Fic: The Lonely End of the Rink, Part 1/7 COMPLETE
Title: The Lonely End of the Rink Part 1.1
Pairing: Marcus/Esca
Rating: NC-17
Summary: I looked up and you were there, just sitting there all alone, holding your fist in the air, like, if you need me you're on your own. At the lonely end of the rink, you and me.
I hear your voice ‘cross a frozen lake, a voice from the end of a leaf, saying, ‘you won’t die of a thousand fakes or be beaten by the sweetest of dekes’. At the lonely end of the rink, you and me.
Word Count:100,000-ish in 7 parts, COMPLETE This part 14,000 ish
Disclaimer: These beautiful boys belong to Rosemary Sutcliff and Focus Features, dammit. I just like making them do filthy, wonderful things to each other.
Author’s Notes:1) This fic is a modern AU inspired by a prompt at the_eagle_kink, and it totally took my brain over, pouring out of me like a flood. It was truly frightening to watch.
This fic is a modern AU filled with hockey, figure skating, high school, a smattering of original and movie characters, with a hefty dose of Canadiana. It is a fic that deals with real life situations and attitudes, not a fluff piece, so keep that in mind.
Master post with extended Author’s Notes, banners and fanmix, as well as links to all the parts here.
Summer’s Killing Us
A time for more to happen sooner, a time to be a person you still know.
To float a while on your sure power, 'til you say "Canada lost, go home".
Summer exists in a doorway.
Summer exists at the fair.
Summer is forever changes.
Summer's taking me all the way.
Summer was endless, and it had only just begun. The heat seemed to have settled on the entire lower mainland like a blanket, temperatures uncharacteristically high for so early in July. Or anytime, in BC. Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow as he hauled his gear from the back of his pick up, eager to get inside the arena, back to a more respectable temperature.
The arena delivered as promised, he breathed a sigh of relief once the doors closed on the stifling heat. Here it was bearable, although the chill calm of the ice beckoned. No matter the weather outside, he always loved being on the ice, everything else seemed to fade away with the sound of his skates and a stick in his hands.
“Hiya Jeff,” he said, waving to the rink attendant.
“Hey Marcus. Still hot as shit out there, eh?” Jeff asked as Marcus approached him.
Marcus laughed. Talking about the weather was a provincial pastime. “Sure is,” Marcus replied. “How's the hockey camp going?”
“Great,” Jeff said. “My little guy has finally figured out that the puck goes in the net, pretty soon he'll be giving you a run for your money!”
Marcus laughed again. Jeff's son was 4 years old, he and his hockey camp age-mates hardly constituted a threat. “I'll keep an eye on him.”
“You do that,” Jeff said. They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the Zamboni clear all signs of the kids from the ice, leaving it smooth for the afternoon sessions. Marcus had lucked out, finding the 45 minute slot between mini hockey camp and the summer figure skating class. Summer ice time was at a premium as only one ice surface was maintained in the heat, but fortunately for him he was willing to take a shorter slot, and he had the money to pay for it.
“You mind sharing the ice a bit, toward the end of your slot?” Jeff asked after the Zamboni had made its final turn, heading back into the bowels of the arena.
“What, with the figure skaters?” Marcus asked, surprised. The kids who practiced after him were hardly training for the Olympics, he couldn't fathom why they would need the time so badly.
“Not the kids, they've been pushed back a half hour,” Jeff clarified. “Some kid from England, real talent, or so Andrew tells me. Has taken some time off this year and needs the practice before the competitive season, and you know how tight the schedule gets around here. Thought maybe you could share the ice for a few minutes, if it's no trouble.”
“Just the one skater?” Marcus asked and Jeff nodded his confirmation. Marcus shrugged, it was a fair sight better than the usual half-dozen giggling twelve year old girls. They often came early and watched Marcus finish his drills, big eyes staring at him incessantly until he wanted to aim a slap-shot right into their little group.
“Not a problem,” Marcus said. “I'm glad to help out.”
“You're just glad all your little groupies won't be around to make doe eyes at you anymore,” Jeff said shrewdly, smirking at Marcus' best innocent face.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Marcus said quickly. “But you're wasting my ice time. Later.” Jeff laughed as Marcus turned, heading along the boards toward the doorway that led down to the changing rooms. He didn't need his full kit for solitary drills and practice, but it was more comfortable to lace up his skates there. He used the quiet to focus his mind, going over the drills in his head as he taped his sticks, gathering up his bag of pylons and pucks and a water bottle before pulling on his gloves and leaving the dressing room.
He dropped the bag and bottle, choose a stick and then stepped out onto the freshly resurfaced ice. There it was, that feeling he always came back for, the blades on his skates scratching the ice rhythmically as his strides lengthened until he was whipping around the rink, the chill fading as he pushed himself faster and faster. A sense of freedom came over him then; a freedom he had never felt anywhere else, the smell of the ice, the familiar feel of the stick in his hands, shifting his body so that he was skating backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, figure-eighting his way around the surface until the peace had settled into his bones and his breath began to come harder.
Suddenly he threw all his weight to the side, sending a spray of ice onto the rubber mat where his bag and bottle sat, coating them with a layer of white crystals. He grinned to himself, he'd always liked stopping as hard as he could, seeing how high he could get the ice to spray. Perhaps it was childish, but it made him happy.
He took a few swigs of water before grabbing the bag, taking it onto the ice and laying pucks along the blue line as well as in random spots in the face off circles. Jeff knew his habits well enough to have only pulled the one net onto the ice, so Marcus set up pylons throughout the neutral zone as well as the opposite end.
Once he was done he tossed the bag to the side and grabbed a stick, building speed once more, skating deftly around the pylons before picking up a puck and doing the whole thing again, the route made more difficult by all the stick handling needed to carry the puck along with him. It was one of Marcus' strengths, in some part due to his constant practice, adjusting the pylons to keep him from becoming accustomed to their positions, laying the pucks in random places so he wouldn't become complacent. He always had the advantage over his teammates once training began, and this was the reason why. He knew he was lucky, not many of the other boys could afford to purchase consistent ice time, especially during the summer, but Marcus didn't let it bother him. He had the advantage and he wasn't ashamed to use it. Besides, none of the other boys wanted, needed a place in the NHL as much as Marcus did. Very few of them had a shot anyway, unlike him.
This would be his final year of high school and, he hoped, his final year playing for a junior league. He knew he'd been scouted before, he couldn't help but be. There was talk of sending him to the draft the following June, he'd be eighteen in August, only just meeting the age requirements. He was determined to win a spot, so he practiced every chance he could get. Summer did not equal vacation time, not to a young NHL hopeful.
That day, as always, the time passed quickly, and before he knew it, he heard the tell tale sound of another pair of skates on the ice. He ignored it for the time being, focusing instead on the left top corner of the net, where he was attempting to place the pucks he'd laid out in a diagonal line from the blue line to the bottom of the face-off circle. It took skill and concentration, getting all his shots in the same spot, the angle steadily decreasing as he made his way further into the zone. It was worth the practice, his unerringly accurate wrist-shot was spoken of in hushed whispers and feared by every goalie in the league. Constant practice had made finding the right shot second nature, he rarely failed to place the puck where he wanted it, goalie or not.
He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding when the last of the pucks joined its predecessors in the empty net, skating over to gather them together for placement on the opposite side of the rink for his next series of shots. He'd almost forgotten about the figure skater, until a voice called out.
“Oi, hockey boy,” it said in a crisp British accent, and Marcus stopped in shock, spinning around. He had been expecting some too-thin, snobbish, pampered girl, but the voice that called him was decidedly male. When he saw the boy it belonged to his mouth dried up and his jaw dropped open.
Skating toward him was the exact opposite of every expectation he had. The guy was short, lean, topped off with a messy patch of dirty blond hair. He wore loose stretchy pants not so different from Marcus' own, into them was tucked a tight black t-shirt, accenting every muscle of his chest and highlighting the wiry strength in his arms. The guy's posture was perfect too, back straight, shoulders held back, making his chest look more defined, giving him an aura of readiness. He coasted smoothly across the ice, coming to a stop in front of Marcus who, having finally catalogued the rest, lifted his gaze to the boy’s face.
Marcus swallowed thickly, willing his tongue to work and respond, but it refused. Atop that damnably attractive body was a face with well defined features, high cheekbones, a straight nose, broad forehead and thin lips set in an exasperated line. His eyes were clear and grey, shrewd, raking over Marcus' features quickly. Added together, he was stunning, hard and beautiful and deadly as the ice.
“Hey,” Marcus croaked out, finally able to coax a sound from his slack jaw. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, hi. I'm Marcus.” He pulled off a glove and held out a sweaty hand for the figure skater to take, but he didn't offer his own, looking down at Marcus' outstretched hand with barely veiled revulsion.
“Lovely,” the bloke said, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his shoulders straighter, if such a thing was possible. “I was just wondering if you're done with the pylons. I'd like to get warmed up before Andrew gets here.”
“Oh,” Marcus said dumbly, dropping his hand and then running it through his hair in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, I uh...I'm done with them. Just practicing my wrist-shot, you know.”
“I'm sure I don't,” the boy said, lifting an eyebrow. “And I don't particularly care. You don't mind if I pick them up then?” he asked, although it was more like a statement of intent as he turned on a toe pick and skated toward the other end of the rink.
Marcus watched him go, stunned, unable to tear his eyes away from the long lines of his legs as they propelled him forward, his ass firm and perfectly framed in those pants. He was much more elegant in his movements than Marcus could ever dream to be, skating effortlessly, bending down to pick up one pylon after another with no break in movement, one leg extended as he turned from one to the next, fluid, graceful.
Marcus swallowed again, giving his head a shake and turning away. He skated over to where the bag lay, picking it up and turning in time to see the other boy coming ever closer, gliding across the ice on one blade, his hair ruffling in the breeze he had created. Instead of coming to a sudden halt as Marcus would have done, he spun quickly and looped around, slower this time, coming to a precise stop right in front of Marcus.
They just stared at each other for a moment, Marcus was having a hard time finding anything to say, his brain had quite forgotten why he was even there until the guy held up the pylons.
“You want these in there?” he asked, with a look of disdain, perhaps wondering if Marcus was simple. He certainly felt so, this guy tied his tongue and caused all brain function to cease. And he didn't even known the guy's name.
“Yeah, I, thanks,” he managed to get out, opening the bag and letting the other guy drop the stack of pylons in. “So, you're new here,” Marcus began, but the glare he received cut off that line of questioning. Marcus found himself wondering why he was bothering, but his mouth had other ideas.
“Uh, what's your name?” he tried again, this time getting a long suffering sigh from the other.
“I'm not here to make small talk, so what does it matter?” he replied, shaking out his arms and then reaching back behind his neck to stretch out his shoulder.
“I just thought that since we'll be sharing ice time, you could at least tell me who the fuck you are,” Marcus bit out, suddenly annoyed with this prickly, difficult Brit. “Or does my ice time mean so little to you?”
The guy glared at him again before shaking his head and responding. “Look, I'm sorry, I've just had a shitty year and I'm in a new place, it's too hot, I can't get ice time and nobody talks properly around here. I really just want to get on with my life, alright? I'm here to train, I'm not here to make friends.”
“Fair enough,” Marcus said, nodding. “But we're pretty friendly around these parts, so you'll just have to adjust.” He held out his hand once more, meeting the guy's eyes with a glare of his own. “I'm Marcus.”
The other looked down at Marcus' outstretched hand again before meeting his gaze once more. “I'm Esca,” he said at last. “But I'm not shaking your hand. You've had it inside that sweaty thing,” he gestured to the gloves that Marcus had abandoned at the edge of the rink, “and I can smell you from here. Cheers, mate.”
He turned without another word and skated across the ice, turning gracefully once more, building speed as Marcus had done, but with much more style. His skating wasn't powered by brute strength but by determination and skill. Marcus watched him for a moment until he came around again, glaring at Marcus as he passed by. Letting out a sigh, Marcus reached for his gloves, unable to stop himself from taking a sniff. They were musky with the smell of use, sweat mixed with leather producing a not so pleasant aroma. It wasn't all that bad, really.
Marcus pulled the gloves on and picked up his stick, heading back to his corner of the ice without a backward glance, though his thoughts never left the boy gliding around the ice behind him.
He missed half his shots, that round.
**
By the time he headed out of the dressing room, Marcus spied Andrew Parker on the ice with Esca, talking him through what appeared to be choreography of some kind and he paused to watch as Esca performed the moves, ending with a spin that had him rotating so fast it made Marcus' head spin. He turned away quickly, before he could get too involved in watching. The move wasn't the only thing about Esca that made Marcus' head spin.
**
The next day Marcus spent his ice time on edge, unable to focus and jumping at every sound, hoping and dreading that each one would herald Esca's arrival. Despite having told himself there was nothing to worry about, no reason to be interested, he couldn't stop his mind from replaying their interaction over and over. He was left confused, frustrated and, above all, almost desperate to see Esca again.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he caught sight of Esca, pulling off his blade guards and tossing them aside before he slipped onto the ice with the same grace he had shown the day before. He gave Marcus a curt nod and glided past, stretching as he went, an act that did nothing to quell Marcus' interest in him.
On the next pass Marcus gave him a big grin, calling out, “hi Esca,” as he skated by. Esca turned around fluidly and raised an eyebrow before spinning once more and continuing his warm up, not sparing a word or another glance in Marcus' direction.
Marcus decided it was high time to practice his slap-shots.
**
Fifteen minutes later he packed it in, gathering his pucks and piling them all into the bag, daring one last glance at Esca before he went. He was surprised to see the other boy staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Thanks for picking up the pylons,” Esca said as he passed by, turning to meet Marcus' gaze, holding it until Marcus was certain he was going to crash into the boards. He didn't however, spinning at the last possible moment, moving toward the net at the other end of the rink.
“You're welcome,” Marcus called back, unable to keep his face from splitting wide into a smile of pleasure, pulling his gaze away again before he stared too long. He collected his things and headed down to the dressing room, nodding absentmindedly at Andrew on the way.
He still refused to acknowledge the feelings Esca provoked in him. He promised himself long ago that he could control them, that those feelings would do him no good in his life or career. Besides, Esca didn’t seem to want to give him the time of day, it was safe to assume he was definitely not interested in getting to know Marcus better.
Marcus told himself that it didn’t matter, and he almost believed it.
**
The rest of the July passed with more of the same, and continued into August. Esca slowly warmed up to Marcus' presence and with every encounter Marcus became more adept at hiding his responses, schooling his features into friendly enthusiasm instead of slack jawed gaping. Esca never ceased to be beautiful though, and it was a challenge for Marcus.
Soon they were speaking more than two sentences together, and once Esca even laughed at something Marcus had said, not that he could remember the words after they slipped off his tongue. All he remembered was Esca's mouth grinning widely, his teeth straight and white, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He'd given Marcus a pat on the shoulder before gliding off to continue his warm up, a gesture that had left Marcus frozen in place, trying to memorize the sensation. It was the first time they'd touched, though Marcus discouraged himself from hoping it wouldn't be the last.
The day that Marcus thought of as the day they became friends was just another stifling Friday. The heat spell had not lifted, if anything it had gotten hotter. Three weeks had passed without rain, and the word drought was being thrown around, something that made Marcus chuckle and roll his eyes in turn. Only in BC would three short weeks without rain be considered a drought. Seriously, he'd thought everyone would be thrilled, given how much they complained when it rained for three weeks straight.
It was the weather that Esca eventually used as a conversation starter, finally coming a little way out of his self-imposed shell. Marcus was sitting on the edge of the ice, re-taping the grip on his stick when he felt someone approaching. He knew it was Esca, the rhythm of his strides, awkward in his skates, was unmistakable. For one as short as he, he possessed remarkably long legs. Marcus struck the thought from his mind, it could only lead to more thoughts that would lead him into trouble.
Unexpectedly, Esca sat beside him, propping his feet up on the ice close enough that Marcus could smell his shampoo. His hair was most often messy, sticking up at random angles or falling into his face and Marcus found himself wondering if he'd ever come in contact with a hair brush, though the haphazard style did nothing to discourage his growing obsession.
“Just what is up with the weather here?” Esca broke the silence first, shocking Marcus, who turned to look at him in surprise. Esca wasn’t looking at him, staring out into the rink instead.
“I thought it rained here as much as it does back home, but I've been here for six weeks and I've yet to see it.”
“Oh, it rains,” Marcus replied, and turned his gaze back to the stick he was wrapping. “You just wait, you'll see rain.”
“Hmm,” Esca hummed, letting the silence fall between them again. Marcus was afraid to break it, certain that if he spoke Esca would get up and begin his warm up, ending any chance at further conversation. He could almost feel the heat Esca's body was producing, their shoulders almost touching.
“So do you play hockey for real, or do you just like to dick around?” Esca asked, and Marcus looked at him again. This time Esca was looking right at him, his gaze direct and unflinching. Maybe he had developed that stare as a way to compensate for being so small, or maybe it was just his personality, but Marcus couldn’t help but find it intimidating.
“I play for the Bruins,” he replied, holding Esca's gaze for a long moment before turning back to his stick. He'd basically finished, but he didn’t know where else to look.
“And they are?” Esca prodded, uncharacteristically.
“The local team, junior league,” he said, laying the stick beside him and leaning back against the open door, facing Esca, “We're not pro, but we're scouted often enough for the NHL. I'm hoping to get picked up in the draft next year,” Marcus volunteered, hoping Esca would keep talking with him.
“I don't understand anything you just said, then,” Esca said, and Marcus couldn't help but laugh.
“So you've never heard of me, then? Marcus Aquila?”
“No, should I have?” Esca responded, scrunching his brow.
“Nah,” Marcus denied. “Not really, not if you don't even know what the NHL is. I'm pretty well known around here though, been playing my whole life. I'm pretty good, so I've been told.”
“Are you now?” Esca said it with a smirk and Marcus wondered wildly if Esca was flirting with him. It was an insane idea so he put it out of his head as fast as it had come in. “I couldn't tell.”
“You'll have to come watch a game then, when the season starts up,” Marcus said, grinning back. “I'll show you just how good I can be.” Something flared inside Esca's eyes, something Marcus wanted to see more of, but it was gone before he could blink.
“Perhaps I will,” Esca replied, turning back toward the ice. It was quiet in the arena, muffled sounds coming from the front area beyond the rink but it was still and silent where they were. Marcus felt at peace again, for the very first time in the presence of another person.
Esca broke the silence once more, and Marcus was certain they'd shared more words that afternoon that they had the entire previous month. No complaints, though.
“You'll have to teach me the rules, then, or I won't have a clue what's going on,” he said, and Marcus' heart skipped a beat.
“You're on,” Marcus replied, almost unable to believe that not only was Esca talking to him, he was suggesting they spend time together. Outside the arena. Marcus' heart was pounding furiously. “You should come over and watch a game on the tv, and I'll tell you all about it.”
“Alright,” Esca said and they fell to silence again. It remained unbroken until Andrew arrived, at which point Esca demanded a pen and took Marcus' hand, scrawling a number across his palm and giving Marcus a cheeky grin.
“Call me, hockey boy,” he said. He pulled himself up and slid onto the ice, moving as if he was born there. Marcus stared at him for a long time before he found the will to get up. After he retreated to the dressing room, he made sure to enter Esca's number into his phone immediately, unable to stop himself from choosing a sound bite from ‘Everytime You Go’ as a personal ringtone. Which was crazy since Esca didn’t even have his phone number.
**
Marcus' phone burned a hole in his pocket the entire night. Every time it rang he jumped, half expecting it to be Esca, although he knew that Esca didn't have his number. He had to stop himself from calling right away, it wasn’t like Esca was a girl who he was trying to date. He had plans on Saturday anyway, so he told himself he'd call after that, and invite Esca over on Sunday. Yes, that's what he'd do.
Saturday dragged by, kicking and screaming, or so it seemed to Marcus. Usually he looked forward to hanging out with his friends, most of them had to work and a few were even in summer school, so he rarely saw them during the week. Saturdays were set aside for hanging out, playing video games, swimming, hiking, baseball, soccer, football...the guys always wanted to play something other than hockey, which annoyed Marcus a bit. He would play nothing but if he was given the choice, but it wasn't only up to him. Besides, Saturday was booked solid at the arena, and road hockey didn't cut it. Marcus loved the ice, the freedom he felt when he was on it, the sounds and the smells. He'd play road hockey, sure, but it just wasn't the same.
It was a moot point anyway, and that day the other guys wanted to play the latest video game, some big thing, newly released and all the rage, but Marcus couldn't bring himself to care. He'd never been one for video games, he'd always wanted to be outside doing something, mostly hockey. He was often mocked for his single mindedness, but he didn't care. At least he had a direction, which was more than he could say for most of his friends.
“Earth to Marcus!” someone called, jarring him out of his reverie.
“What?” he said, looking around, noticing belatedly that the machine was off, the game over, apparently. He'd been too busy staring at Esca's name on his contact list to realize that his friends were gathering their things.
“Dude, what the fuck is up with you today?” Dale remarked.
“Yeah, you've been playing with your phone all day,” came another voice, belonging to Luke Torus, one of his teammates and probably his best friend. “He must have a new number, boys!” Luke hooted, and Marcus hated him just a little.
“Ooh, got a new girl, have you?” Dale said, trying to grab his phone. Marcus locked it quickly, pocketing it and pushing himself into a standing position.
“Not at all,” he said, brushing himself off and looking around. “We going for lunch, then?” he said in an attempt to change the subject. He was in no such luck, apparently.
“It's dinner time, actually,” Dale said and the others laughed.
“He's definitely got a girl, boys!” called Robert, another teammate. “'Fess up, Marcus, who is she?”
“Yeah, are you gonna share or what?” Luke said, closing the distance between them and narrowing his eyes at Marcus. Luke was pretty observant actually, and he could usually read Marcus like a book. If anyone was to figure out his little secret, it would be Luke.
“No, I'm not, actually,” Marcus said in his firmest tone. “Besides, there's no girl, I'm just thinking about the draft, that's all.” He knew they'd never let it go unless he gave them something they'd believe.
“You and the fucking draft!” Dale said, laughing along with the rest. “The draft isn't until next year, give it a rest, will ya?” He smacked Marcus on the shoulder, not as hard as he'd probably wanted to, but then Dale was several inches shorter and not built anywhere near as solid as Marcus.
“Let's go to dinner, eh?” Luke said, redirecting everyones attention to their stomachs, a tactic Marcus had employed in similar situations in the past. It never failed to work. The guys all headed for the door, jostling each other as they went, calling goodbyes to Dale's mother, who must have been thrilled to see them go.
Marcus headed for the door as well, followed closely by Luke, who put a hand on his shoulder, letting the others get a bit ahead of them.
“Seriously though, what's up today?” Luke asked, giving Marcus a concerned look. “You've been a bit off for a few weeks, but today you're completely out of it. And it's not the draft either, so don't try that on me. Is your uncle okay?”
“Yes, my uncle is fine, thanks for asking,” Marcus replied, shrugging Luke's hand from his shoulder. “And I haven't met a girl, I've just been thinking things over, you know? This is a big year for us. Graduation and the draft, the whole ‘getting a real life’ thing.”
“Yeah, it is. Especially for you,” Luke agreed and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. He just couldn't think of a good way to tell his best friend that he was trying not to have a crush on an impossible British figure skater, never mind a male one. Luke would not understand, no one would. It was best left hidden, he was just going to have to get a better handle on it, that was all. He determined to put Esca out of his mind, for now at least, and to stop mooning over the guy like a bloody ninth grade girl. He was better than that.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to his friend, picking up his pace to rejoin the others.
**
He didn't make it home until late that night, too late, he thought, to call someone, especially someone whose habits he was unaware of. So he collapsed onto his bed after stripping out of his dirty clothes. They'd ended up playing some football after dinner, until it got too dark to see the ball, and then they went to Robert's house, where he produced a case of beer and another of the guys had pulled out a bag of weed. Which of course made it officially 'pick on Marcus' day.
He rolled over onto his back, scrolling through his contacts again until he found Esca's name, staring at it as he remembered the ribbing he'd taken that night for refusing to partake in either. He'd never been one for indulgence, always having been a serious child, even when he was very young. He wasn't certain if he'd always been that way, but losing one's family at a young age and being raised by a very stoic uncle would do that to anyone, he thought.
At any rate, Marcus was an athlete, more dedicated than the others could understand. Getting stoned or wasted wasn't going to help him improve his skills on the ice, never mind increase the chances that he would get drafted next year. It certainly wouldn’t help his intelligence, either.
His friends called him stiff-necked, stuck in the mud, party-pooper, pussy and a whole range of other names meant to bully him into following their dubious lead, but Marcus wasn't a follower. He was coming to realize more and more that he was nothing like his friends and never would be. They didn't understand that hard work was its own reward, it increased strength, stamina and intellect, it gave him insights they'd never attain. They disdained his practice schedule and mocked him for his single minded pursuit of his goal, but Marcus didn't let them get to him. Much.
Besides, none of them had any real aspirations, and Marcus couldn't imagine living that way. Even Luke, though he wanted to play hockey professionally, didn't take the game as seriously as Marcus thought he should. He'd be lucky if he was taken higher than the fourth or fifth round in the draft, if at all. Marcus wanted to go in the first. The first.
So he'd spent the evening picking up after his friends, ignoring the sometimes good natured ribbing and imagining what Esca was doing. Esca who worked as hard as Marcus did, Esca who knew what it was like to have a goal and what needed to be done to reach it. His thumb traced Esca's name a few more times. It was still too late to call. With a sigh he put the phone on his bedside table and threw an arm over his face, pushing the day out of his mind, wishing he could forget the whole thing. Tomorrow, he hoped, he'd get to hang out with Esca instead. He smiled at the prospect and, before too long, drifted off to a much needed sleep.
**
It was almost 9am when Marcus woke up, the sun was high in the sky and heating his room far too much for comfort. He dragged his sluggish body out of bed and to the toilet, imagining how much worse the others must feel. It had been months since he'd slept so late, practice was always at the crack of dawn and Marcus got up early enough, even during the summer. He knew he'd get the best sleep with a proper schedule, so he kept to it, no matter what. He may have gotten up late, but there was no reason to waste the day, so he began some stretches, working his body through his usual routine, stretches giving way to push ups, sit ups, lunges and then to the chin up bar his uncle had installed for him.
He was covered in a light sheen of sweat before he was done, but he skipped the shower, heading downstairs for a light breakfast instead. After breakfast he usually spent some time in the pool, not only doing laps for stamina, but weight exercises, made more difficult with the resistance of the water. By the time he was done, it was just after 11am, so he had a shower before heading down for Sunday lunch with his uncle.
But first, he sat on his bed and picked up his phone, trying to psych himself up to call Esca. It was a good time, he thought, and he had no real plans for the afternoon. If he was lucky, neither would Esca. Only one way to find out, so he found Esca's number and pressed send, taking a deep breath before lifting the phone to his ear.
Shit, he really was like a little girl. The other end was picked up after the first ring, and Esca's voice answered.
“Hello,” he said and Marcus could hear some music in the background.
“Hi, Esca, it's Marcus,” he said, clearing a sudden lump in his throat. “I was wondering if you're free this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Esca said, and suddenly the music was turned down. His voice was clearer, more intense. Marcus shivered. “You gonna teach me all about hockey, are you?”
“Sure, if you're up for it,” Marcus said with a grin, laying back on his bed. “After lunch?”
“I'll have to take the bus, still don't have a license here,” Esca replied.
“I can come get you, if that's alright,” Marcus volunteered. He wanted to know everything about Esca, including where he lived. His heart beat just a little bit faster, thinking about Esca in his truck.
“That's fine. I'll bring a tape too, perhaps I can teach you something as well,” Esca said, and Marcus' heart skipped a beat at the teasing tone in his voice.
“I'm sure you could,” Marcus said with a chuckle. 'In more ways than one,' his traitorous mind provided. He sat up and fumbled for a pen and paper. “Give me your address, then.”
**
Esca lived downtown, way too far away for him to take the bus for Marcus' patience, so, as soon as his uncle was done giving him the third degree over his new friend, he grabbed his keys and headed out. He spent the drive downtown in a state of nervous anticipation, having to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans more than once or risk losing his grip on the steering wheel.
He pulled up to Esca’s building and found a spot close to the front door before calling Esca again, as he’d been instructed. Esca was brief, picking up with a rushed, “I’ll be right down,” before ending the call, leaving Marcus staring at his phone in surprise.
Sure enough it was mere moments before he came out the front door of the building, dressed in loose fitting cargo pants and a baggy t-shirt, carrying a beaten up satchel. Marcus found himself bemoaning losing the view of Esca’s fine ass under those baggy pants, but he shook himself back to the present and grinned as Esca opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Nice truck,” he said as he fastened his seatbelt. “I just can’t get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, though.”
Marcus laughed, guiding the truck back into traffic, on the right hand side.
“It’s not the wrong side over here,” he said, shooting Esca a grin. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it if you’re gonna get yourself a license, won’t you?”
“I suppose I will,” Esca said, crossing his arms over the satchel and staring thoughtfully out the window. Marcus forced his eye back on the road.
“Do you mind?” Esca asked a few moments later, gesturing to Marcus’ iPod, which was piping The Tragically Hip through the truck’s speakers.
“Sure,” he said, grinning again. “If you find something you like, go ahead.”
Esca grinned back, picking up the iPod and flipping through, checking out Marcus’ playlists. “Who is this?” he asked as he browsed, gesturing to the speakers.
“Only the best band ever,” Marcus replied. “The Tragically Hip. They rule Canada, basically, and they earned it.”
“Cool,” Esca said. “I’ll have to give them a try.” But he switched it anyway, and the first few bars of 'Falling for the First Time' blared through the speakers.
“Ahh, another great Canadian band,” Marcus remarked, shooting a glace at Esca from the corner of his eye, wondering if there was any significance in his song choice.
“I've grow quite fond of them in the time I've been here,” Esca said, beating the rhythm on the dash. “A lot of fun, aren't they?” Marcus agreed and they launched into a discussion of which music they did or didn’t like, making the ride seem faster than usual, and soon they were pulling into the drive of the house Marcus shared with his uncle.
“Wow, this is where you live?” Esca asked, taking in the house with awe filled eyes. “It's huge.”
“Yeah, it's pretty big, alright. I guess I'm used to it, I've lived here since I was three,” Marcus said, trying to see the house as though for the first time. It was rather large and impressive. “Come on, I'll show you around. You'll have to meet my uncle, good luck with that.”
Marcus and Esca climbed out of the truck, heading for the front door. “Why would I need luck?” Esca asked.
“He's an original. And not to be taken too seriously,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “He's really great, raised me by himself, but now that he doesn't need to be the parental figure so much, he's a little less likely to curb his tongue.” Esca furrowed his brow and Marcus just chuckled. “You'll see.”
Marcus opened the door, gesturing Esca into an impressive foyer, with a set of wide stairs leading to the upper floor. To the left it opened into a formal living area and to the right there were several doors in a hall leading to the back of the house. Marcus kicked off his shoes and Esca did the same, following Marcus to the first door on the right side, waiting as Marcus knocked, then opened the door to a murmured summons.
“Uncle, I'm back,” Marcus said, moving aside to let Esca into the room. It was a large space with minimal furniture, displayed on the walls were pictures of various properties and landscapes, framing a seating area in the corner. At the L shaped desk adjacent to the door sat a silver haired man with a wide, welcoming smile, Marcus' uncle.
“Come in, come in,” he said, standing and moving around the desk to shake Esca's hand. Marcus watched closely, seeing how his uncle looked Esca up and down, seeming to take his measure in seconds.
“Uncle, this is Esca MacCunoval,” Marcus said. “Esca, my uncle Francesco Aquila.”
“Call me Frankie,” his uncle replied, dropping Esca's hand. He stepped back and looked back at Marcus. “You never told me he's such a wee little lad, did you?”
Marcus rolled his eyes, but his uncle was undeterred. “So you're the figure skater. Marcus has told me you've been practicing with him these last few weeks. Why he waited until today to tell me, I've no idea, but then, he's reticent like that.”
“He's been sharing his ice time with me, so I can warm up before my coach arrives,” Esca said, provoking another wide smile from Marcus’ uncle.
“And a Brit too,” he exclaimed, giving Marcus a shove. They were of a height and although his uncle had grow soft over the years, he possessed the same build Marcus did. They were often mistaken for father and son, not that Marcus minded. It was basically the truth anyway.
“I spent quite a lot of time in England when I has a young man, lovely place. Wonderful accents, all over. Where are you from?” he asked, staring avidly at Esca's face, gauging his responses.
“Billingham,” Esca said, giving Marcus a look that conveyed his understanding of Marcus' warning. His uncle was rather talkative and inquisitive. Marcus had learned how to deflect him, mostly.
“Ahh, a northern boy, good for you. What made you decide to forsake the land of your forefathers to join us here in the frozen north?” Marcus snorted at the last statement, earning him another shove from his uncle and a smirk from Esca. Marcus liked his smirk.
“Rainy north, more like,” Marcus commented. His uncle rolled his eyes, turning back to Esca.
“Training,” Esca answered simply. “I needed a coach who could keep up with me.”
“Modest too,” Uncle said, beaming at Esca again. “Well, you're welcome here, at any rate. And much more polite than Marcus' other friends, unruly ruffians that they are.”
“Uncle, please,” Marcus said. “Leave them out of it, will you?”
“Yes, yes, fine,” his uncle said, rolling his eyes and waving off Marcus' concern. “We won't discuss how there's not a single one with any real ambition or work ethic, and we certainly won't mention how many of them haven't mastered the art of basic sentence structure.”
“Uncle,” Marcus tried to interrupt, but his uncle waved him off once more.
“Now Marcus, you know I adore those boys, which is why I have such high standards for them. But this lad, now here's a boy who I'd like to get to see around more often. You two go along and do...whatever it is you're going to do-” Marcus groaned as his uncle winked at both of them in turn. “-and I'll leave you to it. Good to meet you, Esca, I hope to see you again.”
He took Esca's hand and shook it again before giving Marcus another shove and sitting behind his desk, immediately picking up a pen and writing on the pad in front of him. Marcus gestured at the door and Esca needed no further cues, darting into the foyer again with Marcus right behind him.
“Oh boys?” came his uncle's voice from the room, just before Marcus could pull the door shut. “Dinner is at six.”
“Yes, uncle,” Marcus said, closing the door firmly and leaning against it with a huff.
“I see what you mean,” Esca said, his eyes wide with amusement.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Actually, you got off pretty easily, dinner might be another thing altogether.” Marcus headed down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “come on, I'll show you the rest of the house.”
The tour didn't last too long, though they stopped in the kitchen for drinks, where Marcus introduced Esca to Sassy, their cook and housekeeper, who patted Esca's cheeks and pronounced him acceptable.
When they finally made it up to Marcus' room, Esca closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Marcus laughed.
“They can be a bit much at times,” Marcus agreed, searching through his collection for the game he wanted to play for Esca.
“Wow, your room is great,” Esca remarked, looking around. “It's like your own little suite up here.”
“Yeah, all I need is a kitchenette and I'll never have to leave,” Marcus agreed. “Sassy used to bring me meals up here while my uncle was off working, but he put a stop to that right away. He insists we eat together, or at least I eat meals downstairs.”
Esca nodded, dropping his satchel by the door and flopping down on the couch behind Marcus. “Are she and your uncle...” he trailed off, his meaning obvious.
“No,” Marcus said quickly. “Hell no. My uncle hired her shortly after I came here, to help him out since he's often busy in the evenings and to cook for us. He's a shit cook, though she's been able to teach me a thing or two.”
“Ahh,” Esca said. Marcus had found the right disc and popped it into the player, grabbing the remote and sitting beside Esca on the couch.
“Besides, I still think he's got a thing with his business partner,” Marcus commented while waiting for the game to start.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, they're a little too close for just friends, if you know what I mean. Stephan is alright though, I'm sure you'll meet him later.” Marcus found the right entry on the disc and started it, glancing sideways at Esca to judge his reaction to the possibility of his uncle being gay. Esca didn't even bat an eyelash.
“Right, so what do you know about hockey?” he said as the game began, the announcers voices droning on in the background.
“I know you play it on ice. With sticks. And you fight a lot,” Esca said and Marcus laughed.
“Well, we have our work cut out for us, don't we?” Esca gave him a friendly shove and Marcus' stomach gave a little flip. “Alright, so the game is played in three periods, each lasting twenty minutes.”
Part 1.2