by Owen Chance
Petrov talked easily as they walked. He had grown up in Samara, a city on the other end of the Volga River on what is considered to be the southeastern edge of European Russia. His father was a cosmonaut who retired early due to a leg injury he’d gotten while water skiing and then became a professor of some renown at Samara State Aerospace University. He drank a lot. Not in a mean way, Petrov explained, “My father never beat my mother or me,” but in a resigned, quiet way. Petrov’s mother was an accountant and, Petrov claimed, “The most beautiful woman in all of the Zhiguli Mountains.” When he finished school, Petrov came to Moscow to train with the army, though he was vague about what he did exactly. But he still went home to see his parents once in the summer and for three days at Christmas. As Petrov told Thom about their family home in the Volga River flats, they reached Thom’s hotel.
Alone on the elevator, Petrov stopped talking to kiss Thom, and they held hands the rest of the way to the room. When Thom opened the door, Petrov looked around the luxury suite, smiling. He brushed past Thom and walked into the bathroom. “I’d like to take a shower, if that’s okay?” Petrov asked, turning on the water and releasing a torrent of steam into the room all at once. With his back to Thom, Petrov lifted his t-shirt over his head and kicked off his tennis shoes. He unbuttoned the fly to his jeans and slid them down his strong, thick thighs bending over to release his feet and kicking the jeans onto the pile of clothes he’d just built. He hadn’t been wearing underwear, Thom was right, and as Thom stared at the most beautiful, chiseled ass he’d seen since his soccer days at Emory, Petrov looked over his shoulder, caught Thom staring, and laughed, “Join me, brother,” before stepping into the shower.
In that instant, Thom finally thought of Jason.
But he took off his clothes anyway, folding his shirt and jeans carefully on the counter, putting his socks into his shoes, and laying his black briefs on top of his other clothes. He slipped his wedding ring into the smallest pocket of his toiletries bag on the counter, but if Petrov had cared to notice it, he already had back at the bar. As Thom stepped into the shower and Petrov greeted him with a deep kiss under the hard, hot spray of water, his cock began to harden. Petrov, who was, in fact, only 27 Thom had learned on their walk, was already fully erect, with shower spray sliding off the tip of his penis and falling to the floor, where their feet began to explore one another, and the rest of their bodies followed suit.
3.
Ambassador Paul Anderson left the conference room at an extremely high-end, yet understated Geneva hotel, walking beside his Russian colleague, the ambassador to the United States, Andrei Popov. “Paul,” Andrei began once they had entered the elevator, “I have some unfortunate news.”
“Yes?” Paul asked, “Do tell me.” Paul liked Andrei. They worked well together, seeing eye-to-eye politically, believing in the importance of a strong, perhaps too-all-knowing state, as they were both former intelligence officers, but also believing in the importance of their states being democratic leaders on the world stage. And more than that, the two colleagues had a shared love: sailing. It was not uncommon for the Anderson family to vacation at the Popov’s summer house down on the Black Sea, where the two men would take Andrei’s pristine Eagle 44, its hull shined to make the old wood as reflective as a bathroom mirror, out on the water early in the morning, before either of their wives had gotten out of bed. Yes, it is true, the two men had become good friends.
Andrei cleared his throat, “Paul, this is my last trip. This afternoon I got fired.”
“What?” Paul almost yelled, realizing quickly he needed to lower his voice, “What the fuck, Andrei?” Per usual, the men spoke casually to each other, a sign of their friendship.
“I know, I know,” Andrei repeated, “It wasn’t my choice. The administration feels I, I guess you could say, don’t share their vision. They want to return us to an old way of doing things, Paul, but we live in a new world now.”
The elevator reached Ambassador Popov’s floor, and the doors opened to his waiting security detail. “Don’t worry, Paul,” he took his friend’s hands into both of his, “We’ll talk more about this later.”
4.
Thom awoke with less of a headache than he had imagined he would, but a slight hangover nonetheless. His stomach cramped and his muscles ached, but he couldn’t help to smile. After they did everything but make love in the hotel’s roomy steam shower, Petrov made Thom take three aspirin before they crawled into bed, slept, awoke to repeat the shower all over again, and then slept like two farm boys after a long day in the fields. When Thom awoke, Petrov was still asleep beside him, snoring a bit and letting out rancid morning breath. His thick leg was flung over Thom’s, and his uncut cock hung flaccid against his thigh. This man is beautiful, Thom thought, like the Abercrombie & Fitch models he used to jack off to every time he went to the Westgate Mall back in Amarillo. As Thom pondered taking a trip home to see his dad, Petrov began to stir.
“Good morning, brother,” the sleepy Russian said, wiping his eyes and reaching over to give Thom a kiss. Thom held up his hands, “Not before you brush your teeth!”
“Okay, okay,” Petrov got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He used a finger to brush out his mouth with a bit of Thom’s Crest toothpaste and stood before the toilet to piss. “But after we shower, you’re taking me to breakfast.”
“Okay,” Thom said from the other room, surprised he agreed to breakfast when he had so much shit to do today, and surprised at himself for agreeing this wasn’t just a hookup, a one-night stand, a mistake. And what did that mean, that Petrov wanted to hang out with him, to linger, to not just fool around and then leave? What would he tell Jason? But as he began to fall down the rabbit hole of these thoughts, he heard the shower running. “Get your ass in here, Thom,” Petrov yelled.
And Thom got his ass to the bathroom.
5.
When Ambassador Anderson awoke the next morning, he stretched and walked across the plush gray carpet of his hotel suite to the entry hall to pick up the morning’s New York Times, which he requested to be waiting at every hotel in every country he traveled to. This, the only particular luxury he allowed himself under his ambassadorship. Even though he preferred staying in old bed-and-breakfasts, his security detail necessitated whole floors of hotels like this brand-new Four Seasons, hotels more accustomed to serving such needs than rickety old Victorians in London’s East End or squat but charming stucco apartment buildings in Madrid, where he’d be in a few weeks for the annual NATO summit.
Anderson stretched his arms to the sky, then bent down to pick up the Times. There was his president and friend, Meredith Myers, smiling on the lawn of the White House next to her damn dog on the front page above the fold in full color. America loved her, Anderson knew, but then again, he did, too. Anderson and Myers had met in law school at Yale several decades ago, working together ever since.
As Ambassador Anderson shook open his Times, a piece of a paper fell to the floor. A single card of fine, but unmarked stationary, it simply read: “Pull the thread, Paul, and the whole world unravels.”
Chapter Four
1.
It was a beautiful day outside by the time Thom and Petrov left the Metropol Hotel and walked across Revolution Square at 10:15. The sun shone brightly, and Thom noticed Petrov didn’t reach for his hand as they passed by other couples in the park, beautiful couples holding hands and drinking coffees and eating toasts atop blankets strewn across the lawns spinning outward from the statue of Karl Marx at the park’s center.
“Where are you taking me?” Thom asked, but didn’t particularly care. He was used to Jason choosing everything. Where they ate, where they lived, where they vacationed. What soap they bought, what underwear they wore, what kind of wine they drank. Thom didn’t even like wine that much. He was a whiskey man through and through, true to his Texas roots. But Petrov, unlike Jason, didn’t come across as petulant or demanding of his own agenda. He was just confident, and even sexier in last nigh
t’s clothes than he had been. “You’ll see.”
They passed through a series of alleys behind the Youth Theater and came to a tiny store front, a café aptly named Kabinet. Petrov held the door for Thom and inside, they perched on stools by the window, waiting for one of the three small tables to vacate. They sat knee-to-knee. Petrov read the newspaper and Thom checked the secure messaging app on his phone. The ambassador had pinged him: Pick me up from the airport at four. Get one of the Jeeps from the embassy. We need to talk. Before Thom could dwell upon the reasons for this talk, an old man with a sweet face came over, leading the two boys to the table furthest in the back by the wall separating the tiny dining room from the tinier kitchen.
“I like this place because they serve food from the south,” Petrov said, meaning where he was from, “Do you care if I order for us?” Thom shook his head no and smiled. Petrov turned to the man who had seated them and ordered what was surely half their menu. The man returned quickly with coffees and a pitcher of thick cream. Thom added a small bit to his cup, but Petrov stirred in half the pitcher and added four packets of sugar. Thom smiled, and Petrov laughed, “What, I like sweet things,” squeezing Thom’s knee beneath the table.
Thom stopped smiling. “Petrov, I need to tell you something.” Petrov stopped smiling, too. “Yes?” he answered with trepidation.
Thom was nothing but honest with Petrov, and talked in an escalating, clipped pace. “I’m married, Petrov. To a wonderful man named Jason. He’s a lawyer in the civil rights division of the Department of Justice and we met in our last year of grad school at Georgetown. He’s sweet, if not more than a bit demanding, and has the loudest laugh you’ll ever hear. I love him. Or loved him. You see, we’re having problems. He wants to adopt a kid, and I don’t want to be a father. Or not yet. I don’t know. I think Jason is cheating on me, but I know I cheated on him, and I should have told you I was married, but…”
Petrov took his hand across the table, interrupting him, “I know you are, Thom.”
“But how?” Petrov didn’t have time to answer. He pulled his hand away as the waiter returned with a tray of food. A giant platter of syrniki, cottage cheese pancakes, with bowls of caramelized blueberries, sliced strawberries with mint, fresh goat’s milk sour cream, powdered sugar, a new pitcher of cream and a carafe of coffee. “Thank you,” both men said to the waiter, who nodded, spun slowly on his heels, and walked back into the kitchen.
“I knew you were married,” Petrov said, “But I also know you are a man of honor. That you wouldn’t cheat on your husband if it wasn’t already over.”
Thom realized Petrov was right. And this realization hit him in the stomach like a giant bale of cotton hits the bed of a pickup truck come harvest season. Thom didn’t love Jason, not anymore. And if Jason loved Thom, it was only a matter of time until he realized the point was moot. Thom heaped a stack of the tiny pancakes onto his plate, spooning the berry compote and sour cream on top. The subject of his marriage was tabled for now. “So,” he forked a thick piece of pancake into his mouth, “tell me about being in the army.”
2.
Jason wanted everything to be perfect for Thom’s birthday. Though they’d been married for six months, together for five years, Jason had never been able to win over Thom’s friends. Not really. Even though there were few of them. Thom kept his circle of close friends small. Trey, another homo who worked at the C.I.A.; Sally, Thom’s roommate from Emory who was now clerking for a Supreme Court justice; and Nick, a guy from Amarillo who played soccer with Thom every weekend and worked in nonprofit marketing over on K Street. Jason gathered the crew at Rosa’s on Capitol Hill, the newest luxury restaurant in D.C.’s burgeoning food scene that served Mexican food with a Thai twist. It had taken months to coordinate the group’s schedule, and a $250 deposit to secure a table on a prime Friday night. Jason, Trey, Sally, and Nick sat in a velvet booth drinking their second round of margaritas with crushed Thai basil. Nick was checking World Cup scores on his phone, while Trey and Sally ignored Jason completely and talked about summer vacation plans at Rehoboth Beach and St. Michael’s on Chesapeake, respectively. Jason had asked Thom if he wanted to go to his parent’s beach house in St. Martinique for Memorial Day weekend, but Thom was dead set on going to Rehoboth with Trey like he did every year. “He’s my best friend,” Thom had told his husband, “It’s a tradition.”
Thom didn’t know his friends were surprising him tonight with a birthday dinner. He thought he was just meeting Jason at the bar here. But as it stood, he was more than 45 minutes late.
Jason stepped away from the booth and locked himself in the bathroom. He called Thom, who didn’t pick up. Jason texted his husband — “Where are you? You were supposed to be here at 7. Pick up.” — and called again. “Jason, Jason, I’m sorry. I totally forgot about meeting you for birthday drinks.” In the background, Jason heard cheers, “Are you in a bar, Thom?” Thom hesitated, “Yea. Some of the guys from work wanted to catch the World Cup semifinals so we’re at Dave’s in Alexandria. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” Jason hung up him.
When he returned to the booth, Jason told Thom’s friends Thom was sick and it’s probably his fault, he should never plan a surprise for his husband. But that they were welcome to stay for dinner. They already had the table, and it’s so hard to get a reservation in this place. “I should actually get going,” Sally said, “But thank you for the drinks, Jason.” Trey and Nick followed her out of the restaurant. Jason asked for another margarita and the check. He was in no hurry to get home.
3.
Petrov slowly stirred his coffee, measuring out the time between Thom’s revelation and what he would say next with the spoon around and around the rim of his simple white cup. He broke the silence with his smile. “Thom, I know you are married. But I also know you’re a man of honor, and that you wouldn’t cheat on your husband if it wasn’t already over,” he repeated himself.
Thom questioned this moral relativism, but also, “How did you know I was married?”
Petrov laughed. “Well, you did have a ring on when we walked back from the club last night, no? And where is it now?” They both laughed. Thom was right, Petrov had noticed. “But also, I have something I need to tell you, Thom. I’m in the army, yes, but I’m actually a digital analyst in the G.R.U.”
Now it was Thom’s turn to laugh. Petrov was essentially in the same position for the Russian intelligence service as Thom was at the C.I.A. But then Thom stopped laughing, dropping his fork with its berry and sour cream onto his plate with a quick, sharp clink. “Wait, have you been spying on me?”
“No, no, not at all. When a foreign agent registers to enter the country as you did last week, I run a background check on them. You came up, how do you say, squeaky clean. But I did notice that you were gay. And handsome. But married. I was surprised to see you at the bar. Sorry if I was too forward.”
Thom didn’t know exactly what to say. Petrov seemed to know a lot about him, more than he’d learn from a standard background check. But he was also flattered. And hungry. He decided to let the issue go for now. “Not at all. And these pancakes, fucking delicious!”
Thom forked a huge bite into his mouth as Petrov began a story. “They are good. Not as good as the ones my mother makes, but not bad. You see hers had fresh…”
4.
When he was 14, Petrov ran a strawberry stand with his best friend Ivan. Petrov and Ivan lived in the Volga River flats, an upper-middle class part of the city filled mostly with lawyers, doctors, and professors from the university like Petrov’s father. Ivan’s father was a lawyer for the city, and his mother had died when Ivan was two.
The boys lived next door to each other and spent their summers picking wild strawberries on the river bank, washing and packing them in small plastic bowls to sell outside the row of shops at the end of their street. They sold enough to make money for the movie theater, sure, but the fun of it was in the strawberry picking. They’d wade, barefoot and shirtless under the h
ot southern Russian sun, along the banks of the river where other people rarely went, areas where black snakes nested and mosquitos swarmed thick, but the strawberries grew especially big and sweet. Some days they’d just swim and lay out naked on the edge of the forest to dry, eating what they’d picked instead of walking back to their neighborhood and talking for hours and hours, unselfconsciously, as only two boys on the edge of manhood are able.
But lately a strange thing had happened. Ivan had grown quiet, reserved, seemingly keeping something from his best friend. Finally, Petrov asked him about this. Ivan protested, “But if I tell you, you won’t want to be my friend anymore.”
“Nonsense,” Petrov countered, “that could never happen.”
“I think I’m in love with you,” Ivan said quietly, and Petrov was surprised, though not mad. And as they lay there, his cock began to stiffen.
Petrov rolled over onto his stomach and looked Ivan in the eyes. “You are my brother, Ivan, and I will never not love you.” And just then, Petrov surprised himself, too. He leaned down and kissed Ivan. Not on the cheek, like some of the girls at school did when they greeted their friends, but on the mouth. Soon Petrov was on top of Ivan, their mouths open upon the other, their tongues exploring this new and salty cave, their cocks grinding against their stomachs and beginning to drip.
But soon Petrov was quickly jerked off Ivan, and when he spun around, he saw Ivan’s father standing over them. “Get your clothes, son,” Ivan’s father thundered, “Petrov, go home.” Petrov grabbed his clothes and ran in the opposite direction of their homes, however. And when he entered the forest, he turned to see the man hit his son over and over, his closed fist making contact with every part of Ivan’s chest and face. Ivan turned just then to his friend entering the forest, their eyes locked, and it was last time Petrov would see his friend, his brother, alive.