Breakfall (11 page)

Sean snaked his leg across as he positioned himself over Asbjorn, careful to straddle him above the waist. He supported himself on his arms, sparing Asbjorn’s broken rib. He let his head droop low, barely reaching the tear-stained skin, and bestowed a series of touches on the chiseled cheekbones with his cool, soft lips.

“Sean.” Asbjorn’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

Suddenly uncertain, Sean barely smiled, brushing his lips against Asbjorn’s. “I… I don’t know.”

Asbjorn let out a sigh. “I
am
supposed to be crying. Nell-sensei requested it.”

Sean saw Asbjorn’s right eye open, the split skin above the eyebrow looking a lot angrier than even hours ago. “Yeah? How come?”

“Beats fighting.” Asbjorn’s tone grew exasperated. “I can’t cry when you’re over me like this, sunshine. Do you realize how difficult it was to get started to begin with?”

Sean met his impatient blue gaze with incredulity. “Do you mean to tell me you forced yourself to cry just to get it over with?”

“Not forced… it was more like a weird meditation exercise.”

Sean smiled. “Well, since you’re obviously a bit outside your comfort zone, I suggest you try it again some other time. Too much of a good thing, you know.”

Asbjorn stirred under Sean’s hips. “Sean. Why do you think kissing me does
not
push me further outside my comfort zone?”

Sean planted his palms by Asbjorn’s ears and looked down at him, his gaze serious. “I am not gay either. I just… I want to make you feel better.”

Asbjorn squinted up with his one good eye. He reached with a tentative hand to touch Sean’s hair. It was wild and unkempt, sticking up every which way.

Sean could not tear his eyes away from Asbjorn’s expression: it was curious, full of wonder. Sean saw Asbjorn’s cheekbones flush with warmth where he touched him, and his lips smiled with a promise of more to come.

“Sean.” The name rolled off Asbjorn’s tongue, sweet and sensuous as he ghosted his hands up the toned arms above him, his light fingers stroking the shoulders and neck, tangling in the overgrown shag.

He pulled Sean’s head toward his. “Wanna try again?”

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t. I don’t.

Sean stared at the man below him, his mind spinning, trying to find the least awkward way out of his rather awkward position. Just as he was about to mumble an excuse and slide off Asbjorn entirely, he felt those large, warm hands slide back down his arms. His knuckles were still red and swollen from the fight with Don, and Sean noted the way Asbjorn favored the area. Then came the thrill of feeling the long, sensitive fingers. A caress on his neck. Fingers plunging into his hair again, twining through.

With great deliberation, Sean allowed Asbjorn to pull him down. Their lips met once again, and Sean was more certain of their mission this time. Soft and warm and generous, they explored the sensitive surfaces until Asbjorn’s tongue flickered out to taste the corner of Sean’s mouth.

This was new. They both stopped and drew away, evaluating. Their eyes met.

“Still okay?”

“Mmmm,” Sean said as he lowered back to Asbjorn’s mouth.

Their tongues touched briefly this time, and Sean’s eyes shut under the assault of the amazing, pleasurable sensation. He dipped down and tilted his head, running his tongue along Asbjorn’s lip. A moan escaped Asbjorn. Sean suddenly wanted to be on top of Asbjorn, melting inside him—

Inside him.

Asbjorn returned Sean’s kiss with enthusiasm. Sean felt his warm, slick tongue explore him—the soft sensation, the new taste. He craved more contact, and as Asbjorn pulled him down, Sean melted in his arms and collapsed on his chest.

“Owww…,” Asbjorn groaned under him, gasping.

“Ahhh! Ow!” Sean sat upright suddenly, putting his hand to his mouth. “You bit me!”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. Just… my fucking rib.”

Sean widened his eyes in alarm. “I apologize. My fault. I forgot.” He slid his hips off Asbjorn and settled next to him. He ran his hand through Asbjorn’s hair, trying to make him forget the pain for just a little bit. “I’ll take my shower and then I’ll make us some breakfast,” Sean said, his voice uncertain with embarrassment. “If I stay in bed, I’ll do you more harm than good.”

The process of making Asbjorn feel better came with unintended consequences. The erection that was exciting only moments ago was suddenly inconvenient, and showed no signs of abating under the streams of cold water. Resigned to his fate, he turned the water back to warm and resolved to just get it over with. The memory of Asbjorn’s sensuous lips warred with his inner confusion. He was pretty sure he knew what this meant. He just didn’t know why or how he would deal with it all.

A
SBJORN
EMERGED
from the shower to the aroma of coffee, eggs, and toasted bread. He dried off with painful slowness. Then he pulled on his blue terry robe and slid his feet into sheepskin slippers.

Sean was already dressed in jeans and a burgundy thermal Henley shirt, his sock-clad feet sliding as he set breakfast on the table.

“Not much, I’m afraid. I’ll make something nicer tomorrow.”

Asbjorn took a seat and surveyed the table set before him. “You didn’t have to, you know. There is always cereal.”

Sean gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t know how you can eat that sugary stuff you buy. My mother used to bake Irish soda bread on Saturdays.” His voice sounded wistful.

“Oh yeah?” Asbjorn asked, curious. “Did you ever try to make soda bread?”

“No… too complicated.” Sean sat across the table from Asbjorn. “Did you grow up with any special foods? Like Danishes?”

Asbjorn’s laughter was kind, almost infectious. “Danishes don’t come from Denmark, you moron.” He stirred his coffee, thinking a bit. “Besides, I left Denmark when I was only nine. When we came here, I discovered the delight of sugary cereals.”

S
EAN
RAN
off to teach the Saturday morning aikido class. Every technique he performed, taught, and corrected seemed tainted by his experiences of the previous night. He found he used fewer words with his students, unwilling to commit to definitive statements about potential success of what he taught, of what he practiced. The foundation of the truths he had built his life upon had been shaken by a simple foot grapple, deftly executed by Adrian Rios of the winning grin and amazing coffee-colored eyes. He didn’t want to think about it.

And yet… Adrian Rios was an interesting fellow. Good friends with Asbjorn’s apparent nemesis, Don. Or so it appeared at first, and Sean needed more background knowledge on this diverse and fragmented group. Once he was outside again, he pulled out his phone, called Nell, and got Adrian’s phone number from her.

He paused before he pushed the dial button again, feeling a little nervous. He didn’t really know the guy. He seemed friendly enough, though – Sean steeled himself and dialed.

“Adrian Rios.” Adrian’s voice was alert – at least he didn’t wake him up.

“This is Sean Gallaway. I don’t know if you remember me from last night….”

“Hi, Sean! You’d be hard to forget. What’s up?”

Sean walked over to a bare sycamore and leaned against its smooth bark. “I’m helping Asbjorn, and I figured I’d find out more about what’s going on before I step into something, you know? So….” He paused, trying to find words.

“Where are you now?” Adrian asked.

“MIT campus. I just finished aikido class, and I want to stay out of Asbjorn’s hair for a while.”

“Good idea,” Adrian said with a laugh. “He can’t stand being hovered over. Want to meet for a cup of coffee? I can be over there in fifteen minutes. There’s that place on campus….”

H
ALF
AN
hour later, Sean was sitting across the table from Adrian, who was drinking a double espresso with water on the side. Sean stuck with green tea.

“The fights are by invitation only,” Adrian continued the history of the Warehouse fight club. “Several dojos and some independents get together every so often. The warehouse belongs to Joe’s Trucking Company. They let us use it for free. It started out with a group of old friends in professional jobs who had to burn some extra calories and a lot of stress away. They’d invite their sensei and senior students from their dojos, and it just grew. I invited some of the street kids so they have an outlet for their competitive energy. It’s like a club, but informal. We all pitch in as best we can.”

That much made sense. Sean had found the atmosphere to be congenial, almost family-like, especially in the beginning.

“So how did Asbjorn get involved?” He asked, digging for information. Adrian measured him with an appraising look before he examined his half-finished coffee.

“Tiger and Nell were brought in by their former teacher, Clark-sensei, who was killed in the running of the bulls in Pamplona.”

“No shit?” Sean blurted.

“Yeah. That’s a few years ago. He was a bit wild underneath it all. So Asbjorn and Nell brought you in just the same way Clark brought them in, see?” Sean felt Adrian’s inquisitive gaze on him again. “This is all a lot of ancient history—are you sure I’m not boring you?” he asked mildly.

“No! No. This is all very interesting.” And it was. The group was unregulated and wild, and it offered both support and a strange sort of freedom. The feeling was new and fresh. Sean decided he liked it. “So, about Asbjorn.”

“Ah! I almost forgot… you were so curious about Asbjorn.” There was a twinkle in Adrian’s eye, and Sean felt heat rise up his throat.

“Just because he brought me in,” Sean explained all too quickly. “That’s all.”

Adrian nodded, sipped more espresso, and chased with a gulp of water. “Of course. That’s all. Nell and Tiger brought in Asbjorn way back when—Asbjorn was a natural fighter even as a teen. He really looked up to Tiger after his father died. Hell, he even cut off his precious long hair, getting a buzz cut.”

Now that part was rather odd, and Sean had every intention of verifying this unlikely tidbit with Asbjorn at a later date. “Really? Was Tiger against long hair?”

“Not at all,” Adrian smiled, drawing the story out. “But young Asbjorn was a hellion, suspended from school all the time after his father died. So Tiger made him a bet. If Asbjorn could go without a fight for a whole week, Tiger would have to style his hair according to Asbjorn’s choice. But if Asbjorn fought, Tiger got to pick the hairstyle for Asbjorn’s hair.”

“He lost?”

“Within three days.”

And that’s how he was to this very day, all because a man Asbjorn idolized made him get a buzz cut for a bet all those years ago. Sean could just imagine the wild taunting Asbjorn must have endured in school. But he kept his hair short—it was good for the Navy, and he was still holding onto it. Furthermore, Asbjorn had been devastated to learn of Tiger’s death, but nobody told him Tiger’s motorcycle accident was inadvertently facilitated by Don.

“So he and Don don’t get along?” Sean tried another tack.

“They do,” Adrian said with a sigh. “But there is a history, too. Don and Tiger hit it off immediately. They were like yin and yang—Don is irritable and Tiger was laid-back. Nell wanted to settle down, so they were getting their finances together to start a family, and Tiger sold his hog—a beautiful, two thousand eight Screamin’ Eagle Dyna Super Glide—for over fifteen thousand. It helped, with both of them having some scholarships and all, but Tiger missed that Harley like a good fuck.”

Sean sucked in a breath of air.

Adrian just laughed and continued. “So Don, being a big softie, decided he’d organize a fight for his Ducati—which was a bike Tiger admired but could’ve never afforded. Don had beaten everybody except for Tiger, and he made it look real good—even Tiger thought he’d gotten lucky on Don that night.

“Except a hog is a nice, stable bike with loud pipes, and the traffic can hear you when they can’t see you. A Ducati is an Italian crotch rocket—your profile’s lower, you go faster, and you are pretty darn quiet at it. Had Tiger been riding his hog that night, he’d be
alive today. The driver would have seen him.” Adrian drifted off into silence. They sat in a still bubble redolent of coffee and caramel syrup, but the soft clamor of the coffee shop did not reach them until Sean stirred on his hard chair and broke the spell.

“Nell said that bad things happen to good people. Surely Don wasn’t at fault for killing Tiger.”

“No. But Asbjorn’s in a world of hurt over it. We’re all sort of curious how he’ll handle it.” Adrian’s voice was somber with concern. Then his cell phone chimed the tango, and Adrian’s frown changed into a smile.

“Hey, babe,” he answered the phone without even looking at the caller ID. “Thai? Okay…. Your wish is my command….”

Sean tried not to eavesdrop, but his name pulled him back into Adrian’s one-sided conversation. “Yeah, I’m having coffee with Sean. He’s rather curious about Asbjorn.” Sean noted the mischief in Adrian’s eyes and the way he waggled his eyebrows.

“Okay. Love you too,” Adrian said and ended the call. “Sorry about that,” he said in Sean’s direction. “That was Don, and he’s a terrible baby when he’s hurt. He wants me back. Preferably with Thai food.”

Sean stared. “Oh.” It wasn’t obvious. He looked at Adrian again, from his spiky black hair down to his sleek leather jacket. “I didn’t realize….”

Adrian leaned back and smiled, as though he was enjoying Sean’s discomfort. “But if you and Asbjorn – then why not me and Don?”

“But Asbjorn and I are just friends,” Sean blurted out. “And I’m just helping him while he’s healing up.”

Adrian gave a serious nod. “That makes you a good friend, Sean, and Asbjorn needs a friend like that right now.” He got up. “This was fun. Let’s do it again, okay?”

Adrian’s smile was infectious, and Sean returned it without even thinking about it. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said. “I really appreciate all the intel. And tell your man to feel better soon.”

Adrian nodded. “Same to Asbjorn,” he said and sailed out the door, leaving Sean to wonder what that little smile was all about.