by N. J. Lysk
He vacillated, not sure if he should explain that he didn’t actually know what Jews looked like, not outside of movies, anyway, because... well, he never spoke about stuff like this with anyone. He had no idea if any of his teammates were religious. If they needed to do anything to keep their gods happy, it certainly didn’t show when they put on their skates and got on the ice.
And he’d never asked.
But maybe there was a reason they hadn’t said, either. Uri had. Uri wanted him to know. To know him.
“Well, if you were looking for someone who can stick his foot in his mouth at least once per conversation...”
The soft smile turned sharp. “Wouldn’t say I was looking for anyone,” he clarified. “But—”
Just then a woman on the last row turned around and shot them a venomous look. Thomas startled a little and Uri straightened like he’d been electrocuted. Thomas pressed his shoulder against the other man’s in silent support as the angelic voices of the children started to rise in the auditorium.
They were really good, to his surprise, and Valentina was standing straight and full of manic energy—not like when she was performing most of the afterschool activities their parents signed her up for. Maybe this would be a good compromise—something she loved that their parents thought it was appropriate for her to love.
Uri hadn’t moved away, and Thomas was proud he managed to keep his attention on the kids. It wasn’t just that the guy was hot, either—the unfinished conversation nagged at him.
But when he saw Valentina running off the stage towards their family, he couldn’t hold himself back and started pushing his way to the front. He could see her later, sure, but it was Val, the unexpected late baby, the one that would always be a baby for her big brother because there was no getting over holding a child that young and defenceless in your arms. She was already in his father’s arms when he reached them, but she turned towards him when he touched her hair, smiling widely in delight.
“Thomas!” she squealed. His father let him take her with a warning look—she was a big girl now and shouldn’t be babied. She could be a little girl for as long as she pleased as far as Thomas was concerned. And, anyway, hadn’t his father picked her up in the first place?
“Wow, you sing like an angel, but you are getting heavy as a rock!” he teased her.
She huffed. “I’m not!” She hit his arm with an open hand. “Mayyybe you skipped the gym again. I watched your game the other day! You need to watch your left more,” she admonished.
The damned thing was, she was right. She had an eye for the game; Thomas wasn’t sure if it was a natural gift or just all the hours he’d put her through when he’d babysat her during his secondary school years when he’d had whole mornings free.
“Thomas,” his dad cut in. “We need to get the girls home for dinner.”
Thomas looked away from Valentina’s dimming smile. “It’s not that late, is it?”
“You’re invited too, of course,” his dad offered, gentle but implacable. It was a common theme for his dad; he was an omega and really believed that meant he should be submissive and want nothing but to take care of his family, but at the same time he had very fixed ideas about how to do that and since his instincts were designed for just such a task, his opinion on the matter was unarguably superior to Thomas’s own.
Thomas hesitated before letting Val slide down to the floor. “Can’t,” he said with a shrug he hoped looked regretful enough. “Early practice.”
“Of course,” his dad agreed, green eyes inexpressive. Thomas didn’t think he’d bought it, but it didn’t matter, did it? It wasn’t like telling the truth was encouraged or even tolerated in their house.
Dinner wasn’t something Thomas could deal with on his own—especially not when his dad had pretty much announced his younger sisters would be sent to bed soon after. He gave his dad a short nod even as Val, quick to catch on, gave him a last squeeze before abandoning him to go find one of her friends to say goodbye.
Eira and Grace, both in homemade dresses that made them look like they’d just stepped through a time portal from their parents’ childhood, were whispering quietly to each other in a corner.
They looked up when Thomas approached, and Eira extended an arm for a half-hug. Grace didn’t, she disliked being touched. She could put up with it when her parents insisted it was expected of her, but none of her siblings ever tried.
“You running away?” Eira asked low enough not to be overheard but sharp enough to make Thomas grimace.
“You know it’ll just...” He waved a hand around.
His little sister sighed, put upon but understanding beyond her years. “Yeah, whatever. Can we come to your flat this weekend?”
Thomas frowned, trying to remember what day of the week it was. He knew he had a game coming in three days, but other than that...
"It’s Tuesday,” Eira offered, projecting superior amusement that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a celebrity, or a monarch.
Thomas rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, so I’m playing a game on Friday. Home ice. You can come over on Saturday.” He glanced at their father, who seemed to be finishing his conversation with whomever had been keeping him busy so far. “Are you working on something special?” he risked asking.
It wasn’t like their parents disapproved of his middle sisters playing around with transistors and robots—not as long as they were also willing to dress the part of good girls and keep the right company. It was less that they struggled to live up to their standards and more that being under observation all the time was pretty exhausting.
“We can’t get the new radio amplifier to work,” Grace offered. “We don’t know why, but maybe someone at that store close to your house can help.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “We can stop by. Maybe we can all go to dinner, then Colleen can take Val home and you can sleep over.”
Grace smiled at him for that, a rare sight. Thomas returned it in kind. He felt a little guilty sometimes for how obviously he preferred Colleen and Valentina—but then again, Grace and Eira were practically attached to each other. It worked for them; it didn’t mean he didn’t love them too, or that he wasn’t there when they needed a safe space to decompress.
“Thomas, it was nice of you to come,” his father said, making him jump a little. He’d lost track of him, he realised with annoyance.
“Um, sure, couldn’t miss Val’s debut,” he replied, trying a smile. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
His father nodded. “Yes, she has a lovely voice. Might be something we want her to pursue,” he added thoughtfully.
It was nothing sinister, but it made Thomas tense anyway—he couldn’t help it; with his parents it was always about the ultimate goal of turning them into perfect citizens, which in itself was nothing else but a side-effect of their own goal of proving they were perfect citizens. Children were a reflection on their parents, his dad liked to say. If that was the case, Thomas must have been a reflection a pretty muddy pool, not that either of his parents would have said anything as straightforward about his choice of career, but he knew anyway. He’d been brought up to help his family and support his community, and what had he done with that privilege? He’d decided to play a game for a living. Exercise was a healthy lifestyle choice, of course—his father went on a run every morning before work and his dad did yoga and calisthenics—but sports... well, they were all well and good for children, of course, that’s how Thomas had ended up on the ice in the first place. They’d encouraged his passion back then and attended his games with the same supportive smiles they’d probably had as Val sang, but later...
“Yeah, maybe,” he said vaguely, looking over his father’s shoulder more than at the man. And then he saw him. The man from earlier... It took his brain a moment to scramble for the name. Uri. “Oh, I gotta...” Across the room, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, dark eyes met his and the excuse turned into a very real urge. “Sorry, I need to talk to someone.”
> He didn’t wait for his father to answer, a choice he’d likely have to pay for later. But Thomas was very much a guy who lived in the present—later, after all, might never come.
Uri was tall enough that they could have held each other’s gazes as Thomas crossed the auditorium, but he’d looked away after barely a moment. He was probably talking to someone, maybe the kid he’d come to watch, but Thomas got the feeling the withdrawal had been more deliberate than that.
For a second the thought occurred to him that the guy might not want to talk to him again, but his feet didn’t seem to care, and when he caught sight of the broad shoulders again, the decision was somehow already made.
The child chattering away was dark-skinned and curly-haired, and obviously half in love with Uri, who was nodding along with a serious, attentive expression that seemed at odds with both the setting and his interlocutor. Except, Thomas thought as he slowed to watch, that Uri made it seem anything but odd. He raised a hand and said something, then listened again, tilting his head to literally give his ear—and caught Thomas staring straight at him like a total creep. He offered an apologetic smile and a shrug and got an intense, steady look in return.
He was pretty sure that look didn’t mean he should fuck off.
And they’d already established Thomas was the kind of person who didn’t have a very good sense of... timing, and that Uriel liked that. Maybe, Thomas hoped he wasn’t being too optimistic, that Uriel liked him.
It was definitely worth a shot.
Chapter Two: Uriel
Uri was listening to Kyeran chat on about school and how he wanted to be a lawyer when he grew up—unless he became a singer, that was—when he looked up and locked gazes with a gorgeous pair of green eyes. To be fair, he’d been tracking the man since the end of the performance. Well, okay, maybe he’d stolen a glance or two while the choir sang; but what did it matter? The point of a choir was singing, not their appearance.
Uri wanted to be just as unconcerned with the guy’s... Thomas’s appearance. He’d been unsurprised to find out the guy was a professional athlete; having had a close-up look of his arms and chest, it was either that or genetic engineering.
And now he was ambling over, as if he’d taken Uri’s look as an invitation. It hadn’t been meant as one, but as he made an effort to keep track of Kyeran’s story and not check Thomas’s trajectory, it was hard to pretend he minded.
The beta approached slowly, probably so he wouldn’t startle them, but Uri’s eyes found him again before he could speak.
“Hey, there.” Thomas’s smile, a little lopsided, was an invitation to activities not appropriate for a public space.
“Hey,” Uri managed, a part of him still a little worried the other man would walk away. For a long moment, he watched Thomas, a little fascinated and a little blank with nerves, then he put a hand on Kyeran’s shoulder and turned him to face the man. “This is my friend, Kyeran. Kyeran, this is Thomas. Thomas’s little sister is in the choir.”
Thomas smiled at Kyeran. “Nice to meet you.” He offered the boy a hand, oddly formal and impossibly charming. He was wearing a t-shirt and loose cargo pants and yet he moved as elegantly as a fully suited man.
Kyeran shook it, but also gave him a through once-over that made Uri cringe. “Are you a lawyer too?”
“No,” Thomas replied with easy self-assurance. “I play hockey.”
“Hockey?” Kyeran asked, eyes widening.
Thomas’s grin was pure delight, so much so that it occurred to Uri to wonder how old he could be. “You like to play?”
“Yeah! We got sticks at the centre, and we can play in the backyard. But the older kids always want to play football,” he added with a put-upon sigh.
“People are crazy,” Thomas agreed wholeheartedly. Uri snorted next to them, unintentionally recalling his attention. “What? Are you one of those people who like football better than hockey?” Thomas asked, possibly not completely in jest.
Uri raised both palms, biting back a smile but pretending to be intimidated. It was probably not the time to mention that as kids he and David had been a little obsessed with England winning the Football World Cup—they’d got over it eventually and he’d played hockey in secondary school, on grass, but he thought it’d be good enough. “I’m neutral here, I like them both.”
“Cop-out,” Kyeran mumbled, which made both Uri and Thomas start laughing.
“It is, though,” Thomas pointed out once he’d calmed down. “At least football fans are brave enough to come out and say it. This whole neutrality bullshit...”
“I am a lawyer,” Uri reminded him, then something caught his eye. “Kyeran, Mx Lasso is here. She must be looking for you.”
Kyeran sighed but agreed to meet the caretaker in charge of picking him up. Thomas watched him go with his lips pressed tightly together.
“He’s a bit dramatic,” Uri told him. “The adoption centre is not a bad place, just... well, it’s hard to be there when you cannot get adopted.”
Thomas turned to look at him again. “Cannot get adopted?”
Uri shrugged, then explained, “Family is around, just can’t... They visit, but it means he’s stuck.”
“Sounds tough,” Thomas commented, but it wasn’t a platitude. He gently prodded for more, “So you are trying to...?”
“Oh, no, there’s... well, there’s nothing I can do. Kyeran wants to go back to them and they want him back. I’m just... I spend a lot of time there. It helps if they know me,” he explained.
“So you stick around and watch a lot of anime and pretend you don’t like it?” Thomas suggested with a teasing lilt to his voice.
Uri glanced up at him, smiling a little already. “Nah, I don’t pretend not to like it. It’s alright, as long as no one at work finds out—the kids already know I’m not cool.”
“Aren’t you?” Thomas tilted his head to the side almost coquettishly—for such a big guy, he was strangely at ease with gestures of submission. Of course, he was a beta, so... “From the look on that boy’s face; pretty sure the only thing you're missing is a cape!”
Uri looked away, feeling his face heat up. He hoped it wasn’t obvious and it was certainly a relief that Thomas’s nose wasn’t fine enough to pick up the roiling mix of emotions he was sure must have been completely obvious to any omega or alpha; pleasure, discomfort... desire.
“Or spandex,” Thomas added very softly. So softly Uri shook himself before looking him in the face, as if he could find some sign of the words there if they had actually been pronounced by those lips. He could, actually: Thomas’s pupils were big and his eyelashes were at half-mast as he stared at Uri with badly disguised... hunger. There wasn’t another word for it.
He swallowed, feeling oddly wrong-footed and his hesitation must have been obvious because Thomas backed down a step, big shoulders hunching a little and gaze dropping to the ground. “My bad, I just—”
“No.” The word was out before he could think it through, and it wasn’t like Uri—thinking it through was basically his job description and life motto both, but... “I... You want a drink?”
It was as awkward a proposal as he’d ever managed, and he’d managed quite a few that he never wanted anyone to know about. He was never quite sure if people liked him, not... sexually. Because this wasn’t romantic, that was transparently obvious. He dared meet Thomas’s eyes once more, braced for it without quite knowing what he was preparing himself for. What was he even doing?
But before he could figure out what had possessed him to such boldness, Thomas stepped back into his space, even closer than before and, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak. Then Thomas placed a careful hand on his wrist. “I’d love a drink.”
Uri shivered as their skin came into contact for the first time—nothing magical about it, just skin on skin making him hungry for more. It’d been way too long, if he...
“I have some at home,” Thomas added.
“What?” Uri knew it was he who
had spoken but he hadn’t intended to.
“Drinks,” Thomas reminded him. He was definitely younger than Uri, but there was something about his cocky expression that promised he knew what he was doing, and he...
“A little fast, aren’t we?” he asked, straightening and taking a step back without looking away.
The beta got it at once, grinning like he enjoyed the challenge. “Oh, my bad,” he repeated, this time with an overly-bright tone that made it clear he wasn’t sorry at all. “Maybe I can make it up to you? There’s got to be a pub close by.”
Uri hesitated, mind rushing even as his eyes found Thomas’s smirking lips again. “Let’s go,” he said, taking the plunge before he could overthink it. He was being asked and his answer was yes—and Thomas was a beta, as free to choose this as he was anything else. Equally free to walk away any time if it stopped being of interest.
Once they were outside, walking close enough their arms brushed as they swung at their sides, Thomas started looking around over the milling crowd of parents. Even though children were not allowed into pubs after noon, it seemed highly unlikely they could find anywhere to talk right after all the concert goers had been freed from the obligation of listening to their kids and the added pleasure of getting to hear adults pretending to be modest about how much they’d helped said kids.
If you need to remind people of what you did, you obviously did not help that much, Esti always said. Uri wholeheartedly agreed.
“Is it close?” he asked. If he was going to do this, then he’d freaking do it. No beating around the bush, no pointless small talk in a room too loud to really hear each other in.
Maybe his tone was too abrupt because Thomas stopped walking. “What?”
“Your place,” Uri said calmly. He wasn’t calm but he’d learned to hide that kind of thing early on when interviewing witnesses. No one wanted to tell sensitive stories to a nervous wreck— No one really wanted to spend time with one in a social setting either.
“Oh.” Thomas was clearly confused but didn’t question him. “Well, sort of. I live in New Cross Gate.”