by Talon p. s.
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CHAPTER SIX
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The week moved like a blur for Cliff as it took every spare moment they had to get everything packed and ready. But by the end of the following week, he and Kimmi were moving in with Pyotr. He was so nervous the whole time that there was a few times his stomach was doing so many flips he thought for sure he’d be the one getting sick. Kimmi however was forever elated and her health seemed to beam like spring time. She was just that happy.
Cliff walked the block to his new home after getting off the bus. He’d actually gotten off early to cut back on his hours, but the longer commute home still had him arriving at dusk. Their move into Pyotr’s home had gone smoother than planned. One of the nurses from the cancer center was going through a divorce and needed a place for her and her two daughters. So it was quickly settled on a rent and they were moving in this weekend. Kimmi took to her new environment faster than he was. He was still trying to get use to other people in the home even if it was just Pyotr and Pavle. And he also needed to learn to stop asking for even the simplest of needs like a glass of water. Pyotr of course was as patient as a saint. And not once made him feel guilty for being so foolish at times.
As he reached the house, he spotted someone in the courtyard messing around with an old beat up motorcycle and the man to his surprise looked vaguely familiar.
“Hah.” The man chuckled as Cliff stepped thru the gate, “I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.”
“Darko?” Cliff’s eyes widen as he looked at him. He knew Darko from Club Pain, but now it was just starting to sink in he knew him by another means as well. Darko was Sasha’s older brother—which made him Pyotr’s younger. And the resemblance was almost a spot on match.
Darko shook his head with an expression of humored disbelief, “The mighty Cliff Patterson sleeping in my brother’s bed.” He chuckled.
Cliff’s face dropped into a deep scowl. The longer commute, now nearly twice the time, had him tired and moody, he wasn’t prepared to be hounded by another one of Pyotr’s family members. He got enough of that from Sasha.
Darko ignore the scowl and tossed something at him. Cliff’s hand flashed up catching it just as it hit his chest. “Here you go Dominus.” Darko smirked at him.
Cliff’s eyes dropped to the item, finding a single key attached to a ring with a worn out key tag that read Norton. His gaze shot up to Darko then over to the old bike that coincidently also said Norton on the side.
“What is this?”
Darko let out a laugh and shrugged, “Most people call it a motorcycle.”
“He’s here!” Kimmi’s excited voice announced from the rail, up at the front door. Cliff looked just as Pyotr came out taking his sister by both shoulders and steered her down the stairs. By the time they hit the courtyard, Pyotr had her pulled back against his chest in a tight hug, as if she were the only thing grounding him from flying off with all the excitement that danced in those blue eyes of his. And together they playfully came up to greet him.
“So what do you think draga?” Pyotr’s eyes motioned to the bike.
Cliff blinked up with a blank expression, “Its mine?” his hand fisting over the keys just then.
“For a bit.” Darko butted in. “This here is the banger. You’ll ride her for awhile until you’ve learned how to handle a bike and get thru New York traffic without getting killed. She has double crash bars both in front and in back, so if you dump her no harm done.”
Cliff’s attention snapped back to his lover who was beaming proudly, “When you’re ready we’ll get you a nice bike that will be all yours.” Pyotr added.
Cliff was floored, but far from being speechless, “But why? I mean why you giving me a motorcycle?”
The amused flame that always seemed to be there sparked to a deep wickedness. “Your commute home has another hour added on—time better spent in my bed.”
Cliff could only grin at that, but it had Kimmi blushing under his Pyotr’s arms. Darko was only shaking his head in more disbelief, but then a car pulled up front and honked breaking the varied levels of embarrassment being passed around.
“Hemi?” Pyotr gave his brother a questioning glance as he recognized the car to belong to one of their teammates.
“Yeah, told him to swing by and get me, so you didn’t have to take me home.”
“You sleeping with him now?”
Darko’s face squinted up and again he shook his head, “Nah—not after spending the last month and a half playing service boy to Diesel for his fallen angel.” Darko’s lips nearly puckered as if savoring a fine wine just then, “After that man I’m ruined… and spoiled for awhile.” His eyes flickered to Cliff and gave him an amused smirkish smile, “See you around Dominus.” And he headed off for his ride.
Cliff’s snapped around to face Pyotr, anticipating a response to Darko’s comment and it was definitely coming. Pyotr’s arms immediately let go of his sister and edged her away, stepping for him. “Why did he call you that?” The tone showed he was not in the least bit entertained by it.
Cliff cringed and kept silent.
“You will answer me draga. Why did my brother just now call you the Dominus?”
“I—I—he was just being sarcastic. I swear it.”
Pyotr took his arm and for all the force he knew to live in that arm it was surprisingly gentle. “You cannot use that title. Not even in game, draga. A lot of work went into establishing the meaning behind it and someone going around in false parade could destroy everything we’ve worked for. Do you understand?”
Cliff started to nod, but then he didn’t understand. Why was it so important? It was just a club and some crazy convention with an auction for sex play. His head jerked back and forth.
Pyotr sucked in a deep breath and let it out like a heavy sigh. “BDSM is very serious—it’s a life style for many and it is sexy play, but it can be very dangerous as well. Establishing Trenton Leos as the Dominus over the lifestyle in the area has provided a safe harbor for those who live it and want to keep it healthy and safe for all those who want to be involved. But Trenton’s position must never be undermined to maintain it. There is a black market lurking in New York. Women and young boys disappear and die from it every day. He protects us from that. Now do you understand?”
Cliff just blinked up at him a moment.
“Draga?” Pyotr’s voice softened, then coaxing a painful understanding from him.
He nodded. “I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the one in charge that everyone looked up to.” Cliff’s face dropped to the ground and he shrugged, “I’m sorry. I was kinda a brat about it too.”
Pyotr caught his chin and pulled him up to look at him. Every bit of understand looked back at him and then kissed him, “I’m sure you were.” Pyotr smiled and kissed him again.
That evening Pyotr prepared a special dinner as his celebration, having his new family with him. Serbian dishes he considered family favorites, to which his brother Pavle agreed fully. Cliff and Kimmi both had extra helpings. But Kimmi’s stomach didn’t take to the hoarding and Cliff soon found himself watching over her in the bathroom as she wretched her stomach out. Pyotr to Cliff’s surprise right beside him the whole time preparing a warm tea with honey to help settle her stomach and even had Pavle check her stats regularly. One of the benefits of having an ER doctor in the house. But even with the shared concern, Cliff felt the fear lurch closer as he carried his burden. He’d heard the question more than once. Won’t it be a relief when you don’t have to worry about her all the time? He couldn’t picture his life without her so the question was more than just a offensive it frightened him. Because losing her was still a shadow that walked only a few paces behind him, never taking over, never disappearing.
Pyotr’s feelings were beyond ecstatic to finally have Cliff and Kimmi living with him. All his life he had wanted a family of his own. One that was not just his siblings. Watching hi
s brothers grow up and have children—it was both a joy and a sorrow. Cliff for all his frumpy youth filled him in ways he had always hoped to find for himself, and Kimmi while not his own, he adored her as if she were. Now, watching over her as her mortality showed its horns in her life he also felt the pending grief that came with it.
The worry that marred his young lover’s face was equally painful to watch. There was so much more going on inside him and Pyotr realized that his lover had yet to spill as he had predicted when they first met. He had gotten so swept away with their growing relationship he had gotten distracted from the one thing Cliff needed most—and that was to come apart so he could be mended back together properly. A task now daunted with the realization they’d grown so close he wasn’t sure he could do the job alone or objectively now.
Kimmi was just finally drifting to sleep in her bed, Cliff curled up against her equally tired and drifting. He touched them both, brushing his fingers across their foreheads as if he could erase the worry lines they both wore. He glanced at his watch. It was late, but his thoughts could not wait. He slipped from the bedroom and went to his office downstairs. If there was one person he could go to and count on it was the Dominus Trenton Leos, and Trenton would take his call even at this hour.
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Pyotr held Cliff in his arms as if he had no intention of letting go anytime soon while he stole several kisses to hold him over while he was gone. Most of the rowing team was already loaded up in one of the Ford Excursions supplied by one of their sponsors Marcus Scriven who owned Scriven’s Armored Transportation, but that didn’t stop the guys from watching like wide eyed children behind the windows, as well as offer a few snickering comments their way.
Cliff scowled up at Pyotr who as usual was wearing his amused expression, “Can’t you make them stop?
Pyotr’s brows shot up and he nearly laughed aloud, “Who them?” his head nodded back and forth, “Never.” His arms tightened crushing Cliff against his chest and kissed his young lover one last time. Devouring his lips for a long moment before finally releasing him and loading up in one of the vehicles, each one towing the trailers loaded with their racing shells. While they didn’t need armored protection, they still couldn’t turn down the luxury the vehicle gave as well as capacity. Free of charge was good too. Not to mention all three trucks came with drivers allowing the team members to rest and relax during the long drive to Boston.
Quentin who was sitting passenger seat up front turned to goad him. “So don’t you think maybe you’re going a wee bit fast? Fucking the good lookin’ lad is all good, but you got him all moved in now. We’ve never seen you move so fast with anyone before.”
“Because I have never been so sure as I am now before.” Pyotr’s face dropped a bit, but only to feel the beaming emotions and confidence he felt in his relationship with Cliff.
“But how can you be sure?” Quentin asked.
Pyotr looked back up at the stout New York Irish man and then the others all rubber necking at him, waiting for some magic word. He shrugged, “You just feel this certainty and you have to trust it if you want to enjoy it.”
Darko looked at his older brother. He’d been worried over this from the start and now seemed the best chance he’d had to ask him on it. “But what if you’re just letting your desires to have a family making you see what you want to see and not what’s really there?”
Pyotr slapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder and nodded confidently, “Where would we be today if we let fear be the deciding factor for us when we first talked about competing?” And his friends and teammates finally understood and nodded.
Tom who was sitting behind him leaned up over the back of Pyotr’s seat unable to pass up a chance to razz his buddy to lighten the mood back up. “So you’re not at all worried about leaving your boy toy unattended?”
“Who said I’ve left him unattended? He knows he belongs to me.”
“Don’t let him fool you.”Quentin chimed in, “Pyotr probably put salt peter in the boy’s food while he’s gone.” The comment got the guys laughing.
“Say it isn’t so.” Tom stammered.
“And risk ruining that beautiful pecker on him?” While Pyotr managed to keep a straight face his eyes were already laughing, “Absolutely not. I put an ankle band on him instead.” And that got the men roaring and Tom slapped him on the shoulder and sat back as the trucks pulled off.
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Pyotr watched his men carefully as they unloaded the trailers and walked the long shells down to the water and began reassembling of the rigging.
They’d long since earned their keep in the district and for the most part the slander among the peers had stopped. But this was a new level; the Regional Masters head race hosted by both British Rowing Club and Essex Rowing Club was bringing in teams they had never raced against until now. So the smirks and whispers. The strange looks and the silent hate were back. And his team could feel it. It wasn’t good for them. They had two days before the race and Pyotr had decided a long hard day of rowing on the Merrimack River to acclimate themselves would do them some good.
He spotted York Sterling, one of the district organizers from New York over at the boat house and decided to go check in with him.
“Ah Pyotr.” York took Pyotr’s hand as he stepped up, “You and your boys have made it. And already setting up for a trial run on the river I see.”
“Yes, first time to the regional has putting some jitter in them its best we row it out.” Pyotr gave him a cordial chuckle.
York’s face tightened some and he leaned closer, “There have been some unpleasant murmuring among some of the unfamiliar teams already spreading. I won’t have this Pyotr. Anyone give you problems you come to me right away. We won’t tolerate bad sportsmanship. We’re Gentlemen here.”
Pyotr could only offer a smile for his friend. York was a true gentleman, he once confessed privately with him he was uncertain if homosexuality was a sin or not. But such things mattered not in the sport of rowing and he had always seen to it that others followed by his rules. He had always seen them as an inspiring team to the sport just like any other. For that Pyotr had always been grateful. “If we hear of any will just wink and blow kisses at hem as we pass their asses on the river.”
York let out a hearty laugh, “To the duels then.” They shook hands again, “I’ll have your credentials ready when you boys come back in.”
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Pyotr and his squad sat lined up in the boat shell. To their right, their team’s second eight-man, making two out of only nine crews that had converted back to sculling style rowing on the eight man boats, where most rowing teams stuck with the sweep method which was only one oar per man. Pyotr glanced over to Quentin on the second squad who sat in the last slider like he did and gave him a nod. And they both spoke to their team mates to talk them thru the tension drawing their minds into focus. All of them—tense—waiting for the start of the race.
“Glistening water, smooth and waiting for us. Like bugs skidding across her surface—we will glide.” Pyotr whispered to River who sat in front of him who then whispered it to Mitch, then Cody, Hemi, Andreas, Trofim and then Zane who sat in lead.
To the left a Michigan team snickered racial verbiage at them, but Pyotr only minded his men to keep their focus. Only the race mattered now.
On the bridge, just behind the starter point where the rowing teams floated, fans and spectators filled up and spilled down along the river banks. Several groups mixed with both men and women stood waving rainbow flags and homemade posters that declared the love and support for the New York GQ’s. For them it balanced it out. They had become one of the most popular teams around. Bringing in long sought after attention to a near forgotten sport. Of course having twenty-six men most of which were pretty damn hunky seemed to help and the girls didn’t seem to mind one bit that none of them were straight.
A temporary docking station floated across the river
with fingers that jutted out. Each one, a young man or woman laid out on their bellies held the sixty foot sculls in place while the rowers sat quietly, motionless—their oars up and positioned back for the that vital first dip that made every bit of difference of positioning.
Calon was in the coxswain for them while his twin brother Calob had the cox’n seat on the second eight man team.
A man dressed as if he planned to greet the British royal stepped up on the elevated dock and took position.
The men’s arms tensed—oars easing back but keeping clear of the water—heads bowed.. backs arched over—
The gun fired off and nine long shells of men dipped and lunged forward with a myriad of chanting cries. But none so predominant as the one the Greenwich Queens had. While chants were usually called out by the coxswain Hemi was pure blood Maori and he had been given a Strong Haka by his Kodo for his team. So Hemi called out the first verse as they all slid forward on the tracks of the seats, bearing oars back and then they all responded as they dipped and pulled with all their strength—arms, legs and souls.
“WHAY CHAY HOWA!”
“HOYH!”
“KQUATAH QUATAH HAY HO!”
“HOYH!”
KEE OCUHEE NAM ME TAH!
The shells sliced through the water’s surface surging forward with every pull of the oars and in those first two or three Pyotr’s team took the lead position. The coxswain now took over the Haka leading them in unison with the words that told their enemy what would be left of them once they had finished with them in this race.
Calon and Calob called in together, “Ka mate! Ka mate!”
And their teams all responded, “Ka Ora! Ka Ora! Ka mate! Ka mate! Ka Ora! Ka Ora! Tenei te tangata Puburu huru! Nana I tiki mai Whakawhiti te ra! A. upa— ne! A, upa— ne!”
