Chapter 1
"You really wouldn't mind if I had sex with someone else?"
It's the first thing Darren said when he finally got in contact with Kostya, after three days of silence.
No calls, no texts, not even a read receipt to let Kostya know his messages were seen.
Kostya had told Darren that if he wanted to, he could sleep with other people.
They spend most of their time on the road, with little time together.
He does not believe in
cheating
, because he does not own Darren; he doesn't have that kind of agency over him.
Darren never got to explore his sexuality much outside of himself.
And Kostya doesn't want to imagine Darren regretting settling down with him too early.
How could Darren possibly know that Kostya is enough?
They're not vanilla, but there is a kind of parameter to their sexual dynamic.
No matter how vast the list of things explored and shoved within the borders, there are some things they won't do, will not step outside for, because neither Kostya nor Darren is interested in doing those things with the other.
But what if Darren's desire is influenced by what Kostya likes?
What if there is a partner out there more entused about bottoming than Kostya, and that's enough for Darren to realize he might be more inclined to top?
He had loved Darren all those years, loved him even when Kostya slept with people whose names he couldn't recall.
Sex and
Love
aren't
dependent
on each other; they are not two sides of the same coin.
He trusts Darren to—just like him—be able to fuck someone else, but still love Kostya.
Loyal to each other in the way that actually matters.
Love and
Lust
, they could be separated; they could be free from each other.
That is what he thought, that is what he believed, and he convinced himself it made the most sense.
He was being selfless; he was doing this for Darren, so his boyfriend wouldn't feel like he was missing out, trapped in something he hadn't consented to.
You really wouldn't mind if I had sex with someone else?
Turns out, Kostya does mind.
Hearing it said back to him, hearing those exact words come out of Darren's mouth, almost makes him flinch, a sudden and brittle sound right next to his ear that he fails to recoil from in time.
He doesn't know whether Darren is asking because he already slept with someone or is about to.
It starts with an itch in his ear, a muffled throbbing in his eardrum, yet Kostya still lied and said, "Of course not.
If that is what you want."
Is that what you want?
He heard Darren suck in a sharp breath over the line and then go completely mute.
Kostya waited, sitting on his living room couch, phone pressed against his ear, hand gripping his knees till his knuckles blanched.
He could feel his own heart rattling behind his ribs, pulse rocking loudly.
His mind echoed an alarm:
Why isn't Darren saying anything?
It was the loudest silence he's ever lived through, until Darren finally replied, "Okay."
Kostya blinked rapidly, eyes snagging on the television.
He couldn't tell you what or who was on.
What the fuck does "okay" mean?
Was Darren saying that because—did he have someone in mind?
Was someone waiting for him?
Was—
The next thought gets lodged at the base of his throat.
Swallowing only scrapes him raw as it travels down.
That's where he finds the second itch.
Did Darren already sleep with someone?
Is that why he didn't text for three days?
No—that is ridiculous.
Darren isn't spontaneous like that.
He plans, researches, and works with intent.
It's not possible he found someone in three days, from heading to Ashbourne to his game today.
Impossible; not enough time.
Not enough space for Darren to think.
Darren needs his space—
Your first hookup wasn't preplanned; you asked for his hotel room number and showed up
, his brain unkindly reminds him.
Different, Kostya snaps back at himself, that was different.
Was it?
"What is
okay
?" Kostya asks as he clears his throat.
He rubs the palms of his hands across his knees to dispel some of his restless energy before he stands up, legs groaning from sitting down for so long.
"It means, okay.
I... understand where you are coming from." Darren simply replies, an odd twinge to his voice that Kostya can't make out, the voice he uses when he's not trying to give any part of himself away.
Hearing it directed at him hurts and surprises him in equal measures.
"You were very upset when you left," Kostya says carefully, trying to remind him.
"Guess, I'll get over it," Darren bites back.
Kostya's eyes narrow, and a question escapes faster than he can catch it.
"Ah, Whitfield, do you have someone in mind?
Is there—"
Is there someone?
Did you already sleep with them?
"No," Darren answers back quickly, but it does little to settle Kostya's mind.
"Okay, so—"
"I need to go," Darren cuts in, and Kostya hears the rustling of movement behind him.
"We'll be heading out to play soon."
Kostya nods, then remembers Darren can't see him and makes a sound of acknowledgment.
"I'll talk to you later, I love—" Darren stops himself mid-sentence, and Kostya waits with a beated breath, a terrible feeling in his stomach.
Can Darren not tell him he loves him anymore?
"I love you, bye," Darren whispers, barely audible, like he doesn't want Kostya to hear it.
Before Kostya can catch the words and send them back tenfold and layered in warmth, before he can even feel a sliver of relief, Darren hangs up.
The line runs dead, and Kostya keeps his phone pressed up against his ears longer than he'd care to admit.
Kostya's been in a state of limbo for days, forced to be aware of others and to be out of body when alone.
There is a strange dancing in his stomach that doesn't deserve to be called dancing.
Or butterflies.
Those words are too nice.
No, it's as if a parasite is crawling around in him, telling him something is
wrong
That uneasy jitter you get when you know you're about to throw up, so you loom over the toilet bowl, bracing for the inevitable.
Kostya thinks it's worse than when the nausea hits you out of nowhere.
The wait for what's about to come only furthers the dread.
It's bad.
Saying it's bad is an understatement.
He overcompensates in the locker room, hoping no one notices that he's actually going green.
Makes fun of Crawford for his taste in country music.
Gives unsolicited tips to Mills on being a better goalie, earning a pointed middle finger in return.
Be loud.
Point somewhere else.
Do not let them know anything is wrong.
Nothing is wrong
Even when Coach Donovan looks at him with a quiet concern, the same look when one of them is trying to power through and play when they're clearly coming down with something.
It doesn't affect his playing enough for the team's performance to be blamed on just Kostya having an off day.