Cold War: Figure Skating Gay Romance

by Keira Andrews

  Bailey glanced at Dev, and then answered for them. “We did consider it very carefully, of course. But we feel like the time is right to move on and put competition behind us. We’ve worked so hard to be our very best, and maintaining that form for another Olympic cycle would be very difficult. We’ve accomplished so much, and we want to go out on a high note. On our terms.”

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck here in Annecy and in the future,” Rich said, switching off his recorder.

  After handshakes and thank-yous, Gabby appeared as if from thin air with clipboard in hand and escorted them through the teeming media center.

  “All right. I don’t have anything for you tomorrow, but filming for the NBC fluff piece will be the next morning. I’ll meet you here at nine sharp. Do you know where the shuttle stop is? Should I walk you there?”

  “We’ll find it,” Bailey said. “Thanks!” She tugged on Dev’s arm and led him out into the sunshine and frosty air. “God, I just want a shower. I must stink.”

  Dev shrugged. “No more than usual.”

  Bailey ignored him. “At least he didn’t ask about Chris. I’m so done discussing that douche.” Bailey had briefly dated an NHL player who had since been embroiled in a penis Twitpic scandal.

  “Gabby’s on the case. No questions about our personal lives, thank God.” He pointed to the huge sign denoting the shuttle to the Athletes’ Village. “Not that I don’t really enjoy clarifying for the millionth time that no, we’re not a couple off the ice, and dancing around the fact that I’m a complete homo without actually saying or denying it.”

  She smirked. “We’re totally their favorite team. You know the Feds wish we would just pretend to date each other so people will stop asking and we could be part of their perfect little hetero fantasy.”

  Bailey had started referring to the United States Figure Skating Federation by the nickname after they were subjected to three days of media training a few years ago and it was made very clear that Dev and Bailey were to uphold a certain image and basically never tell the truth to the press. Instead they told versions of the truth, carefully sanitized.

  By the time they climbed off the shuttle by the sprawling collection of buildings that comprised the Athletes’ Village, Dev’s energy was flagging. It was going to be a very long day, but he couldn’t give in to the jet lag and mess up his training. Olympic officials checked their credentials carefully and ushered them to their apartment block. Dev hoped the team had delivered their baggage as promised.

  The American skaters were paired together, their rooms peppered in the same hallway along with some other American athletes. Bailey’s roommate, an ice dancer named Shelby, squealed as she opened the door, and Dev left them to their excitement. He was rooming with Andrew, who was fast asleep atop his Olympic duvet, snoring softly and still wearing the team jacket, a variation on a pea coat featuring red and white accents on navy blue.

  Dev didn’t have the heart to wake him.

  He inspected the neat room with its two single beds and cramped sitting area in the corner with four chairs, and a small flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The window was almost half of the exterior wall, making the room bright and cheery. Annecy’s Olympic colors were green and purple, and the room’s accents, including the small table between the two beds, all featured those colors.

  Dev hung up his clothing in half of the closet and unpacked his toiletries in the bathroom. He needed that shower, but first he needed caffeine. Leaving Andrew snoring for a little while longer, Dev made his way to the village’s cavernous dining hall. Hundreds of long tables filled the center of the hall with seating for thousands. Food stations around the outside offered—what seemed at a glance—every kind of meal imaginable. Dev’s stomach growled. Maybe he’d grab lunch too. Breakfast? He checked his phone. No, lunch.

  First he followed the smell of brewing coffee to a cafe set up near the entrance. The hall was relatively empty, with clumps of people milling around and eating. Most athletes were arriving in the next few days, and it would soon be a madhouse. With his ID badge, everything was free, and Dev was extremely glad the pairs event was always first, because he’d have time after to treat himself. Until then, he had to stick to his diet. Lean protein, green vegetables, and a small amount of whole grains. He strode by the golden arches and whimpered as he breathed in the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s grease. Sweet, sweet grease. How he missed it.

  When he had his small black coffee in hand, he couldn’t resist adding a packet of sugar. Or two. No one had to know.

  Perhaps it was the caffeine, but Dev found himself buzzing with the Olympic spirit as he walked through the village. It hummed with new arrivals and palpable anticipation, and he grinned as he made his way back to his block. A young woman held the elevator for him, and he thanked her as he hurried inside. Jet lag be damned—he was at the Olympics and it was going to be awesome.

  As the doors started to close, the woman stuck her arm out. “There’s room!”

  Then Mikhail Reznikov walked on.

  Of course.

  Dev couldn’t seem to look away, and when their eyes met, heat rushed through his veins and straight to his groin. After a long moment, they both turned their heads. Dev hadn’t seen him at all since the Grand Prix Final press conference. He’d refused to watch clips of Russian Nationals or Europeans on YouTube, even though Bailey and their coaches had wanted to check in on the competition.

  No, he’d made sure the temporary insanity of Kyoto was completely worked out of his system. Now with one look at Mikhail, the lust was roaring through him.

  Longest. Elevator. Ride. Ever.

  When Dev finally escaped, he barreled into his room past a snoring Andrew. He barely made it into the shower before he had his cock in hand, jerking it desperately as memories of Mikhail’s kisses and visions of his blue eyes and hard body took over his mind. Closing his eyes, he spread his legs and gave in.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Ma.”

  “Aren’t you awake yet? You sound tired.”

  Dev yawned and kicked at the duvet where his foot was caught in it. “I’m awake. Andrew’s in the shower, so I’m just…resting my eyes until he’s done.”

  His mother clucked her tongue. “I know how you rest your eyes, Devassy. Get your bottom out of bed. Are you practicing today?”

  “Uh-huh.” Dev closed his eyes again, cradling his cell between his cheek and the pillow. “There’s a bus to the rink at Albertville.”

  “Why didn’t they have the Olympics there again if they like the rink so much? You shouldn’t have to go so far.”

  “It’s only, like, an hour away, Ma. We don’t get to have official practices at the rink in Annecy until a couple days before the event. Believe me, I’m happy to be out of the way with the team in Albertville while I get over the jet lag and settle in.”

  “Just do your best. You know we’re proud of you no matter what. We wish we could be there. It’s my fault that—”

  “Ma. It’s not your fault. You’re just getting your balance back after that infection. As much as I want you to be here, I don’t want you messing up your inner ear on the flight. You were in bed for a month. It’s not worth the risk.”

  She sighed heavily. “It seems unfair. I wish Bailey’s parents could have used our tickets.”

  “Me too, but it’s been a tough couple of years for them with the layoff. Her mom’s new job doesn’t pay half what the old one did.”

  His mother tsked. “We would have paid for them to go, Devassy. We are all family. You know we love Bailey like she was our own. Such a good girl. So much better than that silly thing Felicia. I think of her because I saw her mother at the Target just the other day. We smiled and said nice things and pretended Felicia hadn’t been very foolish to break up with you. She thought she would do so much better with that other boy, and where are they now? Nowhere. They didn’t even make a world team before giving up.” She harrumphed. “That’s what she gets for thinking my s
on is not good enough for her.”

  Dev chuckled. “Ma, I’m glad she dumped me. You don’t have to hold a grudge. It was six years ago.”

  “You’re my only child, Devassy. I will always hold grudges in these cases.”

  He could hear her bangles jingling and could just imagine her waving her arm.

  “But forget the past. Like I said, we wish the Robinsons had let us pay for France. It would be our pleasure.”

  Dev smiled, feeling a wave of affection for her. “I know, and they know it too. You guys have been so generous to me and Bailey over the years. But it’s not just the tickets to the events, it’s the flights and the hotel and food.”

  “Yes, yes, and we would pay!”

  “That’s too much. It’s all good, Ma. I wish you were coming, but just think—you’ll be able to watch on TV and criticize the commentators. You love that.”

  “They talk too much, Devassy, and sometimes they don’t know a thing about what they are saying. I’ll never forget when that Scott Hamilton had the nerve—”

  “Ma. It’s okay. Breathe. How’s Dad? Is he in surgery?”

  She changed gears again instantly, as she always did. His mother could rant about something one second and calmly ask about your day the next. “Yes, there was a pileup this morning and he was called in. Oh, did I tell you? Your cousin John was accepted to law school at Harvard. Early admittance. Very prestigious. He’ll be living with us this summer while he finds an apartment. We thought he could use your room. Unless you’ll be needing it.”

  Dev groaned. “Ma, could you give it a rest for five minutes? I can’t think about that right now.”

  “I know, I know. I was just saying. Devassy, you’ve lived away for so long. We miss you.”

  His parents were the only people who still called him by his given name. Dev had learned very early that having the word “ass” in your name was like catnip to schoolyard bullies. He’d been just Dev ever since to the rest of the world. He sighed. “I miss you too. I really do. But I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

  She tsked again. “Don’t think about it now. Just focus on the Olympics,” she said, as if she hadn’t brought it up.

  Dev could only laugh. His mother was never going to change, and he’d accepted it long ago. “I will.”

  “Oh and John Uncle booked a very good flight from Seattle in March.”

  “That’s so nice that he and Susan Auntie would come for Worlds.”

  “Of course they will come! Everyone is coming. The Robinsons are driving from Pittsburgh and don’t tell Bailey, but her brother is coming all the way from California. It will be a huge party at our house the night before the short program.”

  “Are you making biryani?” Dev’s stomach growled at the thought of the spicy rice and chicken dish.

  “Why do you ask silly questions, Devassy? Of course there will be biryani. And raita, masala dosa, idli and coconut chutney, and fish curry—and meen curry—and vada.”

  He groaned. “You have to make this party after the competition so I can gorge myself. I bet there will be mango pickles too.”

  “What are you saying? When do we not have mango pickles in this house? And naturally there will be a party after. Your retirement party. You didn’t get a degree from college, so this will be your graduation.”

  Dev’s lack of a college education could still be a controversial subject at times. While he’d done well in high school, skating had been his passion and college would have been too much of a distraction. He kept his tone even and quickly changed the subject. “Sounds good, Ma. I’d better get ready. Bailey will be here bright and early.”

  “Because she is a very smart girl. Be good. We love you!”

  “Love you too. Bye.” He tapped his phone to end the call. His mother had advised him to “be good” for as long as he could remember. He took a deep breath and jumped out of bed. Time for practice.

  Time to be good.

  “There’s something you should know.”

  Dev and Bailey shared a glance as the rest of the team climbed off the small bus behind them. Louise was waiting on the sidewalk, rather grim faced, even for her. A few of the Feds milled around, looking intense. Dev raised an eyebrow. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Lou.”

  “There was some kind of catastrophic electrical problem and fire at the rink down the street that did a lot of damage. No one was hurt, but the ice melted and they’re not sure when the system will be fixed.”

  Bailey frowned and nodded to the sprawling arena behind Louise. “But our rink’s okay, right?”

  “Absolutely. But the organizers asked the federation if another team could use it this week too. They said yes. Olympic spirit and all that crap.”

  Dev’s pulse spiked. “Which team?” Anyone but the Russians. Anyone but the Russians. Anyone but—

  “The Russians.”

  Bailey groaned. “Seriously? So instead of private practice, this will be just as stressful as official practice all week. Minus the reporters and spectators, at least. But still. This is supposed to be our safe space. What’s the point in paying all this money to rent a rink out of Annecy if we can’t have privacy? I know, I know. No one planned this.”

  The Russians. Dev ran a hand through his hair. It felt like the universe was throwing Mikhail Reznikov into his path every chance it got. He was tense enough with the competition looming, and every time he saw Mikhail he didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss him. Now he’d see him again today, and this jumble of emotions would only get more tangled and fucked-up.

  “Dev? How are you feeling about this?” Louise asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  “You know what this is?” Louise asked. “It’s a challenge, and you two are going to knock it out of the park. We’re still going to have different practice times. Very segregated. When the US team is on the ice, they’ll use the gym facilities, and vice versa.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll be in the building. They can watch,” Bailey noted.

  “Both the federations agreed it will be strictly forbidden to go near the rink when it’s not your scheduled practice time. This is a huge facility, and there’s lot of room.”

  Dev glanced around at where the other skaters were receiving the news from their coaches. One of the federation officials tried to soothe an ice dancer. “It’s all right for the guys. There hasn’t been a Russian contender since Plushenko finally retired.”

  “I still don’t believe it, by the way. He’s going to show up when he’s, like, fifty, and he’ll still be landing quads,” Bailey said.

  Louise smirked, and Dev burst out laughing. With the tension broken, Dev shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll do our thing, and they’ll do theirs.” Please, universe. I’m begging you.

  “And if they’re watching, we’ll knock their socks off.” Bailey grinned. “Come on. Let’s get on the ice.”

  Dev swore loudly as he skidded to a stop in the corner of the rink. “God damn motherfucking fuck!”

  “You’re not staying in the circle. Your right shoulder’s dropping,” Louise said from where she watched on the other side of the boards.

  “I know!”

  “Then stop doing it. Now.”

  Their side-by-side triple toes shouldn’t be a problem for him, but Dev couldn’t land one to save his life. He brushed off his pants and reached for Bailey’s hand as they circled the rink, dodging their teammates, engrossed in their own practices.

  She squeezed his fingers. “It’s just nerves.”

  “I never fall like this.” Dev shook his head. Even though he knew the Russians weren’t watching—all the curtains on the entrances to the seating were firmly closed—he felt as though Mikhail’s eyes were on him, searing into his skin. Making him want to do things and feel things that were completely insane.

  “Come on, let’s do another lap.” Bailey gave him a smile.

  They stroked around the rink again, and Dev closed his eyes for a moment. He soaked
in the familiar sensation of being on the ice with Bailey beside him. They moved as one with easy grace, which had taken time and many, many hours of practice to achieve.

  I can do this. There’s nothing else but me, Bailey, and the ice. Just another day at the rink.

  “Relax. Let your body do what it’s trained to do. Use your muscle memory,” Louise called as they neared.

  Dev breathed deeply as he separated from Bailey and they went into their three turns, changing direction back, front, and then back again as they used their toe picks to vault them into the air. Arms tight across his chest, Dev spun three times and landed smoothly on his outside edge, holding his free leg extended as he glided. Beside him, Bailey landed in perfect unison.

  “That’s it. Now again,” Louise said. “Then we’ll do a short program run-through. It’s your turn for music.”

  Dev loved their short program. “Lux Aeterna” from the soundtrack to Requiem for a Dream had been used by other skaters in the past but not for several years. The propulsive score built dramatically, and Dev felt as if the orchestra was driving them onward, giving them energy and passion. They started with their triple twist—one of their best elements.

  After they gathered speed, Bailey vaulted up with her toe pick as Dev snapped her up into the air above his head, bringing his hands almost all the way down to his sides while she rotated three times in a blur. He caught her by the waist in the air above his shoulders before placing her down on the ice. Sometimes she came down a little harder than others, but today she glided out of the catch and extended her leg as if it had been the easiest thing in the world.

  Next were the side-by-side jumps, and they nailed them. They ticked off the other elements as they went—death spiral, step sequence, pair spin combination. Then it was time for the throw. As they skated around the corner of the rink, Dev drew Bailey in close with his hands on her waist. Their free legs extended in unison as they went into the three turn and he propelled her into a triple Salchow from her back inside edge. She spun in the air, tilting slightly as she came down and fought for the landing. She touched down with her hand, but didn’t two foot.