Chapter 1
Open Season<!
There were many things about Finn Adler's new life that were glamorous.
His new apartment, the art they bought for it, flying for the first time, how ungodly hot his boyfriend was.
Beautiful sex and beautiful nights and beautiful honesty, it had been a hell of a summer.
Nothing could make these nights better, though.
Tonight Finn and Grant were at some god-forsaken mixer in the ends of the earth Sonora.
Grant assured him that he couldn't get out of it, and Finn didn't want to waste any of their precious time before the season started in about two days.
This was basically the last sips of their glorious summer and Finn hadn't wanted to waste it.
Which is how he ended up in a stuffy tuxedo in a hotel ball room in Dry Creek with yet another huge group of hockey players and their wives and sponsors.
The longer Grant had been out, the more Finn felt for him.
His friends on the Thunderbirds were great, they really seemed to love him.
When it was friends, family, it wasn't so lonely.
But most nights were like tonight.
Dull, filled with jokes that were stupid or rude, with the pressure to preform and dazzle always right on the surface.
And do Grant, a healthy dose of guilt about the times he failed to play hockey to everyone's standards.
It probably didn't help that Finn and Grant were such a topic of conversation.
When Grant had talked about how it was such a big deal if he came out, Finn hadn't really grasped the full extent.
He had imagined, sure.
But now he felt like chum in shark infested water, not knowing which glances were from people who wanted him dead, everyone bored to tears with nothing to talk about him and his relationship.
"How much longer?" Finn whispered to Grant, who winced in sympathy.
"Have I told you how glad I am that you came with me?"
"Mmhmm, not what I asked."
"We just got here!"
"Just an estimate."
"Three hours, give or take?
They'll be serving dinner soon.
And after we'll go back to the hotel which is actually nice, I swear."
Finn had had root canals he liked better than this.
He really loved Grant.
He reached under the table and squeezed his hand, and he smiled.
Another one of the huge walls of men was lumbering to their table, checking the name card.
The one right next to Finn, on his left.
There was an empty chair on the other side, and like four people whose names Finn had already forgotten sitting next to Grant.
This spot seemed to be for this guy because he slumped into his chair with very little finesse, holding his rocks glass in his massive hand.
He looked familiar.
"Hi, Whitmore," He said simply over Finn, with the lilt of a Veskan accent.
Grant gave a short nod, "Orlov."
Oh shit, Orlov.
He drove Grant insane.
That wasn't about to make this go any faster.
Finn glanced over and, yes, Grant was sighing deeply.
But Finn also knew that Orlov had come to Sunset City and celebrated at a gay club, so at worst he probably wasn't a bigot, right?
He glanced at Orlov who was very much looking back at him.
Jesus, did this guy ever smile?
"You are Finn, right?
Maksim." He extended his hand and Finn shook it.
Grant looked a little taken aback, and Finn knew Orlov's reputation was that he was an insufferable asshole, so maybe Grant was surprised he was being nice.
Or maybe Grant really didn't know his first name, Finn wasn't sure.
"No plus one, Orlov?
Would give us someone else to talk through this miserable slog."
"Can't all be as lucky as you, Whitmore," Maksim said, and he winked at Finn, "But it is good you found someone to nurse you through old age.
Was worried the league would have to hire someone to roll you out onto the ice."
Oh, ok.
So there was the asshole reputation.
But there was something about it... wink was obviously a joke, but it was so unafraid of queerness that for Finn it raised little alarm bells in his head. Likewise, the jab at Grant's age was not kind but also wasn't something Grant was sensitive about, almost deliberately chosen to not truly piss him off.
Finn never felt this way at hockey functions, but he had a feeling he'd met this guy before.
Not this guy but also yes this guy. Like, the archetype of this humor.
In art school, in history class, in gay clubs.
He wasn't being an asshole like Whitmore's friends did to each other, not in the bro-jock-frat way that Finn always felt separate from.
He was just a touch... catty.
Like, mean gay catty.
And despite himself, Finn felt a smile forming, a small thread of hope that this night wasn't lost after all.
His favorite friends were catty.
Thea was catty.
He loved baiting her until she called him saying only 'you bitch,' and hung up.
He loved it when his friend Nico showed up in a new outfit he was swearing was 'fire' and they all ganged up to rip it apart.
(In good fun, of course.) He loved his friend Diego constantly flirting with homophobes until they were so confused they were half in love.
He loved to sometimes indulge just a little in stereotypes, to be a mean gay.
Grant wasn't like that, and Finn loved him for it.
Grant was sweet, endearing, and sincere.
He was beautiful and kind and not at all jaded, saved from years of disappointing hookups and gym gays who insulted your abs in bed.
He was gay in sexuality, not in culture, and Finn liked sharing it with him.
Liked telling him he was allowed to say 'queer' liked watching Grant blush when his friends casually said 'yes, daddy' to him.
"—Besides, it seems mean to bring anyone to these things, they are so awful." Maksim gestured around and Grant made a little huffing noise at being called mean, but seemed determined to let it slide.
Finn wanted to test his theory.
He couldn't go too big at first, if this was going to work.
"I don't know, aren't we all so lucky to sit here for three hours in this Meridian Sonora and eventually get served..." he squinted at his menu, "Braised carrots?
Isn't that what really makes all the brain trauma worth it for you, Maksim?"
Maksim snorted through his nose, and turned more fully to sit at the table, punctuating his words by jamming his finger into the place setting.
"Yes, absolutely right.
Every night I put my body on the line to eat undercooked carrots in a ballroom that smells like feet, cutting summer vacation short, with the oldest hockey player still alive.
This is what I jerked off to as a teenager in Veskana."
Grant choked a little on his beer, probably not expecting to hear 'jerk off' so early in the night, but Finn wanted to grin.
He didn't, keeping his face cool.
But still, he was glad to have Maksim here, the kind of conversation he was used to.
Someone on the other side of the table pulled the conversation back to hockey, then asked Grant how his summer was and Finn liked watching him glow.
He liked watching how much lighter he seemed, how his sentences seemed so much more full of life.Next to him, Maksim Orlov kept checking his phone, first frowning, then smiling a little to himself.
He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else, distinctly, with whoever it was on the other end of the conversation.
He was barely answering direct questions, letting the night slip by while he refreshed texts.
Finn remembered feeling that way, when his phone was his little window to Grant.
Grant, who was, was talking animatedly now about the Thunderbirds strangely for next year, about their god awful diet plan.
Barf.
So boring.
Finn decided to bother Maksim instead.
He flicked a sugar packet at him and was pleased with his aim, hitting Maksim's cufflink with a little plunk.
"So," Finn said, "how's the plus one you couldn't convince to come to this clown show?" He nodded at Maksim's phone.
Maksim pocketed it immediately, caught.
"I am very sorry for your boring sex life, Finn, but you can't get off on mine, sorry." Maksim made a dramatic face that was clearly not at all sorry, so comical Finn wanted to snort.
Grant whipped his head from his other conversation, opened his mouth to say something but Finn laid his hand on his knee to quiet him.
He wished there was a way to say 'he's playing, I baited him' like when dogs sneeze during a fight, but there wasn't.
He hoped this would do.
"Believe me, Maksim, I have already read enough sexts from gym-obsessed guys Arden bros to fill a lifetime, I don't need yours.
Let me guess, it's like "haha, and then what?
What would you do if I was there?
Oh yeah, like, 9 inches."'
And Maksim Orlov grinned at him.
Huge, a real grin, like he'd really made him laugh.