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Anatoly Sergievsky was sitting in his hotel room on the arm chair, Molkov was behind him, most definitely taking notes on The American, Frederick Trumpers, frantic press conference.
“The man is utterly mad, you’re playing a lunatic” Molokov groaned behind him.
“He’s brilliant. We haven't been able to figure out his game in the slightest, This display surely isn’t helping. he’s unpredictable whether you look at his professional or personal life… he’s not a lunatic. not at all. he’s a strategic player” Anatoly had spent months analyzing Trumpers game and when you do that and for so long you feel you know them, you must, the way a grand master plays says a million words, words that stay unspoken.
Molkov scoffed “strategic? Nothing about that outburst was strategic, that was a man starting to crack?”
“Starting to crack?” He turned to look at the older man, brow raised.
“Under pressure” Molkov explained plainly.
“Of what?” He knew. He knew.
“Being the world champion, he’s afraid of losing it, we all know he isn’t as good as he was. That’s good for us” us? Peculiar words.
Anatoly huffed a laugh “where did you hear that? What I heard is Frederick Trumper’s one of the best players in decades, a child prodigy who revitalized chess single handedly" he’d seen it, partially, they grew up at the same time, rose to prominence at the same time.
“Anatoly, my friend, no need for such hostility, the entire union is pulling for you, you know how you need us” Alexander Molkov was a old friend, the one who saw his potential as a player and, more importantly, a pawn first, with his charming smile and sugary sweet words, words and smile he used now to try and lure him in but now Anatoly knew better.
“I don’t need my army of so called advisors and seconds to tell me nonsense about Trumpers sanity or lack thereof” he stood, the hotel room wasn’t big enough to properly storm away.
He could sense Molokov's irritation even with his back turned, he’d had years of practice, years to gain disillusion. “We don’t underestimate Trumper or his team, for all we know this could be a big ploy or something of that kind and winning or losing reflects on us-“
He laughed again, bigger this time and he probably looked as mad as people thought Trumper to be “i win, i lose, whatever punishment for that is one I endure alone. There is no us in this, sir, there is I. Me. You and my team of seconds for you to hide your lack of skill behind are not the ones who will be punished if I lose” the television was still playing, Trumper second, Florence Vassy appeared on the screen next to him,
Composed and demure she was but her frustration was evident, be it with Trumper or the press? he wasn’t paying enough attention to know.
“We are a team, we represent something bigger than us and the world is watching what that is, now-“
“Please stop spouting that old party line, Alexander! I know. It’s all I’ve heard for twenty years, ‘it’s bigger than you’ ‘it’s us’ ‘it’s this’ ‘ it’s- just get out and get me a chess playing second-!” He snapped, turning around to face his alleged second. “-…that is if you want us to win” he was bold, too bold, if it was anyone else he would be risking a fate worse than death but Alexander simply bowed and left. He was used to it, he’d known Anatoly since he was a boy after all.
He sighed and sat back down, flipping the tv off. “For fucks sake…” he groaned under his breath, running his hands through his hair.
What kind of life was this?… not what he had envisioned all those years ago.
He’d envisioned… being here in at the world chess championship, yes, but he didn’t envision…
Being stuck,
Being stuck to this distorted vision of his home,
Being stuck to Molokov,
Being stuck to Svetlana…
And he loved her, of course he did, Svetlana was…
…Svetlana was good. A good wife, a good lover, a good mother, a good woman. Good.
He loved her but he was suffocating.
Suffocating in this life.
Stuck scared of something, someone, around every corner, horrifyingly waiting for that day he’ll be killed and all of this…
Well, everything,
His temper,
His melancholy,
His countless affairs some encouraged, some not but hurting Svetlana all the same,
Not to mention his family and what would happen to them if-
He was owned.
Owned by these people using this game he loved for some political agenda… And if he believed it, as Trumper seemed to believe, what he was being used for maybe he could live with it?
And he used to, used to believe he was for some greater purpose but now he didn’t.
couldn’t.
wouldn’t.
it seemed so… distant now,
Now when it should seem he was closer than ever before to what he had always wanted…
It didn’t seem, it was.
He was so close to what he’d always wanted and yet…
Yet here he was, pacing around the room and pulling at his hair because he felt this fear and anger and…-
Well, he didn’t, he was terrified the door was about to open and he’d be gunned down by people who he once trusted so, who seemed so kind, seemed like friends.
Loving and kind people, he was unfortunately drawn to loving and kind people, or those who seemed to be.
That’s how he ended up stuck with Svetlana.
He just… wanted to want to be here.
He had the girl and the fame and the talent and the acclaim and the fortune and the career he’d always wanted, playing the game he loved, yet he fel- he knew there was no point.
And what would happen when it all ended?
Where would he be?
Back in that home in that bed with that girl he didn’t deserve?
Back to some mediocrity?
And he’d had his fun, the crazy wheel spinning out of control dizzied in an intoxicating way, it was good fun and but being dizzied by the lights and speed made him blind for so long, too long.
And he shouldn’t even be thinking this, feeling this, he should push it down and away once again.
Be that perfect Soviet machine he’d promised himself to be.
Conceal who he was, conceal what he felt be it love or otherwise because it made him a good player, if not a selfish one, but that a good chess player made.
He was really exceptional, he was brilliant and succinct, a little traditional but what was the harm in that especially when most other players nowadays weren’t?
…the other player, his opponent was… lively, all smile and sarcasm and he thought he almost envied it.
Trumper surely enjoyed being at the top of the heep, he seemed to revel in the attention and lights and even how the media goaded him.
It was… impressive.
He was good. Anatoly just knew he was better,
…normally,
He’d be better once he got these feelings out of the way, pushed them down and out of the way and convincing himself that he wasn’t fearing for his life, no, he was just…
Nervous.
He was fine, he would be fine, he would play the game and he’d win and it would all be fine,
He was just nervous…
That wasn’t all but he could sure pretend it was.
Trumper wasn’t nervous, didn’t seem to be anyways, Seemed overly arrogant if anything.
He was a good player, not a machine but someone people looked up to as a hero, and, yes, Anatoly was looked up to but not in the same way, he wasn’t a hero.
Trumper was smart and funny and handsome and if Anatoly and the slightest crush on the American who was to blame him?
It wasn’t like he’d act on it. Even if he heard the rumors about Trumper and his relationships with men and even if the rumors excited him he wouldn’t act on it. shouldn’t act on it. Molkovov barely tolerated his affairs with other men but he surely wouldn’t tolerate one with America’s golden boy…
…That’s part of that made the idea so tempting.
The thrill, the fear, being unaware if his heart was racing because of one or the other, and the thought of the match the next morning where they’d pretend like nothing had happened and maybe Molkov wouldn’t even know?…
No, he would, he always did.
“For gods sake Anatoly use your head…!” he muttered to himself.
But that made it all the more appealing, didn’t it? He really shouldn’t and he knew that but he wanted to and just might…
Maybe…
It was a really bad idea but…
He’s convinced Molkov to let him go out after the first match, some lie about needing a moment after Trump's outburst, they both knew it was a lie.
Viigand was his escort tonight, Viigand was the only one keeping watch of him tonight and that was by design.
You see, Molokov has realized long ago that he played better when he had an outlet to de-stress, said outlet being sex.
Lots and lots of sex, sex with anyone and everyone who peaked his interests, and it came naturally to him. Flirting and kissing and touching and loving for a night because it felt good to have that control.
Molokov used to supervise him when he was younger but when his taste started to lean more… male. Anatoly had his suspicions as to why he stopped supervising him but he did and, frankly, it was more fun this way because Viigand had no clue of the unspoken arrangement of ‘let Anatoly have sex with someone’
At this moment he was sat at the bar, having ditched Viigand easily tonight.
Something else was easy tonight, the decision of who to fuck; Frederick Trumper caught his eye from across the bar, hair just long enough to be falling over his shoulders, just in a t shirt -his leather jacket draped over the back of the chair- his elbow on the bar holding up his glass and making his arm muscles flex, catching the light flawlessly, sunglasses concealing his eyes and if he was looking at him out the corner of his eyes too.
And yes, he was his competition, and yes he was American but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fucked the completion, not for any ulterior motive like Molokov had suggested but, just because brains were as attractive as beauty in Anatoly’s eyes
And yes, this was a god awful idea, dangerous and an unnecessary risk to be taking but… he wanted to, liked to.
All in all he was alluring, so when the women between them got up he slid over to be next to the American, casting him a smile “hello”
“Hi…” he saw Trumpers brow furrow.
“Curious to see you here, don’t we have a match in the morning?” He lifted his tone slightly.
“I was definitely here first” was all he said in response.
“You were? Are you sure? I’m sure I would have noticed you” he wouldn’t normally be so bold but he’d heard rumors about Trumper, paired with Florence’s reaction when she accused him of being queer he was inclined to believe they were true.
“Are- you’re unremarkable. I wouldn’t have noticed if you were” he shrugged, taking another drink and Anatoly would be lying if he said he didn’t watch the way he swallowed but the man maybe wasn’t looking at him staring.
“I suppose you can’t relate. I’m sure heads turned when you walked in, I know mine would’ve” he smiled softly, turning his body to look at him.
“Sergievsky…-“ he started to speak more but clamped his mouth shut.
It was worth noting he was somewhat drunk “I like how you say that, Sergievsky, so assured” he did not, he said it in such an American way but at the same time he did. He was doing an awful job at being subtle now but he also didn’t care because Trumper pulled his glasses off, letting those bright eyes capture all his attention.
“Anatoly-“
He cut the American off “oh, that’s even better”
“You’re drunk…” he sighed, lightly blushed, turning to look at him fully.
“So are you”
“Yes, I am, but you’re drunk is…-“ he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, leaning in “-very flirty”
“Does that bother you?” He asked genuinely and Trumper flushed ever so slightly more at that.
“…I’m going to have a smoke at my hotel, I’m walking there” he leaned back up, placed cash on the bar and stood. walking out, casting a glance over his shoulder as he threw on his coat just before the door closed behind him.
And Anatoly sucked in a breath, downed the rest of his drink and followed after maybe five minutes, it didn’t take long to catch up for Freddie.
“Hello again” he said as he caught up to the American.
“Hey” and shock of all shocks Trumper was actually smoking as he walked.
“I ditched my escort for you” he didn’t really try to sound sorry.
Trumper looked at him then back ahead then back at him out the corner of his eyes before asking “want a smoke?” It was so endearing the way he asked, alcohol seemed to make him quiet.
“Could we share?” Anatoly asked in turn and Freddie simply offered him the one between his fingers without a word though the slightest of smiles might’ve crossed his lips.
They walked in silence back to the Americans hotel, passing the cigarette between them until they got there, they went through the back entrance and up the stairs to Trumpers room.
It was nice, a little above the standard he was sure, warmer than needed but nice.
“Florence’s room connects so keep your voice down some, she wakes up a lot in the night” he said before Anatoly could say anything.
“May I sit?” He asked a little above a whisper.
“Sure… did you actually notice me from across the bar?” The American asked as Anatoly made his seat at the foot of the bed, kicking his shoes off out of habit.
“Of course I did, you have this… particular beauty like that of a marble statue” it was true, it was one of his first thoughts when he saw the American, that he looked like a Greek god, like an Achilles or an Orpheus he had seen in some book long ago.
“A marble statue?…” he took his own shoes off and sat them neatly at the door.
“Mhm… I liked art and you look like it” Anatoly let his eyes roam the Americans body shamelessly.
“You… You like me?” Freddie asked as he walked a little closer, he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to.
“What’s there not to like?”
“I’m a hot head and an asshole and a lot of other stuff people don’t like” he shrugged, tone flat, though a bit of sadness crossed his face.
“Yes but-“ he grabbed his waist and pulled him close, eliciting a light gasp “-a beauty like this is… so admirable” he whispered, feeling his own face flush as he looked up into those fiery eyes.
“Can I- can I kiss you?” The American whispered in kind.
“I beg you do” and just like that Trumpers lips were on his, tasting of scotch and cigarettes and oh so nice, as it was brief.
Trumper took off his coat and threw it aside before sitting next to him “trust me you don’t want to hear that squeaking” he laughed softly.
He bit back a comment about the bed and/or his voice squeaking that simply wasn’t necessary and simply nodded before cupping the Americans face and kissing him again, they fit well together as Anatoly pulled him so close he was practically in his lap, placing his free hand on the Americans chest, Trumper wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss with such passion that lit a fire in him.
They pulled away for just a second because they had to breathe but how he didn’t want to, how he longed to capture those lips again, lips now red and face flushed, eyes brighter than he thought was possible.
“You really are so beautiful" he managed to get out.
Freddie averted his eyes, breaking his heart “you’re not too bad yourself…”
“You’re probably blushing up to your ears now” he tried to ignore the growing tension.
“I’m probably blushing all over” he huffed a laugh, pushing his ruffled hair back.
At that very attractive display he pulled Freddie into another kiss, leaning into and over him as they did, he laced his hands into the Americans hair, feeling how soft it was, Trumper had his hands securely on his arm and bed.
And Anatoly, in his lust and alcohol induced haze, did what he always did when he got to this point, reach for his lovers waistband but tonight it did not go as it had before: Freddie pushing him away softly but frantically exclaiming “wait- wait- stop!”
Anatoly immediately sat himself back on his heels and put his hands up “what’s wrong? Are you ok?” He asked with genuine concern: cycling in his mind through anything he could’ve done wrong.
“I- yes I just… I just need you to stop or to- to wait…” that was evidently a lie, he seemed scared….? No, not that but something close.
“Freddie, what’s wrong?” He repeated.
“I just…-“ he saw tears well in those beautiful eyes “-I just… want to stop, I don’t- I don’t want to… have sex with you” his voice got softer and softer as he spoke, shrinking into himself slightly.
“…oh…?-“ he’d never heard that before, not when they’d gotten this far, “-Then why did you invite me here?"
“To make out…? To- to- I don’t know, I don’t know…! I’m stupid…” he curled his fist in the sheets, no longer looking at Anatoly.
“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Have you changed your mind? It’s ok if so” he tried to assure despite his confusion, it was ok, just shocking.
“No i- I never intended to have sex with you…” his voice was still low, shaky.
“Is this some kind of… power play then? Trying to throw me off my game? If so you should know that doesn’t work on me” that wasn’t exactly true but he sounded sure enough.
“No! No, I just… I don't want to!” He snapped his eyes back to Anatoly. Shame, that was it, Not fear.
“…you invited me here just to kiss…?” Who did that?
“Yes I- I like you and want to kiss you” despite his frantic speaking he sounded sure, was sure.
“You do understand that most people have certain expectations when invited back to a hotel room?” Anatoly asked slowly.
“I do it just- it just slipped my mind and I don’t know why! I don’t normally let it!” Tears fell as he laughed, hysterical in a way far too reminiscent of himself not too long ago.
“Freddie… I’m sorry” he didn’t know what for.
“No, I’m sorry I shouldn’tve- I- I don’t- I-“ he was gasping as he continued to sob.
And Anatoly didn’t know what came over him when he pulled the other man into a hug, rubbing his back and lacing his fingers back into his hair as the man sobbed, limp in his arms. “It’s ok...” he managed to whisper, he wasn’t any good at this stuff.
“I- I’m sorry- I hate that I- I made you think that I-… I should’ve known better I just-! I assumed I-“ he choked out between gasp, trying to force his body to not be so weak.
“Assumed?” He dared ask.
“Assumed you knew” Freddie whimpered in reply.
“Knew about what?” He tried to be comforting, he tried to sound soft, as he ran his hands through the Americans hair with ease.
“You were flirting with me, I assumed you knew I liked men and I assumed you knew I didn’t… like men, anyone” his voice sounded raw, his breath steadied somewhat though it was clear it took effort to get the words out.
“I didn’t know you don’t like sex, I frankly didn’t know that was an option” It sounded so foreign to him, it had been so instrumental to his little bits of freedom…
“I…-“ he pulled and looked away, wiping his eyes “-it’s not awful, it's just- I’ve heard enough talk and tried enough to know that I’m just… uninterested… just destined to have something wrong with me, I guess” he huffed a humorless laugh.
Anatoly was taken aback by that “wrong with you?”
“I’m crazy, I’m an asshole, I’m a queer and I… am missing some thing that makes sex good and… and I’m talking too much because I’m drunk” he sighed and placed his head in his hands.
He huffed a laugh and placed a hand on the Americans shoulder “I’m all of those things but one”
And Freddie looked up at him through his fingers, brows furrowed “the not liking sex one?”
He rolled his eyes playfully “yes, the not liking sex one”
“But you liked kissing me, right? Before I freaked out” he sat up fully again.
“You’re really desperate for validation for a man who doesn’t like sex, it’s a great way to get it… with me anyways” he wasn’t good at turning his flirting off, however, he was about to correct himself when Freddie spoke again.
“Oh?-“ he moved to his knees and leaned to whisper into Anatoly’s ear “-you down to prove it? Like you said I’m desperate for validation” He put on a seductive tone.
And Anatoly felt his face go hot as he pushed Freddie away without any real force “see, I’m already obsessed and you aren't helping!-“ Freddie laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. “-It’s not funny! How does a man not interested in sex do that?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“Flirting is easy, it just requires charm which I have a surplus of plus it’s gotten me out of some of my more… animated outburst without so much as a slap on the wrist” he beamed, so proud of himself, so dazzling.
And something occurred to him “…can I still say you’re beautiful?"
Freddie stopped laughing immediately, eyes going wide “y-yes I like it when you do I just…”
“Don’t want to have sex, yes, I’ve got it” he teased.
“I like you!” He exclaimed.
“I like you too!” Anatoly returned, serious even if he was teasing a little.
“Kissing you is very nice, and you’re handsome and I… I like when you touch me and hold me… I like you” Freddie’s tone got softer, he looked away again though.
He thought for a moment, mulling over the words just said to him and said himself, he should’ve been offended, shouldn’t he? But he wasn’t. It felt ridiculous to be so, he just wanted to be here, be with Freddie for the sake of… well, he wasn’t sure but he still said “do you want me to leave?”
Freddie got an actual scared look “what?”
He blinked “I should rephrase, do you want me to stay?” He offered softly.
“Stay…? With me?” Freddie blinked.
“Who else?” He shrugged.
“Like… sleep in my bed with me?” He sounded… hopeful?…?
“If you want, yes” he nodded.
Freddie seemed to mull it over in his mind for a few minutes silently “…can you.. hold me?”
“Yes, I would like that” he said quickly before the American could backtrack.
Freddie laid himself onto the bed casually, pulling the blanket on his side out from under them, Anatoly followed suit and the second he was under the blanket with the American he pulled him close, resting his head on his chest, Anatoly wrapped his arms around him and kissed his head, it felt right.
“Your heartbeat is nice, slow” Freddie already sounded exhausted.
“Your hair is nice, soft” Anatoly said as he ran his fingers through it.
“My hair’s important to me…” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep already.
“It’s beautiful" and Freddie moved his face into his chest, concealing his face but also bringing him closer, nothing you’d expect from Frederick Trumper.
Anatoly settled in, comfortable to have the American in his arms for the night… Though the thought of it only being for the night caused a pain in his chest, he… he liked the American, he didn’t know why but he did and he didn’t want to leave him and maybe that was the booze talking or maybe, just maybe, it was his heart.
He took a deep breathe, the first one in a long time that felt like it actually filled his lungs, he felt like he could breathe here and now as he laid in this bed with this man, this man he knew was a bad idea to be with,
This man who he knew was his opponent,
Knew was American,
Knew was not a good person, he knew Freddie was a hothead and unreasonable and… well, a lot to be around but he felt like he could breathe again for the first time in a long time, because of Freddie.
He tried to banish that thought as he noticed Freddie was sleeping but he couldn’t, because he looked so fragile, so sweet, eyes still red from his tears but sleeping, sleeping soundly so Anatoly simply said, barely above a whisper “I love you…” and that blinding, dizzying light dull to a pleasant glow, low but still there, pleasant and making a content feeling bloom in his chest…
He wasn’t good at loving for a night anymore, he couldn’t love for a night anymore.
The end.