No Protocol for Love

by Jen FitzGerald

  Chapter Six

  Tyson traced Semka’s abs with a finger, circled his belly button. He scratched lightly at the hair between Semka’s belly button and his groin. “You have a gorgeous cock,” Tyson said, as he had many times.

  “Yours very beautiful too.”

  Tyson looked at it, lying flaccid along the crease of his hip. “Mmm, I like it. Always have.” He liked his body, especially his cock. So sue him.

  Mid-afternoon sunlight gave the room a golden glow. How many hours had they spent in Semka’s bed? In the radiant light of the afternoon sun, basking in the warmth of afterglow? Tyson didn’t know, but he was starting to like it too much, want it too much. He was starting to want things that couldn’t be. Semka had gotten the all clear to train as he’d predicted, and between that and Tyson’s own schedule, their time together had dwindled. Today’s hedonism was a welcome anomaly, but more days like this were unlikely.

  The question was… Should Tyson walk away now or ride the train to the end of the line?

  The long lean lines of Semka’s body on display made the choice a tough one. Traces of come dried on his belly, shiny streaks of residual lube striped his thighs and groin left him looking well fucked. Tyson had done that—had given this beautiful man pleasure. Pleasure he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. The knowledge touched a primal place inside of Tyson. Aside from the purely erotic aesthetic of the tableau beside him, the time they’d spent together talking and laughing, playing games or Tyson reading to Semka in the early days of the concussion when Semka couldn’t look at screens… Those moments had filled a void that no amount of time with Ashley and Jonah or Mark or Dominic could fill.

  He wasn’t ready to settle down and, even if he was—it couldn’t be with Semka, which was maybe the smart choice in all of this, now that he thought about it. The end was inevitable.

  Semka looked up at him with those big gray eyes of his, trailed his blunt fingers along the inside of Tyson’s forearm sending a shiver of delight through him. He wasn’t ready to end things yet, but lying around after sex had to stop—it had already engendered too many dangerous emotions. He scooted from the bed and peered down at Semka, who was still mostly blissed out from their lovemaking. “Listen, I hate to fuck and run, but I have practice and there’s a game tonight. And I have school tomorrow.”

  As Tyson watched, the joy drained from Semka’s face.

  “Okay, when I see you?”

  Gathering his clothes, Tyson said, “Not sure. I’ll text you,” and then disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, wet hair slicked back and dressed. “I’ll see you.” He pressed a lingering kiss to Semka’s mouth.

  “See you…” Semka said softly.

  His wounded expression haunted Tyson all the way to his car, but it reinforced his belief that it was time to start distancing themselves. They probably should have done it as soon as Semka could drive again.

  * * * * *

  Despite the warmth of his room, a chill washed over Semka. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he didn’t like it. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, since Tyson had left. Like Tyson, Semka had to be at the game. Since he’d been able drive, he was expected to sit in the team box with any other injured players and the healthy scratches. It wasn’t the worst thing. He’d definitely missed being around his teammates, but after what just happened he was in no mood to fake cheerfulness.

  After showering and preparing lunch, he turned on the international news. Images of teenagers being rounded up by police—none too gently—in St. Petersburg for holding a pride parade made his stomach hurt. A half a dozen youngsters were manhandled into the back of a panel van, while others fled and bystanders looked on in antipathy. He dropped his fork. He needed to eat, but the bite he’d just taken turned to a glumpy lump and it was all he could do to swallow it.

  He loved his country, he did. But that—detaining kids for what? For marching? Fighting for recognition? Standing up for themselves? They were just kids for crying out loud. Harming no one.

  “That could be you,” the little voice in the back of his mind said. “Or worse.” Probably worse. He was a grown man and a public figure. The perfect kind of person for the Federation to make an example of. He flipped through the channels and bypassed the hockey channel. Much as he loved hockey and wanted to get back to it, it was also going to end this short blissful chapter of his life. He didn’t want to face hockey except as needed. He stopped on an old black and white television show. Something about it prickled at his hind-brain. A woman and her friend were in an old-timey kitchen chatting, when, on the left side of the screen, the front door of the apartment opened and a man entered.

  He tossed a hat on the hat rack and sang out, “Lucy, I’m home.”

  Semka mashed the off button and tossed the remote across the room.

  * * * * *

  The familiar jangle of his parents’ assigned ring tone penetrated the depths of hard sleep. Last night’s game had started late, gone into overtime, and required a shootout. By the time he’d gotten home it had been well after one a.m. He patted around zombie-like but couldn’t locate his phone and it went blessedly silent. With a sigh, he sank back into the misty whirl of half-sleep. Until his phone rang again. He forced himself to the surface of wakefulness and blinked to clear his vision. He scooped his phone from the floor and swiped the call into connection. “Allo…”

  He squinted at the alarm clock in the gray light of early morning. Neon green letters read six a.m. Ugh.

  His mother greeted him warmly and dove into her weekly report on each of his sisters and then his papa. He responded with an affirmative sound every now and again, but he had no reason to leave his cozy bed.

  “Did you hear about those children in St. Petersburg?” his mother asked. The disgust in her voice was like the jagged end of a broken stick to his heart. There was no question which children she was talking about.

  Dread radiated out from his heart in a cold spiral. “Da, Mama.”

  “They should keep their perverted leanings to themselves. Pride parade.” She scoffed. “Shameful is what it is.”

  Semka swallowed a wounded sound. It’s not like he didn’t know his whole family, except for his oldest sister, felt this way. They were a product of the Motherland’s political system.

  “Just think of the shame they’re bringing on their parents and extended families.”

  The cracks in Semka’s heart spider-webbed a little further. He was too raw from seeing the news report and from whatever had happened with Tyson yesterday. “Mama, I have to go. I love you. Bye.” He hung up before she got a word in edgewise and felt only a little guilty. He couldn’t listen anymore.

  All his feelings toward Tyson and what they’ve been doing—and not just the sex—whirled around in his head, in his chest. After watching Tyson performing last night—he wasn’t his usual animated self and the fact that Semka could recognize that was telling—he’d lain awake long into the night thinking about their relationship. He’d found a friend. He’d found someone who understood the rigors of being a professional hockey player, who was fun and funny, but who was also independent. And if that wasn’t enough, Tyson was gorgeous and sexy, all long limbs and lean planes. That wasn’t a prerequisite, but it sure was a boon. He was also tactile. Body parts were always touching when they were holed up in the condo. Shoulders, knees, ankles, hand to shoulder, foot to calf. Semka relished the contact. He hadn’t known he was missing touch so much until he’d gotten touched so freely and so often. A feeling of rightness, of fulfillment had pervaded Semka’s being over the last several months as a result. Not having that was going to hurt.

  His family had sacrificed a lot to get him through hockey. Through the various leagues. To America. His natural skill helped, but that didn’t mitigate the cost of hockey even in Russia. Sure, he now sent money home, put money into accounts for his parents and his four sisters, but how could that make up for the hardships when they were all little.
Maybe it did, he didn’t know. What he did know was that all the money in the world wasn’t going to make up for the revulsion and betrayal they’d express if he came out. Semka couldn’t have a gay relationship. Not with Tyson. Not with anyone.

  Maybe what happened yesterday didn’t matter. Tyson had only agreed to continue their sexual relationship until Semka was allowed to play again. Semka had been cleared, it was only a matter of time until he returned to the lineup.

  No matter how wrong they were in their state-mandated opinions on gays, Semka didn’t want to lose his family. They’d been his anchor and his support for so long. Losing hockey was definitely not an option. Coming out was not an option. Otherwise, everything they’d sacrificed would have been for nothing.

  Maybe ending things now would be better for him and Tyson, both.

  Cold wrapped itself around him like a mantle. He rolled over, wrapping his arms around and burying his face into the pillow Tyson used. Tears trickled into the pillowcase.

  Chapter Seven

  Semka entered the familiar diner, only half full in the lull between lunch and dinner. If felt as if a block of ice, cold and heavy, sat in his stomach. There was no reason to be so nervous. It’s not like he and Tyson hadn’t talked about this early on. But then they’d gotten on with the business of being in a relationship and forgot about the expiration date. Well, Semka had. Being faced with the reality of saying goodbye to someone he truly cared about was daunting.

  Tyson’s bright coppery head of hair glinted in the sunlight outside the diner window. Semka raised a hand when Tyson entered and looked around.

  “Hey.” Tyson slid into the chair across the small table and the server sauntered over immediately. “Just water for me, thanks.” As if he knew what was coming.

  He probably did. For the last two weeks, Semka had spent more and more time training and practicing. Any time they spent together was fraught with knowing the end was near. It was time to man up.

  “Hi,” Semka said inanely.

  The corner of Tyson’s mouth ticked up. “Hi.” There was no familiar sparkle in his eyes, no laughter in his voice.

  “I—” Semka sighed. He had no idea how to begin this conversation considering it’s all he’d thought about for the last twenty-four hours. Dragging it out was a waste of both their time and it was going to hurt no matter what. “Tyson. You been so good to me and for me. Can’t thank enough for rides and friendship…” He scanned the area surrounding their table just to make sure, but there was no one close enough to hear him. “…and for sex. For everything. Being with you been so wonderful.” Semka could have gotten really flowery, but he resisted. “I never have boyfriend and you give me taste. It’s amazing. But both know won’t last forever. Am cleared now, have hockey back. So…”

  Tyson closed his feet around Semka’s and tapped gently, said gently, “So it’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

  Semka could only nod and blink back the misery that prickled his nose and eyes.

  With a nod of his own, Tyson stood and fished a five out of his wallet. He tapped a finger on the back of Semka’s hand. “You’re a special man, Semka. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. I enjoyed our time together too and will treasure those memories always. I look forward to seeing you back out on the ice. Take care.”

  As soon as Tyson was out the door and out of sight, Semka rose and set a twenty on top of the five. The server was getting a nice tip for the burger and fries that Semka had barely eaten.

  * * * * *

  Tyson shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Semka had hockey back and Tyson had his freedom back. Watch out Vegas, Tyson Collier was back on the scene.

  The words rang hollow and there was an emptiness where Semka’s presence lived. Used to live. They were nothing to each now. Former lovers. Acquaintances. They couldn’t even really be friends.

  He ducked into his car and slammed the door shut. Fuck— He was in no mood for practice where he had to put on his cheery game face. Without a doctor’s note, he couldn’t call in sick either.

  “Suck it up, buttercup,” he muttered. “This was never going to end any other way. You made sure of that.” Only one way to cure what ailed him. Alcohol and sex. The rave. There was no game the night of the rave, so he texted Dominic that he was in after all.

  * * * * *

  The next few weeks were a blur as Semka worked out in general, worked with conditioning coaches, and skated. The first couple of weeks, he’d come home too exhausted to think much about anything except sleep. He’d fall asleep on the couch to the drone of the television. But his body thrived on the activity and the burning of energy produced energy. The lethargy and fatigue faded. His energy levels rose. The need for rest and sleep diminished.

  The team went on a quick two game road trip that Semka didn’t travel for. His workouts and skating sessions only lasted so long and he had nothing else to do, nowhere else to go but home. He rattled around his condo with energy to burn and no way to burn it off. Unfortunately, every room had a memory or ten of Tyson associated with it, including the bathroom, including the balcony. He and Tyson had had sex of some sort everywhere.

  Those weren’t the moments that haunted him though. The sweet moments, the fun moments came to mind.

  Like the first time Tyson came by with food from the Russian restaurant downtown. He said he’d hoped food from home would bring Semka some comfort. It had. It was thoughtfulness of the act that lingered though.

  Like the day Semka’s head hurt so badly that even the pain reliever he was allowed to take couldn’t completely alleviate the pain. Tyson held him in the dark and gently rubbed his scalp on and off for hours until he’d fallen into a fitful sleep and then woken up feeling warm and cared for.

  Like the time they’d built a fort in Semka’s living room and plowed through all seven Harry Potter films. It had taken them three days and there’d been a handful of hand jobs and blowjobs during that time, but it was the overall experience, the silliness of it, that had embedded itself in Semka’s mind.

  Like Tyson trying to learn Russian swear words and mangling the pronunciations so badly they’d laughed themselves silly.

  Semka wanted someone in his life for those moments. Fantastic sex on a regular basis was awesome, but having someone to share wins and losses with. To bitch about teammates to. To just be with. Maybe get married to, maybe have kids with. That’s what he really longed for.

  As the only boy, his parents and his country expected him to find a nice woman—preferably Russian—settle down, have kids, carry on the family name. That was never going to happen. Semka had no interest in women. Never had. He’d brushed off his lack of interest as focus on hockey in order to make it to the show. But he’d been in the show for nine years now. His parents were starting to drop hints.

  What the hell was he supposed to do?

  * * * * *

  “Thanks for meet me,” Semka said when Swanny slid into the booth seat across from him. The team had returned and left and returned again. Semka had had too much time to think and remember.

  “Of course.”

  The server came by with two cups of coffee and they ordered their usuals. The small diner was a regular breakfast location for most of the team. In exchange for regular selfie and autograph opportunities, the diner staff ignored the fact that they were Vegas’s only sports celebrities and treated them like any other customers. The rest of the patrons either didn’t know who they were or respected their privacy.

  “What’s going on? You sounded and look like hell.”

  “I’m think about come out.”

  Swanny sat back, surprised. “Well, shit. That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.”

  Semka hadn’t expected any sort of negative surprise or disgust and he hadn’t gotten any. Not from Swanny’s expression or his tone. Just surprise that this was the topic at hand.

  “Why? Why now?”

  “During concussion, Tyson drive me around. Then we, ah…”


  Swanny just waited patiently while Semka fumbled for words. He took a sip of coffee. Semka wiped his hands along his thighs. His cheeks burned, but he was a grown man. He could talk about sex.

  “We eventually have ongoing, uh, sex. It not romantic, just fooling around, you know?”

  Swanny nodded.

  “But then I can skate and get back to hockey. So we slow down, stop, because back to training now, when before we would be together. But I miss him. His company. And the sex.” Semka shrugged, because who wouldn’t miss sex.

  Swanny smiled and nodded again. “I get it.”

  “But things in Russia not good, you know? And my family, they believe what they told to believe. They talk about how is perverted and bad and they don’t tolerate. Well, oldest sister…she know and support me.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “So I tell him is time for end things. I have hockey back and he already tell me he won’t hide.”

  Swanny nodded and offered Semka a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I go in with open eyes. He tell me and I understand. I do. But being with him open my eyes different, you know? And I’m tired being alone.”

  Their meals were delivered and they both prepped their plates for consumption. Swanny chopped everything up and mixed it into a large pile. Semka buttered and syruped his pancakes, but otherwise left everything else to be cut on a bite-by-bite basis. They each took a few bites with the clink and chatter from other diners surrounding them.

  “Novi, I’ll support whatever decision you make. You know that, which is why, I assume, I’m the one you called. But, listen— You can’t come out to get Tyson back. You have to come out for you. You understand that, right?”

  Semka did know that. He nodded. “Yes, I know this. I come out, family can’t support and I can’t go back to Russia for long time. I know this. My heart is heavy with knowing this. But what I supposed do? Be alone forever. Now I know what is like to have relationship, I want that. Like you, like Irish and his pretty little baby.”