Sebastian was finishing the dishes when his cell phone rang, flashing his parents’ number on the screen. He dried his hands on the towel and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mijo.” His mother’s voice, familiar and warm in his ear.
“Hi, Mami.” He put the last dish away, went to the fridge, and got a beer. It was a little too early for Scotch, but sometimes talking to his parents required some liquid support. They loved him, he knew that. But he also knew they were still hoping him being gay was a “phase,” and that one day he’d bring home a nice girl to meet them.
His mom asked him the usual questions about work, the weather, if he was eating well and not relying on a diet full of takeout. Sebastian answered in turn, and then she asked him what he was planning to do for Christmas.
Sebastian immediately felt terrible that he’d been so caught up in everything this last month—school, Tristan—that he hadn’t thought to convey his holiday plans to his family.
“Actually, Mami, I’m seeing someone, and I’m going home with him to meet his family,” Sebastian said, keeping his tone even but firm.
There was the expected pause: the long moment of silence that broadcasted his mother’s disappointment louder than any words. “Ah. And where are you going?”
“Wisconsin,” he said. “He—he’s a professional hockey player.”
“Hockey?” She sounded a bit confused. “There’s hockey in Atlanta?”
That made him laugh. “Yeah, there is.”
“How did you meet this hockey player?” his mom asked. “I didn’t think you liked sports.”
“He was my student in a class I taught this summer.”
“Oh, mijo,” his mother tsked. “This is allowed, dating a student?”
“He’s not my student anymore,” Sebastian assured her. “That’s how we met, but we didn’t start dating until the class was over.” Talking about dating to his mother made him feel like a teenager again.
“He plays hockey for the college?” She still sounded suspicious.
“For Atlanta. Professional hockey,” he explained, telling her about the Venom.
“And this— He is—” His mother faltered. “This is okay, that he is . . .”
“Gay?” Sebastian finished for her. “Of course it’s all right.”
“With the team?” She sounded dubious.
As if his mother had ever hung around any gay professional athletes. “He’s going to make sure it is.” Sebastian wasn’t certain he could promise that, but he didn’t want to give his mother any other reason to worry.
There was another awkward pause, and then his mother said, “You make sure you are a good guest, mijo. Polite. Pick up your towels. Bring his mother a gift.”
That made him smile. It was typical Ana Cruz advice, but he knew how hard it was for her to accept his sexuality, and this was a small, but significant, moment of progress.
“Of course I will.” He didn’t mention that of the two of them, Tristan was the one who’d need the towel reminder. That was way too much information to share with his mom.
“I will miss you for the holiday,” she said, then launched into a long and detailed gossip session about his family members. Sebastian half listened, the sound of her voice chattering at him in Spanish making him feel both comforted and lonely. He knew there’d be no more discussion about Tristan. That was more conversation about a boyfriend than Sebastian had ever had with his mom.
Before they got off the phone, he said, “Do you want to tell Pop why I’m not coming home, or do you want me to?”
“I will tell him,” she said, voice firm. “But you will call us on Christmas.”
“Of course,” he assured her, and that was that. He tried not to be disappointed that she didn’t want to know anything else about Tristan, and he wondered if he should have pressed more, offered more information.
Groaning, he finished the beer and went to take a shower. And hoped to God that he didn’t make a fool of himself trying to ice skate.
The Avalon Mall had been transformed for the holidays, the façade strewn with lights and festive garland. In addition to the décor, they’d converted the plaza into an ice rink. Both Sebastian and Tristan were eyeing it suspiciously—Tristan because he was a hockey player and knew ice rinks both indoor and out, and Sebastian because he didn’t and had never set foot on one in his life.
Tristan bumped into him with a grin. “Ready?”
Sebastian scowled at two teenagers who, tired of waiting for the two guys to get on the ice, scampered past them and dashed off on their skates. “No.”
Tristan laughed. “Come on, Seb,” he teased, stepping on the ice. He turned with his back away from Sebastian and was, somehow, ice-skating. “Let’s go. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He made the come here gesture with his hands.
Sebastian climbed on the ice, immediately grasping the side of the rink and fighting for his balance. Tristan skated toward him and closed the gap, then started skating backward again so he could keep an eye on him.
“Show-off,” Sebastian muttered, trying to find his footing. He frowned. “I’ve been on roller blades, why is this hard?”
“Because you don’t roller blade on ice?” Tristan’s big body looked utterly at home, his muscles relaxed and his backward skating casual and easy.
Sebastian had yet to figure out going forward without holding on to the side.
“Relax a little,” Tristan suggested. “You’re tense.”
Sebastian shot him a glare. “It’s me, Tristan.”
That made Tristan grin, and Sebastian was happier than he wanted to admit in public that he was able to put that look back on Tristan’s face. “I know you can relax,” Tristan said, a suggestive gleam in his eye. “I’ve seen it in person.” He skated closer.
“Not in public,” Sebastian murmured, but he smiled and tried to do as instructed. Tristan was the expert, and if he said relax . . . Well, it wasn’t easy for him to do, but he’d try.
Tristan maneuvered on his skates so he was next to Sebastian instead of in front of him. “You’re getting it,” he said, encouraging Sebastian in his shaky attempts to gather some sort of speed and not fall over.
A little girl in a tutu and bright-pink skates twirled past them into the center of the rink, where she did a spin and put her arms in the air.
“Can you do that?” Sebastian nodded toward her.
Tristan pushed forward, spun in a circle, and put his hands above his head. It made Sebastian laugh, and of course that sent him to the boards again to regain his balance. “Very nice.”
“Figure skating is hard,” Tristan told him.
“Regular skating is hard,” Sebastian agreed. “So I can’t even imagine.” He shook his head. “I also can’t believe you do this and play hockey.”
“I’m so used to being on skates I don’t even think about it anymore.” Tristan held out his elbow. “Come on. You’ll never learn if you don’t get off the boards.”
If a couple and a young boy hadn’t skated by right then, Sebastian might have said something about how someone wasn’t going to get off and it wasn’t him. Instead, he let go and wobbled a bit, lightly taking Tristan’s arm to recover.
“There you go,” Tristan encouraged. They were going very, very slow.
“This must be boring for you,” Sebastian said, as he watched people zoom by on their skates. Luckily, he wasn’t the only beginner on the ice. They weren’t the only same-sex couple either, though maybe people only held hands on the ice out of necessity if one of them was as bad at this as Sebastian was.
“Of course not.” Tristan was wearing a Venom stocking cap and a bright-blue scarf that matched the color of his eyes. He was taller than the majority of people on the ice, but no one was giving them the slightest bit of attention. If Tristan was bothered by the idea of being recognized, he didn’t show it. All of his attention was on Sebastian.
When they were halfway around the rink, Sebastian had found his balance well enough to skate without having to grab on to the board or Tristan. He still didn’t skate very fast, and his ankles were protesting with every minute they were out there.
“Ice-skating outside in the South feels so wrong.” Tristan shook his head. “I grew up skating on ponds.”
“Of course you did.” Sebastian faltered, arms flailing for a minute before he got his balance under control. “You’re not going to want to do that in Wisconsin, are you?”
Tristan’s bright eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot to tell you about the family pickup hockey game on the pond before breakfast?”
Sebastian gave him a little shove, but of course Tristan—who was used to a lot more than that on the ice—barely even moved. In fact, it made Sebastian wobble instead of Tristan. “I see why you’re good at keeping people away from the puck.”
“Sometimes,” Tristan said. “You want to go faster?”
“You want to call me an ambulance?” Sebastian ignored Tristan’s snort of laughter. “You can skate around if you want. I’ll just take my time.”
“I came here to skate with you. I think you might like going faster.” Tristan smirked at him. “Unless, you know, you’re too scared.”
“That isn’t going to work on me, Tris. Also it can’t, because seriously, this is the limit to my speed.”
Tristan held his hand out. “Come on. Live a little.”
Sebastian hesitated for a moment, then realized this was about more than his lethargic skating. He put his own gloved hand in Tristan’s. “Don’t kill me.”
Tristan started skating faster, and Sebastian studied the way he moved and the way he shifted his weight on his skates. Sebastian felt his muscles loosen a bit, but the exertion had him breathing harder in seconds.
Every second he did this, his admiration for Tristan’s on-ice skills grew. And the more it made Sebastian want to take Tristan home and fuck him.
Eventually he was able to let go of Tristan’s hand and sort of keep up, but his ankles were still protesting, and Sebastian wasn’t sure he was cut out for ice-skating. You were supposed to avoid ice, not put blades on your feet and jump right on it.
Everything went fine until they circled back around to the entrance to the rink—God, had they only gone around once?—and other people were coming onto the ice. It was a popular location and getting crowded, which was introducing obstacles to Sebastian’s skating experience.
He managed to right himself without falling when a kid blew past him, but the second time, he reached out in a full-out flail to grab Tristan’s hand to keep from falling over. But his skate hit a groove in the ice, and his feet gave way under him, sending him tumbling down.
Tristan tried to help him, but Sebastian let go so he didn’t end up pulling Tristan down with him. Which was probably a ridiculous worry, since he had no doubt Tristan could keep his balance regardless.
Tristan came to a stop and reached his hand down. His eyes were sparkling, but he didn’t laugh. “We all fall down, don’t worry.”
Sebastian put his hand in Tristan’s and let Tristan pull him up, none the worse for wear—except the back of his coat was wet, which he didn’t much care for. “I don’t think I’m made for this activity.”
“You’re doing great,” Tristan soothed, gallantly offering his elbow. “Here. Hang on.”
They went around once more, and by the time they’d passed the scene of his earlier fall, Sebastian was beginning to think he had the hang of it. His ankles were still sore, but had begun to get used to the odd activity, and his balance had improved so much that he could sort of keep pace with Tristan without clinging to Tristan’s hand.
“Ha,” Sebastian said, smiling a bit, concentrating on putting one skate in front of the other and shifting his balance according to Tristan’s instructions. “This isn’t so bad.”
Two seconds later, his skate hit a rut in the ice and down he went. This time, it wasn’t quite as contained a fall, and his ankle bent in a wonky angle, sending a shock of pain through him and causing him to curse as his hands hit the ice hard.
“Fuck,” Sebastian muttered, trying to get to his feet. It was difficult since they’d made their way toward the inner part of the rink, so he had nothing to hold on to until Tristan went down on his haunches to help him. Which was embarrassing because it made Sebastian feel about a thousand years old.
“You okay?” Tristan asked, a frown between his brows. He bit his lip. “They need to get the Zamboni out here.”
“I think my shift is over,” Sebastian said, wincing as he tried to take the weight off his left ankle. “Put in the backup, Coach.”
“They don’t have— Er.” Tristan smiled sheepishly. “Not the time for hockey lessons, huh.” He slid an arm around Sebastian’s waist. “Here, lean your weight on me and I’ll get you across. Keep your weight off your ankle.”
Sebastian did so, gritting his teeth at the idea they’d have to skate all the way around with him leaning on Tristan, his ankle lifted from the ice. But Tristan didn’t skate them around; he went straight across the ice and through the skaters practicing spins and twirls in the middle.
They got a few looks from the kids—okay, Sebastian got a few looks, mostly pitying—and eventually made their way to the entrance. Tristan helped him to the bench and went to the locker to retrieve their shoes, while Sebastian undid his skate laces and eased his feet out of the skates. His left ankle was all right when he was sitting, though both of them were aching slightly. When he tried to stand up, though, a sharp pain sent him back to the bench. He rolled it experimentally, reaching down to prod at the muscles.
“Okay?” Tristan asked, looming above him. Tristan, who was still on his skates, was holding both of their shoes.
“Probably just rolled it,” Sebastian assured him, reaching for his boots.
Tristan collapsed next to him, somehow managing to gracefully arrange his long limbs so he wasn’t knocking into anyone. He undid his skates with haste, and was back in his shoes before Sebastian had laced up his other boot. “I’m really sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything. I think that was gravity and me never having been on skates before.” He stood up, but immediately shifted his weight to his right leg.
“I made you go too fast,” Tristan said. He was clearly worried, which was touching but probably unnecessary.
“I’ve sprained this ankle before running on a trail,” Sebastian offered with a shrug. “I don’t think anything is broken.”
“Still, I can get the car if you want to hang out by the entrance.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and patted Tristan on the arm. “I’m really fine, don’t worry about it.”
It turned out that he wasn’t fine, though, as he had to stop every so often thanks to the pain. Tristan’s concern was palpable, and he bore most of Sebastian’s weight as they continued toward the car. They’d done some shopping earlier, but luckily they’d stored all their purchases before going ice-skating. They were parked way in the back of the lot, partly because it was crowded and partly because Sebastian hated parking his GTO near other cars.
“I should probably drive,” Tristan said, as they neared the car. “Don’t you think?”
Sebastian almost refused, simply out of contrariness. Eventually he sighed and handed Tristan the keys with a thoroughly displeased expression. The only thing that made him feel marginally better was critiquing Tristan’s driving.
They went back to Sebastian’s, and Tristan manfully carried all the bags and helped Sebastian to the elevator. Sebastian carefully put weight on his ankle once they were in the apartment, waving his hand when Tristan tried to basically carry him to the living room. “It’s not broken, Tris. It’s not even sprained.”
Tristan put both his arms over his chest and scowled. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the sofa. “I’ll bring you some ice.”
Sebastian took one look at the mulish cast to Tristan’s face, rolled his eyes, and made his way to the couch. He could feel Tristan’s eyes boring into his back. It did feel better to sit down, but Tristan was acting as if Sebastian’s leg were broken.
Tristan disappeared into the bedroom to deposit the bags, then went into the kitchen. Sebastian heard him rustling around, and then he reappeared with a ziplock bag full of ice, wrapped in a kitchen towel.
“I’m pretty sure this is unnecessary,” Sebastian said, to no avail. He winced as Tristan pressed the ice pack to his ankle, which he’d propped up on the coffee table.
“Does that hurt?” Tristan glanced at him sharply.
“It’s cold,” Sebastian said. He patted the couch next to him. “I bet I’d feel better if you gave me a blowjob.”
“Ankle injuries can be serious,” Tristan said. At Sebastian’s chuckle, he added, “What? They can be!”
Sebastian laughed. He couldn’t help it. Tristan’s expression was so earnest. “I’m sure they are, but you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“What would you be doing, Seb, if I hurt my ankle on the ice?” Tristan demanded.
“Letting the trainers take care of you,” he answered immediately. “Since they know what they’re doing.”
“And if I was here? Home, in your apartment, with an injured ankle? Tell me you wouldn’t have me elevate it, and that you wouldn’t have made me an ice pack.”
“I’d definitely give you a blowjob.”
Tristan’s mouth curled at the corners. “Leave that on there for ten minutes and I’ll think about it.”
Sebastian harrumphed, but they settled down with Tristan’s head in his lap, and that was at least a step closer to the blowjob that really would make his ankle feel better. As they watched a ridiculous holiday movie, Sebastian drew his fingers through Tristan’s hair. “I told my parents I was going to your house for Christmas.”
Tristan turned his head, focusing those big blue eyes up at him. “Yeah? Were they okay with it?”
“Well.” Sebastian tugged lightly at the blond strands. “I told my mother, and I assume she’ll tell my father. They’re okay with my missing the holidays, as I’ve done that before.”
“But they’re not okay about me.” Tristan’s mouth set.
“They’re not okay with the idea of you,” Sebastian corrected. “When they meet you, my mother will be awkward for a minute and then try and feed you. My father will be silent and not look at you.”
“Sounds fun,” Tristan said dryly.
Sebastian’s mouth quirked. “I know. But I—I told them that you were my boyfriend, and that things were serious. My mom asked how we met, and I told her the truth.”
“That you were perving on me in your class?” Tristan fluttered his eyes. “Dirty, dirty Professor Cruz.”
Sebastian did the totally mature thing and flicked Tristan on the forehead. “I told her we met because you were my student, yes. I didn’t say I was perving on you. She’s my mom.”
“Right.” Tristan smiled. “I’m glad you told her.”
“Me, too.”
“Was it . . .” Tristan looked like he wasn’t sure he should ask anything else, but Sebastian nodded and he continued. “Was it okay?”
“It was the Cruz version of okay, I suppose. I don’t know what surprised my mom more: that you were my student or that you played hockey. Or that I even knew what hockey was.”
“She must have seen you ice-skate,” Tristan teased, and laughed when Sebastian flicked him again. He caught Sebastian’s hand and carried it down to press a kiss on it. “Thanks for telling her. I know you’re worried about the student thing.”
“I shouldn’t be. We didn’t do anything wrong.” Sebastian watched as Tristan took his fingers into his mouth, starting to suck and tease them. “And I wanted her to know.”
Tristan stopped the teasing and gave Sebastian a smile that nearly blinded him. “Yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Did you only tell me that so I’d blow you?” Tristan went back to sucking on his fingers, a little more suggestively.
“No, but I won’t apologize if it gets your mouth on my dick,” Sebastian said.
Tristan’s eyes flashed, but right then, the Christmas movie they were watching—the one with the Muppets—started playing a song. They paused, looked at each other, and Sebastian grabbed the remote.
“Good call,” said Tristan, and grinned before he reached for Sebastian’s jeans.