Cold War: Figure Skating Gay Romance

by Keira Andrews

  For a minute they simply stood there, and Dev rubbed Misha’s back gently. Then he felt dampness on his neck, and Misha’s shoulders quivered.

  “Shh. It’s all right,” Dev whispered. “It’s all right.”

  If someone had told him at the start of the season that at the Olympic Games he’d comfort Mikhail Reznikov while he cried, he would have laughed so hard he might have pissed himself. First off, robots didn’t cry, and second, they weren’t even friendly, let alone friends. Now Dev didn’t know what the hell they were, but he couldn’t let go as Misha wept, his breath tickling Dev’s throat.

  When Misha raised his head, his eyes bleary and red rimmed, Dev kissed him tenderly. “It’s all right,” he repeated.

  Then they were truly kissing, and like a flash fire, warm sympathy blazed into hot craving. Hungrily they gripped each other, rutting together, and although the only sounds they made were wet smacks of their lips and shuddering breaths, Dev knew the other skaters could come in at any moment and hear them.

  Somehow that thought only made the need scorching his veins boil over, and he grabbed Misha’s ass, rocking their hips together. It was like the first time in Kyoto, except now there was so much more than lust and anger. Concern and undeniable affection flowed into the mix, and it made Dev’s head spin. With Misha he felt exposed and protected at the same time. In danger yet safe. Cold but so, so warm.

  Needing to feel flesh on flesh, Dev grappled with their track pants and underwear until he had their cocks tightly in his grasp. Misha whimpered in his ear, and it was a beautiful sound. Dev stroked them both roughly. The friction had him moaning into Misha’s mouth as they kissed again, tongues winding together.

  Their cocks thrummed against each other, precum slicking the heads, and Dev jacked them harder and faster, their kisses growing ever more desperate. He panted, sweat prickling the back of his neck.

  Misha’s lips brushed his ear. “I wish you could fuck me right now. I would bend over and take all of you. Every inch. I’d be so good for you as you stretched me open and filled me with your—”

  Head smacking against the stall door, Dev spurted over his hand, the pleasure radiating through his body as he bit down on the cry that ripped from his throat, convulsing against Misha again and again, until he was left trembling. With a few more tugs, Misha followed, his mouth open on Dev’s neck as he shuddered his release. Misha murmured words Dev couldn’t understand against his skin.

  When Misha stood tall, flushed, and messy with tears and satisfied lust, his gaze fell to Dev’s sticky hand. With a gleam in his eyes, he lifted it to his lips and slowly licked Dev’s fingers clean, sucking each one into the heat of his mouth.

  Dev’s pulse spiked again. “Are you trying to kill me?” he whispered.

  Before Misha could answer, a man’s voice rang out, speaking Russian. Misha jerked back, dropping Dev’s hand as he almost tumbled onto the toilet. Dev gripped his shirt to steady him. Misha’s eyes were wide, and he swallowed hard. He called out a reply. The man answered, sounding gruff and angry, but that was generally how most Russians sounded to Dev’s ear.

  Misha said something else, and they listened to the sound of the man’s shoes squeaking on the tile as he walked away. Dev opened his mouth, but Misha jerked his finger to Dev’s lips with a violent shake of his head. The seconds ticked by. After a full minute, Misha perched on the toilet and peeked over the top of the stall. Exhaling, he nodded to Dev, and they quickly exited.

  At the sink, they both washed their hands. Misha avoided Dev’s gaze, his shoulders tense and mouth a thin line. He muttered something to himself in Russian as he shook his head.

  In the strained silence, Dev cleared his throat, aware that others could very well now be listening from the adjacent dressing room. “Well, if there’s anyone who can come back from this, it’s Kisa. She’s tough as nails.”

  “It is impossible.” Misha’s expression was closed off, and he still didn’t meet Dev’s gaze.

  “Nothing’s impossible.”

  Misha looked up sharply. “She can’t breathe without pain like being stabbed. How can she skate?”

  “Don’t give up yet.”

  “Why not?” He tore a ream of paper towels from the dispenser. “It was foolish to ever think—” He stopped abruptly.

  Dev’s heart thumped. “What?” He reached for Misha, but the moment he touched his shoulder, Misha jerked away.

  “No. It’s over. We can’t.”

  Dev had a sinking feeling the “we” wasn’t Misha and Kisa, and his stomach churned. He should be glad. He never should have started this madness in the first place, but now the thought of it ending made him sick.

  “We can’t…you can’t give up without a fight.” Dev lowered his voice to a whisper. “Misha, it’s okay. We can—”

  “No.” He balled up the paper towel. “You should want us to give up.”

  “Why would I want that?” He wasn’t sure what they were talking about now.

  “Now you can win! Your Bailey is probably happy. You should be happy.”

  Hurt stabbed Dev’s gut. “Is that really what you think of me? After…” He clenched his jaw. “We want to beat you. Fair and square. Not like this. Bailey would never wish this on anyone. Don’t talk about her like that. Or like anything. You don’t know her.”

  Misha scoffed. “We both know very little in skating is fair and square. You will win any way possible. You try to distract me.”

  “I think you had a little something to do with it,” Dev hissed. “Don’t act like I was alone in this.”

  But Misha wouldn’t even look at him, his furious gaze locked on the sinks. “And you talk of Kisa. Call her a bitch.”

  “No, you said people think she’s a bitch. When I say she’s tough as nails, I mean it as a compliment!”

  “Bullshit!” Misha kicked the garbage can, sending it crashing onto its side. “You Americans are all the same. You pretend to be friend, but you are liar,” he spat.

  They stared at each other, nostrils flaring. Dev curled his fingers into fists, anger and confusion warring in him. “You know what? Fuck you. You think you’re so much better than us? You’re an arrogant asshole, and I wish I’d never met you, let alone—”

  “Hello. Guys?”

  With a deep breath, Dev looked to the doorway. One of the Chinese skaters hovered there, with a German and Brit behind, all watching with wide eyes.

  The Chinese skater spoke again. “It is okay? You are okay?”

  Nodding, Dev brushed by them. Fuck this. He was at the biggest competition of his life, and he didn’t need this. He didn’t need Misha. What Dev needed was to put the drama on the ice—and keep it there.

  Chapter Seven

  “They haven’t withdrawn yet, but no one’s seen them,” Caroline said, speaking quietly.

  “They drew the final flight, so they still have time. But no one knows. It’s like this big mystery.” Bailey glanced around. They were in one of the long hallways backstage at the arena, and she waited for a Canadian team to walk by before going on. “But I heard one of her ribs is cracked.”

  “You know the Russian federation is going to milk this for every drop of drama they can,” Grant noted with an eye roll.

  Dev couldn’t disagree. “If there’s one thing the Russian federation likes, it’s drama.” He thought of how they’d kept Misha and Kisa under their thumb, and his stomach churned. What would happen to Misha if they couldn’t skate? Would the federation and government blame him? Would he and Kisa be punished?

  “Not to mention they like winning,” Bailey added. “They’ll shoot her up with cortisone or whatever it takes. Not to mention Kisa and Mikhail are fierce. They’re not going to give up.” She glanced at Dev. “Which I can admire. Begrudgingly, but still.”

  The music for the pair on the ice ended, and polite applause filled the arena. Dev checked the large clock on the wall. “One more team, and then it’s us. We’d better get ready.”

  They all w
ore warm-up suits over their costumes, and they stripped them off and returned to their coaches. Dev and Bailey were costumed in simple black with silver accents on the sleeves and necklines, and Bailey had her hair pulled into a tight bun. There was a tiny bump on Dev’s chest where he wore his jade elephant, but it wasn’t noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

  Louise raised an eyebrow when they approached. “Find out any good gossip?”

  “We’re curious! We can’t help it, Lou.” Bailey reapplied her lip gloss.

  “I’ll only say this one more time. Forget the Russians. Focus on your skate. That’s all that matters.”

  Bailey and Dev nodded, and Dev rolled his shoulders. “We’re ready.”

  The six-minute warm-up went smoothly. The teams were careful to give each other wide berths. Bailey and Dev practiced their jumps twice and nailed them, and Dev concentrated on getting down into his knees and really feeling the ice. If his legs and body were stiff, the program wouldn’t flow the way it should.

  Relax. Breathe.

  They separated for a minute to get in their heads and then came together again, holding hands automatically as they’d done for years. They were first up, so they cut their warm-up short by a minute to go stand by the boards and get last minute instructions from Louise.

  “Focus on every movement. Stay in the moment, and don’t let it get away from you. You can do this. You’re ready. This is your time to shine.” Louise smiled. “So shine.” She pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks.

  Butterflies flapped in Dev’s stomach, and he took a last sip of water from a bottle Louise kept for him. As the announcer called time on the warm-up and instructed the other pairs to leave the ice, Dev and Bailey turned away from the boards with a last smile for Louise. They both breathed deeply, standing a foot apart.

  The female announcer spoke first in French and then English. “Our next competitors, representing the United States of America—Bailey Robinson and Dev Avira.”

  As the crowd roared, Dev held up his palm with a flourish. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Bailey took his hand with her own dramatic arm sweep. “We got this.”

  Wide smiles in place, they glided out with free legs outstretched and acknowledged the crowd. At center ice, they skated around for a few seconds, using their final moments to prepare before taking their starting position. They stood back to back, heads high, expressions serious. For a few moments, there was silence. Dev sucked a breath deep into his lungs.

  With a powerful violin chord, they were off.

  For two minutes and fifty seconds, they skated together with power and conviction, their program building in intensity with the propulsive music as they ticked off the elements one by one while still making sure there was an electric connection between them. The twist was solid, and their side-by-side toes absolutely bang on. Spins, footwork and the lift, and then the throw. Dev hurled Bailey into the air, and she landed in a perfect glide on a swell in the music. The crowd roared.

  They’d done it! No! Focus! I still have the lift!

  Dev brought himself back, tamping down the excitement and preparing for their final element. Bailey went up over his head, and he turned, his feet smooth and steady. He changed directions, thighs burning as he put in everything he had to keeping up the speed as they went from one end of the rink all the way to the other. He swooped Bailey down for the dismount and they skated into their final pose, back to back just as they had started.

  The applause was thunderous, and Dev could swear the ice was vibrating with it. It flowed into him like a shot of adrenaline. He pumped his fist in the air, and Bailey leaped into his arms.

  “Yes!” she screamed.

  The next few minutes were a blur of waves and hugs and kisses. In the Kiss and Cry they accepted flowers and toys from the little girls who collected them from the ice. Bailey sat between Dev and Louise, who grinned from ear to ear. Pop music played in the arena as they waited for the marks to be tabulated. When the replays finished, Dev waved a stuffed blue elephant at the camera, and he and Bailey blew kisses and called out thanks and love to the people at home. Then the music faded, and Dev’s pulse raced. Bailey put her hand on his thigh, her eyes glued to the scoreboard.

  “The scores please for Bailey Robinson and Dev Avira of the United States of America,” the announcer intoned.

  As always, there was a cruelly long pause, and Dev thought his heart might beat right out of his chest.

  “The short program score please.” Another pause, and the crowd murmured anxiously. “They have earned 81.03 points in the short program. This is a new personal best for Bailey Robinson and Dev Avira.”

  Dev scanned the breakdown of the scores on the monitor. Technical elements—44.66. Program components—36.37. He raised his arms in the air. “Woo!”

  “Bailey Robinson and Dev Avira are currently in first place.”

  The three of them hugged and celebrated, and Dev’s face hurt from smiling. They were ahead of the next team by fifteen points, but there were still some heavy hitters left to come. And Misha might be one of them.

  As the next team was introduced, Dev and Bailey gathered their flowers and went backstage. Sue, Gabby, and a couple other Feds were waiting. Sue grinned and hugged them both.

  “Wonderful job! We’re all so proud of you.”

  Dev kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Sue.” The federation and its internal politics could be a pain, but they’d still supported Dev and Bailey over the years.

  Gabby beamed. “I’ll take you over to the journalists and—”

  A growing buzz from one of the hallways made them all turn. With a media scrum surrounding them, cameras flashing and recording, Kisa and Misha walked to the dressing rooms, pulling their little suitcases behind them. All the skaters brought their carry-ons to competition to cart their makeup and costumes and anything they might possibly need. The Russian federation officials and coaches tried to keep the media at bay while Kisa and Misha smiled and kept their gazes forward.

  “Well. I guess they’re going to try it,” Sue noted with clear disappointment.

  “They don’t have anything to lose,” Louise said. “Dev and Bailey nailed it. Let the Russians try and match it.”

  As the crowd thundered, Dev’s heart sank. Guilt followed a moment later.

  Bailey stopped in her tracks where she’d been pacing endlessly in the quiet little corner they’d found backstage. They’d both spent time talking and texting with friends and family back home, and now Bailey put her cell in her hoodie pocket and sighed.

  “No mistakes.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ve got to hand it to her. That’s impressive. Both of them.”

  Dev nodded. He hadn’t told Bailey that he and Misha had almost come to blows. While he’d promised to always be honest, they had enough drama to deal with. Of course that was why he hadn’t told her about Misha in the first place…

  “Are you…how do you feel?” Bailey frowned. “About him, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. I change my mind every two minutes.” He sighed. “We had a fight yesterday.”

  “Oh. About what? I mean, aside from the obvious.”

  Dev didn’t see the point in telling her what Misha had said. He smiled grimly. “Just that stuff. He was stressed about the accident, obviously, and it turns out it’s a bad idea to sleep with your competition. Makes everything even more complicated. I just feel like…” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “What?” she asked quietly.

  “It was so much easier when I could just hate them. But now I know all these things, and I worry about what will happen to him.” Dev glanced around to make sure they were still alone. “Being gay in Russia can be dangerous. I don’t want…I just want him to be okay.”

  Bailey blinked. “Do you think they’d do something to him?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope it’s only fear tactics. The Russian government can be pretty scary. They spy on him with these organiza
tions that are basically the KGB with new acronyms.”

  Her eyes widened. “Shit, seriously?”

  Dev nodded miserably. “I’m angry with him and worried about him and I resent him and care about him all at the same time.”

  “Sounds exhausting, Devassy.” She wrapped her arms around him. “It was seriously easier when he was the enemy. We all want to win, and only one team can. We did our job, and it sounds like they did theirs. So it’s up to the judges, and we both know how completely fair and always impartial the judges are.”

  Hugging her back, Dev snorted. “Completely. But one thing I do know for sure is that I’m damn proud of us.”

  Bailey pulled back. “You and me both.” As the audience hooted and hollered for what had to be the end of Kisa and Misha’s program, she linked her arm through his. “Come on, let’s go hear the scores.”

  They joined the group of people by the monitors backstage, including Louise, Sue, and Gabby, and the other US teams. Kisa grimaced as she stepped off the ice, and their coach crouched down to put on her skate guards for her. Misha gently helped her sit at the Kiss and Cry.

  Grant whistled. “Whoa. She’s in serious pain.”

  The slo-mo replays began, showing the perfect side-by-side Salchows and the giant split triple twist.

  “Man, you wouldn’t know it the way they skated,” Caroline said. “Amazing.” She flushed and looked at Dev and Bailey. “Sorry, guys.”

  “It’s the truth,” Bailey replied. She smiled. “Don’t be sorry, Sweet.”

  The latest Lady Gaga song cut out and the announcer came on the loudspeaker. “The scores please for Kisa Kostina and Mikhail Reznikov of Russia.” An interminable pause. “The short program score please.” Another interminable pause. “They have earned 83.01 points. This is a new season’s best for Kisa Kostina and Mikhail Reznikov.”

  “Not even their personal best and they still beat us. With a broken rib,” Bailey muttered. She sighed and then put on a smile for the cameras.