by R J Scott
“Stan, sorry, that’s Amy, my nanny. She thought you were Russian mafia coming after me and kind of got spooked.” I looked over his head at the nanny clutching young Noah to her breast.
“Ah, no, I no Russian mafia,” I said to soothe the skittish young thing. “I am Russian goalie. No make Erik dead with shoes of cement.”
“She watches too many crime dramas,” Erik whispered, then stepped back so I could enter his house.
“Ah, shoot ’em ups,” I mumbled as I ducked to avoid a forehead injury. “Chuck Connors is big rifleman.”
“No, not Westerns, crime dramas like… It’s not important. This is a surprise—seeing you here, I mean.”
I stood in the center of his living room in my thick woolen peacoat, looking at boxes hidden under sheets, wondering what this was.
“Is this new Swedish table?” I asked, with a wave at the boxes under the covers.
Erik ran his hand over his hair, the curls bouncing back as soon as his fingers cleared them. I wanted to do that. Needed to do that. Yearned to do that. Ah, the yearning was back now. Loud and violently roaring like a Siberian tiger, it clawed at my insides.
“I just haven’t unpacked yet. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?”
“I no make cement shoes. I say this time before this time.”
The nanny giggled. Noah giggled. Erik snorted. I had no clue what was so damn funny. “Yeah, I know. Listen, I was just about to get lunch. You maybe want to stay?”
The nanny handed Noah to his father, then ducked around me, still looking quite reserved. I scare tiny women like this all the time. Sometimes tiny men too. It’s the curse of being a tall, stoic Russian.
“I can stay and help,” the nanny said as she pulled on a pink coat. Erik waved her off. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in two days. Welcome home, Mr. G. And, uh, Stan.”
“Safe trips to home,” I said, and smiled as bigly as I could. No. Wait. Is bigly right word? Yes, it must be, as I heard the President use it. She nodded, then hurried out the door. “Girl is good nanny?”
“Oh yeah, she’s great. The road trips are hard on her—you know, being here for weeks on end.”
“I hold pretty Noah, please?” I held out my hands. Erik smiled and handed over his son. Noah squealed and instantly grabbed my nose. “He likes nose.”
“It’s a nice nose. Noble, you know. Like the nose of a Czar.”
My gaze met Erik’s. The yearning doubled. “No Czar in family. Peasants only. Strong, hard work, steady.”
“That sounds just like you.” He turned before I could read more in his gaze.
I followed him into a tiny kitchen. This room, too, was barren of homey touches, but was more unpacked than the living room.
“You can put him in his high chair,” Erik said over his shoulder as he worked on smashing up soft pears with a fork. I got the boy in his seat, put the tray on, and tied a big plastic bib with a purple penguin around his neck.
“Bah!” Noah said, and smacked his tray with his palms.
“Hold your horses,” his dad replied with good humor.
I sat on a chair with weak-looking metal legs and watched Erik getting food ready for Noah. He moved with knowledge of what he was doing, his body language saying he had done this many times and was confident. I enjoyed the dialog between him and Noah, soft and playful. He loved his beautiful son so much.
“So, now that he’s got his lunch, what do you want?” he asked as he wiped up the counter where he’d prepared fresh fruit and oatmeal cereal for his boy.
“You.”
Erik looked at me over a broad shoulder. Fire danced in his eyes. “Maybe during nap time?”
“Yes, nap time is good.”
He made us sandwiches, thick, with tuna salad and lettuce. We had cheesy potato chips and root beer. Noah ate well but sloppily, tossing his spoon to the floor, the table, my lap, and his father’s chest.
“Did you hear the rumors that we’re going after Max Van Hellren from Washington?” Erik asked as we worked on our food.
“For Arvy, yes. I hear on Facebook chat group we sign last night.”
“Oh. I’m not in any of the team groups.”
“Why you no in groups?”
He crinkled his nose. “No one wants me there, I guess?”
“Pah, stupid. I want you in group. I add. Make you Pokémon group too.” I pulled out my phone and found Facebook with ease. Erik protested, but in the end, he was in both groups. “There, you play Pokémon now.”
“I don’t do Pokémon,” he said while wiping his sleepy son’s face with a warm, damp washcloth.
“Is easy as peasy. I teach,” I said as he scrubbed at the boy’s cheeks. “You get balls. Go out. Look for Pokémon. Throw ball. Catch Pokémon. Train big. Beat other trainers. Win games! See. Easy as peasy. Must get tattoo to be member of club.”
Erik chuckled. “Oh, so that’s what your ink work is. As long as it’s easy as peasy, then I guess I’ll be okay.” He removed the tray from the high chair and lifted his baby into his arms. “I’m going to tuck him in.”
“I give goodnight kiss maybe please?”
Erik nodded.
I stood up and pressed a kiss to Noah’s sweet curls. “Happy dreams, little rabbit,” I whispered to him, then moved back to give Erik room to get around me.
For some reason, I followed him through the small apartment. He laid the sleepy baby in his crib, pulled a fluffy yellow quilt up over the boy, and tugged the blinds shut. Noah never made a sound, just dropped off like an angel.
Erik walked to the doorway that I was blocking. “You are good father,” I told him, my voice as soft as Noah’s tiny breaths.
“I’m trying.”
I took him by the wrist and led him out of the baby’s room. He closed the door, then flattened his back to the wall. I took his other arm and lifted both hands over his head. He wet his lips as his pupils grew fat with desire.
“Seeing you with him makes me want you much more,” I whispered so not to wake Noah. Erik groaned and went to his toes, trying to put his mouth on mine. I turned from the kiss and buried my face in his neck instead, keeping his hands high over his head. “I think of nothing but this. You. Me. Making hot fucking.” I chewed on his throat, pulling long, low moans of pleasure from him. Each nip got me a shudder, each mark on his pale skin a rolling keen that made my already hard cock throb strongly. “I would have you in my mouth. Come hard. Keep your hands up there.” I pressed the backs of his hands to the wall to emphasize what I wished.
“Yes, okay, yes.” He panted and writhed, his hip bone grinding into mine. “Kiss me.”
I was happy to do that. His response to my lips on his was explosive. His tongue darted out to slide over mine. He kissed so well, so fervently, that I simply held him in place and tasted of him for a long time. We rocked against each other, stiff pricks teasing and rubbing to the point of madness.
“Stay hands here,” I grunted, then went to my knees, the thin carpet not providing much padding, but who cared? Erik was where he wanted to be, and so was I.
I freed his cock, leaving his pants up and just pulling out his prick. I fell on it, taking him down my throat. His ass punched away from the wall. Hands on his tight ass, I set the pace. Erik was always compliant, eager to please, to be fucked and sucked. We were the perfect fit, as I liked to have lovers who did my bidding in bed. Allowed me to love them strongly yet tenderly.
My fingers kneaded his ass cheeks through thin denim. His nails worked the plasterboard when I paid special attention to the underside of his cock, rubbing it with my tongue as I massaged his buttocks.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he whimpered.
I took him in hand and squeezed the base of his cock, hard. His head flew back, slamming against the wall. His orgasm hit him like a truck, buckling his knees and yanking erotic sounds from him. He shot on my cheek and shoulder, his cock pulsing as I milked him with long, eager strokes.
I pushed to my feet, and he was all over
me. Kissing me, lapping at my neck and jaw, murmuring how he wanted more, needed more, would love more. We stumbled into the bedroom to find the condoms and lube. The ones he kept for me, always for me. Clothes flew to the floor. Erik lay on the bed, his legs held to his chest, his tight hole on display for me.
Seeing him like that made me short of breath and half mad with need. I covered my cock with latex and walked to him, the lube in my hand, my gaze settled on his puckered entrance.
I flipped the lid open and squeezed. Clear slick ran over his balls and ass, then onto the cover under him. Using the edge of the bed to rest my knees on, I grabbed his legs and pulled him to me, dropping down into a half-crouch, so that the head of my cock penetrated him when his ass reached the edge of the bed. The sight of his ass swallowing my cock pushed me into another world. A place of pure sexual pleasure.
“Come up,” I snarled. I thrust hard to bury myself in him, then bent over to grab him up off the bed. His eyes widened for a second, then slowly fluttered shut. He wrapped his arms around my neck and his legs circled me. I stood up. Erik slithered down further still. He whimpered. “Too much?” I asked, then turned, the wall my goal.
“No, fuck no, never too much,” he ground out. Then his shoulders and back met the wall with a powerful slap. “Ah! Oh, Stan.”
“Tell me again is for me only me.” I pumped upward, and his body tightened around me, pulling at me, urging me deeper. “Tell me love is only for me. Tell me, Erik. Please tell me.”
“For you. Always for you. Love is…fuck, I can’t… talk right with you…so fucking deep.”
I chuckled at his stuttering laughter, then fucked him like he was the last fuck I would ever have. Erik held on tight, the perfect bottom, hot for my prick, and expressive. He called my name, dug at my shoulders and neck, and rolled his hips down when I thrust up.
Words fell out of me, but I wasn’t sure if they were English or Russian. My orgasm hit me from behind, making my legs feel weak and flimsy. I pumped hard into him, going as deep as I could. He whispered and whimpered and begged. His dick was fat and hard now, pressed between us. I felt him reach for it while I was rocking up onto my toes. He came just as I was coming down from the rush. His spunk dotted our chests and stomachs.
My mouth claimed his as his release pulled at him.
“I’m dying,” he huffed as he worked his cock, milking it aggressively.
“I am dying too. No, I am dead.”
“You’ve got a pretty stiff dick for a dead man.”
“Is Roger Moore this.”
“Ah, hell…what?”
“When dead and get hard body.”
“Do you mean rigor mortis?” He chuckled.
I thought for a moment, nodded, then laughed as well as I carried him to the bed and laid him across it, falling over him as we sank into the thin mattress.
“Oh, Stan, I fucking missed you.” He continued laughing as I removed the used condom and dropped it into a small trash can beside the bed.
“I miss you too. So much. Heart break bad. You never break me again? Please say you no do so.” I hadn’t meant to get serious and sad, but holding him to me as we smiled and touched was scaring me badly. I’d done this before. Held him like this, talked of love and a future, only to have him walk away. Yes, I know. He had made Noah and was doing what a man should do. Responsibility to family is first always. I understood his choice, and adored his Noah, but still the fear of him ripping me into tiny bits again was strong.
“I promise never to break you again.” His reply was manna for my soul. I pressed a soft, tender kiss to his lips, wishing I could speak better so that he knew the depth of feelings I had for him. I pulled him to me, his chest against my side. I ran my fingers through his hair as our bodies cooled, semen drying into a tacky mess. We lingered there for a long time, his eyes closed as he drew small circles on my stomach while I played with his hair.
“Noah will be up soon,” he said, his voice as lazy as our limbs.
“I will shower.” Dropping a kiss to his bouncy curls, I slid out from under him and got to my feet.
“Oh, hey, can you just wash up in the sink? Amy just did some washing and the water heater is crappy.”
“Why you live in peasant housing?” He sat on the edge of the bed, tousled and beautiful and sad suddenly. “You play pro hockey. Make big monies.”
“Not so big. I had to give my ex a ton of cash to settle things.”
What he was saying made little sense to me. “You give all monies to ex?”
“The majority of it. It’s okay, though. I can scrimp a bit for a couple months and then—”
“What is scrimp?”
“Pinch pennies. Like uh, economize. Save money where you can?” He lifted his eyes from the thin carpet to me.
“You make plenty scrimps already.”
“No, it’s cool. Really. It looks worse than it is because I don’t have the time to decorate.” I gave him a woolly eyeball. No. Wait. Hairy eyeball. “Seriously, as soon as I get a few days off, I’ll unpack and hang some pictures on the wall and it’ll look like a palace in here.”
I didn’t believe him at all, but it was not for me to say how he lived. Still… “You could not scrimps and live with me.”
He looked at me as if Baryshnikov were dancing Swan Lake on my head. “Uh, what?”
“Do I not say it in good English? You and Noah could live with me. Save monies for months then find good house. My house is good. Big. You see house. You like house, yes?”
“Well, sure, it’s a beautiful house, but…”
I nodded. “Is beautiful house. Many rooms. And Galina is there for help you nanny with work many weeks yet.”
“I can’t ask your sister to—”
“There is also cat, Lucy, for making pet for Noah. Big yards. We make fence around yards. Keep Noah safe in summer when outside making baseball games.”
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. Erik, Noah, Galina. All in my house. Making the house ring with laughter and love. If only I could lure Mama over…
“Stan, I can’t just move in with you.”
“Why you say no? My house good. Much gooder than this.” I waved a hand at the badly painted walls. “I hear people through walls. Smell bad smell in hall. My house has good smell, like Russian food. This place stink like cat box.”
“The neighbor has five cats. The smell kind of leeches through the wall,” he confessed.
I threw my hands into the air and gave him a look of confusion. “Then why not come to house with air like sweet tula pryanik? Russian gingerbread,” I added when he looked confused.
“What about the press?”
“We say old friend move in until find new house. No one think gay love. See, work out with good end!”
“I’m not gay, I’m bi.”
Ugh. Why was he being such a douche canoe, as Adler would say?
“Yes, I know. You make sex with women too. No one think gay or bi love then. See, I fix. Come bring things to house.”
“No.”
“Why no yet?”
“Because I have this in hand. I can take care of my son without handouts. Let me get you a washcloth.” He stood up and stalked at me, his jaw firm. I grabbed him as he passed, pulling him tightly to me, then I cupped his cheek, lifting his angry eyes to my face.
“No say bad father.” I kissed his unyielding lips. “You are good father. Make much loves for son. Work hard. Strong man. Bring Noah and things here?” I said again. He sighed deeply, then melted into me, leading me away from money talk with his mouth. "Not think dollars.” I insisted.
"I’ll pay my way.” He said and nuzzled my neck.
“We good here, man?”
Something in what I said made him laugh. “Let me guess. Tennant Rowe says that all the time?”
“Yes, good. I learn from Tennant much hip street lingo.”
“Maybe I can help teach you some hip street lingo now.” He led me into the cramped bathroom down th
e hall, where we washed each other off while sampling tender kisses. “If you want?”
“I want most much.”
Thirteen
Erik
“The final paperwork is on its way,” my lawyer-from-hell announced as soon as I picked up the phone.
This was the third call I’d had to say that final paperwork was done.
The first time, Freja’s lawyers had demanded a section about me having sole responsibility for Noah, financially and in respect to his welfare. I was convinced I’d read a paragraph about that, but no, the lawyers had said it wasn’t tight enough.
The second time had been an addition about public knowledge, and some kind of caveat about this that and the other. Who the hell knew? Unless you had degree in law, you would not be able to untangle this for anything.
At the end of the day, I wanted nothing from Freja herself. No money, or status, or acknowledgment.
All I wanted from her was the promise that she would always consider Noah if the occasion arose that it was necessary to speak about him. Oh, and never to want him from me, or want shared custody, and to discuss all visits with me. I had to think about Noah, but when we’d started this journey—when I’d sat down and said I wanted her to carry the baby to term—it had all sounded so simple. I gave money to her charity—a lot of money—she took a sabbatical, Noah would be born, and that would be her part done.
Of course, I’d known that there would be issues over press, but in Sweden our press isn’t quite as intrusive as it is in the US, and we’d decided to be brutally honest about our intentions from day one. But in the main, Freja and I were grown-ups, and we didn’t need anything on paper to get this done.
Except we did if we wanted this done right.
So much paper, and billable hours, and it had reached the point where I was paranoid that if I signed something wrong, the authorities would swoop in and take Noah. Now, I was certain I wanted every legal angle explored.
“Are we sure?” I asked Lester, my lawyer and my support in this whole thing.
“We had one more codicil concerning Noah when he reaches the age of majority.”