange marvel of a man.

"Did you like?" Ilya can't help but ask next, trying to hide how much he wants the answer to be yes and not sure if he was succeeding.

He definitely wasn't, as Cliff gives him a sly look.

"You wanna fuck my ass, Roz?"

It would be stupid to lie, so Ilya doesn't.

"Yes." He accompanies his affirmation with a firm rub against the tight pucker, and Cliff's back flexes, his eyelids dropping closed for a moment.

Oh he definitely likes it.

Ilya has never been religious. It surprises most people since he has never taken off his mother’s crucifix chain since the day she died. He also has a habit of fucking with people about things, his accent and ability to deadpan through any amount of bullshit making him a deadly weapon in sarcasm. But it is true: he doesn’t think much about religion. About God. About what comes after this.

Cliff has always been religious. Italian-Catholic. Mass every week and on all the major holidays. Feast days. Lent. All of it. He did a stint as an altar boy growing up (which always earns him plenty of distasteful jokes and scandalized looks, but it was really pretty boring stuff) and speaks Italian with his family. He doesn’t live like a monk, obviously, but it’s just part of who he is. It’s just something he does, and has always done, and will always do.

And neither of things really matter or have anything to do with each other. Until they do.

Until Ilya is on his back, thighs wrapped so tight around Cliff’s waist, the bed frame creaking and groaning beneath them as Cliff drives into him, over and over, his nails digging deep, angry red tracks into Cliff’s back and shoulders - and then, suddenly, something… clicks.

Maybe it’s the way the lamp light is catching on Ilya’s sweat-soaked curls and the hot, thin line of gold at his throat. Maybe it’s the almost musical cadence of their breathing and moaning as their sounds wrap around each other in the close air of the bedroom. Maybe it’s just the fact that, as much as he’s tried and tried and tried, Cliff has never been able to keep from turning his affection into devotion. Into dedication. Into worship.

Whatever it is, it possesses Cliff in a way. He doesn’t break his stride as he carefully slides a hand beneath the cross on Ilya’s chest, palms it as delicately as a newly hatched bird, and lifts it to his lips, pressing s kiss to the metal. Ilya can only watch, stunned, his body suddenly vibrating at a higher frequency, some deep, intrinsic chord left long dormant suddenly struck within him like a chapel bell, and his eyes line with tears.

Marley, he whispers.

Cliff surges forward to capture his mouth, a deep, imperfect mess of a kiss, and then he buries his face in the crook of Ilya’s shoulder and starts babbling. No - not babbling, Ilya realizes as his hips snap forward faster, harder, striking that bell inside him with dizzying force.

Praying. He’s praying into Ilya’s skin, grabbing at him and holding him and fucking into him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Altissimo, onnipotente e buon Signore, tue sono la lode, la gloria e l’onore e ogni benedizione. Ilya has no idea what he’s saying, but he doesn’t stop, not even when Ilya’s release is finally pulled out of him and his moans turn to whines as he clings to Cliff for dear life.

That they haven't kissed at least once and don't know how much tongue the other prefers, and what drink they're most likely to taste like on nights they're planning on getting laid.

Marleau would have the sound guy play this song during warmups once he realized Ilya and Montreal Jane had broken up. He thinks he’s helping. Ilya crashes out so hard he gets a 10 minute misconduct two minutes into the first period. Marleau doesn’t mention Montreal Jane again. Post Tampa the song pops up in the gym playlist and Marleau fears for everyone’s safety but Ilya starts dancing and singing along. Marleau realizes Ilya and Montreal Jane are back together. He knows better than to comment but he’s happy for them.

Sometimes shane feels like winne the fuckin poo just walking around with his centaurs t shirt on and cock dangling

And when they have friends over it’s kind of like my house my rules

So their movie nights with friends also have a lot of casual nudity

Marleau is very confident in his (very masculine, hairy) body, and is all to keen to walk around bottomless.