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Title: Release Valve

Pairing: Igor Chernyshov/Macklin Celebrini

Summary: Macklin is carrying a month's worth of suffocating pressure on his shoulders, and it only takes a sharp chirp from Igor at practice to make him finally snap. When they retreat to Igor’s apartment to burn off the tension, a night of intense praise and a very embarrassing slip of the tongue forces a confession neither of them expected.

Word Count: 5.6k

The tension on the ice had been building all morning, a heavy, static charge that everyone on the team could feel.

Macklin wasn’t playing poorly—he was too much of a perfectionist for that—but his energy was completely off. Every whistle was met with a sharp bite of his skate into the ice, every missed pass with a muttered curse. He was a live wire, wound so tight that even the slightest friction was going to spark.

Igor had been watching him all through the drills. He knew Macklin’s habits better than most, and this agitated, short-fused version of him was a glaring red flag.

The snapping point came during a routine three-on-two rush. Igor misjudged a bounce off the boards, the puck slipping past his stick and clearing the zone. It was a minor mistake, the kind of textbook fluff everyone made at least once a practice.

"Chernyshov, what the fuck are you looking at?!" Macklin barked, his voice cutting sharp across the rink. He skated hard toward Igor, his stick slamming flat against the ice with a resounding crack. "The puck is right there! Wake up!"

The rink went momentarily quiet. A few guys slowed their strides, glancing over. Normally, Igor might have taken the heat or just nodded, but today, seeing the sheer, irrational frustration burning in Macklin’s eyes, Igor just leaned back on his stick. He didn't get upset. Instead, a slow, easy smirk spread across his face.

"When was the last time you got some, man?" Igor chirped back, his voice loud enough to carry. "You seem a little pent up, Celly."

A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, and then the surrounding ice erupted. A few of the guys let out loud oooohs, someone banged a stick against the boards, and a couple of the veterans started laughing openly.

Macklin’s face instantly flushed a deep, furious crimson that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of practice. His jaw tightened so hard the muscle ticked. He glared at Igor, looking for all the world like he wanted to drop the gloves right then and there, but instead, a frustrated, strangled sound escaped his lips. He spun on his heel and skated away, throwing his weight into his strides.

For the rest of practice, Macklin went on an absolute rampage. He was finishing checks harder, putting everything into his wrist shots, and moving like a man possessed. Igor just watched, a knowing look in his eyes, staying out of the blast zone.

:::

An hour after the final whistle, the locker room had completely emptied out. The chaotic energy of twenty-something guys yelling and rushing for the showers had faded into a heavy, humid quiet.

Only the two of them were left.

Igor was sitting on the bench, slowly lacing his sneakers, when he realized the rhythmic sound of Macklin packing his gear had stopped. He looked up.

Macklin was standing by his stall, his back partially turned. His shoulders were dropped, the manic edge from the ice completely drained out of him, leaving him looking small and incredibly tired. He stared down at his hockey bag for a long moment before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The last time was with you."

Igor blinked, putting his foot in his shoe. He paused, letting the words sink in, a little confused. "But...Mack, it’s been a month?"

Macklin finally turned around, his eyes tired and heavy as he looked at Igor. He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, a bitter edge to it. "Yeah. Exactly. It's been a while."

The pieces clicked together in Igor’s head. The stress, the short fuse, the sheer exhaustion—it wasn't just a product of the pressure of the season. The fact that Macklin had been entirely cut off from his only real release valve, bottling everything up inside his own head because he didn't know how to reach out.

Igor’s expression softened completely. He stood up from the bench, stepping closer into Macklin’s space.

"You know, if you need me...you can just ask," Igor said softly, his tone completely devoid of the teasing chirp from earlier.

Macklin closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the top of his stall. A long, heavy sigh escaped him, running through his whole frame. "You know I don’t like relying on people."

"You can rely on me, though," Igor replied instantly, not dropping his gaze when Macklin opened his eyes again. He reached out, his hand briefly brushing against Macklin's forearm—a grounding, steady pressure. "Come to my place at seven."

Macklin looked at him, the tension in his jaw finally melting away, replaced by a quiet, grateful relief. He nodded once, the air between them finally clearing. "Okay. Seven."

:::

The drive over to Igor’s was the longest twenty minutes of Macklin’s week. He’d spent the afternoon trying to decompress, taking a long, scalding shower to wash off the lingering grit of practice, and deliberately forcing himself to breathe. He wanted to leave the tight, anxious version of himself behind. By the time he pulled up to the apartment, he’d traded his usual structured clothes for an oversized hoodie and a pair of soft gym shorts—the ultimate armor of someone who just desperately needed to unwind.

Inside, Igor had spent the evening doing exactly what he’d promised. He’d cleared away the usual apartment clutter, dimmed the harsh overhead lights, and set a quiet, low energy in the space that felt entirely separate from the chaotic world outside.

When the knock came, Igor opened the door to find Macklin standing on the threshold, looking softer than he had in weeks.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, locking out the rest of the world, the final remnants of Macklin's guard dropped. The rigid, hyper-focused posture he carried 24/7 completely vanished. He let out a long, shuddering exhale, closing his eyes as he extended his arms out in a silent, heavy invitation.

Igor let out a low, affectionate chuckle at the sight. He didn't say a word, just stepped right into Macklin’s space, closing the distance between them.

Reaching down, Igor slid his hands firmly under Macklin's thighs and lifted him up in one smooth, effortless motion. Macklin didn't hesitate; he immediately wrapped his legs around Igor’s waist, burying his face straight into the crook of Igor’s neck. A tiny, contented sigh escaped him as he let his entire weight collapse into the hold, trusting Igor completely to carry the load.

Holding him close, Igor adjusted his grip, securing his arms around Macklin's lower back. He took his time, walking steadily through the quiet apartment and carrying him down the short hallway into the bedroom, where the real world couldn't reach them.

Igor moved with deliberate care, walking to the edge of the mattress and easing his frame down to gently deposit Macklin onto the sheets.

But Macklin wasn't ready to let go. The moment his back hit the mattress, his hands slid from Igor’s shoulders up to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs there. With a sudden, needy tug, he pulled Igor straight down with him.

When their lips connected, a hot flash of butterflies erupted in Igor’s chest, a sudden, electric rush that caught him entirely off guard despite how long they’d known each other. It was a dizzying reminder of just how much he’d missed this—how much they both had.

Tempering the sudden jolt of adrenaline, Igor planted his palms on either side of Macklin’s head, steadying his weight above him so he wouldn't crush him. He leaned into the contact, shifting his angle to deepen the kiss into something thick and passionate.

The initial desperation melted into a slow, bruising heat. Every line of tension that Macklin had been carrying all week seemed to dissolve beneath the pressure of Igor’s mouth. Macklin let out a soft, muffled sound against Igor's lips, arching his back slightly, demanding more.

As the kiss grew increasingly desperate, the rhythm lost its tentative edge. Igor slid his hands out from beside Macklin's head, wrapping one arm securely around Macklin's waist and the other sliding under his shoulder, pulling their bodies entirely flush together. The soft cotton of Macklin's hoodie offered little barrier against the heat radiating between them, every inch of contact sending a spark through the quiet bedroom.

The friction between them was an instant, blinding relief. As Igor shifted his weight, pressing his hips down against Macklin’s, a heavy, ragged sigh was wrecked from the back of Macklin’s throat.

They began to grind against each other in a slow, rhythmic heat, the movement desperate and heavy with weeks of unexpressed frustration. Every tight coil of stress that had been winding up inside Macklin over the last month seemed to snap, shattering under the sheer physical weight of Igor’s body pressing him into the mattress.

Igor gripped the hem of Macklin’s oversized hoodie, his knuckles brushing against bare skin as he anchored them together. He was breathing just as hard now, the slow burning heat in his chest exploding into a fierce, consuming need to completely consume and soothe the frantic energy beneath him.

With every roll of their hips, the friction intensified, sending sharp, electric jolts of pleasure straight down their spines. Macklin’s hands dug hard into the fabric of Igor’s shirt, his legs tightening around Igor’s waist to pull him even closer, refusing to let even a fraction of an inch of space come between them. The bedroom was silent save for the friction of sheets, the heavy, synchronized hitching of their breaths, and the low, needy sounds Macklin only ever made when he was completely undone in Igor's arms. It was raw, unhurried, and exactly what they both needed to finally let everything go.

The heat in the room reached a fever pitch, the rhythmic friction driving them both right to the edge. Macklin threw his head back, his eyes tightly shut as a breathless, undone sound escaped him. The constant, suffocating pressure of being the perfect player, the perfect teammate, the perfect man—it all vanished, replaced entirely by the blinding sensation of Igor’s weight and the bruising intensity of their movements.

Igor could feel the exact moment Macklin completely broke. He stopped trying to control his breathing, stopped trying to hold back, his fingers clawing desperately into the fabric of Igor’s shirt as he rode the sudden, overwhelming wave of release.

Seeing Macklin completely unraveled under him sent Igor straight over the line. With a low, ragged groan, Igor pressed flush against him one last time, letting his own release take over, his muscles locking up as the last of the month-long tension finally burned away.

Seeing Macklin completely unraveled under him sent Igor straight over the line. With a low, ragged groan, Igor pressed flush against him one last time, letting his own release take over, his muscles locking up as the last of the month long tension finally burned away.

After a few heavy moments of breathing into the crook of Macklin's neck, Igor slowly pushed himself up. He stepped off the edge of the mattress, his chest still heaving as he quickly stripped off his own clothes, leaving them discarded on the floor before climbing right back onto the bed.

He moved over Macklin again, leaning down to shower him with soft, lingering kisses—pressing them to his jawline, the pulse point on his neck, and down his collarbone—as his hands worked to gently peel the oversized hoodie over Macklin’s head. He tossed it aside and slid the gym shorts down his legs, leaving Macklin completely bare beneath him.

Instead of reaching for a towel to clean them up, Igor shifted lower, his gaze fixed on Macklin’s heavy, sensitive length, which was covered in his own release. Leaning down, Igor trailed his tongue up the smooth skin, licking it clean with slow, deliberate strokes that made Macklin’s hips twitch off the mattress.

Before Macklin could fully process the sensation, Igor leaned over him entirely, taking Macklin’s warm soft length into his mouth. He wrapped his lips tightly around him and began to suck, the wet, sliding friction instantly cutting through the quiet room.

Macklin gasped loudly, his back arching off the sheets as a sharp jolt of pure pleasure shot straight down his spine. Blindly reaching out, his fingers found Igor’s hair, fisting the short strands tight as he tried to anchor himself. The sudden, intense sensation on top of his recent release was a tidal wave of overstimulation, the sheer sensitivity making his head spin as he clung to Igor, completely helpless to the feeling.

Igor didn't slow down, using the tight grip in his hair to guide his rhythm as he swirled his tongue over the sensitive crown. Macklin got hard again remarkably quickly. Every wet, pulling slide of his mouth sent a frantic shiver through Macklin’s entire frame.

"Igor—wait, please," Macklin choked out, his voice a breathless, broken whisper. His knuckles turned white where they were tangled in Igor’s hair, his hips jerking instinctively against the intense, consuming heat. He was so sensitive that every single touch felt magnified tenfold, a sweet torture that was quickly pushing him past his limits all over again.

Recognizing the frantic, overwhelmed hitch in Macklin's chest, Igor finally relented. He slowed his pace, letting his lips trail up the length one last time before gently pulling away.

Macklin immediately collapsed back into the pillows, his chest heaving as he let out a shaky, trembling breath. His legs were still trembling slightly, completely undone by the sudden rush of overstimulation.

Igor crawled back up the mattress, hovering over him with a soft, affectionate expression. He smoothed a few stray hairs away from Macklin’s damp forehead, leaning down to press a tender, reassuring kiss to his lips.

"I got you," Igor murmured against his mouth, his voice low and grounding. "Just breathe, Mack. I've got you."

After a few minutes of quiet rest, allowing Macklin’s breathing to slow and the initial wave of overstimulation to subside, Igor shifted his weight. He slid back down the mattress, settling himself deliberately between Macklin’s thighs while lying on his stomach, completely focused on him.

Igor’s lips, tongue, and mouth went to work, entirely dedicated to driving Macklin to the absolute peak of pleasure. He moved with a slow, agonizingly thorough rhythm, rotating between burying his face against the sensitive heat of Macklin’s ass—opening him up with wet, deliberate strokes of his tongue—and moving back up to take his length into his mouth, sucking hard and deep.

The contrast of the sensations had Macklin’s fingers digging blindly into the bedsheets, a low, continuous groan trapped in the back of his throat.

As Igor transitioned between them, he paused to press heavy, bruising kisses along the insides of Macklin’s thick, powerful thighs. Looking at the strong line of muscle, sculpted from years on the ice, Igor couldn't resist the urge. He leaned in and nipped sharply at the soft skin of Macklin's inner thigh, leaving a dark mark.

Macklin let out a sharp, ragged gasp at the sudden bite, his hips bucking off the bed as the perfect mix of pain and intense pleasure sent a frantic shiver straight through his core.

The sharp nip to his thigh left Macklin completely defenseless, his head rolling back into the pillows as Igor went right back to work.

Igor's tongue searched out every sensitive patch of skin, his mouth hot and unyielding as he alternated between deep, pulling suctions on Macklin's length and wet, teasing strokes lower down. He kept his hands firmly planted on the undersides of Macklin’s heavy thighs, anchoring him in place and keeping him wide open to the onslaught of pleasure.

"Igor, fuck—" Macklin choked out, his voice completely wrecked. His hips were twitching involuntarily now, riding the fine line between absolute bliss and total sensory overload. The sheer thoroughness of how Igor was worshiping him, taking his time with every inch of his body, was driving him insane.

Igor only used that desperate praise to fuel his pace. He sucked harder, his tongue swirling around the crown of Macklin's length before diving back down to press flat, warm strokes against his opening, driving Macklin into a frantic, breathless state.

Macklin’s fingers knotted into the bedsheets so tight his forearms trembled. He couldn't think, couldn't brace himself. He was entirely at the mercy of Igor’s mouth, the heavy, dark heat in his lower stomach building up into a tight, explosive coil that was threatening to snap at any second.

The sudden, blunt pressure of Igor’s finger sliding smoothly inside him was the absolute breaking point.

Macklin didn't even have time to gasp. The unexpected fullness, combined with the intense, unrelenting friction of Igor’s mouth, instantly shattered the last of his control. His hips bucked violently off the mattress, his entire body going rigid as he came immediately, a thick, desperate release spilling over Igor’s lips and chest.

A choked, completely undone sound tore from Macklin's throat, his eyes rolling back as his muscles clamped tightly around Igor’s finger. He was trembling from head to toe, utterly spent and completely consumed by the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over him, rendering him entirely breathless against the sheets.

Even as the initial heat of Macklin’s release began to settle, Igor didn’t pull away. He kept his finger slid deep inside, shifting his weight slightly on the mattress so he could crawl higher, trailing his mouth up the smooth skin of Macklin's stomach and ribs, covering every inch of him in warm, lingering kisses.

As he began to move his finger in a slow, steady rhythm, expanding and stretching Macklin from the inside, Igor leaned close to his ear. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, thick with an absolute, genuine adoration that went far beyond the bedroom. He started muttering specific, heavy praises into the shell of Macklin's ear, his accent wrapping around the words.

"You are so incredible, Mack," Igor murmured, his finger curling slightly inside to open him up further, finding the exact spot that made Macklin let out a shaky breath. "The way you carry the puck, how smart you are on the ice...nobody can touch you. You're the best player out there. So strong, so reliable."

He added a second finger, the slow, deliberate stretch causing Macklin's thighs to tremble where they were draped over Igor’s shoulders. Igor kissed his jawline, his breathing heavy. "Everyone watches you, but you're here. You're mine right now. Let it go, Mack. Just relax for me."

The hyper-specific praise, tailored to the exact pressures Macklin carried every single day, hit different than anything else. It melted the very last of Macklin’s rigid defenses, his mind going completely blank as Igor continued to patiently and thoroughly prep him for what was to come next.

Igor kept up the steady, rhythmic stretch, his fingers working deep inside as his voice continued to fill the quiet room with low, heavy praise. He watched Macklin’s face closely, tracking every twitch of his jaw and every hitch in his breath until he noticed a familiar shift—Macklin’s length was stirring, growing hard and heavy against his stomach once again. Igor is always amazed by Macklin’s seemingly endless ability to come.

Igor paused the movement of his hand, keeping his fingers settled inside to keep Macklin open, and leaned over him. His eyes were dark, heavy with anticipation.

"Do you want my cock?" Igor asked, his voice a rough, quiet gravel.

Macklin didn't hesitate. He nodded his head enthusiastically against the pillows, his fingers blindly reaching up to grip Igor’s shoulders, pulling at him. "Yes. Igor, please."

But Igor didn't comply right away. He stayed exactly where he was, hovering just out of reach, deliberately making Macklin wait. He pulled his fingers out slowly, the sudden absence making Macklin let out a needy, frustrated whine.

"Tell me what you want," Igor murmured, teasing the hot tip of his length against Macklin’s entrance, but not pushing in.

"Please, Igor," Macklin begged, his hips twitching upward in a desperate attempt to close the distance. His eyes were wide, completely unraveled and completely focused on Igor. "I want you inside me. Please, fuck me."

Satisfied with the desperate edge in Macklin's voice, Igor finally gave him what he wanted. He leaned his weight forward, sliding in slowly, inch by inch, letting Macklin's tight, prepared heat adjust to the full width of him. A long, ragged sigh fractured out of Macklin’s throat as he took all of him, his legs curving tightly around Igor's hips.

Igor paused for a moment to let them both breathe, looking down at Macklin's beautiful, blissed-out face. The stress of the past month was entirely gone, replaced by a flushed, heavy daze of pure pleasure.

They locked eyes—a fierce, unyielding connection that grounded them both—as Igor finally braced his hands on the mattress and picked up the pace, driving deep and steady into the heat.

The rhythm they found was nothing short of incredible, a heavy, consuming heat that had them both completely lost to the sensation. Every deep thrust from Igor was met with a desperate, rolling tilt of Macklin’s hips, the friction between them building a thick, intoxicating tension in the quiet bedroom.

Macklin was entirely undone, his mind spinning from the sheer pleasure of it. He was clinging to Igor’s shoulders, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, when his brain completely short-circuited.

"Ah—fuck, Cherry—" Macklin gasped out, the word slipping past his lips before he could stop it.

The reaction was instantaneous. Igor froze, slowing his pace down to a complete halt, still buried deep inside. He leaned up on his forearms, looking down at Macklin with a thoroughly amused, deeply questioning look.

"Cherry?" Igor repeated, his accent making the slip of the tongue sound even more prominent.

The moment the word registered in his own ears, Macklin’s face flushed a violent, deep crimson that put his earlier blush on the ice to shame. A look of sheer mortification crossed his features, and he immediately slammed his hands over his face, hiding behind his palms.

"Oh my god," Macklin groaned loudly into his hands, wishing the mattress would just swallow him whole.

But Igor wasn't about to let it go that easily. He let out a low chuckle, nudging his hips forward just enough to make Macklin whine, though he didn't resume the pace. "Cherry? Where did that come from, Mack?"

Macklin went completely rigid under him, stubbornly refusing to answer. He kept his hands clamped tightly over his face, acting like the absolute brat he was when he got defensive, hoping if he stayed quiet long enough, Igor would just drop it and go back to fucking him.

Seeing the stubborn set of Macklin's jaw, Igor decided to play a little dirty. He gripped Macklin’s waist and slowly, deliberately began to pull out, the sudden loss of friction causing Macklin's eyes to snap open.

"No, wait—" Macklin blurted out. Abandoning his pride, his hands flew down to grip Igor's hips tightly, using all his strength to yank Igor right back down, forcing him flush against him again.

"Then talk to me," Igor smirked, hovering just above his lips.

Macklin let out a defeated, frustrated huff, his cheeks still burning. "I saw some fans calling you that on Twitter, okay?" he muttered quickly, the words tumbling out in a rushed, embarrassed confession. "I just...I thought it was cute."

Igor’s smirk widened, a dangerous, knowing glint entering his eyes as the pieces clicked together. It wasn't just the slip of the tongue—it’s the implication behind it. Macklin was notoriously private, rarely spending time scrolling through social media, which meant he’d actively had to go looking.

"You were looking me up on Twitter?" Igor teased, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned down, brushing his lips against Macklin’s burning ear. "Our golden boy, searching my name?"

The slow, deliberate grind of Igor’s hips starting back up was pure torture. He didn't rush, drawing out each long, agonizing stroke just enough to keep Macklin completely focused on the feeling while he waited for the rest of the confession.

"I wasn't just searching your name," Macklin panted, his fingers digging into the muscle of Igor's shoulders as the heavy friction started to scatter his thoughts again. "I was...I was looking for your first NHL goal. The video from the game."

Igor paused for a fraction of a second, his heart giving a distinct, heavy thump against his ribs before he smoothed out the next deep thrust. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Macklin breathed, his head rolling back against the pillows, the stubborn, bratty defense completely melting away into something raw and honest. "I watch clips of you playing. A lot. When you're on the ice...the way you protect the puck, Igor, it's insane. Your vision is so good. You make everyone around you look better."

The praises started spilling from Macklin’s pretty lips in a breathless, unchecked rush. He wasn't just talking about hockey anymore; he was looking right at Igor, his eyes wide and glazed with pure adoration. "You're so powerful out there. So fast. I love watching you play, Cherry. You're so fucking good."

Hearing those specific, unfiltered compliments coming from someone as hyper-competitive and elite as Macklin completely riled Igor up. A dark, possessive heat flared in his chest, shattering his patience.

"Yeah? You like watching me, Mack?" Igor growled, his voice dropping into a rough, aggressive rumble.

He didn't wait for an answer. Bracing his hands firmly on either side of Macklin’s head, Igor completely abandoned the slow pace. He began to fuck him harder and faster, his movements turning heavy, deep, and relentless. The bedroom filled with the sharp, erratic sound of Macklin's gasps, his praises turning into high, needy whimpers as Igor drove him wild, using every ounce of his strength to utterly consume the boy beneath him.

The relentless, hard pace drove them both past the point of no return. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the sound of flesh against flesh and the frantic, broken gasps escaping Macklin’s mouth. He was entirely unraveled, his legs locked tight around Igor’s waist, riding every deep, bruising thrust as the tension in his lower stomach coiled into a tight, white-hot knot.

"Igor—fuck, I'm gonna—" Macklin choked out, his head thrashing against the pillows, his fingers clawing desperately into the muscles of Igor's back.

"Together, Mack. Come for me," Igor growled, the friction driving him absolutely insane. He picked up the pace even more, delivering a few final, devastatingly deep thrusts that hit the exact spot, shattering whatever restraint Macklin had left.

Macklin’s body went completely rigid. A loud, entirely undone moan tore from his throat as he came hard, the fluid spilling up across their stomachs.

Seeing Macklin break, the tight, pulsing heat of his release clamping down around him, sent Igor straight over the edge. With a low, primal groan, Igor drove into him one last time, his own release hitting him like a freight train.

As the blinding pleasure crested, Igor leaned down and buried his face into the crook of Macklin's neck, sinking his teeth sharply into the meat of Macklin's shoulder.

The sudden, sharp bite mixed with the overwhelming rush of his climax made Macklin arch his back completely off the mattress, a loud, echoing moan vibrating through the quiet bedroom. He clung to Igor, trembling violently from the sheer intensity of it all, completely spent as Igor poured into him, their heavy, ragged breathing filling the room as the final waves of tension finally washed away.

For a long time, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized thumping of their hearts and the ragged edge of their breathing slowly leveling out.

Slowly, the tension drained from Igor’s muscles. He collapsed his weight into the mattress beside Macklin, but immediately pulled him flush against his chest, tucking Macklin’s head securely under his chin. Macklin rolled into him without a second thought, his arm heavy as it draped over Igor’s waist. They spent a few quiet minutes just holding each other, letting the afterglow settle over them, before Igor tilted Macklin's chin up.

They began to make out again, but the frantic, desperate edge from before was completely gone. These kisses were soft, lazy, and thick with a quiet warmth, their lips sliding together in a slow, content rhythm that lasted for several minutes until they were both thoroughly dazed.

Finally, Igor gave Macklin one last soft press of his lips and reluctantly rolled out of bed. He padded into the bathroom to quickly clean himself up, returning a moment later with a warm, damp cloth.

When he walked back into the bedroom, he looked down at the bed and felt his chest tighten. Macklin looked absolutely spent. He had curled deeply into the pillows, his limbs heavy and limp, looking like he was about to drop off to sleep at any given second. He was completely pliable as Igor gently wiped away the remnants of their release, cleaning him up with careful, soothing strokes.

As Igor tossed the cloth onto the nightstand and slid back under the covers, Macklin let out a tiny, soft sigh. Without opening his eyes, he mumbled a quiet, "Thank you."

Igor smiled, the expression fond and fiercely protective. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a few damp strands of hair away from Macklin's forehead. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his heart rate spiking with a sudden, unfamiliar flutter of nerves. They had hooked up multiple times before, but it always followed a specific script—a release valve for the pressure, followed by a quiet drive home in the dark. They had never crossed the line into something that looked like a shared morning.

Clearing his throat softly, Igor spoke up, a rare touch of vulnerability in his voice. "Hey...you should stay here tonight. You don't have to drive back."

He held his breath, suddenly worried he’d pushed too fast or broken some unwritten rule between them.

But Macklin didn't tense up. Instead, he just shifted closer, burying his face right into Igor's chest, his voice nothing more than a sleepy, muffled murmur against his skin.

"I would like that."

A wave of relief washed over Igor. He wrapped his arms securely around Macklin, pulling him tight against his chest as Macklin's breathing finally slowed into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Sometime later, the room had settled into a profound, heavy quiet. They were still just sitting there in the dark, the sheets tangled around them, when Macklin broke the silence. His voice was quieter now, stripped of all the earlier exhaustion, but carrying a sudden, serious weight.

"I don't want to go another month without being fucked by you," Macklin said bluntly, staring at the ceiling.

Igor shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at him. A soft, easy smile touched his lips. "You don't have to, Macklin. Call me anytime. You know I'm here."

Macklin didn't answer right away. He took a deep, steadying breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. Beneath the covers, Igor could feel the sudden, rapid thumping of Macklin's heart racing against his own chest. The tension in the air shifted, turning thick and vulnerable.

"No, it's not just that," Macklin admitted, his voice cracking slightly before he forced the words out. "I don't want to fuck anyone else. No one is as good as you, Cherny. No one makes me feel as good."

Igor’s breath hitched slightly at the raw honesty of it, but his default instinct kicked in to lighten the sudden intensity. He let out a low, teasing chuckle, bumping his shoulder against Macklin's. "So...you have a crush on me?"

He said it in a completely joking way, expecting Macklin to roll his eyes, push him away, or act like a brat again. Instead, Macklin turned his head on the pillow, looking right at Igor with wide, completely unblinking eyes.

"Yeah," Macklin said softly, his voice steady and dead serious. "I do."

The words hung in the quiet space between them. Igor froze, the smile completely dying on his face. The playful, teasing reply he’d been formatting completely vanished, his brain short-circuiting at the unexpected confession. He wasn't expecting that at all, and for a long, heavy moment, he just stared at Macklin, completely at a loss for words.

The silence stretched a second too long, and Igor could practically see the exact moment the confidence drained out of Macklin. A tight, painful look of worry began to form on Mack’s face, his jaw clenching as he started to pull back, clearly internalizing the quiet as a rejection.

Panic flared hot in Igor's chest. He couldn't let Macklin retreat into his shell—not after he’d just laid himself bare like that.

"Hey—no, look at me," Igor blurted out, his voice a little too loud, a little too rushed in his eagerness to fix it. He scrambled forward, reaching out to cup Macklin’s face with both hands, forcing Mack to lock eyes with him.

"I am just stupid, okay? My brain broke," Igor rushed out, a breathless, self-deprecating laugh escaping him. "I was joking because I didn't think...Mack, I feel exactly the same way."

Macklin blinked, the tense lines of his shoulders loosening just a fraction, though his eyes were still guarded. "You do?"

"Yes, of course I do," Igor said fiercely, his thumbs sweeping soft, grounding circles across Macklin’s cheekbones. "You think I look at anyone else the way I look at you? There is no one else, Mack. I have a crush on you, too. Big time."

The worry on Macklin's face finally shattered, a slow, incredibly relieved smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. Igor let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding all month, leaning down to press a hard, fiercely affectionate kiss to Macklin’s lips just to prove he meant every single word.

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