Kirill likes to play the game. Mats sets the location, thinking of him. A place with chrome in the bathrooms and gilt on the light fixtures. They meet at the bar, even when they shouldn't drink, and Kirill will place his glass on polished wood, crystal sweating, and Mats will run his finger along the tender bones at the back of his hand. Kirill always giggles then, his whole face crinkling up with easy joy. He says it doesn't tickle. He likes when he has a bruise from the slash at the jut of his wrist and first Mats traces it and then presses down with all the strength left in his grip. He trains it in the gym.

"We should eat," Mats says, holding his hand with enough levity to pretend a joke, and Kirill grins like he always does.

"So early," Kirill says, and obediently he follows from the bar of the dining room, hoping for Russian or Italian or steak. Mats might take the silver American Express from his wallet or he might pay himself, a treat.

After, he walks Kirill back to the hotel, arms brushing whether bare or woolen. Kirill glances at him, over and over and over again, pink in the cheek, sparkle in the eye. In snow, their steps form meandering tandem lines.

"The girls," Mats says.

"I know," Kirill responds and follows him to a room that looks the same as all the others. He can't carry a tune but the girls light up with joy, losing grip on the phone and his face until Marlene is there to put it right. Then, the television is on and Kirill goes to stand, playing the other woman.

"Oh, come on," says Mats and then Kirill will settle, batting his eyes.

"Keeping you up," Kirill says, like he's not going back to his own room to play on his iPad and fall asleep. His thighs are so pale and wide. Get too close and his feet stink.

"You devil," he says and rolls Kirill over on the bed, lax and easy for Mats. "You minx."

"Minx?"

"Tease," Mats says, consumptious and condescending and pleased. "Homewrecker. Slut."

Kirill giggles again, grabbing at Mats. "No," he says, agreeably teasable. He wants Mats to buy him drinks. He's clingy, delightful and delighted. It's easy enough to take him here.

After, Kirill splashes water in his face. The basin is fake marble and gold. Mats watches his reflection in the entranceway mirror, the glimmer of his lashes.

"Night night," Mats says.