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How it happens is very abruptly, out of the blue, like this:
‘I don’t believe you actually come on the ice.’ Plisetsky stabs a finger into Chris’s chest. Kid’s grown up physically, in the past couple of years, but still seems to be stuck in the same ‘express everything by shouting and/or kicking’ method of communication he exhibited at fifteen.
Well. There’s Altin, behind him, arms folded and face carefully blank. As far as Chris knows, Plisetsky does not yell at Altin, and if he kicks him, it’s probably in pre-arranged consensual ways.
‘What does it matter if you do or don’t believe me?’ Chris asks, mildly. This is his last season: it was too much to hope that he might get through it without someone bringing up the coming-on-ice thing. Chris has few regrets about his misspent youth, but one of them is having mentioned that to a reporter. “Off the record”, his ass. (The reporter’s ass really hadn’t been worth the cost, either.)
Plisetsky doesn’t answer Chris’ question, but he does poke Chris’ pecs again. ‘If you have such a hair trigger, how do you ever manage to get laid?’
‘Creativity, darling,’ Chris says. ‘And judicious use of accessories. Why, you asking for a demonstration?’
He doesn’t expect the answer he gets, which comes from Altin.
‘Yeah, he is,’ Altin says. ‘This is his idea of flirting.’
Chris stares at the pair of them.
‘And that’s his idea of saying he’s fine with it,’ Plisetsky says, rolling his eyes at Altin.
‘Wrong,’ Altin says. ‘That’s my idea of joining in flirting.’
Chris considers telling the pair of them to fuck off. Maybe come back when they’ve learned to communicate like adults. But the funny thing is, they sort of have. Clearly this shouting-and-deadpan dynamic works for them. Do they stay like that in bed? Would Chris be able to live with his curiosity if he didn’t find out?
‘Oh, what the hell,’ Chris says. ‘Why not? What did you have in mind, boys?’