Chapter Text
WINTER 2011
It's late. At least, it's late by Scott's standards. Huff, a fellow teammate, had invited Scott to join him and some of the other players on a bar crawl through Nashville, but Scott had declined due to an early flight out the next morning. (Scott didn't normally book such an early flight post All Star Game but Todd, his agent, had scheduled a business meeting the next day with a potential sponsor—Gillette? Scott couldn't recall.)
Which is why, at the respectable time of 9:48 PM, Scott, teeth brushed, carry-on packed, is already in bed. He has some music playing softly from his phone to help combat the expected hotel noises of doors opening and closing, footsteps, and general creaks as people walk the halls and their rooms.
Scott is just drifting off to sleep when he hears something unexpected.
A moan.
The sound immediately pulls him from the brink of sleep.
Scott hears another moan, breathier, more desperate than the last.
God, these walls are thin.
"Plea—" The devastating, high pitched sound is cut off almost as soon as Scott hears it. As if someone has realized how much noise they've made and have attempted to stifle it.
Scott hates to admit, even if just to himself, that the noises have stirred something in him. As he's probably the most pent up player in the league, if his current dry spell was anything to go by, it really wouldn't take much to get him going.
There's a bit of rhythmic creaking now but nothing else. Definitely no more moans. Scott isn't an idiot, he knows what's likely happening in the room next door.
Room next door?
Scott is embarrassed that he doesn't remember, until now, that it's Rozanov occupying the room next to him. The realization immediately kills any hints of arousal.
For his own peace of mind, Scott gets out of bed to dig out his earbuds from his carry-on, not even bothering to repack. He'll deal with it tomorrow.
Earbuds in hand, Scott makes his way back into bed. Before he even has the chance to put the buds in his ears he hears what sounds like another choked off moan. It's quieter than the others, but still discernible to Scott's exposed ears.
Screw it, Scott grabs a pillow and shifts so that his head is now at the foot of the bed. He puts the buds in his ears and does his very best not to drift off to the thought of someone else's pleasure.
Scott is only mildly successful.