Fic: "Grand Pas de Deux," Sulu/Chekov, Star Trek XI (Part 3/3)

[mercaque]

Part 1

Part 2

Late morning Thursday finds Pavel alone in the dance studio: a muscular male shadow with curly hair, stretching at the barre. One leg extends in a sharp line, pointing away to an upper window, while his arms and torso collapse forward in a stretch.

Watching from the doorway, Hikaru wonders if this is one of the positions that hurts his leg. If it is, it doesn’t show.

He hasn’t canceled. Oh, but he’s been tempted. Hikaru had spent nearly all Wednesday with his throat going dry, his palms growing sweaty and his eyes drifting toward his phone. He’s got Pavel’s contact information; all the ballet parents do. It would be so easy to call and say I’m not feeling well or something’s come up or even a more honest sorry, I can’t. But Hikaru never brings himself to do it. Partly it’s thanks to Gaila, whose warnings still echo in his ears. But mostly it’s Hikaru himself, who has been closing his eyes and trying to strangle the guilty little voice in the back of his mind, the voice that tells him he’s a rotten person for sucking at his bottom lip and remembering how Pavel’s kiss had tasted.

Hikaru’s had to work extra hard to strangle that guilty voice as he departs work on Thursday, as he drives the familiar route to the community center. He’s had to strangle the voice as he hurries up the stairs - not bounding three at a time like he usually does, since today he’s weighed down by a heavy bag - and as he slips through the hallways toward the dance studio. At this time of day, almost everyone’s gone except for a few administrators, a few groups of seniors. With a schoolboyish anxiety, Hikaru wonders if any of them recognize him as that dad who shows up at the end of the biweekly ballet class.

Indeed, Hikaru’s struck by how strange it is turn the familiar corner to the dance studio and find himself a solitary figure. No crowd of mothers, no eager children racing out to greet them; no Demora, his poor innocent daughter probably playing at recess without the faintest clue what her father’s up to. Now it’s only Pavel at the barre and Hikaru watching from the doorway, and nothing but a big quiet space between them.

He’s still a little nervous, still needs to take a deep breath and lick his lips before he calls out a hesitant: “Pavel?”

Pavel twitches, startled out of his stretch. He turns in a fast, fluid motion. “Oh!” he cries, and hurries forward. “Oh, Hikaru, I did not see you. You have been waiting long?”

“No, not really,” Hikaru says, fiddling with the strap on his heavy satchel. “I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt.”

“Interrupt any time you like.” Pavel laughs. “I have done that stretch enough times in my life, I think.”

By now he’s within arm’s reach. The door behind Hikaru is still open; anyone could walk by and see them, but even so, Pavel dares a quick kiss against his cheek. He’s got to lean over the textbook-stuffed bag Hikaru’s carrying, and he frowns as he takes notice of it. “Why have you brought such a heavy bag?”

“I don’t know if you were actually interested...” Hikaru sets it down, with a thump that echoes off the clean floorboards. “But I brought you some books. You’re welcome to take as many or as few as you like - I don’t know if you’ll even really want any of them. But they’re here if you do.”

“You brought me books?” Pavel’s smile, a widening look of delight, tells him the books were a good idea. “You really did?”

“Well, yeah.” Hikaru shrugs. “I mean, I haven’t been using them. Someone else might as well.”

“Oh! And so modest, too.” Pavel laughs as he shuts and locks the door. “You’re quite the gentleman.”

The compliment prickles along Hikaru’s skin, nicely deflates some of his anxiety. It also delays his startled realization that they’re apparently spending the lunch hour locked inside the dance studio. A quick visual survey tells him the windows are high above ground and blocked by slatted blinds, and that there are no other doors besides the one Pavel’s just closed.

It seems safe, as illicit meetings go. Safe enough that Hikaru’s moving forward before his rational brain fully registers it’s okay to do so, pressing Pavel back against the door with a kiss.

If Hikaru’s been anticipating how Pavel’s lips would taste, it’s nothing compared to the sweet shock of actual contact. As if giving voice to Hikaru’s thoughts, Pavel sighs his approval - a soft, urgent noise. Hikaru closes his eyes, explores Pavel’s mouth with kiss after deepening kiss. Somewhere, deep in his mind, it occurs to him that he had nearly canceled on this - nearly denied himself this, nearly hurt Pavel, who’s now arching and uncoiling under the kiss, and making their joined mouths vibrate with the most yearning “mmmm” sounds.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you,” Pavel admits, still breathless and backed against the door.

Hikaru pulls at Pavel’s bottom lip with another kiss. “Me either,” he whispers back.

“Come on.” Pavel slips out of their embrace in a lithe movement, ignoring Hikaru’s grunt of protest.

He guides them out onto the dance floor, pausing only to let Hikaru slip out of his shoes. They move toward the center of the room, Pavel gliding as easily as an eel through water, Hikaru following with uncertain steps. It’s only them, and a gym mat that’s been laid out nearby and covered with a towel, and the big floor-to-ceiling mirror. Hikaru instinctively straightens his shoulders when he catches sight of his own reflection.

“Um,” Hikaru says. “What are we doing out here, exactly?”

Pavel turns, with a little look of mischief. “You will show me some fencing, yes?”

“What?” The very proposal sends a mortified flush to Hikaru’s face, and that’s even before he factors in the dorky sight of his own white socks and pleating khakis reflected in the mirror. “Are you kidding? I told you, it’s been years.”

“You said was years since you competed.” Pavel grins. “But you did not say you no longer do it at all.”

“My basement doesn’t count,” Hikaru mutters.

Pavel tilts his head, examining him like some odd specimen. “But you still do it,” he says. “Are you being modest again?”

“Pavel, I - no.” He turns away, scratching the back of his head. “I’d need a lot more practice. Real practice, not Saturday morning stuff.”

“All right.” Pavel comes closer, sliding against Hikaru, his hands going up and down Hikaru’s back before settling at his waist. His face tilts up, mouth parting, and Hikaru licks his own lips in anticipation. But Pavel denies him, instead opting for that faintly haughty look. “I still expect you to show me someday.”

A pleasant twist goes through Hikaru’s belly at the idea that there might be a someday. “I will,” he says. “We’ll have something to look forward to, hm?”

Pavel breaks into a laugh, but it’s cut off when Hikaru catches his mouth again; and okay, perhaps there’s some of Hikaru’s old fencing aggression in the way he throws an arm around Pavel’s slimmer shoulders, in the way he takes the kiss he’d been denied. Pavel muffles a noise of delight, breathes a fierce “Yes,” against Hikaru’s cheek, before burying himself back into their embrace. He peppers Hikaru’s throat with kiss after kiss, Hikaru latching on to the nape of his neck, to the side of his cheek, sliding down to his waist.

Hikaru isn’t sure why the mirror catches his eye again. Perhaps it’s the flutter of his own hand, a reverse silhouette as it comes to rest on Pavel’s black-clad ass. Whatever it is, Hikaru’s astonished at the sight of them: himself tall and steady, legs firmly parted while Pavel squirms against him, an erotic black S rippling from his feet to his hips to his shoulders. His hips roll against Hikaru’s, a blinding sensation that makes Hikaru choke out a moan and forget their reflections entirely.

Impatient, Pavel works his fingers under the hem of Hikaru’s dark sweater. Hikaru steps back and lifts his arms, allowing Pavel to pull off and discard the sweater in a static-tinged toss. After that, Hikaru’s tie gets unknotted and dropped, and then he’s helping Pavel unfasten each button on his white office shirt, and then there’s his undershirt-

Pavel makes a noise of disbelief. “Why did you decide to wear all these - these things?”

Mid-kiss, Hikaru laughs against his cheek. “Sorry.”

“Oh yes, I know, it is the cost of having your job...” Pavel’s finger slips through the space between Hikaru’s slacks and his now-shirtless torso, teasing at soft skin. He guides them to the gym mat, and gestures. “Lie down.”

“Why?” Hikaru asks, but he’s already sinking down to his knees. “What are you going to do?”

Pavel snorts. “You talk like I am your dentist,” he says, and urges a still-hesitant Hikaru onto his stomach, kneeling next to him. A second later, his hands begin a rhythmic pull and knead at Hikaru’s back muscles. “Perhaps I wish to repay you for the textbooks.”

“But you don’t... don’t have to...” Hikaru’s protest dissolves into a groan as Pavel’s fingers dig into a spot, a deep well of tension right between his shoulder blades. “I told you, I wasn’t using them.”

“So I cannot show my appreciation?” Pavel says. “For your thoughtfulness, or your encouragement?”

“But you’ve - nnnnnh,” Hikaru shuts his eyes, the massage having worked its way up to his neck. “You’ve... you’ve already done kind things for me, and for Demora...”

“Then you can repay me for these things however you like. Another thing we can look forward to.” Pavel places a slow kiss at the nape of Hikaru’s neck. He pulls back, staying close enough for his breath to tickle the same spot when he chides: “You act as if it is a chore to touch you, instead of something I have been thinking about for weeks.”

Hikaru’s eyes blink wide. “…Oh.”

“So relax,” Pavel says, “or I will begin to feel insulted, da?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, almost whispering the concession to himself. “Okay.”

But it takes a moment before Hikaru can get his body to obey. It’s been so long since he relaxed like this, let alone under another person’s touch, that for a moment he thinks he’s forgotten how to do it. It’s not until Pavel bends low and begins to place kisses along his spine, kneading them into stress-heavy muscles like sweet oil, that Hikaru groans and rolls his shoulders forward, a submissive stretch that goes all the way from his neck down to his curling toes. Between his shoulder blades, against his bare skin, he feels Pavel’s kiss lift into a smile.

A goosefleshed pleasure crackles along Hikaru’s skin, and Pavel’s relentless touch along his bare back won’t allow him any respite from it. Blood pulses hot and urgent inside Hikaru’s thighs, tingling up his ass, lifting and awakening his cock until it’s swollen and pressed hard against the mat. Hikaru’s panting breath gives his reaction away. He tries to keep his hips still, tries to resist the urge to grind down. But then Pavel finds that spot - that one electric spot at the small of his back that always, always makes Hikaru’s legs jump and his shoulders jerk- and he zeroes in with kisses that alternate between molten warm and feather-light, until Hikaru gives up and rolls over with an impatient cry.

He’s on his back, wild eyes turned up to Pavel, his chest going up and down with big, ragged gasps. Pavel smiles indulgently, stroking a light hand along his cheek. He squawks in delight when Hikaru turns his head to catch his fingers in rapid, wet kisses.

“Pavel, God-” Hikaru sits up. He clasps at Pavel’s wrist to swallow his fingers in a few more kisses, before surging forward to claim his mouth. “I want you, I want you-"

“Look at yourself.” Pavel’s staring off over Hikaru’s shoulder. “In the mirror.”

He turns, more out of a sense of obligation than because he’s actually interested, almost annoyed by the distraction. He glances at himself - shirtless, eyes a dark heavy daze, hair a mess - and nearly laughs when he sees the fat taut tent straining at the front of his trousers. More importantly, Pavel’s staring at their reflection in fascination, which means he’s too distracted to resist when Hikaru all but tackles him and rolls him onto his back. Fast and aggressive Hikaru gets a leg over, straddling and pinning Pavel down with kisses.

Caught off guard, Pavel only squeals with laughter. He makes a brief effort to wiggle out of Hikaru’s grasp, but upon realizing that he’s trapped, he just beams: panting and pink-cheeked, and grinning like he’s in the best place on earth. It’s so - so open, so adoring and trusting, that an I love you very nearly comes tumbling out of Hikaru’s mouth.

Instead Hikaru catches himself, his breath a tight terrified knot in his chest. He finds himself frozen in place.

Pavel’s straining upward and letting his lips part for another kiss. But he doesn’t get it, since Hikaru can only stare down at him in wide-eyed revelation.

“Hikaru?” Pavel falls back, a hint of worry breaking his smile.

“Um.” It’s still another moment before Hikaru can get himself to breathe normally again, and even then, all he can do is shake his head and mutter, “Wow. Sorry.”

He drops down, reassuring Pavel with a kiss. The moment slips away as they get into an odd sort of wrestling match, sweating and pulling and grinding against each other, Pavel’s bare feet sliding and flexing against Hikaru’s calves, toeing off his white socks. It only comes to an end when Hikaru starts to tug at the rim of Pavel’s unitard, nearly ripping the low collar. Pavel goes limp, shrugging and scrunching to get his arms up out of the sleeves. Hikaru tears it anyway as he pulls the black material down, where it bunches at Pavel’s waist.

Hikaru blinks for a startled moment, as it becomes clear just how deceptive Pavel’s slender frame is. He may not have obvious bulk, but there is nothing insubstantial about his body, about the compact musculature firming his chest and shoulders, about the way his milk-soft belly gives way to hard hips, about the heavy bulge rising between his legs. Following his visual examination with an oral one, Hikaru bends to suck and kiss an exploratory trail across Pavel’s collarbones - which makes him sigh - and down the line between Pavel’s square pectorals - which makes him writhe - and over one of Pavel’s nipples - which makes him seize up with a hitched moan.

Lifting a curious glance, he finds Pavel already pouting at him. “Do not laugh,” he complains.

Hikaru offers a sly grin, and drops back down to lave at the nipple with a slow, full-mouthed kiss. Pavel’s left hand slams down on the mat, his right coming up to knot in Hikaru’s hair, holding him in place. Despite being told not to, Hikaru can’t help a little laugh, an affectionate humming vibration that makes Pavel suck in a gasp and arch his back.

“Fuck me, Hikaru, now-” Pavel spits out.

Hikaru’s eyes fly wide, his cock thumping as that obscene whisper echoes around the room.

“I mean, if - if you wish,” Pavel amends.

“Um, yes, I kind of fucking wish,” Hikaru says, incredulous.

Pavel flashes a grin, then rolls away and easily jumps to his feet. His ass, with that tight black material bunching just above it and threatening to drop lower, makes the most hypnotic back-and-forth undulation as he hurries across the dance floor. It’s so distracting that Hikaru doesn’t even think to wonder what he’s doing until Pavel’s already stooped to retrieve something from a duffel bag in the far corner, and returned with a strip of condoms in one hand and a tube in the other.

“Oh.” Hikaru blinks. “You have those?”

“Yes, such an incredible coincidence.” Pavel settles back on the mat with a look of droll disbelief. “Almost like I have met some attractive man recently who made me want to go buy them.”

Defeated, Hikaru laughs. “Some lucky guy, huh?” They meet for a firm kiss, and Hikaru slips the lubricant from Pavel’s hand. “Mmm, Pavel, let me...”

Pavel breaks away with an excited whimper, lies back, and lifts his hips to wriggle the rest of the way out of his clothes. Hikaru needs a long, dry-mouthed moment to process the sight of Pavel’s full nudity. He dimly registers the surgical scar, a straight red cut up Pavel’s right thigh that’s flanked by symmetrical dots. But otherwise Pavel’s skin is all arousal-flushed vitality, with one knee pulled up and the other thrown out in a loose flex, offering his cleft; above that Pavel’s cock strains up in a fat, demanding jut.

Hikaru’s so preoccupied by the sight that it takes a few clumsy tries before he gets the cap off the lubricant. He has better luck pouring it onto his hand, slicking up his fingers. “This - this is what you want?” he says, mainly to confirm to himself that this is actually happening.

“Oh, even now you are a gentleman.” Pavel laughs, gravelly with desire. “Yes, Hikaru. I want you...”

“All right.” Hikaru bends low for a kiss, then crouches back to prepare him.

He’s slicked his fingers so thoroughly they’re almost dripping, trying to rub and roll his fist so that the lubricant isn’t freezing cold when it meets Pavel’s skin. Indeed, as he finds Pavel’s opening, and begins to roll an exploratory finger around its rim, he’s rewarded by a sharp sigh. Pavel’s legs pull wider, and Hikaru takes the cue to push in more. But he’s barely past his first knuckle when Pavel bites down on a noise of protest, his eyes screwing shut. He’s tight as hell, Hikaru realizes, and withdraws his hand immediately.

“You okay?” Hikaru whispers.

“Yes.” He nods, a little bit of misery edging his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Sssh, ssh. Don’t. You’re fine,” Hikaru answers, kissing Pavel fiercely for reinforcement. A sobering thought occurs to him, that Pavel’s description of himself as not sexually reckless could mean almost anything in terms of his level of experience. Over his roaring arousal, he tries to formulate his most diplomatic turn of phrase. “But if there’s anything you’re not, ah, totally sure about, we can stop any time...”

Pavel looks up, offended. “I do not wish to stop.”

“Okay. Okay,” Hikaru says, and places a kiss to Pavel’s mouth by way of apology. “Just - we’ll take as long as we need to, okay? I’m in no hurry. So don’t be afraid to tell me to stop.”

“Mmmm,” Pavel agrees, arching and settling back, taking measured in-and-out breaths. “I won’t.”

Between his own efforts to relax, and Hikaru’s coaxing and murmured encouragement, Pavel begins to open. The muscle around Hikaru’s finger unclenches, eventually enough to venture a second. He works into a slow rhythm, deepening his exploration in careful strokes. At last he’s far enough in, with three fingers, to find Pavel’s gland and give it an experimental brush. Pavel thrashes like it’s a volt of electricity while throwing an arm over the bottom half of his face to choke off a cry.

“Is that good?” Hikaru breathes.

“Your dick,” Pavel begs in a ragged whisper, “Hikaru, now-”

Hikaru somehow manages not to come right then and there, in the khaki pants he’s still wearing, and which he now can’t unfasten fast enough. They’re discarded along with his briefs, and then after a brief struggle with the plastic, the only thing Hikaru’s wearing is the condom he’s just rolled over his thick, achingly-hard cock. His hands tremble as he slicks himself with lubricant, and then he gets into position; below him, Pavel’s hips grind up in anticipation, his ass slamming back down on the mat.

“Look at yourself,” Pavel groans. “Hikaru, look at yourself, you are such a fucking man-”

Hikaru flicks up a look, and he barely recognizes this person in the mirror: this man, towering over Pavel’s supine form, his chest broad and flat. His bare shoulders ripple as he bends down to brace a possessive hand at Pavel’s waist, while a volcanic need darkens his eye. But by the time he’s poised to push in, Hikaru thinks he’d rather look at Pavel: at his debauched sprawl beneath him, at the sweaty halo his curls form when he throws his head back, which he does as Hikaru breaches him.

“Are - you good?” Hikaru pants after a moment, frankly proud of himself for mustering a complete sentence with Pavel hot and clenching around the head of his cock.

Pavel’s face is tight, his breath short and fast. “More,” is all he can get out.

Hikaru draws back, then enters Pavel again with a careful, shallow thrust, a little farther than he’d gone before. Even now, not even close to entering all the way, Hikaru can feel his throat rumble with some barely repressed cry of relief. Through his arousal he keeps his focus on Pavel, trying to gauge how much he can take: watches how his eyes squeeze shut, how his shoulders tremble, how his Adam’s apple leaps up and down. Thrust by slow thrust Hikaru works himself in deep, until he’s at last buried his dick completely inside. Filled and stretched, Pavel lifts delirious eyes upward.

“Pavel, oh fuck, Pavel-” Hikaru’s dimly aware of his own reverent panting. “You feel so fucking good...”

In response, Pavel spits out some breathless Russian command. It takes a few gasping, heavy-eyed seconds before it occurs to him to translate. “Fuck me-”

Hikaru whimpers in low, inarticulate agreement. He eases back out, and then back in with an almost lazy roll and snap that hits Pavel’s gland. The effect rockets through Pavel, his body convulsing as a shrill gasp parts his lips. Hikaru’s already pulling back again, surging into Pavel a little harder this time. Guided by Pavel’s increasingly helpless noises Hikaru finds his rhythm, fucking with sure steady strokes, each one bringing some new wanton twist to Pavel’s reddened face and dark-flushed lips.

Pavel lifts a hand, fingers squirming for contact; Hikaru snatches at it as he bends down to catch Pavel’s mouth in messy, panting kisses. Their interlaced fingers slam down on the mat, Hikaru pushing down hard for balance. Pavel’s other hand flops across Hikaru’s back, his efforts to find a grip thwarted by the increasingly frantic pumping of their hips. He settles for looping a heavy forearm across the back of Hikaru’s neck, pulling him down and demanding kiss after sweaty kiss.

With his free hand, Hikaru reaches between them to grasp at Pavel’s slick erection. It’s only a few strokes before Pavel’s driven to complete incoherence, throwing his legs as flexible-wide as they’ll go so that Hikaru can drive even deeper into him, breathing pleasure-choked pleas against Hikaru’s kisses, English interspersed with Russian, yes, yes, Hikaru, harder, yes, I love you, I love you - faster and faster until Pavel arches his back and his kiss transmutes into an inarticulate howl. Hikaru’s dizzied by the sudden intense clench around his cock, only dimly aware of it when Pavel blows hot and sticky all over his chest.

“Pavel-” Hikaru cries, hoarse and begging, as his hips slam forward. “Oh God, Pavel, I can’t-”

He’s caught now in a pounding frenzy, a pistoning he can’t control anymore. It’s accompanied by loud, raw moans that rise up and fill the high-walled room, a noise Hikaru barely registers as coming from himself. He can’t fuck Pavel hard enough, especially not with Pavel clutching and pulling at him and breathing silken moans of encouragement. Climax has already ignited somewhere low in Hikaru’s belly, building and spreading and quaking as he thrusts harder and harder, until it gathers into some blind force that roars through him. He explodes forward, crying out and grabbing at Pavel’s shoulder and filling the condom in wild bursts.

Wild-eyed and soaked in sweat, Hikaru collapses forward. He’s caught by Pavel, who kisses him and pushes a lock of hair off his forehead, and locks him into a firm cradle. Hikaru stays there for a long time, gulping for air and feeling as if he’s temporarily been destroyed, and lets Pavel watch over him.

***

Twenty minutes later, they’re curled together against the far wall, opposite the mirror.

Hikaru’s toweled off and gotten dressed, sort of, but he’s certain his students will all guess what he’s been up to on his lunch hour anyway. He’s rumpled and untucked, his hair hangs in limp tendrils, and he can’t seem to get this dumb smile off his face.

Pavel’s in his lap, settled limp and warm against his chest. He’s slung on some gym pants and nothing else, relying on the embrace to shield his bare chest and back from the room’s cool air. Hikaru’s more than happy to oblige, looping a tight arm around Pavel and stroking the back of his hand along his face. Pavel sighs and tucks himself closer.

The moment is so perfect, the most calming Hikaru’s had in years, which is why it takes a moment to register when Pavel mumbles against his neck: “If you wish this only to be physical, that is okay.”

“Wh...” Hikaru blinks out of his daze. “What?”

“If-” Pavel lifts his head, and he’s trying for that impish look again, but it’s edged with fear. “You know. If it is only sex for you.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to object to that part, but-” Hikaru keeps his voice calm, despite the cold feeling that’s begun to unfurl in his chest. “Is that what you would prefer?”

Pavel’s mouth pulls in, a slow uncertain slide that becomes a lip-bite.

“Pavel?” Hikaru says.

“Just - tell me if that is what you wish,” he says.

“Pavel.” Hikaru puts a finger to his chin. “Look at me. Have I - have I done something to make you think that’s all I want?”

“No, no. You - you are perfect.” Pavel laughs, but it’s a badly uncomfortable noise.

He slides out of Hikaru’s embrace and off his lap. Now in the far mirror there are two figures instead of one: Hikaru sitting forward in sharp anxiety, and Pavel slump-shouldered and barefoot, steadfastly not catching Hikaru’s eyes, either directly or by his reflection.

“We should try to make a good decision. That is all,” Pavel says. “I want to think about what is good for you.”

“And I appreciate that.” Hikaru cups the back of Pavel’s neck in an encouraging caress. “But maybe I think it would be good to try for a little more than just physical?”

Pavel looks up at him, disbelieving. “But what else could you want?”

“What else?” Stung, Hikaru withdraws his hand. “I - well, maybe it’s one-sided, but I do enjoy your company.”

“No,” Pavel protests. “No, that is not one-sided.”

“Then what is this about?” Hikaru says.

“It is only-” Pavel says. “Oh, Hikaru, you must know. You have little Demora to think about, and I - I do not see what good my ‘company’ can do for her.”

Hikaru pales, falling back against the wall. A heavy, defeated sense of stupidity comes over him, leaves him unable to do more than close his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, flat. “I should have figured that would be it.”

“I am only trying to be reasonable,” Pavel says. “I am only trying to think of the best thing for everyone-”

He snorts. “Great. Thanks.”

Pavel draws back in surprise. “I thought you would appreciate this?”

“If you don’t want to get involved with a guy with a kid, I wish you would just be honest about it,” Hikaru snaps, and then catches himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get like that. I understand where you’re coming from. I really do. I know my daughter complicates things. If this whole conversation is some roundabout way to tell me you don’t want to deal with that, then honestly, all you need to do is say it. I won’t be angry. I won’t think less of you. Frankly, I’d respect you more for being upfront about it.”

Pavel’s pressed hands to his face. “It is not -” he says. “I have made you think I don’t care about Demora.”

“Hey, I get it,” Hikaru says. “My daughter is the most important thing in the world to me, but realistically, I can’t expect other people to-”

“But it is not that I don’t care,” Pavel says. “It is that I have been in her place.”

Hikaru turns, startled. “What?”

“I know what it is,” he says. “To have someone intrude. My own family - after my mother died, my father had many women to entertain him. Some of these women were very nice to my brother and me. But most did not know or did not care what to do with us. It did not make any difference to my father. Bad or good, he tired of them all eventually, and then they would be gone.” Pavel looks up, raw. “But you - you could not be more opposite. You are so devoted to Demora, so determined to be a good father. For you this is so natural that it does not even occur to either of you that things could be different. But I - I know, extremely well, how different things can be. For me to disrupt what you have - I couldn’t live with that. Even to merely think of taking this chance, I cannot be worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Hikaru drains. “Uh, do I get any input into that conclusion?”

“Oh, Hikaru.” Pavel’s grown dull-eyed. “You don’t have to be nice. I know that I am a failure. I do nothing but fill coffee cups all day.”

“That’s why you’re acting like-” Hikaru breaks off. “Pavel, if I had some problem with you or your job, I wouldn’t have bothered to show up at the coffee shop in the first place.”

Pavel shrugs, almost to himself.

“And besides, you - you shouldn’t disparage what you do in this class,” Hikaru says. “You’re Demora’s favorite teacher, you know.”

This seems to register with an uncertain ripple, before Pavel hardens. “No, I am not.”

“Excuse me, which one of us drives her home every day? You have no idea how many car trips home she’s spent telling me about you.”

“Well, that is nice, but -” Pavel sputters. “But you don’t have to make it sound so noble. I am just indulging my own delusions, pretending I can still dance. And I am cheating you and other parents out of money to do it. There is no future in this.”

“I thought you were saving money for school,” Hikaru says. “I thought you wanted to study science.”

“You are flattering me to think there is any future in that either,” Pavel snaps.

“Well, why not?” Hikaru says. “You’re clearly motivated. You work hard - you’ve got two jobs, one full-time. What makes you think you won’t do well in school?”

“Because I’m too late,” Pavel hisses. “Because I am at an age when other people are graduating, but I still need to be taught even the most remedial things!”

“I’ve got students in my class right now who have started with less.”

“Fine, so I am ungrateful for what I have, in addition to stupid. It does not change that I am ridiculous to think I would actually have anything to contribute in a scientific field.”

“Because clearly, the only thing I’m looking for in a romantic partner is Nobel Prize cash,” Hikaru says. “Pavel, stop. Where is all this coming from? How did you get to think this way about yourself?”

Hikaru strongly suspects the answer, and not for the first time thinks about finding Pavel’s father and knocking his teeth down his throat. But Pavel won’t say it. Instead he only tightens up, his jaw jutting out. “I am only trying to be realistic,” he insists. “When you tire of having sex, it will become clear to you what I am. So I think, for all of us, it is best - it is best to stay physical.”

“Well, I disagree.”

“Why?” Pavel scoffs. “How could you even consider-”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Hikaru says.

The statement rings through the dance studio, because Pavel has no answer for this. His scoff has died away, and he stares at Hikaru with eyes flown wide and revelatory.

“Yeah.” Hikaru twists his fingers, glances down at them. “I, ah, know that’s kind of a weird thing to tell you so suddenly.”

Pavel’s still frozen in a gawk.

“And if it scares you away, I understand,” Hikaru says. “But I don’t really feel like pretending. And if nothing else, it’s important for you to know what you’ve done for me.”

“But I have done nothing,” he says, still dazed.

“Do you think it was easy for me to come here today?” Hikaru says, soft. “It wasn’t. There were so many times when I almost called you to cancel. Because this - this is enormous for me, Pavel. I never thought I could do this again with another person. For a long time, it didn’t even register as a possibility. But now, to know that I can - it’s a relief I wish I could describe to you. For so long, I’ve been clinging to my wife. I’ve been clinging to my idea of what she used to be, thinking that person’s going to come back. But Nami isn’t that person anymore, and she hasn’t been for a long time, and I - I couldn’t accept it. But meeting you, it’s shaken me out of that. It’s forced me to start dealing with things I haven’t wanted to deal with, things I’ve been in really bad denial about for a long time. So even if this thing between you and me doesn’t last after today, it’s changed me. I feel better. I feel like I’ve come up for air. I feel free.

“Compared to that, do you understand how much I really and truly do not care about keeping some imaginary scorecard on your life?” Hikaru says. “Or about adding and subtracting points based on where you work or how well you dance? The only reason I brought you those textbooks is because I thought it would make you happy. But if you’d be happier never cracking open a single one, then don’t. It wouldn’t change how I think of you. How I’ll always think of you.”

Pavel’s got a hand pressed up against his mouth. His eyes glitter, and his shoulders go up and down in big breaths. He’s silent for a long moment, which Hikaru watches with a tinge of anxiety. He can live with his decision to pour all this out to Pavel. If nothing else, he feels calmer just from having said it out loud. But Pavel’s reaction still matters, and it could be anything.

“Do you -” Pavel’s throat catches. “Do you really mean this?”

Hikaru nods, tentative. “I do.”

And that’s all it takes for Pavel to crawl back into his lap, to slide his arms over Hikaru’s shoulders and press himself forward in a tight embrace. “Then I am sorry,” he says. “I am sorry I - I said such things.”

“It’s okay if you meant them,” Hikaru says. “It’s okay if you don’t want this to go beyond physical -“

“How could I want such a stupid thing!” Pavel bursts out. “I was - I was only - Hikaru, since you came to sign your daughter up for this class, I have been - wanting you. Sometimes it’s so strong that I don’t know how you are a real person. To suggest these things to you, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I understand it,” he says. “I understand very well. I really did almost cancel. And even now, I’d be lying if I said I knew how to do this.”

“No, I don’t know this either. But now...” Pavel says, and trails off into a long moment of roiling silence.

“Now?” Hikaru prompts.

“Now I think...” Pavel lifts his chin, gets that slightly haughty look. “I think that if you could take this kind of chance today, then I have no excuse for being a coward, do I?”

Hikaru’s glad Pavel is blocking his view of the mirror; because he suspects the smile he breaks into is distinctly mawkish, maybe even a little teary, before he snatches Pavel in a fierce kiss.

*****

Two and a half years after Demora’s first ballet lesson, Hikaru settles back in a plush auditorium seat, listening to the off-key hum of violins as the orchestra tunes up.

He’s worn his dark blue suit, the only one he owns, with his gold-colored shirt underneath; Pavel’s black suit is borrowed, his sturdy frame belied as usual by lean trousers, a sharp-shouldered jacket and a thin tie. Demora, in a red-and-green dress, sits between them, and Hikaru tries to bite down on a smile at the sight of her jingle-bell barrettes. She had insisted on wearing them, even restricted her impatient bouncing to a minimum while Hikaru brushed her hair and pinned them back. But at the moment, she’s forgotten all about them. Instead Demora’s leaning up over her armrest toward Pavel, who expounds on all the uniquely Russian nuances of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker.

Out in the parking lot, in the trunk of his car, Hikaru’s foil sits next to a stack of Pavel’s textbooks. It’s been a hectic six weeks, between Pavel preparing for his end-of-semester exams and Hikaru grading an entire stack of them, Demora practicing for her dance recital and Hikaru for his fencing competition in January, all sandwiched between holiday visits to Pavel’s aunts in Brooklyn and Hikaru’s family in San Francisco.

This is their night to relax, to forget their slate of obligations, and for Pavel and Demora to geek out together over the choreography and technique. As the least ballet-savvy member of the family, Hikaru’s not going to pretend his appreciation will go beyond the nice footwork, the lovely music, and the expensive glass of Scotch he’d drunk out in the lobby. But even this is more than he would have dared to dream for himself when he first met Demora’s ballet teacher.

Idly, Hikaru looks out over the crowd. From where he’s sitting, he spots what are likely a few other same-sex couples, and a few other interracial families. But none like theirs. Even now, he wonders what Nami would have to say about this.

Hikaru can only imagine what she might say if she knew he had embarked on some new preposterous romantic gamble, not unlike the one he’d taken with her. And Hikaru’s come to accept that he will never stop wondering what his wife would think of how he’s raising Demora. He tries to imagine what Nami would tell him if she could: not Nami the sweetly confused child-woman he still visits every month, but Nami the vivacious molecular biology whiz whose pregnancy had prompted their marriage: whose pregnancy had been marked by the long evenings they spent pressing wondrous hands to her belly and spilling out dream after dream for their baby.

For all their dreams, they hadn’t come close to imagining what things are like now.

Pavel’s begun to fold himself into their family, although not without some adjustment pains. Hikaru’s still getting into snappish not-quite-fights with him about spending money on a vacation (Pavel can’t afford very much on his own, but bridles at the idea of owing Hikaru any significant amount of money, while Hikaru knows Demora will revolt if Pavel doesn’t come); Demora had accepted the glacier-slow transition of Pavel from ballet teacher to Daddy’s partner, except for the time she flew into a three-day jealous sulk after witnessing her father place a light kiss to Pavel’s cheek; Pavel had been a saint helping out when Demora came down with chicken pox, neglecting to mention he’d never had it himself until he woke up twice as itchy, twice as pox-covered and twice as feverishly cranky about it; and Hikaru had freshly re-scandalized the neighborhood when rumors got out that he had abandoned his ailing wife for a male Russian dancer eight years his junior.

Janice approves of Pavel, at least. She still likes to elbow Hikaru and say aren’t you glad you listened to me?

Indeed, Pavel’s come to live with them by now. After Hikaru had soothed and reassured and let Demora talk out her epic sulk, she had calmed down enough to give permission for Pavel to visit on Friday nights. Gradually that permission had been extended to weekends, and then more frequently for dinner. And now it would be strange if Pavel were not at the dinner table every night, studying his physics and calculus coursework side-by-side with Demora doing her long division. He’s got an endless supply of ballet tapes that they watch together, and Hikaru won’t forget the way he’d lit up when Demora shyly asked to learn a little bit of Russian. And Hikaru has finally gotten his own wish, when he crawls into a bed that is no longer empty. If he clutches Pavel a little closer, buries his face against Pavel’s neck more than normal on the nights after he’s gotten home from a visit with Nami, then Pavel never mentions it, just strokes his hair and pulls the comforter extra tight around them.

Needless to say, none of this had come up during those long evenings he and Nami had spent dreaming about the future they’d give their baby. But right now, their baby is grinning big enough to show all the gaps where her grown-up teeth haven’t come in yet, and giggling so hard that the jingle-bell bows in her hair are actually jingling, and Hikaru’s got to believe that Nami would approve of what he’s done.

“...not that your father is paying the slightest bit of attention, yes?” comes Pavel’s voice.

Hikaru snaps out of his thoughts. “What?”

“We were talking about you.” Demora giggles, and sticks her tongue out. “But you’ll never know what we said.”

“Oh yeah? Well I was thinking about you,” he answers, letting his own tongue dart out.

“What were you thinking?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Hikaru kisses Demora’s forehead, his eyes flicking up to Pavel. “Maybe about how much I love you?”

Demora scoffs and practically throws herself back in her seat with the force of her eyeroll. “Daddy, you’re embarrassing.”

“Yes, and so terribly sentimental,” Pavel adds. But his cheeks are pink, and he can’t fight down an affectionate smile.

His hand drifts to where Hikaru’s has settled on Demora’s shoulder, and their fingers interlace. And even as the house lights go down, Hikaru can see his daughter’s wide, soft smile as she settles back, can see Pavel’s eyes twinkling in the dark.

-end-