Roundabout Way
“It’s not my fault.”
“It never fucking is!”
And that was the way it would end. Two sentences, one spat out coldly, one hissed wrathfully, neither one as loud as the speakers wanted (for the still summer air seemed to dampen all words), signaled the end of all things familiar. A relationship of many years, finished by eight words.
“Who you are blaming this time? The fans? The media? Our coaches?” Words soaked in bitterness dripping from a tongue filled with hurt. “Just like you say the coach’s room assignment make you fuck Max?”
“Think whatever you want.” Words uttered coolly, calmly, with practiced detachment that could make the air temperature drop ten degrees. “I’m leaving.”
So saying, Sergei Fedorov stepped into his blood red Ferrari and peeled out fast enough to leave skid marks across the heart he took with him. Left standing in his exhaust fumes was Tomas Holmstrom, who kept glaring at his feet wishing his shoes could leave skid marks on Sergei’s heart until the star’s stopped blurring.
~~
“I’m Ray.”
Tomas looked up from untangling his fingers from his skate laces and froze. The same light blonde hair. The same sky blue eyes. No. Not the same. Sergei would never let his hair get that messy. Sergei never had innocent eyes. And Sergei certainly never smiled so warmly.
This was Ray.
“I just wanted to formally introduce myself to everyone on the team.” Ray offered a hand. A hand that was so clean, Tomas was loathe to touch it, lest any residual traces of Sergei on him contaminated Ray. But he shook it anyway, because that was what he had to do.
“Tomas.”
Ray smiled, a little crooked, not perfect like Sergei either, but it was somehow endearing. Endearing enough that Tomas allowed Ray to clasp his hand a few seconds longer than might have been appropriate.
“Okay, well…” Almost shyly, Ray took his hand back. His touch left a tingling sensation in Tomas’ palm. Was this what clean felt like?
“I’ll see you later, Tomas.”
“Wait.” Well fuck, Ray waited. There were consequences for speaking before thinking, and Tomas was determined to avoid them at all costs. He failed. He blurted out something he didn’t quite mean. “You want to go have lunch?”
His words were like a ketchup stain on a white shirt, something out of place, shocking, even disastrous. Tomas should not have allowed the ketchup to splatter so badly. He figured he was not to blame though. Without a heart, it was sometimes hard to judge how much of the shirt he would damage when he spilled.
It appeared that Ray, however, was an expert at cleaning stains. Not only did he agree to lunch, he paid for it.
~~
The thing about a ketchup stained shirt, was that no matter how many times you washed it, there would always be a faint pink stain. And occasionally, the stain would be seen when you least expected it.
For instance, after Tomas hurt his shoulder, he should not have talked to Ray. He should not have seen him either, but Tomas did both. He blamed the painkillers.
“Tomas-“ Ray’s next words were swallowed by a mouth that had not been kissed in months. It was a desperate, hurried kiss, though not altogether unpleasant.
“I need you.” It was almost a plea, because Tomas could still see the stain, and he knew Ray could too.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ray’s words were vapor in the air, settling into tiny droplets of moisture across Tomas’ lips.
“Yes. I need you. Please.”
It was the ‘please’ that did it. The word was cracked, oozing pain, loneliness, fear. Ray would never leave a wound to fester.
And after, lying on damp tangled sheets, Tomas knew it was all wrong. The body was too light, too small, too-
He was just tired of being cold.
~~
“So? When is the wedding?”
“What?” Tomas wanted to concentrate on taping his stick. Every distracted syllable proved it. Yet Nick Lidstrom kept asking. He was, if nothing else, a persistent man.
“You and Whit? You two are cute.”
Tomas shrugged, smiling slightly when there no twinge of complaint from his shoulder. It felt good to be back in game shape.
“Don’t be stupid. We are not together.”
“Oh? I room next to you two. I can hear too.” Interesting how a single arched brow could reflect so much amusement. Well that, and the sand dry tone of Nick’s voice.
Tomas shrugged again, getting the most of his newly regained mobility. “We both are gay. We keep company with each other. That’s all.”
That same raised eyebrow shifted a centimeter. Now it displayed skeptical concern on Nick’s face. Amazing feat, really.
“Does Ray know you think this way?”
At that exact moment, Tomas finished taping his stick. “Ray doesn’t matter.”
“You mean doesn’t care.”
Another shrug and Tomas left.
~~
If absence makes the heart grow fonder, Tomas was on a full scale frenzy when Sergei turned up at his front door. The past somehow didn’t seem that important anymore, so long as Sergei continued to hold his hips down to the couch.
“Harder-“ Tomas was moaning, head thrown back, eyes half shut, trying so hard to keep Sergei in him forever. After all, without a heart, the next best thing to have in a body was a hard cock.
“Beg.” Ground out through gritted teeth, the word might have died on Sergei’s lips if not for the smug triumph that ballooned it.
“Sergei, harder, faster, please-“ Words turned to prayers, prayers to pleads. Tomas was keening by the time Sergei finished in him; he was on the edge of completion himself-
“Shit!”
Tomas bolted straight up and ran to the door, but it was shut. There was no evidence of another life form near by. Yet he swore, as he was coming, he saw the door open and a blue eye filled with devastation stare at him.
Did Ray have the spare key to his place? Too bad the post sex high clung fiercely to Tomas’ brain, not allowing him to think properly.
“I have to go.” Such calm words from the man who was buttoning up his pants.
“What?”
“You didn’t expect me to stay?” Soft chuckling. “You were always a good fuck, Tomas, and that’s all this was.”
And Sergei patted Tomas on the cheek. This time, when he walked away, he left Tomas’ heart behind. Only it was shattered. And it was just a few minutes too late.
~~
“It’s not my fault.”
“And it never is.”
And that was the way it would begin. Two sentences, one quiveringly distraught, one hopelessly sad, neither one as painless as the speakers wanted (for honesty has never been painless in the history of mankind), signaled the beginning of something unfamiliar but real. A relationship of a few months, renewed by eight words.
“I know Sergei hurt you. So when you asked, I came to help you. But you ran away.” Words that were listlessly truthful, unable to be anything else. “I can’t keep chasing you, Tomas. I’m tired.”
“I’m sorry.” Words uttered dully through a throat scraped raw. “But I do love you.”
So saying, Tomas turned and walked away, his feet dragging slowly behind him, leaving marks on nothing but ground. But right before he disappeared into the night, he was grabbed, spun around, and kissed gently.
Ray smiled against him, a soft curving of lips, and he could feel the dampness on his cheeks mixing with the dampness on Ray’s.
“That’s all you had to say, Tomas.”