Chazz was seven when he first realized he was destined to be the Lone Wolf. He ran in to his house, sweaty and excitable from playing basketball with the neighborhood kids (there was only one net at the end of an abandoned grocery store parking lot, but it was good enough for them.)
"Dad!" he mock-whispered through the kitchen door, careful not to wake his mother. "John wanted to know if--"
"Ask you mother, Charlie, I ain't got time."
"It's 'Chazz,'" he muttered, not loud enough to be heard.
Chazz was used to this sort of gruff response, but he was always the resilient type. Besides, his dad didn't look very busy. He was only putting a cigarette out on an imperfection in the kitchen's window and watching the ashes flutter down from it. He glanced back at his mother before turning back to his dad.
"But she's asleep."
"It's just the gin. Smack her; she'll wake up."
Chazz frowned, but walked back into the family room to lean over his mother's armchair. For a moment, he only stared, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically, and then he simply turned and left the house without another word.
When he came home two days later and neither of his parents bothered to ask where he'd been, he started making his outings more regular, until the streets felt more like home than his house did.
~ ~ ~
When he was nine, Chazz learned to hate women. Well, perhaps hate was not the right word.
She was thirty-five and made of breasts and blonde hair and tight skirts. When he met her, Chazz was still impressed to find that sewer skating had it's own little band of groupies, and this one was here for one of the older boys when Chazz annihilated him in a race.
It was all downhill from there - sex and booze and begging for more of both, loving it while hating himself at the same time. Chazz learned from her that women didn't need respect as long as you gave them what they wanted, and apparently what they wanted was a long hard screw from The Chazz.
No, Chazz loved the ladies, so hate was not the right word. But he loved them for they way they clenched around his cock and moaned his name.
And maybe he loved them a little for the way a warm embrace from a woman felt after having "grown up" not knowing that at all.
Still, Chazz never blamed his mother. He was always the hardest on himself.
~ ~ ~
It was the seventeenth, or maybe the twentieth - or was that the twenty-seventh? - woman Chazz bedded that suggested figure skating to him when he was twenty. It was a little late to get into the sport, she thought, as most figure skaters started younger. Hell, there were figure skaters that were already retired at Chazz's age.
Regardless, for some reason Chazz couldn't put it out of his head. Figure skating was gay, sure, but there was a lot of money to be made in it. He knew he was good enough for the endorsements, and maybe even the gold.
That sounded pretty nice. Another trophy. Another prize. More groupies to adore him. His childhood seemed to have made all these desires absolutely insatiable, though Chazz didn't realize this until much later in life. For now, it was all about glory. His glory, which he deserved, damn it!
~ ~ ~
"Hey, baby, how about you come by my place after--"
The other skater turned to face him and the first thing Chazz noticed was the absence of breasts. That was disconcerting. His eyes snapped up to a pair of wide, pale blue eyes framed by feathery blonde hair. The blonde didn't seem offended for just having been mistaken as a chick. Instead he seemed... interested? Or was that confused? Chazz was really bad at reading people's expressions, as he so rarely looked at most people closely anyway. They were all just speed bumps on his road to success - his journey to have all that he ever wanted in his life.
A severe faced man dragged the blonde, this Jimmy, away, muttering something about germs and miscreants. When Chazz looked away from him, he found another man glaring at him, this one dressed in a track suit and wearing a head band.
"Listen, Michaels, you back off. That boy did nothing--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who are you, old man?"
"C'mon, Robert, let's go," a much shorter, bald, black man who was standing behind the older man said softly, gripping this Robert's arm.
Chazz grinned and looked at Robert. "That your girlfriend?" he looked back at the other man, and could only blink in shock when the shorter man blew a kiss at him in mocking and pulled Robert (who clearly had no intention to leave on his own) away.
~ ~ ~
This wasn't normal. Not normal at all. Jimmy skated closer and took Chazz's hand and there was another distinct stirring in Chazz's groin. It wasn't the first time either. He really didn't know how to react to this at all.
This wasn't some redhead with a big rack. This was a dude. A dude he didn't even like!
Jimmy looked at him with eyes more trusting than he had even seen. Sure, they were narrowed in mistrust, but it was still something Chazz could feel was truly honest - Jimmy may not really trust him yet, but he felt more trusted than he ever had by the brutal honesty he was affronted with in those eyes. It was almost as if Jimmy didn't know how to lie.
He glared, forcing down his body's unusual reaction, still unsure how he was supposed to deal with this. In the end, he responded the only way he knew how when faced with something he didn't understand, with aggression.
He twisted Jimmy's wrist. "You know what, dude, your hand has to go on top."
"No way, the girl's goes on top!"
"Right. Ergo, chick."
When Jimmy eventually pulled away in irritation, Chazz was just glad to have put some distance between them.
~ ~ ~
All this time he had spent searching, his whole life, and now Chazz was faced with the knowledge that he had never really had any idea what he'd been searching for in the first place. He had had it all wrong.
Jimmy propped Chazz's leg up on a pillow, fluffing it lightly around his partner's cast, and turned back to the TV.
It had taken Chazz this long - even through training, getting his tattoo, and winning the gold... again - to realize that what he had needed to fill the void he felt in his life was not another pair of breasts or even another trophy. What he needed sat primly on the other end of the couch, wearing lime green pajamas and eating skittles while watching Little House on the Prairie. It was trust and friendship and nurturing, though Chazz would never say that out loud. He wasn't the type to spew rainbow-colored nonsense like his pretty lady over there.
"Yeah," Jimmy said, still chewing.
"Can I have one of those?"
Jimmy held out the bag, still watching the TV, and didn't pull his eyes from the set until Chazz gripped his wrist instead of the bag and pulled him across the couch until he was sprawled on top of Chazz.
"Your ankle--! What are you doing?!"
Jimmy's eyes were wide and his lips were parted softly. Chazz would have bet the gold that he had no idea how inviting that looked.
"I have no idea, but I'm gonna do it anyway."
When their mouths met and lips parted, Jimmy melted on top of him like butter, and Chazz knew this was one impulsive decision he wouldn't regret later.