not little ones, but the ones who are questioning, or scared, who want to play hockey, or ballet, who need someone. That would be my family.”
I nodded. “That would be a wonderful family.”
“And you’d be there as well.”
We didn’t have to touch to look each other in the eyes, our gazes locked.
“I’ll be right by your side.”
Epilogue
Vlad
There wasn’t much that could lure me from a warm bed with an ever warmer Tate sharing it with me. Aside from Easter service. Even knowing I wished to rise and attend mass, I lingered there for a few moments, enjoying the way the sun was warming his face, highlighting the small glints of russet in his dark hair, and shining on the fading love bite that I’d left on his right buttock a few nights ago. Unable to stop myself, I cupped that firm cheek and my dick began to fatten up. Knowing if I lingered much longer Tate’s body would keep me abed, I pulled away from temptation. When I spoke to my mother later today she would ask if I’d been to church and I would have to say I had not. Then I would be scolded. So, yes, leaving bed and Tate simply had to take place.
In Russia, our Pashka, or Easter, is one of the biggest holy days. Even bigger than Christmas. The faithful and the atheists, the young and old, the rich and poor, all attend Easter Mass. And so it was that I’d woken up groggy after a late night celebrating our wild card slot with our teammates to attend church even though I longed for more sleep. We had worked hard to get here, but the fates had also been kind. Our team had turned things around after the All-Star break in late January. We’d burrowed in deep and fought tooth and nail for every damn win we could get our greedy hands on. Climbing slowly out of the muck at the bottom of our division point by point. Last night’s celebration at Colorado’s had been well warranted. Even Coach had shown up with Mark, to kick up their heels. He wore a white cowboy hat which held some sort of American symbolism to him, although he was Canadian. No one ever said hockey players made sense.
Securing that wildcard position in the Pacific division had been a convoluted affair which had come down to us having to win and two other teams having to lose, as well as mathematical equations and three spits over my left shoulder for luck. We would be facing off against a physical Las Vegas Rollers team in two days. Our flight to Vegas left early tomorrow so Tate and I could share a holiday dinner at my condo, just him, me, Frank, and Obi. I was looking forward to this brief respite from the rigors of hockey, and some time in a house of worship. It had been a year. It was time.
I’d not been able to locate a Russian Orthodox church, but had found a small Greek Orthodox church in the Catalina Foothills. While I didn’t go often I did make a point to go at Easter, even though my American friends had already celebrated it a week earlier. Different calendars made for a confusing time of things. I felt a yearly meeting with God in his house was reasonable. I had much to thank the Maker for this year. I showered, shaved, dressed nicely, and left a note for Tate on my pillow.
As I cruised to church, Taylor was singing “Gorgeous” and I had to smile at the lyrics and how they made me think of my lover. Yes, Tate was gorgeous, and open, and submissive, and mine. Fully and without question, even if we had separate addresses and were unable to display our affection for each other in public.
We’d become quite good at subterfuge over the past several months. Telling my neighbors that he often had to spend a few days with me because of his place being fumigated for bugs, or being painted, or having to have plumbing work done. They had to wonder why he lived in such a terribly unkempt home. In truth, Tate was at my place more than his own anymore, which was why Obi now travelled with him. And why my parrot now hissed like a cat, then cackled like a maniac. The cat and the macaw were having some issues but with slow progress they were working out the kinks. Much