Cold War: Figure Skating Gay Romance

by Keira Andrews

  Dev shook his head. “You need to rest.”

  “Yes, with you close. Clothes off.”

  “Aren’t you bossy today?” But Dev was already kicking off his jeans and underwear with a little smile.

  Misha grinned. “Perhaps I will command you tonight.” He watched Dev strip off the rest of his clothes.

  “At your service.” Dev stood by the bed, the low light in the room shadowing the contours of his lean muscles. He lowered his voice. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Come closer.” He urged Dev closer until he straddled Misha’s hips. For a moment, Misha simply drank in the sight of him—dark hair scattered on his broad chest and down his belly to his thick cock—already curving slightly upward. A smile played on Dev’s full lips, his eyes bright with anticipation. Misha rested his hands on Dev’s powerful thighs. “Pleasure yourself.”

  Dev didn’t hesitate to take his cock in hand and begin stroking it. “Like this?”

  “Da. Get hard for me.”

  It didn’t take long. Lips parted, Dev worked his shaft, easing back his foreskin and jerking himself until the head was flushed and glistening. Misha swiped a drop with his fingertip and tasted it, making Dev groan, his muscles flexing as he brought himself closer to the edge. Sweat glistened in the hollow of his throat.

  “Tak krasivo. You are so beautiful like this,” Misha murmured, rubbing Dev’s legs.

  “So are you. Fuck, yes.” He gasped and stroked himself faster, his other hand stealing down to caress his balls.

  “Touch your nipples. Squeeze the way you like me to do.”

  Swallowing hard, Dev lifted his hand to flick and tease until his nipples were erect, still moving his hand on his cock harder and faster. “Jesus, Misha. I’m going to come soon. Do you want me in you?”

  He thought of the first night in Tokyo. “Come all over me.”

  With a cry, Dev did just that, eyes open as he shuddered and milked himself, splattering Misha’s stomach and chest. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. He leaned a hand on Misha’s shoulder as he caught his breath. “Fuck,” he repeated.

  Misha’s pulse thundered, and he was hard just from watching. “Feed it to me.”

  Dev’s eyes widened, and he quickly swiped his finger across Misha’s chest and held it up. Slowly, Misha sucked Dev’s finger between his lips, swirling around it with his tongue and savoring the salty musk. He let Dev’s finger go with a wet pop. “Each drop.”

  Dev eagerly complied, moaning softly as Misha licked his finger clean again and again. When there was no more, Dev waited, breathing shallowly. “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Sosi menya.” At Dev’s furrowed brow, he translated. “Suck me.”

  As if he were in a race, Dev scooted back and bent to swallow Misha’s leaking cock. He sucked the head, his tongue tracing around it and up and down the ridge on the underside while he twisted his hand around the base. Dev’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Misha muttered. “Moy khoroshiy.” Dev looked up at him beneath his lashes, and Misha ran his palm over Dev’s hair. “My good one. Make me come.”

  With a sly smile, Dev lifted his head and sucked his index finger before taking Misha’s cock in his mouth again. Misha lifted his hips as Dev slipped his hand underneath and found his hole. He inched in, finding just the right angle to make Misha jerk off the bed, his balls tightening and his release ripping through him as Dev sucked him deeply.

  He shivered as Dev coaxed him with his finger, tongue, and lips, not stopping until Misha reached for him. “Enough.”

  Gingerly, Dev stretched out beside him, kissing him softly. “How do you feel?”

  “Not made of glass, Vassenka.” He tugged Dev closer with a smile, closing his eyes as sleep rushed to take him. “That was the best kind of medicine.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I have important news, Misha.” Papa’s voice fairly vibrated over the crackling phone line, the Russian words quick and urgent.

  Misha’s breath caught, and he bolted up in bed, wide awake, wincing at the sudden movement. “Yes? Has something happened? Is everyone all right? Mama? Elena?”

  “Yes, yes. This is good news.”

  With a long exhale, Misha sagged back against his pillows. After the final rehearsal that afternoon, he’d returned to his room for a shower and nap. Dev had more interviews to do, so Misha was alone. “You frightened me. What has happened?”

  “We have had the local elections. Many new candidates have succeeded. Not only here in St. Petersburg, but across the country. Things are changing, Misha. The people are being heard. I know the leaders in Moscow will not go without a fight, but for the first time in years, we have much hope.”

  Misha’s heart soared. “Do you think they will change the laws?”

  “We can hope. More and more people are speaking out. The church is losing some of its influence. It feels as though we are moving forward again.”

  For a moment, Misha couldn’t speak through the thickness in his throat. “Maybe I can stop hiding.”

  “I pray for this.”

  Misha had to take a shuddering breath, tears suddenly in his eyes.

  “Now you are frightening me, Misha. This was to be happy news. Is something wrong?”

  His chest was unbearably tight, and for a moment Misha thought perhaps the accident had done more damage than they thought. But then the sob broke through, although he tried to contain it.

  As the tears flowed down his cheeks, he gripped his cell phone, heaving great breaths while his father patiently murmured words of comfort as he did so long ago when Misha suffered any sorrow as a boy.

  Sniffling loudly, Misha swiped his arm over his face. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

  “Tell me what it is.”

  “I thought…” Misha sniffed again and took a deep breath. “I thought I could live happily in secret. That as long as I could find my little place by the ocean, I would be free and content. That as long as I had Dev, even if we had to hide away, I wouldn’t care.”

  “But you do care.”

  He blew out another breath, more tears forming. “Yes, Papa. I do. I’m so happy when I’m with him, but we can’t even go to the market together. To dinner or to ride the Ferris wheel. It is not a full life. But I worry about you and Mama and Elena and the children, and Kisa and her family, even though I am so far away now. I worry that there will still be some retribution for my rebellion. I couldn’t live with myself, Papa.”

  His father’s voice grew stern. “Misha, stop this way of thinking. No more of this, you hear me? We agreed you should stay away from home for the time being, but there is little danger to us. Especially now as the government loses power. We must be brave. We must stand up for what is right. For truth. Tell me right now—is this why you keep yourself hidden? For our benefit?”

  “Not only, but yes. Papa, if they went after you—”

  “Enough,” he barked. “Misha, I am not afraid. You must live your life. Be free. You’re Olympic champion. You are a hero of our people. Do not hide. The people need to hear the truth. In honesty, there is power.”

  Staring at the ceiling, Misha trembled all over. “Do you think so, Papa?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s not so easy. It’s not just Russia. You know what it’s like in skating. If everyone knew about me and Dev, we might not get the tours anymore. We have to think of Kisa and Bailey. We cannot be selfish.”

  “And have you asked them?”

  “Well…”

  “You know Kisa loves you above money. You know this.”

  “Yes.” Bailey’s words returned to him. “…Don’t make yourselves miserable trying to protect us or some shit like that.”

  “If you are not bold, who will be?”

  “But…” Misha thought of Dev, and his heart clenched. “Dev hasn’t even told his parents about me.”

  “If he is ashamed of you—”

  “No, no. He is not. But he’s afraid.
”

  “Then you must show how to be brave.”

  A soft knock at the door startled him, and Misha winced as he pushed himself up, his back twinging.

  “Room service.”

  He’d forgotten he’d scheduled an early dinner to be delivered. “Papa, I must go.”

  “Think about what I’ve said. Promise me.”

  “Yes. I promise. Thank you, Papa. I love you. Tell Mama and Elena as well.”

  “All of our love is with you, Misha.”

  Misha hurried to the door and tipped the young man who delivered the meal. The grilled salmon and rice was entirely unappetizing at the moment, but as he forced himself to chew and swallow, his father’s words echoed loudly in his mind.

  “You must show how to be brave.”

  When Kisa opened her door, she exclaimed softly and reached for Misha’s hand. “You have been crying.”

  They had to be downstairs for the shuttle to the arena in ten minutes, but Misha let her lead him inside, leaving his small suitcase by the door. “I hoped it wouldn’t show.”

  “Are you in pain? We should not skate! I knew it was too much.”

  “No, no. It is not that.”

  “Then what has happened? My mother told me such good news today, about the elections. Did you not hear?” She rubbed his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “Would you really not mind if it wasn’t a secret anymore? About who I really am?”

  Kisa’s face softened. “Oh, Misha. Do you really have to ask? Of course not.”

  “Even if it means no more skating? You love it so much.”

  “I do. But yes, even if it means that. I don’t think it will. I think people will surprise us. Even if they don’t…I think you will feel better.” She placed her hand against his chest. “You have always been heavy here, and I want you to fly the way I do on the ice.”

  Tears pricked his eyes again. “But what if, when you return home—”

  “What?” Her eyes blazed. “What can they do? The people love us, Misha. Our people. Change is happening. I’m sure of it.” She dashed away a tear from his cheek, tsking. “Come, let’s fix you up.” She nudged him toward the bed.

  Misha sat on the end of it while Kisa unzipped her case and pulled out her huge makeup bag.

  “First the drops. Look up.”

  He did as he was told, opening and closing his eyes as instructed as Kisa dabbed on makeup and brushed powder over his skin. When her room phone rang, she cursed and answered curtly that they’d be right down for the shuttle.

  “They can wait a few minutes. We are Olympic champions, after all.”

  Misha smiled softly. “Yes. We are.”

  She brushed her fingertips across Misha’s bruised cheek. “There. You can hardly see it, and your eyes are much less puffy.” She kissed his forehead. “No more tears until after the show, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Kisa hesitated. “Have you told Dev how you really feel?”

  The heaviness returned. “No.”

  “You know, I was not sure what to think at first. I honestly didn’t think it would last beyond the summer. But I see he makes you very happy. He cares for you very much. He is a good man.”

  Misha swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “At the hospital, he could not sit for even a moment. You are in his heart. And he is in yours, yes?”

  Nodding, Misha pushed down a swell of emotion.

  “Then you have to tell him the truth.” She tugged his hand. “All right, time to go before they come looking.”

  He caught her hand, lifting it for a kiss.

  Outside the hotel, the shuttle van waited with the other skaters inside. Kisa and Misha hurried, murmuring apologies, and took the empty seat at the front. When Misha glanced back to where Dev and Bailey sat a few rows behind, Dev was watching him with his brows pulled together, lines of concern on his face.

  Misha wanted more than anything to go to him immediately and tell him how he was feeling, but instead he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way and then turned back around. The packed little bus was not the place, and he needed to refocus his mind on the show. He was being paid well by NBC, and it was important to perform his best. He had to put everything else aside and do his job.

  In his pocket, his phone vibrated, and he pulled it out.

  What’s wrong? Are you okay?

  Misha quickly tapped out a reply to Dev.

  Only tired. Do not worry.

  Dev’s reply was almost immediate.

  I’m still worried.

  A smile tugged on Misha’s lips, warmth in his chest.

  It is your Christmas Eve. Be merry, Vassenka. All is well.

  One of the PAs in the other front seat of the bus stood and cleared her throat. “We’re almost there, so I just want to make sure everyone knows their schedule as we count down to showtime. Dev and Bailey, the local news is waiting to do a fluff piece with you, as well as Andrew, Grant, and Caroline.” She consulted her clipboard. “Mikhail and Kisa, NBC’s going to film a little spot explaining the accident in practice.”

  “Wait, you don’t want the folks at home thinking he got into a bar fight?” Bailey asked.

  The PA snorted. “Doesn’t quite fit into our ‘peace on Earth, goodwill to all men’ vibe.” She glanced at Misha. “Great job with the makeup, though. Still, with HD, that bruise will be clear as day.”

  Misha’s phone shuddered.

  I can’t wait to be alone with you again.

  He quickly responded with a few excited emoticons and a smile over his shoulder. He only hoped Dev would be as eager to see him once he heard what was weighing on Misha’s mind.

  “Of course we all remember the terrible collision in practice just before you were set to compete at the Olympic Games. Kisa, you were an inspiration to us all as you skated through that rib injury despite the pain.”

  Misha’s stomach churned at the memory of the other skater slamming into Kisa and the bang she made when she spun into the boards.

  “After that terrible accident, what did it mean to you to win that gold medal?”

  As Kisa answered the reporter, Misha rolled his eyes in his mind, aware of course of the camera on them. He truly wished journalists would not ask such silly questions. What did it mean? Everything, of course.

  The woman turned to him with dazzling teeth. “And here we are with Mikhail sporting the injury this time. Can you tell us what happened?”

  He smiled. “It was nothing, really. Only a little accident on the triple twist. I am fine. We have bad luck, it seems.”

  “I have sharp elbows,” Kisa added. “But he is very tough.”

  “I’d say you both are!” The woman chuckled. “Glad you’re okay, Mikhail. We can’t wait to see you guys skate tonight. What a way to ring in the holidays. Merry Christmas!”

  They nodded and smiled, and then it was mercifully over. Misha hurried to the locker room, but Dev was already gone, or perhaps he hadn’t made it yet. Misha changed into his first costume—a red silk shirt and green pants like all the other men wore for the opening number—and paced restlessly.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “You doing okay? You seem a little on edge. Which is weird, because usually you’re scarily calm.”

  Misha bit back the urge to snap at him, smiling tensely instead. “I always hid it well.”

  Grant laughed. “You sure did. You always hid a lot well.”

  “Dude,” Andrew whispered.

  Grant held up his hands, his red shirt half buttoned. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s cool. You and Dev? Totally cool. I just didn’t see it coming, that’s all.”

  “It is fine. Thank you.” Misha escaped the locker room. If he couldn’t see Dev, he needed air and quiet. He slipped away to one of the farthest corners of the backstage area to gather himself.

  It was silly to be nervous. There would be no stern-faced judges watching his every move. No medals were on the line. He had skated in hundreds of shows and galas over the yea
rs, and this one should be no different.

  Of course, he knew very well his nerves weren’t about the show. As he walked down a hallway, his skate guards clacking on the cement, his father’s words looped in his mind again.

  “You must show how to be brave.”

  What if he asked too much of Dev? Coming out was not an easy thing, and he didn’t want to apply pressure. He didn’t want to make the wrong choice—the reckless choice—no matter what his father and Kisa insisted.

  A woman’s raised voice broke into his thoughts, and he peered around a corner. A short, plump Indian woman just inside a door argued with a security guard. She wore a sparkling gold blouse, large hoop earrings adorned her ears, and her shoulder-length dark hair was neatly coiffed. As she motioned with her hands, many bangles clanged together.

  “Listen, I need to see my son. I have to give him something very important.”

  The young security guard shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you backstage.”

  “My son is the star of this show! What, you think I’m some criminal? I only need to see him for a minute.”

  The guard shifted from foot to foot. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t let anyone in before the show.”

  She harrumphed with a jangle. “Fine, young man. Then can you give him something for me?” She opened her purse.

  “I can.” Misha spoke before he could think better of it.

  Mrs. Avira and the guard spun toward him, and Misha stepped out fully from behind the corner and walked toward them. His palms sweated, and he tried for a friendly smile, likely failing miserably. “I’ll be seeing Dev in a moment.”

  For a few seconds, Mrs. Avira only blinked. Then she pasted on a smile. “If it’s no trouble, that would be very nice of you.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  “Did somebody punch you?” She pointed at his face.

  Misha huffed out a laugh. “No. Kisa and I had a little accident on the triple twist.”

  Mrs. Avira winced. “Ah yes. The elbow. Devassy had his share of black eyes, but never anything broken, thank the Lord.”