I.

The sun is bright and hot streaming into the narrow room, and I have to blink rapidly from time to time just to fight its narcotic effects. The interview's dragged on for a painful twenty minutes and the sharp, bespectacled journalist droning on across from me shows no signs of winding down. God, I hate interviews.

I snap back to the present and realize that the man has stopped talking and is now staring at me expectantly. Shit, what did he say...? I open my mouth to spout some random bullshit when I'm interrupted by a high, piercing ring. Saved by the cell phone, thank fucking god.

"Hello?"

"Terveh, kallis."

My heart leaps into my throat and for a moment the world around me disappears. "Teemulanne?"

The reporter lifts an eyebrow at the pet name, and I grin good-naturedly. See how confident I am in my sexuality? that grin says. We can joke around like this with each other, pretend to be gay. Yeah, right.

"Hey, kid. What are you up to?"

"Interview," I respond flippantly, not even trying to keep the boredom from my voice. He chuckles, and I can hear the smile in his words.

"That's the problem with being a young hot-shot captain; everyone wants to talk to you," he teases, making me grin. "Well, in that case, I won't keep you."

"No!" I shout before I can stop myself. The reporter blinks his surprise at me and I can feel a warm blush creeping up my neck. "I mean, it's okay. We were just finishing." I shoot the journalist a meaningful look and he discreetly shows himself out. Now he's probably going to tell the world that in addition to being gay, Paul Kariya's a self-important asshole. Guess how much I care?

"He's gone," I assure my teammate, curling up in the chair with the cell phone pressed to my ear. "How are you, koibito?"

"I'm...okay," he replies slowly. He lapses back into silence long enough that I feel compelled to break it.

"Tee--"

"Paul--"

We both laugh, and I encourage him to continue. He hesitates again, and when he finally speaks his usually smooth voice is shaky. "Paul, I've been traded."

***

I remember the first practice he attended, two days after being traded from Winnipeg. It was my second year with the Ducks and I was having a pretty spectacular sophomore season. I was only twenty and already the star of the team; just young enough and cocky enough to think I was near the best in the league. And then I saw him play, and I knew what real greatness was.

He moved like there was air under his skates instead of ice. He out-maneuvered defensemen so effortlessly they were left dizzy. He caught hard passes from the blue line and one-timed them to the net with a mere flick of his wrist, over the goalie's shoulder, between the legs, always just out of reach. He didn't do checks, he just pumped those powerful legs and slipped away, leaving the opposition to run themselves into the boards. He moved like he was the only one on the ice, the only one in the arena; like he expected to win, and did so by refusing not to.

It may not have been love at first sight, but it was definitely love at first game.

***

"Paul? You are still there?"

"Yeah, koibito, I'm here. I just..." I trailed off, and this time we dwelled in the silence. I could hear the gentle rhythm of his breathing coming across the line, even and familiar but so far away. So far away, and soon he'd be even farther.

***

I remember the first time I met him. A cocky young sophomore and the seasoned star who had been there and done it better. I expected him to be arrogant. I expected him to be indifferent. I didn't expect him to be cute and funny and have an accent that made my knees weak.

"Terveh, I am Teemu Selanne," he pronounced easily, reaching out one callused hand and flashing me a blinding smile.

"H-hi. Kariya. I'm Paul Kariya." I stretched my hand out nervously towards him and he captured it firmly in his own.

"Hauska tavata sinua, Paul," he rolled off smoothly, leaving me staring blankly. After a moment he seemed to realize what he had done and laughed. "Ah, excuse me, I spend too much time on phone to my family in Finland, I think. It is pleasure to meet you, Paul."

"I'm pleased to meet you too." Oh, you have no idea. "You've gotten quite a reputation in only three seasons." There, that sounded smooth; I'm not acting like a complete idiot.

"Oh, yes, well, kiitos, thank you." He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, uncomfortable with the praise. "You too have big reputation, in only one season. I am excited that soon we play...I am excited that soon we will play on same line." He blushed a little, obviously self-conscious about his slightly stilted grammar. Quite frankly, I found it sexy as hell; but then again, I was a love-sick 20 year old kid.

Oh yeah, you heard it right, love-sick. As if fighting to prove I was one of the best in the National League wasn't stress enough.

"Tomorrow night," I added brightly, sounding just a tad too eager. "You, me and Ruchin-- we'll see what kind of line we can make."

He smiled. I smiled. He grinned. I became aware of the fact that throughout the entire conversation we'd been unwittingly holding hands. Guess we never broke the handshake. I sure as hell wasn't the first to pull away.

II.

"Where are you going?" My voice breaks a little on the last word and I cough to cover it up. My heart's beating so fast I'm surprised it hasn't leapt from my chest yet.

"San Jose," he mumbles, and I feel a quick rush of relief. "San Jose's close. Hell, I didn't think we'd be in the same state."

"It's nine hours," he murmurs, and I can tell by the slight scratch in his voice that he's been crying. "Two by plane, but there will be games and practices. And even when I have a day off, Sirpa--" His voice trembles and he stops, taking a breath. "Sirpa will expect me to come home to see the boys." Our relationship wasn't any secret from his wife; as long as she lived the lifestyle of a rich hockey wife and the media didn't find out, she didn't care. But she pressed Teemu to spend every free second with their children, and she wasn't very pleased when her husband left home to spend time with his male lover. She tolerated our relationship because it made him happy, but she made no effort to conceal the fact that she hated me. Needless to say, we spent the majority of our time together at my apartment.

"It could have been Chicago," I murmur, trying to sound reassuring. "It could have been Montreal. San Jose is close. We can do this." I falter. "If--that is, if you still want to..."

"If I--" He stops, and my heart stops with him. "If I still want to?" His voice rises slightly and there's a note of incredulity to his words. "Paul, I love you."

***

I remember the first time we kissed. We'd just suffered a crushing defeat to New Jersey, and I couldn't help but feel that it was all my fault. I was supposed to be the star forward, one half of the dynamic duo, as they were calling us; together, we were supposed to be unstoppable. And we'd failed. We'd...we'd fucking failed.

I was sitting alone in the locker room, long after the rest of the team had left, just sulking and feeling sorry for myself. I heard the door creak and looked up to see him poke his head into the room, concern heavy in his expressive brown eyes. I sighed and dropped my head back into my hands, assuming that if I ignored him he'd go away. Instead I heard footsteps and the rustle of fabric as he crossed the locker room and sat beside me, so close our knees and shoulders touched, so close I couldn't untangle the pattern of his heartbeat from my own.

"It's late," he murmured, tone careful and testing. "All the others go home. You should go home too, Paul, sleep." I remember liking the way he said my name, the way he sort of swallowed the vowels and made it sound exotic.

"Why? So I can get up tomorrow and practice and lose another fucking game?" I laughed bitterly, clenching my hands in my short, dark hair.

"Is not all your fault, Paul," he scolded, heaving a sigh. "We are team, I am supposed to help you. I not score enough, we not stop enough goals...we fail as a team, Paulie."

I laughed despite myself. "No one's called me that since I was ten," I said, to which he only grinned.

"So young, sometimes I think you are still ten," he teased, reaching over to ruffle my hair. I rolled my eyes, laughing, and pushed at him playfully.

"I’m only five years younger than you!" I protested in mock-anger. He just chuckled and shook his head.

"Tch, all of 23. You are still little boy to me."

"I am not!" I protested, pretending to be insulted. "I may be a sophomore, but I'm grown man." And then, for absolutely no reason at all, I kissed him.

I'd like to blame it on my depression from losing the game, or the playful atmosphere we'd shared, but really, I just wanted to kiss him. I felt him go still with shock at first, then gradually relax against me as his surprise wore off. After a moment I pulled away, leveling him with a serious look. "Still think I'm just a little boy?" I asked, throat tight with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Either he was going to kiss me back, or I was about to get my head kicked in.

He gazed at me blankly for a few moments, as if he didn't know what to say; then he snaked a hand around the back of my head and pulled me forward into a slow, searing kiss. I was suddenly glad we were sitting down, because I'm pretty sure my knees would have buckled. I guess I had my answer.

III.

"Paul?" His voice, quiet with worry. "Are you there?"

"Y--yeah," I manage, blinking myself back to reality. "I'm here."

"Did you hear what I said?" he asks softly, and then continues before I can answer. "Rakastan sua," he murmurs in Finnish, his voice a warm purr as the liquid syllables roll from his tongue. "I love you in any language. I *love* you. You believe me?"

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths before I speak, floored by the emotion in those few words. "Yes," I reply shakily, my heart hammering. "I love you too, koibito. Only you. We'll make this work, yes?"

"Yes," he affirms, and I feel a little of my misery ease.

***

I remember the first time we made love. We'd been dating for a few weeks following the locker room kiss; semi-secretly in the sense that everyone on the team knew what was going on, but no one ever talked about it. The season had picked up and we were looking like a playoff team again. That night we'd pummeled Detroit 5-1 and the energy in the locker room was palpable. I couldn't keep track of how many people had congratulated me on what ended up being the game-winning goal, and watching him from the corner of my eyes I could see Selanne receiving equal praise. He deserved it; his textbook-perfect pass from the neutral zone had set up the entire play. As he and Rucchin talked and laughed he turned to look at me, and I felt a spark jump between us as our eyes met. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get out of there.

"I'm uh, gonna head home," I muttered absently to the remaining guys, suppressing a grin as I heard Teemu make the same explanations. I threw my gear into my locker and grabbed my sports bag, making a concerted effort not to run from the locker room. I don't think anyone was fooled.

I threw my stuff into the back of my SUV and had just closed the door when I felt someone pin me roughly against the car. Hard teeth assaulted the back of my neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive flesh, then sucking apologetically when I whimpered in pain. Arms slid around my waist, hands creeping under my shirt, stroking my stomach; one manicured hand (I'd always told him his hands were too soft for a hockey player) slipped beneath the waistband of my jeans and I groaned, grabbing onto the back of the car as my head spun and my knees went weak.

"Want you," he whispered heatedly into my ear, tongue lapping hungrily at the pulse in my throat. "Want you *here*, *now*..." I gasped and closed my eyes, in agony with lust. Concentrated on breathing, which I'd neglected for some moments, trying to clear my mind from the cloudy haze of *him*.

"Not...in the parking...lot," I panted, whimpering helplessly as his hands slid up my chest. If I didn't stop this soon I wouldn't be able to. Taking a deep breath, I clenched my teeth and pushed him gently away, taking a step back for good measure. He didn't pursue me, just stood there staring with lust-clouded eyes like a man lost at sea who has just spotted land. I closed my eyes and turned away, fumbling for my keys, scratching the door three times before I finally managed to shove it into the lock. I flung myself into the driver's seat and watched him slide into the car as I gunned the engine, hands shaking with constrained energy. I really don't know how we made it to my apartment, I just remember running up the steps, kicking the door in when it stuck like it always did. And then him.

Him, all around me, everywhere at once; hands in my hair, mouth crushed to mine, pushing me stumbling into my bedroom where we collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs. Him, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he pulled off my shirt, him nipping at my collarbone as he unbuckled my pants. I couldn't think past the sound of my own heart pounding in my head, hands frantically working to remove his clothing, breaking the zipper on his pants when it refused to lower. And then, oh god, his skin on my skin; better than winning the Calder, better than my first goal, better than anything I had ever experienced before. Warm and soft and strong and *everywhere*. He pressed our mouths together hungrily as his hands slipped below my waist and I sobbed into the kiss. "God, god I need you, please, need *something*..." I babbled mindlessly, dizzy with want.

"Shh, okay, okay," he soothed, hand stroking my inner thigh. "I don't want to hurt--"

I gritted my teeth in frustration and grabbed his hips, pulling them down to mine as I ground against him. "I'm a fucking hockey player," I growled, grinning in sharp satisfaction as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. "I think I can take a little pain."

It hurt, fuck, it hurt, more than I expected, but it was worth it to see his jaw clench in ecstasy. Worth it to feel like a part of him, connected on levels I had never known existed. Worth it when the pain started to fade and it began to feel good, and then better than good, like a live current running through every nerve in my body. Higher, higher, until I thought I would *die*, and then sharp sweet release. My name never sounded sweeter than when he moaned it into my ear. Afterwards we lay sprawled on my bed on the brink of sleep, pleasantly exhausted, me curled up next to him and one of his arms around my waist. Protective. Loving. Safe.

Whole.