Breakfall (31 page)

Ex.

Sean turned to view the sleeping man. The silhouette of his features was strong and stark, framed by his pale blond hair. It used to be short-cropped, but now it was longer than when they’d met. There was a frown on Asbjorn’s sleeping face, his arms sprawled wide, taking up most of his queen-size bed. He’d gone to sleep in his briefs and undershirt, giving his warm pajamas to him, as Sean had now come to realize.

Touched, he smiled and lifted himself on his elbow to better observe the chiseled features, the smooth skin, scratchy with morning growth and peppered with just a smattering of pale freckles and the very beginnings of sun wrinkles around his eyes.

Sean’s gaze wandered down the broad shoulders and the muscled, almost elegant arm.

The delicate, soft skin inside the elbow showed the beginnings of a bruise.

Sean leaned closer, frowning. Three more tender areas blossomed on the inside of Asbjorn’s forearm. Sean’s gaze halted at the bruised wrist—its skin was rubbed raw. A glance at the other arm showed the same pattern.

Sean stretched on his back, his eyes glued to the white featureless ceiling. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, and he didn’t want to be a judgmental priss. He didn’t know what to think, and he was afraid to find out how he felt about what he’d seen. Not that he had much experience in that sort of a thing, but unless he was very much mistaken, those were rope marks.

A
SBJORN
STIRRED
and yawned, only to wake to an empty bed. “Sean?” His sleepy shout resonated through the small apartment, betraying a measure of alarm.

“In here!” Sean’s voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

Asbjorn detected the welcome aroma of coffee and something else besides. He climbed out of bed and followed his nose.

“Good morning, Asbjorn.” Sean stood over the stove. Asbjorn’s favorite flannel pajamas hung on him like a sack splattered with pancake batter and dusted with flour mix.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast,” Sean said in a very patient tone. “There is a recipe on the box. I figured I’d just follow it and see what happens.”

Asbjorn bit his tongue and forced his grin down before he trusted his voice not to betray his mirth.

“Oh. Okay. Do I have time to shower?”

“You do. After that, I’ll want to take a look at your wrists. And I expect you to tell me all about it.” Sean’s tone was more an order than a request.

Asbjorn disappeared into the bathroom, surprised to find a fierce blush rise up his neck.

T
HEY
ATE
in relative silence. Asbjorn complimented Sean on his culinary effort, thanking him for the coffee. Sean made note of the fact that they were snowed in for at least a day and that last night was a lot more adventurous than he desired.

After a few more silent bites and sips of coffee, Sean lifted his gaze to survey Asbjorn’s face and assess his mood. “I’d like to thank you, Asbjorn.”

Asbjorn looked up, entrapped in the warmth of Sean’s gaze.

“You saved my life last night.”

He shrugged. “Anything for my sunshine. Whatever it takes.”

“Seriously, Bjorn. Ken sat me down, and we talked some. I….” He cleared his throat.

“I’ve been selfish, I guess. Maybe a bit immature. I’d like to apologize for not calling you like that.”

“You’ll be the death of me, Sean.” Asbjorn snorted. “But okay. Apology accepted.”

Sean felt both humor and pain in those sapphire blue eyes. He decided to plow ahead. “So, Bjorn. Care to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

An hour later, Sean was sitting on the sofa with his feet curled under him, his head leaning against Asbjorn’s shoulder, comfortable in the embrace of Asbjorn’s hard, warm arm. He held Asbjorn’s wrist in his hands, examining the evidence of his unexpectedly wild behavior, trying to make sense of it all.

“So you got invited, and the guys showed you some new… things?” Sean summarized Asbjorn’s narrative.

“Pretty much.”

“And you actually let Don tie you up?”

“Yeah,” Asbjorn said with a tug of an embarrassed smile.

Sean thrilled at the rising color in his cheeks. “What aren’t you telling me, Asbjorn?”

Asbjorn sighed in an effort to get over his sudden and unwelcome embarrassment. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sean saw no regret in the older man’s expression. It gave him pause. He well recalled the delicious feeling of trust and yielding and sweet abandon of lovemaking with Asbjorn. He assumed Asbjorn would want to be in the driver’s seat at all times, but perhaps his assumption was premature.

“Asbjorn… if there is anything you want to try… anything new… you’d tell me, right?” Sean rose and straddled Asbjorn, settling on his knees.

“We’re kind of new at this stuff, but… you’d feel comfortable asking?” He met Asbjorn’s blue eyes, their brilliance subdued by a hint of atypical shyness. He wrapped his hands around Asbjorn’s neck and carded his fingers through the hair that was almost long enough to grab from behind. His fingers closed over the strands.

“Well. Now that you’ve brought it up, yes. From now on, I will let you know. But I didn’t realize I’d have enjoyed that.” Asbjorn’s mouth twitched in a wicked grin.

“What, exactly?”

“Adrian and Don want us to work it out as a couple, you know. But when we do, if we want to, they’d like to invite us to, um… to
play
with them.”

Sean felt himself blush, and as he leaned in to hide his face in the crook of Asbjorn’s neck, he realized he was hard as rock. “What else did Adrian and Don do?” Sean asked in a low, husky voice. He ground his groin against Asbjorn’s washboard abs, his eager mouth dipping to that sensitive patch of skin behind his ear. He heard a strangled gasp. “Tell me, Asbjorn.”

“Nah. Maybe I’ll show you someday.”

Sean unbuttoned Asbjorn’s red plaid shirt and stroked his chest with the pads of his fingers. Tasting the skin under his ear, Sean pinched and twisted Asbjorn’s nipple, eliciting a moan. He bit the smooth, muscled neck and felt a delicious, hard length thrust against his belly.

“I don’t like to share, Asbjorn.”

“What would you like?”

“I can ask for anything?” Sean sounded speculative.

“Anything.”

“Will you do everything I say?” Sean’s voice acquired that low, husky tone again.

“Within reason.”

Sean looked Asbjorn up and down with his best, hottest searing gaze. He saw him hold his breath. His eyes darkened as his pupils dilated, and it occurred to Sean that this kind of an appreciation might have been new and heady stuff for Asbjorn. He might have been a few years older, but he was as new at all this as Sean. Asbjorn’s breath became a pant as Sean wrapped his arms around his neck and closed his fingers around his fistful of hair. It was apparent Asbjorn liked this new, possessive Sean.

Sean only smiled.

“W
E
’
VE
BEEN
studying for hours,” Sean groaned the next day. The languid satisfaction was long gone, and the touch and smell of his lover’s renewed fervor remained just a happy memory. “I need to get out of here. I need to go to my place and get some stuff too.”

It was Tuesday, December 14. He was edgy because of his workload, and also because his grand jury testimony was scheduled for the next day, and he didn’t know if the courts would even be opened.

“Hard to do—only the main roads are plowed,” Asbjorn echoed his weather assessment. “The snow has resumed.”

“Can we try?” Sean asked. This was, in fact, the first time Sean remembered asking Asbjorn for help as an escort. It looked like Asbjorn wasn’t going to deter him by turning him down.

“Can you snowshoe?”

“No…,” Sean said.

“Want to try?”

“Okay.” Anything to get outside, from within the binding walls. San Diego never shut him in like that. Winter sucked, and cabin fever was just one of its many inconveniences.

Ten minutes later they were on the outside steps, dressed for the weather, and Asbjorn had his old pair of snowshoes on his feet already. “Here, sit on the steps, and I’ll show you how to strap them on.”

Sean complied, enjoying the sound of Asbjorn’s voice as he told him which strap went where and which buckles to tighten first.

Asbjorn stood up and handed Sean an empty backpack. “If we both have one, we can bring both your books and clothing.”

Walking on snowshoes was slower and harder than Sean expected. He lifted his feet high enough not to drag the willow-and-sinew devices through the fluffy snow, straining to keep up.

“Halfway there! Let’s take a break.” Asbjorn leaned against a campus building. He was barely breaking sweat. “I haven’t done this in ages, either.”

Sean leaned next to him, lifting a mouthful of snow to his lips. “How did you learn?”

“Tiger taught me when he was teaching me to hunt. I was seventeen at the time.”

He noticed a dark look pass over Asbjorn’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, Bjorn.”

“I mentioned Tiger, and it didn’t feel terrible. That’s a first.” He scowled. “I almost feel guilty, y’know? Like I’m forgetting him.”

Sean bumped him with his shoulder. “Nah. He’d want you to be happy. I used to feel that way about my mom. It gets better—the pain part, I mean. After a while, you’ll remember just the good parts, but you will never forget those you love.”

In forty more minutes, they arrived at the Pile. They cut across the lawn, scoffing at the occasional narrow canyons that passed for cleared walkways. They left the snowshoes in the foyer and descended the narrow staircase.

“Is your alarm on?”

“No. Not when I leave, since nobody else can turn it off.”

“Okay.”

The door was kicked in from the basement side. The vintage, milled wood of the doorjamb was cracked around the lock, and the lock itself was broken.

“Looks like you had company,” Asbjorn growled, his jaw tight once again.

Sean pulled his phone out of the outer pocket of his parka and dialed a number he knew by heart.

“There isn’t anyone I can send over right now,” Detective Mark Falwell said. “The snow emergency, y’know. And I can’t send a helicopter since it’s not life threatening. Tell you what, though. Are there kitchen gloves upstairs?”

“Yeah. By the sink.”

“Great! Put your gloves on and go in, but don’t touch anything you don’t need to touch ’cause we’ll do prints again once I can get a crew there. Take the things you absolutely need for the next few days. And I want you to make a list of everything that’s either missing or damaged. I’ll send somebody to seal the room as soon as the roads are passable.”

They did as Mark asked, and in half an hour, the packs were full to the brim and Sean closed the damaged door to his old room again. They made their way back to a main road, where they could take their snowshoes off. It was easier to walk on the firm, packed snow left behind by the plow, since the full backpacks were heavy on their backs.

“I can’t believe that asshole trashed my room,” Sean sputtered. “Why the hell would he do something as senseless as that?”

“Did he call?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve been busy. Maybe.”

“If you weren’t picking up, maybe he did with you what you did with me. Except instead of freezing on your doorstep, he got frustrated enough to toss the place.”

“Nothing got taken as far as I can tell.”

“Trophy items?”

“Probably clothing, if anything at all. We can ask Adrian what’s typical.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, donning the snowshoes once again when they approached the virgin snow of the secondary roads. Sean was grateful to see the little rental house.

“Thanks for putting me up, Asbjorn.”

“Yeah. Wanna help me clear the snow? Our landlady is kind of old.”

Our landlady. Not mine. Our.

Sean felt a wave of warmth flood his heart. “Sure. Be happy to.”

Dinner was frozen cheese ravioli and a jar of Ragu sauce. Asbjorn looked through the cupboards, finding a box of Ghirardelli brownie mix. He mixed it together according to instructions, put it in the oven, and set the timer.

They were bone tired after the snowshoeing and shoveling, and barely tasted the warmth and the needed salt of the tangy sauce.

“That really hit the spot,” Sean purred, stretching his arms up and arching his back. “I’m so beat—I can’t believe we have to study now.”

“Maybe we can study for just for a little while.” Asbjorn pulled the brownies out of the oven and produced a bottle of inexpensive Australian Shiraz. He opened the red wine and let it air out while getting two stemless wine glasses.

“All right. Studying doesn’t have to be boring, y’know.”

Two hours later, the wine was gone, the brownies were demolished, and Sean felt he could take his electronic circuitry final exam and not be totally embarrassed by the outcome.

“I think I’ll be okay in this class,” he said, and the relief of his realization allowed him to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Not surprising.” Asbjorn’s fingers were flying over the keyboard of his laptop. “I have just a bit more before this lab report is finished, then I’m turning in.”

Sean looked around the small apartment. This is where he’d live now and for the foreseeable future. A good roommate didn’t leave a mess behind. He put his own work away, washed the dishes, then took the two duffel bags with his worldly possessions to Asbjorn’s bedroom.

Our bedroom, now.

The relatively low volume of things he thought he needed rather surprised him. Toiletries, few changes of clothing, some books. His aikido gi and hakama. The aikido scroll he used as the shinza for his class. His laptop and cell phone charger. Three framed pictures, small and portable in a desktop triptych. His mother took the center stage, his father and four siblings smiled from the window on the right side, and Burrows-sensei—with his arm over a much younger Sean’s shoulders—gazed solemnly from the left. His life could be summarized in two large backpacks.