Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander

Additional Tags:

Bonded pair looking for a third, Long-Distance Relationship, Boys Kissing, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Polyamory Negotiations, Bottom Ilya Rozanov, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Himbo Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Top Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of What Happens In Tampa…

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-09 Words: 10,432 Chapters: 1/1

Soft Reset (Retains Data)

Summary

Ilya calls Shane to debrief, from Cliff's bed... but apparently Shane doesn't want to hear about it.

Shane wants to watch.

***

Right now, sprawled across Roz's chest with Roz's fingertips trailing across the nape of his neck, Cliff does not feel done. He's raw as fuck, limp as a rag. The intensity of it being Roz, not some anonymous hot chick, but Roz whose smile and voice and laugh he knows – having reduced Roz to senseless pleasure – is somehow a thousand times more affecting than even the wildest night with a bunch of puck bunny tens. Feeling Roz smile into his kisses. Hearing Roz curse and gasp. Being welcomed into Roz's body, Christ—he's never had sex like it. That was not just sex. That was… he doesn't know what that was, by the end. A religious experience? 

Gun to his head, it could best be described as a monumental, life-ruining sex event… and now Roz is going to call Hollzy about it?! Recount the highlights, play by play, while Cliff's still reeling? Fuck! He's not sure he can stay chill with Ilya's accented voice narrating everything they've just done, while Hollzy listens and—and what? Reacts, judges? Ticks off a scorecard?

Notes

What do you mean "you can't write 10k of a single phonecall"? I do what I want

Thank you so much to everyone who has sworn allegiance to the hollanovaeu fraternity so far. Love you guys! 💪💪💪

Thank yous especially to my elite team of prose-wrangling Brit-unpicking angels: Goat, the indefatigable Feral, GlitteringRock & Hegemony <3

This is probably 4/5 of this ridiculous series, enjoy.

 

Is normal, I think. You just fuck the hell outta your best friend.

Roz's words pulse in Cliff's head in time with his heartbeat, which is hammering. It's like he's run a fucking PB. His breathing's gone back to normal, he's stopped sweating like he's on fire, and yet his heart is racing on, on, on—

Fuck the hell outta your best friend. 

—and Cliff is good at sex, okay, he doesn't usually get worked up about it. He loves it, he's great at it, and then when it's over, he's a gentleman about it, makes sure the chick's all good, doesn't rush them out, but always pays for a cab within the hour. He's got a whole slew of silver-tongued excuses – practice in the morning, or a team shoot he's gotta get to, some bullshit PR stunt thing – all affable and totally reasonable reasons that there is simply no way she's gonna stay the night with this pro hockey player in the middle of his busy, busy schedule. But no hard feelings, am I right? Everyone had a great time. And… done. 

Right now, sprawled across Roz's chest with Roz's fingertips trailing across the nape of his neck, Cliff does not feel done. He's raw as fuck, limp as a rag. The intensity of it being Roz, not some anonymous hot chick, but Roz whose smile and voice and laugh he knows – having reduced Roz to senseless pleasure – is somehow a thousand times more affecting than even the wildest night with a bunch of puck bunny tens. 

Feeling Roz smile into his kisses. Hearing Roz curse and gasp. Being welcomed into Roz's body, Christ—he's never had sex like it. That was not just sex. That was… he doesn't know what that was, by the end. A religious experience? Gun to his head, it could best be described as a monumental, life-ruining sex event… and now Roz is going to call Hollzy about it?! Recount the highlights, play by play, while Cliff's still reeling? Fuck! He's not sure he can stay chill with Ilya's accented voice narrating everything they've just done, while Hollzy listens and—and what? Reacts, judges?

Ticks off a scorecard?

Shit, what if he scored low? Made some rookie errors? That would be… 

Heh. Cliff catches up with himself all at once, as Roz’s fingertips meander along his hairline. Roz’s breathing beneath him has that syrupy relaxation of someone recently fucked to the brink of sanity. Cliff’s pretty sure he rocked Roz’s world, rookie moves or no. Yeah, those highscores in the bag. 

That makes him feel better. More chill, again. Overall, he tells himself, it's not that different from any other simple, easy, wicked-hot encounter. It's just that it's with two guys. Who are both superstars in his field. And also, that one of them is his best friend. And also, that that best friend took his dick so beautifully he could've cried. That's all. 

Cliff keeps his heated face pressed into Roz's chest until he hears the familiar digital ringtone – and then he bolts, jumping to his feet like a skittish horse, running a stabilizing hand through his hair.

Roz slants a glance up at him, mid-arranging himself back against Cliff's pillows. Bro looks way too comfortable in Cliff's huge bed. Kind of… the right size for it, actually. 

"Problem?" Roz asks.

"No problem," Cliff lies, "just thirsty," and Roz would see through that in a hot minute if he was looking, but he's not, of course – he's redirected all of his attention to the phone screen. 

While Cliff stares, Roz smooths down his own hair and lifts his chin, then flashes a devastating ladykiller smile as the tone cuts off and Hollzy's voice rings out. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

Roz is practically preening, gazing into the phone like he wants to marry it. 

"You're not home," Hollzy says, and Cliff wishes he could see his face, but he got as far as his bedroom doorway and now he feels glued to it. He hesitates, looks back. He can hear them all too clearly, but he can only see Roz's lovesick expression. Still shirtless; even from this distance Cliff can see the yellow-purple bruise Hollzy had left around his nipple, and the many pink-red smears Cliff's decorated him with tonight. 

"Niet, moy lyubimy. I am still at Marly's. Is okay?" 

Now Cliff really wishes he could see the screen. 

"Is okay," Hollzy echoes, and then something else complicated-sounding that Cliff doesn't catch—what the fuck, since when does Hollzy speak Russian? It makes Roz beam, though, eyes shining, and then he replies with more Russian, and a stab of paranoia goes through Cliff's chest. Are they talking about him? He really wants to hear the words. 

Luckily Hollzy laughs at that and goes back to English. "Say again? I didn't catch that. Some reason I'm not concentrating…"

"Yeah?" Roz's answering smile is fucking sexy. It makes Cliff's stomach tighten. "What are you thinking about?"

"You, obviously. And him. I can't stop thinking about what you guys might have been doing on your test-drive… Where is he, anyway?"

Roz's gaze cuts to the doorway where Cliff's propped himself on one elbow in the shadows, faking nonchalantly checking his own phone – staring unseeing at the screen, probably obvious as hell. 

"He's around somewhere," Roz says, and winks at Cliff. Asshole. How is he so calm? This whole situation is making Cliff feel like he's tripping. 

"So what happened?" Hollzy's voice is lower, thicker.

Roz laughs. "A lot."

"Tell me."

"You want details or, uh, headlines?"

"Headlines first."

"Okay. I took him back to his place, we did some stuff, then we had sex. He is definitely," and Roz aims a finger at Cliff, smirking, "definitely okay with gay stuff."

"Wow, that… that's good," Hollzy says, sounding kinda faint, indistinct. Cliff strains to hear. "That's… crazy. " He blows out a breath. "I just wish I was there."

"I wish you were here too."

Fuck, now Cliff feels like he's not meant to be in the room at all. 

"Did he let you kiss him?"

That Hollzy even has to ask that feels absurd. Cliff's lips are still burning with the amount of kissing they've done. 

"Yes."

Shane makes an approving noise, and Roz touches the screen with one fingertip, murmurs something else Cliff can't hear. 

Shane chuckles, then says warmly, "Yeah. Me too." Then, almost casually; "And did you fuck him?"

"Uh… We fucked, yes," Roz says, slow and careful. Then he glances skywards. "But, not the way you might expect."

Cliff realizes his face is now burning too, his pulse banging in his head. He's still lurking by the door, his phone forgotten in his lax hand. There's some chipped paint on the doorjamb; without even meaning to, his thumbnail finds its way under a glossy flake of it, starts lifting. 

"Really?!" 

Cliff can't tell if Hollzy's voice is shocked or delighted. 

"Yes," Roz says, looking beseechingly into the phone. "I know. Is not expected. But…" He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Was fucking hot. I see why you like it so much."

"Wow. Just… wow."

"Is okay?"

"Holy shit, yes, of course," Shane says, sounding a little breathless. "What position?"

Is he getting off on this? It's probably the best outcome if he is. But Cliff should be over there too, surely. Sharing the win. Except—he doesn't want to intrude. 

"Hands and knees," Roz says proudly, then adds, warm and sly, "there was room for you under me, you know. I think you would have enjoyed this. Pinned under both our weight. You would not be able to escape."

"Fuck," Hollzy breathes. 

"There was also some sixty-nining before – your favorite." 

"God." 

"…but nothing new there. We suck each other's dicks, some hand stuff, you know. The part where he fuck me, though – this was new." 

"God," Hollzy repeats, and then, rushed and slightly strangled, "I mean, wait a second, can I check you don't… prefer that, now?"

"No! No," Roz laughs, then sobers. "Oh my god, Shane, no. Never. Was just different. And… made me feel close to you."

"That's wild."

"Yeah." 

"Is he still there?" 

Roz's eyes find Cliff again. "Yes."

"What's he doing now?" 

"Uh, he went to get water," Roz says, and Cliff recognizes that as the signal that it is. Recess is over. He snaps out of his weird trance, goes and grabs an actual ice water, takes a deep gulp, then walks determinedly back toward the bed. Time to face the music, or something. 

"Uh, hey, Hollzy," Cliff says, as Roz shifts easily, making a space in Cliff's own bed next to him. Jesus, this is weird now. 

Cliff sits on the side of the bed, as casually as he can, which is… not very. He squints at the phone, which Roz has tilted so that both their portraits can squeeze into the frame together. They barely fit. The little screen seems full of their messy hair and bare chests. 

"Shane," Shane says.

The sight of him makes Cliff feel insane. The Shane Hollander is right there, live, for real; wearing a black t-shirt, his black hair tousled, the contrast high in the tiny phone screen. His neck and cheeks are flushed, his skin looks dewy, and his lips are a bitten red; he looks an otherworldly level of good for this time of night. 

"Shane," Cliff repeats, and it tastes strange on his lips, but not bad. Just awkward, different. Earnest, like he's talking to someone's boss or something. Like he's on his best behaviour. "Hey." 

"How's it going?" 

Is that a trick question? "Uh… good?" Cliff tries, glancing at Roz for some fucking guidance here, but Roz is still staring at Shane like he wants to eat the phone or something. "How are you?" 

"Good," Shane says, but it sounds automatic. He blinks a couple of times, spots of color brightening high on his cheeks, and then his mouth quirks to one side and he adds, rueful now, "I mean, I'd be better if I was there too, but…" 

Roz snaps to attention at that. "Sorry," he says, his voice gruff, sitting forward off the pillow. "Shit, should I not have him on the call? I thought—" 

Cliff can't help but bristle at being talked about like he's not here, but it's their business, right? It's Roz and Hollzy's show, he's just a cameo. Probably one of a string of cameos. He bites his tongue. 

"Sure, no, it's fine," Shane says quickly, "I just feel… far away," which makes Roz tense even more. 

Roz angles the phone so it's just transmitting his own face to Shane, like he's forgotten Cliff's even in the room. "Seriously, my love," he says, "should I have gone home first before calling you?"

"No," Shane says, firm now. "No. It's good to see… see with my own eyes. Proof, haha. It makes me feel more included."

"You are included, you're the center of everything. My everything."

Yeah, this sounds like relationship shit. Time to bounce. Cliff's got nowhere to bounce to, but he'd take freezing his balls off on the dark corner of the street over witnessing this frickin' verbal car crash. There's a reason Cliff mostly fucks strangers.

"Uh—I'll go," Cliff offers. 

"No," they both say simultaneously – Shane's voice sharp above Roz's blunter tone, startling a nervous laugh out of Cliff. 

"Whoa! Okay, boss," Cliff says, and then thank fuck Roz smiles then, a visible flash of relief as he re-centers them both in the frame. 

Cliff's stupid fucking heart goes double time at that, speared with a desire to fix this, and so Cliff makes a show of leaning in to it, raising his hands to the camera, speaking directly to Shane.

"Whatever you say, man," Cliff tells him. "You want proof, you got proof. You want space, I'm gone. Just say the word."

Shane's eyes lock onto him. "You'll show me proof?"

Roz is also focused back on him now, that diabolical lower lip jutting. Talk about mixed signals. 

Cliff looks helplessly back and forth between them. "Uh, if you want? I mean it, man, whatever helps you get on the same page. If that's not where you are right now. Or whatever. I dunno," he says quickly, laughing a little. He’d appreciate some direction right now. What do they normally do? "I'm new at this. You guys are the experts in… whatever the fuck this is."

There's a pause that Cliff gradually realizes is too fucking long.

"Oh shit," he says, his eyes opening wide as he turns abruptly to Roz. "Fuck, seriously? You're rookies in this too?"

"Not rookies," Roz says, too indignantly.

"Okay, sure," Cliff says, nodding, over a loud rushing filling his ears, "so I'm not the first guy you've… no, no, I see that I am," he interrupts himself, clocking their expressions – Roz's fractured poker face and Shane's cheeks tingeing pinker – and chokes on another disbelieving laugh. He closes his hand on Roz's nearest bicep, like that'll help, gives him a frustrated little shake. "What the hell, dude. You don't do shit halfway. What were you thinking?"

"You want me to punch him? I'll punch him," Roz offers to Shane.

"Don't punch him."

Cliff's still staring at Roz, clutching his arm, dismayed. This simple easy wicked-hot thing is feeling a lot less simple. He's not one of a string of cameos. He's… he doesn't know what he is right now.

"But you made out like you'd had tons of group sex," he says to Roz, bewildered. 

"I did," Roz said, and grimaces, waving his other hand impatiently. "But not, uh, like this. Before now, it was not ever involving someone I love." 

Cliff wants to groan and cover his eyes. Wants to get out of here right fucking now, leave these two fucking idiots to sort their own shit out. But the thought of actually doing that makes him feel like a wrecking ball. 

"Okay," Cliff says, heaving a deep breath. "Okay. Fuck." He's having ten thoughts at once now, which is bad. Some of the thoughts are that he should run for the hills. Some of the thoughts are about how good Roz's warm tense bicep feels in his grip, how good Roz looks right now, alert with adrenaline. How pretty Shane looks through the phone, even though the picture is tiny. He clearly can't say any of that. 

But he's got to say something, because neither of them are saying anything.

"O-kay," Cliff says again, still buying time. He makes himself let go of Roz's arm. His head's buzzing. He's just gonna have to say it as he sees it. He tries to make it matter-of-fact. "Well, clearly I should not have fucked you, bro. My bad. Way too intense."

Now Roz's cheeks are tinged pink. "Don't apologize," he mutters. 

"And we shouldn't have done it with you so far away," Cliff says over him, solely to Shane now, seeking out his gaze in the too-small screen. Damn, even stricken like this, Shane's eyes are beautiful. No wonder Roz looks like his puppy's whining off-screen every time he gets a goddamn text. "We should've timed all this better." 

Shane visibly swallows. "Yeah, uh, we thought timing was important." 

Cliff ignores that lame-ass contribution. "And if you just wanna forget it, I get it," he says, to both of them. "No hard feelings. If you guys need to just…" 

He mimes drawing a line under it, or possibly strikes it out entirely. Even as he makes the gesture, he remembers the crazy firestorm hotness of everything that just happened, Roz's body against his; how it felt to make Roz come on his dick, shaking in his arms, fuck. How easy it had been for Shane to swallow all of him down. The physical side of this had all felt so easy. 

"Or?" 

That's Shane. Cliff's focus darts back to the screen, Shane's near-blank face. He's handsome like a doll, sometimes. Like a doll that could kill you with one arm tied behind his back. Cliff swallows. "Or what?" 

The tip of Shane's tongue wets the center of his lower lip, just a momentary flash. "Earlier. You made it sound like I had two options. But just now you only suggested we forget it. Is that what you want?" 

He's… certainly direct. Cliff can appreciate that. 

Cliff doesn't normally take the time to choose his words carefully. This once, he makes an exception. "Look, for real," he says to Shane, aware of Roz's gaze burning into the side of his face, "I don't wanna forget it. Hottest two nights of my life, I swear. But like I said to your boy here, earlier – I don't go where I'm not wanted. So if it's easier for you guys if I bounce? Happy to. More than happy." 

"Huh," Shane says, which tells him absolutely fucking nothing. 

Cliff looks at Roz in the vain hope he'll provide more direction, and gets blindsided by another set of memories, of Roz leaning in playfully, pinning him to the wall, climbing him like a tree. Fuck, if they do cut him loose, he's gonna have to get blind stinking drunk about it. 

"Whatever you want, moy lyubimy," Roz says to Shane. Whipped like Cliff almost can't believe. 

Shane bites his lip for a moment, then releases. "I want you to kiss him for me."

Now Cliff's not sure he's heard either of them correctly. 

Roz's gaze is riveted to the screen. "Yeah?" 

Shane gives the tiniest nod. "Like I told you," he says to Roz, his voice huskier now. "It's cool knowing you did it, but I want to see it actually happen." He wets his lips, and Cliff feels a tingle across the tip of his own tongue. "If you want to include me, make me feel less far away – give me something to watch."

Now Roz is looking at him. That lower lip, pink and pouty, left just slightly ajar, seems to call to Cliff like a magnet. He's had Roz's mouth around his cock multiple times this evening, and yet what he wants most keenly right now is to test that plump lower lip with his teeth, suck on it again, see if Roz still makes that hot little pained noise with Shane watching.

"Uh," Cliff says, when Roz hesitates, "I mean… I'm game if you are."

"Very game." 

"Go on," Shane says, and there's an airiness to his voice now, a breathy quality, that gives Cliff a strong sense that he's turned on, maybe even touching himself. Fuck, that's a hot thought. Touching himself, watching them. Maybe involving Shane is the only part that matters—keeping it clean, simple, and wicked-hot, letting him lead. 

"C'mere then," Cliff says to Roz, even though it's him leaning in. 

Faintly, he hears his own little pained noise as their mouths meet. Fuck, that's… he's not sure how he got so aroused again so quickly. Usually he would not go another round in—well, for real, usually he'd sleep. This is not a usual situation.

But the feel of Roz's kiss-swollen lips opening for him, the newly-familiar slide of his tongue, slightly chilled from the ice water Cliff gave him earlier, tasting of nothing except the inside of Roz's mouth which is a taste that Cliff knows now—fuck, Cliff leans in harder, making it deep, assertive. Clawing back the tiniest bit of lost ground when Roz honest-to-god moans around his tongue. How's that for reminding him Cliff's in the room? 

"Yeah, it would be hotter if I could actually see for shit," Shane complains, muffled now, and Cliff looks around in confusion to find Roz's totally dropped the ball on the whole filming side of things; the phone's tilted toward the ceiling, jerkily zoomed in across a thumbprint-smeared screen. 

"Shit, sorry," Roz mutters, righting the phone, then somehow fumbles it completely, dropping it on the bed. 

Cliff cannot contain a shit-eating grin at how wrecked Roz's got from a simple kiss. 

"My god, you're a fucking disaster," he drawls, for the pleasure of making Roz scowl, and then he's opening the bedside drawer with a soft snap. "Luckily for you, this is not my first rodeo." 

"What's he saying?" Shane demands, and Cliff realizes Roz has turned the camera off entirely while he tries to polish the lens with an edge of pillowcase. 

"Some shit about a horse," Roz says, but he's watching avidly as Cliff sets up his gear on the bedside table: iPad, miniature tripod, thumbnail Bluetooth speaker. 

Cliff raises an eyebrow. "Better?" 

"Oh, fuck," Roz says, starting to grin now. He lifts the phone to his mouth. "Shane, you're gonna love this. Marly's a fucking pervert."

"Yeah, I kinda got that already," Shane hazards, as Cliff flips Roz off, grinning. 

"What's his number?" 

In truth, Cliff's probably got Shane's number somewhere, but there's something awesome about having Roz stab in the digits himself – freely giving Cliff access to whatever number Shane uses for this late-night stuff. Though… that’s probably his normal phone, isn’t it, given the amount of thought they've apparently given this thing. But still. 

Roz presses Call and then lifts his own phone to his lips. "Okay. Drop this call, pick up new one. You won't regret it." 

"Really?"

"Really."

Shane answers on the first ring, and it takes a moment for his picture to load into crisp, high-def clarity. Cliff enjoys watching Shane's face as he takes in the new angle, the much-improved field of view; easily big enough for two large men, sitting up on Cliff's bed, close together, facing the camera on the bedside table. 

"Hey," Shane says, and his voice is rich and smooth through the new speaker, so much more three-dimensional. Shane laughs softly, and Cliff can almost feel his breath on his skin. "Whoa, okay. Hands free now?"

"Shane is big fan of hands free," Roz says, and Shane hisses at him, like that's an inside joke. 

"Uh, it's a tripod," Cliff says to Shane.

Roz snorts. "That's what they call him – the tripod."

"Damn right," Cliff shoots back, but the energy is off in his voice because he's fucked him, he can't make dick jokes when this man has literally ridden his dick, can he? 

But Roz is just grinning and leaning back in, setting aside his phone in favour of kissing Cliff again, slow and filthy. They're both sitting up, Roz entirely on the bed; Cliff still has his one foot on the floor. And oh, yeah, it's better with both of Roz's hands involved. Roz is making fists in Cliff's hair and directing him, tilting Cliff's head as he slips his tongue into Cliff's mouth. Showing him off for this new, powerful, wider-lens camera; for Shane. 

Then Roz draws back, letting Cliff go again, looks over at the screen. "Better?"

"Better," Shane says. He does look instantly dazed. 

"You've gotta say if you don't like anything," Cliff says, which seems pretty fucking obvious to him, but given – well, everything – it probably does need to be said out loud as well. Cliff's done this with girls before where the vibe's gotten weird, clogged up with third-wheel energy. It's best just to be clear about stuff. Straightforward. Gay-forward? Surely this sort of thing should be easier with guys. 

"I will," Shane says, and his voice still has that airy note to it, like his breathing is getting shallow. Cliff feels his own breathing come quicker in response, his chest swaying closer to Roz, which reminds him…

"Are you gonna take off your shirt?" he asks Shane.

Shane looks at Roz.

Roz nods – almost like he's granting permission. 

Cliff gets a familiar, slightly cloudy feeling that he's not one hundred percent certain what he's stumbled into. 

Shane takes off his shirt in one fluid motion, then does something off-screen – folds it? Random – before reappearing, shirtless and even more tousled, more enticing than ever. He sets his own phone down somewhere, and now they can see more of him, all of his head and shoulders, and most of his gorgeous torso, against a backdrop of navy blue sheets. 

There's a hint of visible black waistband before the frame cuts off, which gives Cliff his first real jolt of I want to be there; it would feel so good, peeling those down. 

"And the rest?" Cliff says instead, letting it sound hopeful.

Shane bites his lip over a lazy grin, a shade of the ringleader Cliff suddenly wants him to be. "Soon. I want… more of you guys, first."

"What do you want?" That's Roz, sounding altogether more predatory, fixedly attuned to Shane. 

"Um… you could kiss him again? With, uh, hands."

It seems pretty tame, but Roz looks pleased nonetheless, turning back to Cliff with a prompting look. Whipped, yeah, but there's something else here as well. Like Roz's world will fall apart if Shane's not completely happy, but also like he's got Shane on a leash of his own. 

It's inescapable: Shane Hollander is the center of everything. 

But that is all good by Cliff, because it means he gets this, gets Roz's mouth and hands and soft noises as they start kissing again. Languid and lazy, like there's nothing riding on this at all. And he gets to feel Shane watching, assessing, like he's reviewing game tape, that legendary attention to detail picking up every little move between them. 

Fuck, that's hot. 

Roz's hands slide down Cliff's neck, mapping the muscles there, rounding over his shoulders and squeezing. He's making a show of how much they're touching, Cliff realizes; making every movement of his hands slow and deliberate. Cliff tries mirroring him, spreading his fingers on Roz's neck, the other hand sliding down Roz's arm to find that bicep hand-hold again, and Shane makes a soft appreciative noise. 

Yeah, okay, so this tame shit is not at all bad. He can't imagine it's going to get Shane off – which surely has to be the point of this, right? Get them all on the same wavelength – but maybe it's a harmless way to file the rough edges off of those feelings he's having, of being left out, far away. 

Cliff breaks the kiss to suck Roz's lower lip into his mouth, clamp it gently with his teeth, feel his breath shudder out. Roz makes a harsh noise and kisses him again, harder, biting back – not harmless – his big fingers digging in along Cliff's shoulders. 

Just like that, Cliff wants to throw him down and ravage him. The urge consumes him in a blaze of heated ideas: he wants to pin Roz down and shove himself back between his legs and fuck him while Shane watches, get Roz making those helpless addictive sounds again. But that—that is definitely not what Shane's asked to see. Yet. Maybe ever. 

No harm, no foul. No strings attached.

Yeah, sure Roz, whatever. Cliff's beginning to grasp that at least half of what Roz has told him about this situation is the purest, grade A bullshit. No strings, sure, just endless shirtless kisses that feel so fucking good and intimate that they might as well be fucking again, right here in front of Roz's evidently serious boyfriend, rolling the dice on whether Shane will get off on that or freak the fuck out. 

Cliff forces himself to draw back again, holding Roz at arm's length to check in. Someone should, right? Especially given Roz looks like he’s lost it, all breathless and panting, mouth wet, eyes glazed—while Shane looks like he wants to crawl through the iPad screen. Go figure. 

It would be so much fucking simpler if Shane were here. In Cliff's bed, alongside them, in between them. Fuck, that would be… incredible. He wonders what the Montreal-Boston flight time is like. Under two hours, surely. 

Roz is looking hungrily at Shane. "More like what you were thinking?" 

"Yeah," Shane says. "Yeah that's, uh… that's good." 

Cliff tries to keep it playful, keep the burgeoning frustration out of his voice. "Anything else you'd like to see?"

There's another breathless pause. 

Cliff can't help but notice that, as a ringleader, Shane is not cracking too many whips.

Sure enough, Shane tips his head to one side and asks, almost uncomfortable, "What else do you wanna show me?"—and again, there's something luminously passive in it, something going begging beneath the surface, shining out of those dark, mesmerizing eyes. 

It's not the Shane Hollander that most people see. Cliff feels a strange thrill that Shane's letting it become visible in front of him. 

Roz reacts as if Shane's tugging on a thread tied at the heart of him: he draws himself up next to Cliff, shoulders squaring, jaw going tight.

"You have to tell us," Roz says to Shane, making it a command, and Shane visibly relaxes. "Tell me. Or—I will take choice away from you. What do you want?" 

Cliff holds his breath.

"Um…"

"You want to see me kiss him, stroke him, suck his dick?" Roz demands, the edges of every word firm, clipped. "Something else? You must choose. What will make you so hard you cannot control yourself? Tell me." 

Yeah, that's effective. They can actually see Shane's pupils dilating in real time. 

And then Shane says, "I wanna watch Marly suck your dick."

Roz looks at Cliff and just slightly lifts his eyebrows. Yeah? 

There's the barest diffident flash in Roz's eyes as well, as if he's only belatedly realizing he should have checked with Cliff first before offering… anything. 

But Cliff's not an asshole – he can see Roz badly needs him to have his back on this – to the point that, even if Cliff wasn't up for it, he'd probably do it anyway. He's just that good a friend. 

He does want it though. Fuck, does he ever want it. His mouth's watering at the thought. 

"Sure," Cliff says, grinning to cover the sudden hunger in his voice. "Can't wait to watch you lose control," he adds to Shane, and winks. 

Shane blushes, which is so fucking pretty that Cliff feels like he scored from behind the center line. 

He makes a point of adjusting the iPad, angling it toward Roz where he's propped up against the pillows at the head of the bed, ensuring the camera is capturing the full length of them, from Roz's tipped back face to his loosely bent knees. He's still in boxers but he's definitely hard again, the shape of it visible beneath dark fabric, and Cliff goes to palm it roughly, possessive, before catching himself at the last minute. He veers away, reaching up for Roz's jaw instead. 

This is a show. For Shane. 

"We're good, right?" he asks quietly, below the threshold where the iPad's mic would pick it up, before pinching Roz's chin and planting a slow kiss on his mouth, firm and suggestive. 

"Very good," Roz says, against his lips. "Are you sure you want…?"

"Very sure," Cliff sends back, trailing his mouth down Roz's neck, breathing him in as he crawls on top of him. He smells so good. Cliff ensures he tips his own head to the other side, so the camera's catching Roz's profile, Roz's shivery drawn out sigh. If this is a show, Cliff's gonna make it good. 

And he tells himself he's just making up for last time, for not having touched Shane enough, apparently, for any of them – groping Roz's body, kissing down over his chest, open-mouthed; sucking on Roz's nipples and rubbing his cheek over his pecs, making a point of revisiting that bruise Shane left before – but still he feels like it's been barely seconds when his mouth encounters the strained waistband of Roz's boxers. He inhales deeply, head ringing. Fuck, he could happily go back and do it all three times over. 

"Okay," Cliff says, scraping his chin deliberately against the furred base of Roz's belly and watching a happy flinch go through him, "here's the deal."

Roz looks gratifyingly dazed and dewy again. "What?" 

Cliff looks instead at the screen, pitching his voice for Shane, hard and stern. "If he's getting naked, so are you." 

"Yeah, okay," Shane says quickly, and hurries to strip off his shorts; Cliff feels a streak of pure hot power go through him. 

Huh. 

He glances back at Roz, sees an acknowledging flicker in his eyes. Fuck, okay. So this is a thing. This is definitely a thing, that Hollzy—Hollander—Shane responds to certain direct orders like a BDSM bunny. Fucking good to know. 

"Good," Roz tells Shane curtly, like he's the one who gave the order. "Let us see you." 

Us hits Cliff like a truck; he covers by dropping a few kisses to the fuzzy trail leading down from Roz's belly button beneath his waistband, before feeling stable enough to look back up at the screen. 

The sight makes him groan out loud. 

Shane has adjusted the view again. Now he's sitting back against his headboard, one knee drawn up against his chest, his foot flat to the mattress right next to his dick. More flexible than the average hockey player. More everything than average, with those massive thighs, those taut abs, that beautiful dick, which is in his hand, filling it out, and Cliff realizes he never actually saw it before, not properly. 

Shane had been on his hands and knees, that first night together. As far as Cliff was concerned, he'd kept all this hidden. 

"Jesus Christ," Cliff says, as Shane looks up at the camera through black spikes of hair, stroking himself roughly. "How long is the flight to Montreal?" 

"One hour forty," Roz says immediately. 

"And is there any reason we're not… Like, can we go now?" Cliff demands, laughing but also, can they? 

"No flights at two a.m.," Roz says seriously. "Believe me. I know this." 

Cliff respects that he knows this. "That sucks," he says, and then tugs down Roz's waistband, nosing the side of his dick, kissing down to the hard base where his scruff of hair curls a thick, dark blond, "but I got you, bro, no sweat—you can stare at him while I do this." 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Marly," Roz growls. 

Cliff ensures his tongue is properly wet, and then licks slowly up his shaft. 

"Fuck," he hears—and that's Shane, not Roz. Awesome. Camera resolution is definitely enough then. 

"Or whatever," Cliff suggests, sinking back down to do that same wet lick up the other side. It's insane that this sensation is already familiar, the scent and taste of Roz's dick, urgent against his tongue. Even more insane that he can't get enough. He reaches the tip a third time and slips it into his mouth, teasing into Roz's foreskin with his tongue, relishing the little shiver he feels right through Roz's body. 

It's different from earlier. All Cliff's earlier adventures in dick-sucking had been part of that first rollercoaster hurtling toward orgasm, and as a precursor to—well? A lot. Plus earlier, for most of it, Roz was also sucking him, fingering him, a stunning counterpart of pleasure to every single one of Cliff's moves.

Now, he's got time and minimal distractions. They've both already come, so no one's in a hurry, and Cliff's senses get to be full of only this. Roz tastes a little bit like a chick and a lot like a man, salty and sweet and musky and exotic. His dick is rigid and smooth, almost thrumming against Cliff's tongue when he sucks, and when Cliff fills his mouth to the brim he feels a pulse go through both of them, hot and sharp. 

Much more of that and his balls might explode anyway.

"God," Shane says, so flatly that Cliff senses he must be extremely turned on, "that's so hot. That's—wow."

Hell yeah, it is. Thanks, Hollander! Cliff smiles around his mouthful and starts working more systematically, pushing the soft envelope of skin down with his lips, running his tongue all over the crown. 

"Fuck," Roz bites off, and then abruptly seems to remember himself. His hand comes to sink into Cliff's hair, holding him level. "Is that better?" he asks Shane, husky but clear. "You can see this? You want me to bring camera closer for you?"

Roz sounds like he's got this. Reliably in charge, so Cliff can relax and concentrate on sucking. Now Roz tastes simply like sex, and yeah. Cliff cannot get enough.

"Uh huh," Shane says, almost inaudible. "No, I can see plenty. Fuck."

"You want me to hold his hair back, give you better view as he sucks my dick?" 

"Ilya," Shane pants. "Ilya, fuck…" 

Yeah, he sounds halfway to ruin. 

"Shane," Roz says, matching Shane's pitch, his breathlessness. "Aw, Shane, I wish you could feel this. His mouth is so good. You see how hard he's trying? So, so good." 

The feeling of Roz talking about him is darkly hot. Cliff steals a glance at the screen, sees his own body draped over Roz's thighs, one of Roz's knees raised behind his head, deliberately not blocking Shane's view. Roz's cock looks obscene, straining up between Cliff's lips; it looks like he's worshipping it, but barely taking any significant length in his mouth. 

He'll see about that. 

"Whoa," Shane says softly, as Cliff does his best to sink down to the base. 

"Fffffuck," Roz breathes, fingers clenching in Cliff's hair as Cliff's eyes start watering. Bro is hung. There is no way Cliff's getting this whole thing in his mouth. But he's fucked if he's not going to at least try. He can go up and down a bit, hold his breath, take a run-up. It's not like Roz is going to come any time soon. After earlier, they should both have plenty of time left on the clock.

He reaches up to cup Roz's balls, and decides that tracks. They don't feel like his balls when he's about to come, swollen and tight. They're a heavy, fuzzy weight, pleasing to roll in his palm, and he finds himself coordinating a few squeezes with the more purposeful movements of his mouth. 

"Fuck," Roz gasps again, hips twitching as salt-slick pearls melt across Cliff's tongue. Cliff wonders if Roz is holding back, going easy on him. Then he wonders how it'd feel if he didn't. Pretty hot, probably. He bets he goes to town on Shane on the regular. 

What would it take to make him let go? 

Cliff thinks about going down on girls—they're not always expecting it from him, which is depressing as fuck, and sometimes he's had to put up with some faked big-Os before they really relax into what he's doing. Like he has to convince them that he's not doing it for show, that he wants to eat them out, that it's one of his favorite fucking activities and not some porno tick-box exercise. And generally the way to convince them of that is a good, deep tongue-fucking. 

He sucks thoughtfully on the head of Roz's cock, running his tongue over the slit, dipping in. Roz hums, but he doesn't convulse with pleasure, so it doesn't seem like the right angle. So, okay…

"Whoa," Shane says loudly, as Cliff kisses down to the base again, then noses under the warm weight of Roz's balls.

"Shit, Marly," Roz murmurs, fingers opening and closing reflexively in his hair, "fuck, uh… You don't have to…" 

Cliff tries to demonstrate that he wants to, without words. He tilts his head and closes his eyes, bending Roz's knees and tugging Roz's hips down the bed toward him, just enough that he can properly get in there and—yeah. Get his mouth against Roz's hole, against the warm slick secret of it, still soft from earlier. It's tight again inside, though, crinkled and twitching when he licks over it, and Cliff's dick hardens even more at the memory of pushing in—fuck, he wants to do that again. For now, he contents himself with slow laps of his tongue, losing his mind at the faint taste of latex, the stone-cold proof that he has fucked this hole, fucked it good enough that now Roz is letting him worship it with his tongue. 

Cliff hums in satisfaction, toying with the taut ring of muscle, making it twitch and clench and oh, yeah, there you go. Relax for him. Yeah, that's it. Roz is letting him in, hunching his hips up. He's not resisting this at all. In fact, Roz's hand is clamped to the back of his head now, moaning freely as Cliff pushes his tongue inside. 

It's a beautiful goddamn sound. And Cliff's got his eyes closed, but he thinks he can hear Shane as well, practically harmonizing. He imagines, again, having them both in the same bed, working out how to get them off at the same time. It's gotta be possible. Maybe a challenge, but doesn't that make it more fun?

Roz's earlier words roll through his head. Damn right Cliff is definitely okay with gay stuff. Gay stuff could just be his new favorite thing. 

He can feel Roz starting to shiver all over. It might be time to come up for air. He grins and sucks for a few more seconds, making it messy, generous, and then replaces his tongue with his fingers, spitting on them for good measure. Roz barely tenses as they slide in, as Cliff luxuriates in the hot tight give of his hole, fluttering around his fingers as he kisses his way back up Roz's cock. 

"Marly—" Roz's voice is wrecked, and his dick is practically vibrating, and there's a fat smear of pre-come waiting for Cliff's tongue when he reaches the head again. Cliff licks it off, pulsing his fingers, and Roz's hips convulse against Cliff's hand. "Wait. Wait, I—not without Shane." 

Ah, good fucking point. He kinda lost himself in the moment there. 

Cliff slides his fingers out again and reaches down to adjust himself against the sheets instead, before focusing on a slow rhythmic sucking of Roz's cock once more. He's got a weird disciplined feeling, like he fucked up a play and Coach has put him back in his place. And just like every time that happens, it's exhilarating, gets his blood up. So that little sequence wasn't about Shane, so what? Can't Roz have something for himself, here?

A heartbeat later he has a word with himself. He can see why Roz is getting strung up about it. This is dicey stuff, with Cliff here and Shane all the way over there. And Cliff had kinda forgotten Roz might straight up not want to show that side of himself, even – especially? – to Shane. 

So this is cool, Cliff will take the hit. He can do this, can stay obediently in his lane for now, letting Roz's hands move his head while Shane watches: slow slides evolving into Roz gently fucking his mouth. He kind of… likes it, doing what Roz has told him to do. Staying in line. It's easy, it's hot. And he can keep Roz simmering for Shane's entertainment, while Shane does whatever he needs to come, from his digital vantage point all the way over in distant Montreal. And then maybe, after… 

Cliff reminds himself there might not be an after. 

He really hopes there is, though. It's not possible to push his fingers back into Roz's ass, feel Roz's body become electrified by his touch, and then just forget that that can happen. 

He relaxes against Roz's legs, contenting himself with this for now, exploring Roz's dick with his mouth while Shane watches, nothing else needed. 

"Fuck, Ilya," Shane says suddenly, higher pitch now, "I need—I need—"

Cliff swallows hard and then twists himself back off, unable to resist devoting his full attention to the screen. This sounds promising. Shane whining is hot as hell. And if Shane's about to blow his top then Cliff really, really wants to watch. 

But Shane's just looking straight back at them, through the screen, eyes half-closed, stroking himself; and then, as Cliff watches, stroking lower. Holding his balls up with one hand and reaching down with the other, until two snub fingertips are pressed against the barely visible, dark pink smudge of his hole. 

Ohhh, fuck. 

Cliff immediately wishes he'd upgraded the damn iPad. Three million pixels isn't enough. Fuck, he needs Shane Hollander fingering his own rim – pushing inside himself while staring directly into the camera, biting down on his lower lip – on nothing less than laser-projected IMAX with uncompressed surround sound. 

"Jesus," Cliff breathes, as Roz's cock leaks another pulse of sticky clear fluid against his lips. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Roz says, recovering himself enough to put more vehemence into that word than Cliff's heard in a very long while, "you need us, don't you. You need us there." 

"Mm," Shane says, nodding, plaintive, while Cliff reels again at that us. Is Roz driving him insane with it on purpose? 

"What do you need us doing?" 

"I wanna sit on your cock," Shane says clearly, "all wet from his mouth, just take the whole thing at once, while you guys… kiss and talk over me." 

It's bizarrely tame again – well, not tame, but a load less wild than Cliff was expecting – and then Roz purrs, "Mm, yeah, and what will we be talking about?" 

"Using my hole," Shane slurs out, his eyes almost fully black. "Using it in turn and then—uh—together." 

The rushing noise comes back into Cliff's ears. Never underestimate this man.

Insanely, Roz doesn't even miss a beat. "Mm, you would love that, I think," he says, and okay, maybe his accent's thicker. "Taking us both. What do you think, Marly, did you ever do this?" 

Cliff gapes at him over the head of his cock, lost for words. Has he ever DP'd a girl in the ass, is that what Roz is asking? No! No, no of course he fucking hasn't, he's never had a threesome with any guy except Roz, just like he never kissed any guy except Roz, it's insane he'd even ask this—but he's not actually asking, he realizes, a hot microsecond later. 

This is another show. For Shane. 

"Not yet," Cliff says.

"Mm," Roz says, and his voice is lazy now, confident. "Me neither… with girls, they never seem to want more than what I already give them." 

"Same," Cliff says, scrambling to keep up, trying to match Roz's tone. He'd clearly gotten too comfortable again; this feels like he's being dragged out of his lane by his hair. He instantly wants to own it. "And I dunno if it would be possible, man. I saw how tight he was around you, the other night. His hole looked brand new." 

Shane starts whimpering, which Cliff takes as a good sign. 

"Maybe we will have to fuck Shane first separately, see how he copes with that," Roz says thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming. He reaches down and starts stroking his own dick, slow, measured; giving Cliff permission to shift back up the bed and do the same for himself. They curve together, mirroring each other, ignoring the camera, speaking in low voices that are nevertheless pitched to project. "See if he even wants more after he's had both of us, one straight after other."

"Uh huh," Cliff says, feeling dizzy at the close proximity again. His own cock is throbbing against the inside of his fist, acutely aware of its starring role in Roz's drawled fantasy. 

"I think, me first," Roz says, conversational. "But don't worry," he adds solicitously, running a knuckle up the side of Cliff's cock, "Shane can keep your dick warm in his mouth while you wait for me to finish in his ass. You must just try not to finish there early, huh?"

"I won't if he can resist sucking me," Cliff says, and Shane makes a plaintive noise at that – remembering, possibly. Or getting off on being talked about. Or both.

"This will be very hard for him," Roz says, ignoring Shane's noises. "He loved swallowing your dick so much, last time. He told me all about it…"

The blending of fantasy and memory is so intense it robs Cliff of his imagination. "He was really good," he whispers; it's basic but honest. 

"But he will have to hold off if he wants you to fuck his ass," Roz says, and then his eyelids lower and he transfers his gaze, at last, into the camera. "And Shane, moy lyubimy, you will want. You will enjoy it very much, I can promise this. Marly was very good to me—careful at first, but once he pushed in, he make me feel it."

"Fuck, Ilya," Shane gasps, impossibly raw, and Cliff wants to look over at the screen but he's spellbound by Roz's mouth, locked on to the unexpected, hypnotic words emerging from the cut of those perfect lips. 

"And it felt so good, letting him fuck me," Roz says deliberately, without even glancing at Cliff, as if it's just incidental that he's filling up with pounding heat, mouth going dry. "He's so big and he knows how to use it. And I kept thinking of you, Shane, because if he can make me feel like this, ohhh – he will be so damn good when he fucks you."

"Fuck, Ilya..."

"Maybe you don't believe me," Roz says, and suddenly Cliff can taste a change in the air, a sudden reckless potential. "Maybe he should do it again. Then you will see. Would you like that?"

Holy shit, is he for real? 

"Fuck," Shane bites off, and the unravelling edge of it makes Cliff's attention snap to the screen as well. Shane's eyelashes are fluttering like he's about to pass out; he's got all four fingers buried inside himself, and he's rocking on them, his other hand hovering near his cock like if he touches it he's going to combust. He's nodding, gasping, whining. "Yes. If you're sure, yes, show me—"

"For you, anything," Roz says, which lands like an anvil in both Cliff's ears, and then Roz adds, with a wicked grin, "Marly, get over here." 

Fizzing heat floods him as he obeys. He barely remembers there's a camera pointed at them; his whole body is just moving on instinct, feeling around frantically for lube and condoms, kissing every part of Roz that he can reach. Even as he gets Roz down on his back, though, an uneasy pulse is climbing through his gut. It would be so easy to take Roz at his word, ignore the jolt he'd felt at that hushed, fervent declaration: for you, anything. 

Cliff's enough of a long-lapsed Catholic to clock misplaced guilt when he smells it.

"Are you serious, for real?" Cliff makes himself ask, when he reaches Roz's neck, the words mumbled into his hairline. "You actually want me to fuck you again?" 

"Yes," Roz says blurrily, writhing beneath him, hooking a leg around the back of Cliff's knee. "Yeah, do it, I wanna show him, please – for Shane, do it for Shane."

Uh huh. Cliff tucks his mouth right against Roz's ear, where the camera can't hear them. "Not good enough," he breathes. 

"What?" 

"Not good enough," Cliff repeats, with a kiss to the inner edge of Roz's ear. "I'm not gonna do this for Shane."

"Please," Roz says, like he's complaining, then again, barking a direct order: "C'mon, Marly, do it. Please."

"I mean it," Cliff says, trying not to be moved by that. He's got Roz pinned now, and uses every ounce of his strength to hold him still as he whispers: "I know it's all for him – everything is for him – but this, I'm only gonna do this if you swear it's for you." 

Roz makes a frustrated noise. "Fucking hell," he hisses, jaw clenched. And then he rolls his eyes and mutters, "Yes, okay! Of course."

"Of course what?"

"Of course it's for me, fuck," Roz says, exasperation running the words together. "You want me to say it? Fine, I will say it. I want your dick again. For me."

"Where?"

"I want you to put it in me."

Cliff starts to grin. "All of it?"

"I swear to god, Marly, stop being so fucking annoying about this and fuck me," Roz snarls.

Cliff gets off him like he's offended, laughing, going to share a can you believe this guy? look with Shane through the screen—but Shane looks about ten seconds from coming all over himself, sweat slicked, every tendon straining. Seems it scratches some deep itch for Shane, watching Cliff hold Roz down. 

And if that does work for him, maybe—

Cliff looks straight into the camera: "Okay Hollander, so level with me," he says, using the name on purpose and leaning into Roz's barked tone. "What do you want? Do you want me to fuck him for you?" 

Naked panic flickers through Shane's huge, dark eyes. His hands do not stop moving.

"Uhh…" It's mindless, a moan at best.

"Or you're not sure?" Cliff demands, because that wasn't a no, and yet it also wasn't the yes, please, sir that would have tied a neat bow around this situation. 

"Uhh," Shane says again, but there's a hint of a nod in it, and Cliff flashes back to what Roz said earlier, half a fucking lifetime ago. 

"Or, do you want me to take the choice away?" 

That's it. He can see that's it even before creases form in Shane's brow and he gulps, ducking his head, squeezing his eyes shut – and then he's just wildly nodding. 

He wants it, but he doesn't want to be the one to choose it.

And—okay. Okay. This is starting to make sense now. Cliff had thought it would be simpler with guys but it is not, not when they're all tied up in knots about what they are and aren't allowed to want, or who knows about it, or what it means, and… luckily Cliff's attention span is too short for any of that bullshit. 

"C'mon then," he says to Roz, hauling him over the side of the bed, face down, legs apart, feet on the floor. That fucking incredible ass, spread out for him. Again. That body. Fuck, he's a lucky guy.

He keeps the camera in mind just enough that he plants his furthest knee on the bed, before he leans right down over Roz. He brushes his lips over Roz' ear as he guides his dick between his cheeks. 

"Yeah?" he whispers, offering one final out. "You want me to rail you while your boyfriend watches?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," Roz says clearly. "Do it. Fuck. Fuck," as Cliff presses firmly, pushes until the resistance stretches and then with a groan his whole dick is sliding in. 

And he feels so damn good underneath him. It's as intense as last time but better, Roz immediately rocking back to meet him, a fucking yowling wildcat again. For a guy who doesn't normally do this, he's taking it twice in one night like a champion. 

Cliff doesn't hold him down right away, making him work for it, Roz grabbing the bed and slamming back like he's the battering ram and Cliff's the wall—

"Oh fuck, fuck, oh—"

—but then Cliff realises Shane's losing it, this is all too much for Shane and he's painting himself with a massive load, and so he turns Roz's head toward the screen and makes him watch Shane come, and everything kicks up a gear. 

Roz gasps out something heartfelt, some ragged Russian endearment, while Cliff pins him with one hand and reaches around to stroke his cock with the other. He gives it to him hard and fast, increasing the pace in a euphoric rush, slamming inside him again and again. His dick feels like iron and it belongs deep inside Roz’s ass. Roz tightens like a vice around him, working himself helplessly on Cliff's dick until he succumbs—and Cliff's only human, he can't witness that and not react, he's not made of fucking stone. He lets go, lets himself move, take freely. 

Roz is so fucking gorgeous like this. Cliff can't resist sliding an arm around his chest and opening his mouth against Roz's shoulder, tasting his fresh sweat, sucking frantically as another urge rises—he wants to bite. Fuck, he really wants to; wants to sink his teeth into the junction between Roz's shoulder and the back of his neck, mark him for himself, bite him where no one else ever would. 

But that's off limits, it's gotta be. And so he whispers something instead, words as sharp and forbidden as an indelible imprint of teeth: "You're fucking mine now, Roz—you're his, but you're mine too," and he doesn't know if Roz even hears it, but his body reacts like he does. Melting into Cliff's thrusts as Cliff reaches his own release, shooting deep inside him with a series of low, guttural moans. 

Roz doesn't say anything back but he rocks through every jerk of Cliff's orgasm, squeezing around every last thrust. He doesn't say anything with words, but his body says yeah, yeah, I know. 

 

 

---

 

 

 

It's four in the fucking morning. Somehow all of that – the talking, the sex, the drawn-out goodbyes to Shane, the barely-standing solo showers afterward – has eaten up half the night. 

Cliff needs to pass out, and then get a breakfast burrito or three. He thinks about offering this up as a plan to Roz, but Roz is already getting dressed. 

Yeah, probably Roz needs his own bed after all that. 

Cliff tells himself it's as a courtesy, not a request, when he says, "Y'know, you don't have to go."

Roz waggles his head from side to side, turns his mouth down as he shrugs on his jacket. "I do." 

Cliff nods quickly. "Okay, sure." 

Cliff trails him to the door. He should probably just let him go without another word. Ignore the whirlwind of unfinished business that's picking up speed at the back of his mind, truncated thoughts swirling up like spiraling autumn leaves. Did Roz hear what he said? Should he take it back? Did he mean it? Did it matter? Does any of this matter? What does Hollander think? When—when can he see them again? 

It's too late at night for this crap. 

Roz hesitates at the door, then spins around to face him. 

"Look," Roz says, leaning his shoulders back against the door. "Talking. Not my strong suit, or whatever it is they say."

"Sure," Cliff says carefully. The urge to make a joke wars with the urge to put his hands on those broad shoulders and kiss him. Both probably unwise moves. 

"But I need to say—me and Shane." 

Cliff braces for Roz to shut this whole thing down. Probably for the best. He was only meant to be a cameo. He's fucked up now, taken a simple easy wicked-hot thing and gone too far, got careless, overdone it. You're his, but you're mine too.

His chest feels weirdly hollow. This is totally the reason Cliff prefers to fuck strangers. 

Roz is staring at him intently. "We are not easy, I get it," he says. "Me and Shane – we do not talk, so much, and when we do – we do not always say right thing. We are… impulsive and, and when we are horny we do stupid stuff." Roz glances at the ceiling like this rambling is even annoying himself. "Look, what I am trying to say is, this was…"

All at once Cliff doesn't wanna hear it. "Intense," he suggests, with a flat grimace of a smile. He waves a hand, minimizing. "Look, whatever, forget it. Everything I said earlier stands. I'm easy. We can—" He mimes drawing a decisive line through the whole night, and it seems to hang heavy and thick in the air between them. "You guys don't owe me nothing."

Roz opens his mouth, then huffs a laugh, shakes his head. "Don't you dare back out on me now, Marly."

Something warm pulses through Cliff's chest. "No?"

"No," Roz says, with a fond glare. "What I am trying to say is—in spite of all that, this was good. Tonight. Very good, so much better than I expect. Shane loved it, I—" He looks away again, a darted sideways glance this time. "I loved it. And so, if you are hoping to pretend it never happen, never will again, this is okay, of course – but it is coming from you, you know? Not us. We want this." His voice slows down, steadies. "We are good here." 

The warm feeling in Cliff's chest seems to be rising, overspilling its banks. "For real?"

"For real." 

Cliff squeezes the back of his own neck, providing a conduit for all that rising warmth, unable to keep the stupid gratitude out of his voice. "Okay. Cool." 

"And then, uh… I've got a flight booked, our next day off. Montreal."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Yeah," Roz says, smirking now. "Good hotel there, too. So if you want any recommendations, y'know – flights, hotels. Hit me up."

"Sure thing, Cap," Cliff says, trying not to look too pleased about this. "So… See you at practice?"

"See you at practice," Roz murmurs. It's not fair that his low voice still makes Cliff feel a certain way, even with his clothes on. "And now I'm gonna go. My cab will be waiting…" Despite these words, Roz leans back a little harder against the door, gaze fixed on Cliff's face. Waiting. 

The warmth left in Cliff's chest turns out to be his heart, picking up speed. He doesn't let himself hesitate. He steps carefully between Roz's feet, lifts his hand to Roz's jaw, and kisses him. Light seems to flare behind his closed eyelids as Roz's lips shift apart, a silvery flicker of his tongue brushing the margin where their mouths meet. One warm second turns into two, three—it's enough to make him drag in an unstable breath, and then they're pulling apart again. 

"Okay," Roz says, nodding and smiling. "That is, uh… until next time."

"Until next time," Cliff echoes, stepping back enough that Roz can slip out the door. Once it closes behind him, he leans back against it, tipping his head back and groaning softly. 

What would it take to go from cameo to co-star, he wonders. Like, just spitballing. 

Huh. 

Montreal cannot come soon enough.