Page 28 of Two for Roughing

“Probably not,” Kilian admitted.

“All right. Then we are going to take a shower, find something to eat, and come back to bed for more of this.” Denisov gestured, indicating the cuddling. “Does that sound acceptable?”

It was very lucky Denisov played on a team Kilian saw only three times a year, or he would be in serious danger of developing feelings. “Sounds perfect.”

Chapter Six

Jax [reading from a notecard]: Who on the team is the worst cook? Hm. Probably Howie. He’s about twelve years old, and his apartment looks like it.

Breezy: I’ve never even seen Howie touch a kitchen knife. Or a sponge. Or anything else you would need to live in an apartment on your own. Which he does.

Luca [frowning]: I’ve never been to Howie’s or had a meal there with him, but he just seems incapable.

Kilian: Rude. I’ve been living on my own for more than a year, and I’m fine, aren’t I? Anyway, Luca’s one to talk. Breezy cooks every single meal for him.

Top comments:

calabreezy: “seems incapable”—fucking brutal roast here.

seelionssaylions: Howie is the team baby and he always will be no matter how old he is.

(From “San Francisco Sea Lions Call Each Other Out for Fun, Part Three,” posted to YouTube on 09/28/2025)

“Okay, guys, hit the showers,” Coach Simmons said, concluding the Firecrackers’ end-of-practice meeting. Topics had included the PK being shit, the second PP unit being shit, and their five-on-five stats being, while not quite shit yet, at least in the vicinity of a suspiciously wet fart. They might have won in San Francisco, but that game constituted a rare fluke in their season record, and the messy, chaotic practice they’d just completed bore witness to the team’s manifold issues.

They were due to play Columbus tomorrow. The good thing about facing Columbus with the team in such a mess was that Columbus was so much better that no one expected Chicago to win. The bad thing was the team not expecting themselves to win. Half the group entered the locker room in a crisis of confidence and the other half in the alpha male shutdown of having been yelled at by an authority figure who had the temerity to be right.

Damir headed for the showers with a sense of trepidation.

His gut feeling proved accurate. Lissy held a rousing speech, stalking up and down between the shower stalls heedless of everyone’s nudity.

“And so what if we are tied for last in the standings?” he demanded, passing by Damir’s stall with his cock swinging wildly.

Damir snorted. “So we’re not making the playoffs again.”

Lissy rounded on him. “It is November! Would you lose faith so early?”

“I’m not losing faith.” It wasn’t a lie if he’d never had faith to begin with, right?

“Do you need me to turn the helicopter on you?”

Damir groaned. “How would that help?”

“Boys, Denisov needs to be lifted up!” Lissy called. “What does this call for?”

“The helicopter!” at least three teammates chanted, which had to be against the Geneva convention.

“If he doesn’t want it—” Henderson tried. A kind gesture, but ultimately futile.

Lissy advanced on Damir, rotating his hips in jerky circles, causing his cock to spin around, reminding Damir of a propeller made of skin and meat.

Damir fixed his gaze firmly on the tile wall. Why were straight men like this? Did women enjoy this? It seemed unlikely. Damir, as a decade-long verified enjoyer of dicks, could not see the appeal of Lissy’s grotesque gyrations. He had no idea who this production was for.

“Come on, Denny!” Lissy cried. “Our top goal scorer has to believe!”

“This isn’t Peter Pan.” Damir turned his back on the obscene display, shampooing his hair. “I won’t click my heels and magically land us a playoff spot.”

“Pretty sure that’s The Wizard of Oz,” Ketchup called from the opposite side of the showers, the traitor.