Chapter 27
Life is lit.
That’s what a nine-year-old named Jayden told him this morning, and Danny’s gotta hand it to him—that kid knows what he’s talking about. Life is lit.
Like today, for instance. Today, he got to coach with Sasha and watch him draw hilariously bad sharks.
Then he got to work out with him, which was even better, Sasha all sweaty and concentrating—he’d made freaking muscle-ups look sexy.
Danny’s lucky they were doing parallel bars conditioning and he was too tired to get a boner.
Sasha had seemed quieter than usual on the car ride home, but he’d gotten better once they showered—not together, sadly—and had some protein smoothies. (Maybe he’s one of those people who get cranky when they’re hungry? Danny’s going to keep making him snacks, just in case.)
Since Danny’s mom wasn’t home, they’d had plenty of time for post-smoothie blowjobs in the basement, and afterwards Danny let Sasha try out his compression boots, but only if they cuddled while he was wearing them (new rule).
Sasha complained, and then he complained a little less when Danny kissed him, and before Danny knew it, Diane was calling downstairs that they were doing leftovers for dinner.
Danny wishes every night could be like this, Sasha putting cabbage rolls on his plate across the kitchen island, his hair rumpled from the shower and Danny’s hands.
There’s a small wrinkle in his forehead as he listens to Diane, who’s cheerfully explaining all the reality shows she and Danny watch whenever Andy’s working late.
“…and we’ve been loving America’s Got Talent this season. The other week, there was a girl who did a dance routine with her dog, it was unbelievable. I hope she makes it to the finals…”
Yeah, Danny could get used to this. It just looks right, watching Sasha nod along to Diane—though he definitely got lost somewhere around The Amazing Race—and it feels right, too, having him here in his home, with his family, never any farther away than the guest room down the hall.
It’s only day three, and he already doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Sasha leaves.
“Danny?”
He snaps out of his thoughts, wishing he could delete that last one. “Sorry, what?”
“I was just saying, I think we still have some episodes of American Ninja Warrior on the DVR, if you want to show Sasha?”
That evening, Danny finds himself glancing around the living room and feeling quietly, stupidly happy about everything he sees: his mom on the loveseat, Luna curled up in her lap; his dad, who’d joined them when he got home, balancing a dinner tray and his iPad on the recliner; Buddy, a warm, slumbering weight against Danny’s hip; and Sasha, right there on the other side of Buddy, scoffing at the contestants’ misfortunes.
“This is very stupid,” he says, his eyes fixed on the screen.
After the episode’s over, Diane and Andy decide to stay downstairs for another glass of wine, so Danny seizes the opportunity to walk Sasha up to his bedroom and slip inside for a hug. Sasha makes a show of tolerating it but also totally opens his arms, Danny knows what he saw.
Oh man, they are so close to Sasha giving him a real hug. It’ll happen by Tokyo for sure.
He’ll still take this one, though, because it means Sasha’s here. “Today was awesome,” he mumbles into Sasha’s hair, holding him tight. “I can’t believe we, like, actually get to hang out all day.”
Sasha nods, then shivers when Danny kisses his neck. And again when Danny finds that spot under his ear. And again, again, and again as Danny revisits all of his other favorite places, the ones he can always count on to make Sasha squirm.
Sasha’s hands drop to his sides, either because he’s distracted or because he thinks they’re done hugging, which is wrong, so Danny pulls him in again.
He knows he’ll have to let go of Sasha eventually, but he doesn’t want to.
And if today were perfect—not just lit—he wouldn’t have to.
Because he already would have told his parents that he and Sasha were together, and then Sasha would be staying in his room, and they could finally sleep in the same bed for once.
“Hey,” he murmurs in Sasha’s ear. There’s a ninety percent chance he’s about to get shot down, but he’s going for it anyway. “What if I come back later? When my parents are sleeping?
He tries to sweeten the deal with another kiss, but Sasha stops and stares at him. “What?”
“Well, maybe you could come to my room,” Danny amends, remembering that he’s farther away from his parents than Sasha.
“But they’re, like, super heavy sleepers, so they wouldn’t even notice.
And then we could set an alarm, so you could, like, sleep over and just, like, sneak back before my dad wakes up—”
“Danny,” Sasha says, in the voice he uses when Danny means no.
Even though Danny had known better than to get his hopes up, for just a few seconds he’d allowed himself to imagine it—Sasha staying for once instead of leaving—and the disappointment hits harder than he was expecting.
“Right,” he replies quickly, trying to snap out of it. “Yeah, no, I figured. Just… an idea.”
Sasha looks skeptical, but at least he doesn’t call Danny on his bullshit. “Goodnight?”
There’s no point in moping about it, so Danny smiles and kisses Sasha—soft and slow, as if they really were under the covers. “Goodnight.”
*
Sasha wasn’t expecting how easy it would be, falling into a rhythm with the Hartmans. In just a few days, though, it feels like he’s already been there for weeks—and everything he brought with him is coated in dog hair, even the clothes he hasn’t worn yet.
In the mornings, he has breakfast with Andy, peaceful and quiet except for the occasional exchange of a newspaper section.
He figures out how to time his coffee so he’s almost finished it when Danny and Diane come in with the dogs, which makes the ensuing chaos a lot less overwhelming; and he also figures out how to find Danny’s foot under the table, even when Buddy’s in the way.
After breakfast, Danny drives them to Sunnyside.
Sasha’s still getting used to how relaxed everything is at this summer camp, but he likes it here, likes hearing Danny’s voice in the background no matter where he goes.
The boys he’s coaching are all over the place—he sometimes wonders if they’re mainlining sugar in the breakroom—but they’re a decent group of kids, eager to learn and mostly capable of listening.
(The little girl, Nicole, keeps sitting next to him during arts and crafts, asking for drawings of her favorite sharks and then wrinkling her nose at his attempts.
Sasha doesn’t understand why she’s doing this, or why Danny won’t listen when he points out that one of Nicole’s coaches, for instance, Danny, should be supervising her instead.)
The afternoon practices might not be what Sasha had hoped for—he’s starting to think that just like traveling with certain friends can sometimes be a mistake, so can training with chatty boyfriends—but he tries to make the best of them, asking Danny for more tips on the Busnari and focusing on getting himself back into shape for when he returns to Round Lake.
At least he has their post-workout routine to look forward to.
If Diane isn’t home by the time they’ve walked the dogs, Danny jumps Sasha right in the kitchen, pushing him up against a counter or the refrigerator or even, once, the stove (“Oh, shit,” he’d said later, touching the dial-shaped imprints on Sasha’s lower back).
It’s reckless, dangerous, both of their ears pricked for any sound from the garage; but Sasha doesn’t tell Danny to stop, doesn’t shove him away, doesn’t do anything except kiss him back.
If Diane gets home early, they “play video games” in the basement, which is code for sucking each other off on the couch, Danny whispering “Fuck, fuck, fuck” into his fist until he comes.
Sometimes, they actually play video games after, but more often than not, Danny wants to cuddle while taking turns with the massage gun and compression boots.
(He calls it “cuddle recovery,” two words Sasha refuses to ever put together in the same sentence.)
Since Andy works long hours, Sasha, Danny, and Diane usually have dinner in front of the television, watching the newest episode of this or that reality show, each more ludicrous than the last. On Wednesday, though, Andy brings Sasha and Danny to his country club, where Sasha makes a fool of himself trying to play golf for the first time; and afterwards they eat at the clubhouse, Andy’s golf buddies stopping by their table, Danny eagerly showing everyone a video of Sasha’s Blanik at the European Championships.
No matter what happens during the day, the evening always ends with Danny in Sasha’s bedroom, pretending he just wants to say goodnight.
Sasha pretends, too—that he’s only humoring Danny and his hug quota, that he isn’t listening for his footsteps down the hall, that he’s ambivalent about this ritual when it’s actually, embarrassingly, the reason he can’t stop smiling to himself after Danny leaves, lying there in the dark and wondering how it’s possible to be this happy.
He’d be even happier, though, if they were having sex.
Obviously, Danny living with his parents isn’t the ideal situation; Sasha had figured they would have to work around Andy and Diane’s schedules, seizing whatever moments they could get with the house to themselves.
Either that, or book a hotel room somewhere.
Jesus, at this point he might even do it in Danny’s car, if Danny could promise him they’d be safe.
But Danny hasn’t said anything about having sex.
Which is weird, since whenever they’re alone, he’s always tugging down Sasha’s shorts, eagerly finishing him off with his hand or his mouth or sometimes both—so why hasn’t he suggested going any further?
Does he think Sasha’s not ready yet, even after the conversation they’d had in Rio?
Of course, Sasha could bring it up again himself.
He knows that. He just… doesn’t know how.
Or at least, how to do it without dying of embarrassment, which is exactly what would happen if he tried to make eye contact with Danny while telling him “I want you to fuck me.” Plus he’d have to do it in English, and what if the translation he looked up online is something no one actually says? Then he’d sound as stupid as he’d feel.
So instead he’s been hoping for Danny to mention it, but Danny isn’t mentioning it, and now it’s Friday and Sasha’s getting desperate.
“Dude, you suck at this.”
Sasha’s flat on his back in the basement, Buddy licking his face, Danny pinning his wrists. A wrestling game on Danny’s Xbox had quickly turned into a wrestling match in real life, the two of them toppling onto the carpet as the video game music blared from the television.
“Buddy, no,” Danny says when Sasha turns his head, trying to keep his eyes saliva-free. “Sit—good boy. Here, go play with your alligator—”
Distracted by a stuffed toy, Buddy settles himself a safe distance away, and Danny returns his attention to Sasha.
“So. Wanna keep getting your ass kicked?”
Sasha looks up at Danny, his pulse throbbing under his skin. He’s vividly aware of all the ways their bodies are connected—Danny’s thighs squeezing his hips, the rough-palmed pressure on his wrists—and how much he wants even more.
He licks his lips, which still taste like Danny’s smoothies and also a little like Danny himself, a sweet and tangy tease on his tongue. Danny’s eyes widen, and if Sasha doesn’t know exactly what he’s thinking, he’s pretty sure he can feel it through his shorts.
“Fuck,” Danny says, and then his mouth is on Sasha’s.
(For the record: Sasha doesn’t suck at wrestling.
Kirill and Oleg were obsessed with it when they were juniors, making the Round Lake dorms a dangerous place for unsuspecting teammates; and while Sasha wasn’t as strong back then, he was quick, and surprisingly good at wriggling out of holds.
So while he could have slipped away when Danny straddled him, he didn’t.
Right now, he’s half hard and fully where he wants to be.)
They’re reaching for each other’s shirts when the door to the basement opens, Diane’s voice echoing from the kitchen. “Boys!”
Heart in his throat, Sasha starts scrambling out from under Danny—only for Danny to grab his arms again, hooking a leg over his waist to keep him down.
“Wait,” Danny whispers as Sasha stares at him, shocked. “Just—stay here, okay? Trust me?”
Sasha hesitates, torn between Danny’s question and his own instincts, which are screaming at him to push Danny away.
They’re going to get caught—he can hear Diane’s footsteps, see her shoes on the stairs—they’re going to get caught—and now it’s too late for him to do anything and fuck, fuck—he can’t breathe—he squeezes his eyes shut and turns towards Danny’s shoulder, so he won’t have to watch Diane’s face when she sees them—
“I don’t even want to know,” Diane says behind him. “Danny, I’m going to get a haircut, I’ll be back later. Can you and Sasha just take whatever hamburger buns you want out of the freezer?”
“Yeah, sure—dude, it’s not happening,” Danny grunts, tightening his grip on Sasha’s arms even though Sasha hasn’t moved, can’t move, his entire body paralyzed with fear.
“Honey, please be careful. That looks very uncomfortable for Sasha.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m totally dominating him, that’s all.”
Diane sighs, says something that sounds like “Boys,” and retreats up the staircase. They hear keys jangling, the garage door opening and closing; then Danny laughs, letting go of Sasha and sitting back on his heels.
“What the fuck,” Sasha says weakly. He doesn’t understand how they weren’t just outed, or what Danny thinks is so funny.
If Diane had been any more observant, they would have been screwed—and then she would have told Danny’s dad, and maybe Sasha’s mom, too, and…
he can’t even think about what would have happened after that.
Danny tilts his head, and Sasha belatedly realizes he was speaking in Russian, but he’s too busy trying to breathe again to translate.
After a moment, Danny starts filling in the silence.
“That was hilarious. I used to wrestle, like, all the time with Patty—we’d have these crazy fights all over the house—and my mom got so pissed, she finally made us go to the basement, and now it’s like, she didn’t even blink at us. ”
Sasha only hears about half of what Danny’s telling him. He feels like he just did a round of sprints, blood still thumping in his ears.
“Hey,” Danny says when Diane’s car starts. “Wanna go to my room?”
That gets Sasha’s attention.