raking shadows

anonymous asked:

Could you please do "we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf" for patater

Kent isn’t at all sure how Alexei Mashkov ended up at the Ace’s annual NYE bash, but he is, all fucking huge and built like a goddamned tree.

It’d be so easy to hate the man, after all he did call Kent a rat, for fucksake. But Alexei (”Call me Tater, is team name. Friends call me such.”) is charming and genuinely funny as dances with anyone who is willing to ask him. Vinnie’s mom, a small Italian woman in her mid-sixties, has waltzed with him twice and pinched his butt no more than four times. Each time, Tater would look shocked and charmed, and one the last one called over to the goalie. “Vinnie, looks like am your new dad, yes?”

Somehow, someway, Tater hears that Kent had taken the team to a ballroom class for team bonding. Taken them and then stuck with it, because fuck his teammates, that’s what.

“Why you no dance with me, little Parsnip? I not have that much to drink.” His honey eyes are warm and happy in the low light of the ballroom, shirt undone the top few buttons and he’d lost his tie somewhere in the night. And, okay, Kent can think of a million worse things than having one of Alexei’s massive hands warm on his lower back.

They dance a foxtrot, separate to different partners for another waltz, Alexei taps out when bass cranks up for bump and grind and makes his way to the bar. Kent himself stays out on the floor for a few songs, has a good time and then plunks himself down on a barstool next to Mashkov.

“You dance well, Parsnip!” Alexei’s voice booms over the bass that simmers low in Kent’s chest. 

“Yeah, well, Vegas is kind of the scene for that.” Kent laughs back, and the banter is easy and fun. The crowd begins to chant the countdown into the New Year and Kent feels pinpricks run down his back as Tater eyes him seriously as he stands and leans on the bar.

He doesn’t even hear the cheer of HAPPY NEW YEAR over the rush of his heartbeat in his head as Alexei slants his mouth over Kent’s, placing himself directly in the bracket of Kent’s legs. The Russian has a slight five-o’clock shadow that rakes over Kent’s upper lip as the kiss turns deeper and a touch more needy when Alexei drags his teeth over Kent’s lower lip when they part again.

“I am be wishing you a happy new year, Mister Kent Parson.” And with a brilliant smile, Tater stepped back from between his legs and leaves the party. No one in the party has noticed, still wrapped up in their own revelries. 

“Shit.” Kent bolts off the barstool, faltering as it clatters to the floor and the bartender gives him an irritated ‘Hey!’ 

“S-sorry! I’ve got to go!” He gestures uselessly between the door and the fallen barstool before darting towards the door and down the hallway to the elevator… which closes with a mockingly cheerful ding! as soon as Kent has it in his sights. Kent groans as he comes to a stop in front the closed doors, his head repeatedly hitting them with a dull thunk. 

“Morning. You’ll catch him in the morning.”

Morning, it turns out, is not any better, as Alexei chats up Kent’s teammates over waffles with ridiculous toppings. 

“Little Parsnip! How are you doing?” He’s beaming and Kent can barely hold back from saying ‘Great! I’ve got your beard burn on the right half of my face, but great!’ because Alexei is giving him a cocked head and a blank stare.

Kent grumbles and edges into the large circular booth. “Not a morning person, is all right!”

Damnit all.

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