Breakfall (36 page)

Sean stayed prudently in the shadow by the front door and watched a curious scene unfold. Olaf and his two children stood to the side as if they were getting out of the line of fire between Asbjorn and his mother. Their speech increased in volume, speed, and intensity. Asbjorn began to gesticulate. His mother turned away from him, her tall, slim frame forbidding and final.

“Asbjorn, what is it?” Sean inquired, regretting that they lacked their own secret language that nobody else would understand. He stiffened when Asbjorn’s mother directed her gaze at him. He became all too aware of how bedraggled he must look, with droplets of icy water slithering down his face and hair.

“Sean. I apologize for such a poor welcome. There is a small problem—my son never told us we will have a guest, so the two of you will have to share a sofa bed in the office downstairs.” Helga Jenssen was a woman in the old Viking tradition. It was apparent she wore the proverbial pants in the house.

“I am sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Sean offered. He felt a blush warm the bridge of his nose. “There are other places I can stay.”

“Nonsense.” Asbjorn looked at his mother. “We’ll be fine. If it gets too crowded, we’ll go to a hotel.”

Ulrika followed the exchange with wide, bright eyes, as though it was entertaining to see her stepmother battle somebody else for a change. The corners of her mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. Ulrika’s command of English seemed good enough to know he meant both of them.

They stowed their bags in the office, and soon they were sitting around the kitchen table, sipping glogg and watching dinner preparations. Both Asbjorn and Sean offered their assistance, which was declined with a firm smile. Olaf worked for a shipbuilding outfit, and Helga was a research chemist in the paint industry, developing barnacle-resistant paint for the hulls of ships. They seemed pleased that both Sean and Asbjorn shared a technical background.

“Do you have classes together?” Helga asked, preparing dinner.

“No, we’re in different departments. We met through our martial arts clubs,” Sean revealed.

“Martial arts.” Helga Jenssen rolled her eyes. “Are you still doing that karate of yours, Bjorn?” She watched him nod. “Well… someday you’ll grow out of it.”

“Ulrika here started Thai kickboxing last summer,” Ole said, as if eager to add fuel to the fire.

“Aw, Mom, I joined only because they have those cute pink boxing shorts. The rest is history.” She turned to Asbjorn. “You’ll have to spar with me. I need the practice. My first tournament is coming up.”

“Sure.” Asbjorn nodded and smiled, as though a heavy and persistent thundercloud momentarily lifted from his brow. “And Sean can teach you how to fall, if you want. He teaches aikido.”

That evening, Asbjorn’s mother showed them where to sleep. “So this is how I made your bed,” Helga said in accented English. “Two pillows, two blankets. And you can put your heads on opposite ends of one another so you have more space.”

Sean eyed the second pillow at the foot of the bed and schooled his expression into polite acceptance. “Thank you, Mrs. Jenssen.”

As soon as she left, they got ready for bed and slipped in, snuggling the regular way.

“C’mere.” Asbjorn’s voice was gruff and his body tense.

“What’s wrong?”

Asbjorn’s arm around Sean’s shoulders tightened, bringing his body to a close squeeze. “My dear mother redid my room upstairs. That was the fight when we walked in. She said I’m not here often enough to require a room, and she needed it for something else, so she packed my stuff in boxes. They’re in the garage, she says.” The hurt in Asbjorn’s voice was razor-sharp.

“What did she do to your old room?”

Asbjorn growled, his whole body tensing. “It’s full of display cases. Of shoes! Fucking designer shoes and handbags!” Asbjorn turned away from Sean. “When she remarried, she
promised
that I’d always have a home here. That’s what she said, and she’s been repeating it over and over, every year. I can’t believe she demolished my fucking room.”

A
SBJORN
WELL
remembered the hasty promises: her new family wouldn’t replace him—it was merely an expansion of sorts, she’d said. Her reassurance mollified him at the time. He tried hard to shelve his suspicions that his mother’s words had been a mere gesture to ease Asbjorn’s disapproval of her remarriage several months after his father’s funeral. Back then, he had made his opinion known loud and clear. He even lived with Tiger and Nell for four months prior to his high school graduation.

Dad. Fuck, Dad.

Tiger.

He felt the pressure build. There was a rush of adrenaline and blood and the old, familiar roaring in his ears. He threw himself onto his back, almost hitting Sean with his elbow. Old pain turned into anger once again. His need to hit things was so profound, his tight fists itched for bruising contact. He tried to take a deep breath—then another—yet the pressure kept increasing. He rolled out of bed and pulled his boxer shorts on.

“Where’re you going, Asbjorn?” Sean assessed him with a calm, detached stare.

“Outside.”

S
EAN
SLIPPED
into his jeans, pulled on Asbjorn’s woolen sweater and borrowed socks and, after stopping to slip into his winter boots, ventured after him. The house was dark except for the foyer light. The neighborhood seemed to have gone to sleep. A white, gleaming blanket of snow sparkled in the moonlight, the snow clouds having passed on. Sean looked around.

No Asbjorn.

He couldn’t have gone far just barefoot and in his boxer shorts.

Muffled thuds broke the silence of the night. Sean followed their irregular sound around the corner. His boots sank into the loose, deep snow, and the going was hard, but he didn’t even think of turning back.

A dark, wild figure of a man danced under an old apple tree, hitting the rough bark with his fists, driving his punches from the ground up. The toes of his bare feet dug into the snow to keep him from slipping. He grunted with every blow, not sparing his bare hands, splitting his skin against the crumbling bark.

“Asbjorn.” Sean heard his voice split the air.

Jab. Jab.

Cross.

The old apple tree shook with the impacts of the blows, and remnants of snow kept raining off its branches.

“Stop it, Bjorn. You’ll just rip your hands up.”

“Uff… don’t care.” Asbjorn’s voice was but a hoarse rasp, barely audible in the silence of the night.

Sean cocked his hip, observing Asbjorn’s form. He was in pain, and he was working his way through it. His way was savage, fierce, and unyielding. Sean felt a thrill of excitement despite the cold breeze that cut through his inadequate jeans and sweater. There was beauty in Asbjorn’s savagery, in the pure utility of each blow.

“You’ll be in pain tomorrow.”

“Aggh… uff… pain’s good.”

Sean considered the statement. He took two steps closer and wound up his open hand.

Smack.

A sharp slap of Sean’s hand against the back of Asbjorn’s bare, cold-reddened thigh split the night, followed by Asbjorn’s immediate yelp.

“Ye asshole!” Asbjorn turned toward Sean and threw a punch.

Sean evaded the blow with just a twist of his hips, his hands capturing the launched fist and leading it forward and then down.

Asbjorn went airborne. He landed in the snow with a great belly flop. “Fuck!” He stood up, turning toward Sean once again, then rushed forth with another punch, going as fast as the slippery snow would allow.

Sean timed his throw perfectly once again, dousing Asbjorn’s fury in the sparkling, icy crystals.

Again and again Asbjorn stood to attack Sean with a simple, furious punch. Again and again Sean threw him, his effort easy, almost languid, encouraging the taller man’s body to roll in the white, freezing blanket.

Thirty or so throws later, Asbjorn’s attacks slowed down.

Twenty more throws and he could barely lift himself up.

His breathing was fast and ragged.

Sean knelt in the snow by Asbjorn’s prone torso and slid his warm hands up Asbjorn’s smooth, well-defined chest. “Feeling better?” Sean’s voice was but a whisper stroking the silence of the night.

Asbjorn turned his eyes toward him. Only the moon’s reflection gave them a semblance of life.

“Thank you.” Asbjorn’s voice came out as a painful rasp. He reached with bloodstained hands for Sean and pulled him on top of his wet chest so Sean’s jean-clad knees fell astride Asbjorn’s body. Asbjorn’s hard arms embraced him.

“Sunshine.” Asbjorn’s voice was a whisper against his ear.

“You wanna go inside?” Sean offered and was relieved to see Asbjorn nod. The windows of the surrounding houses remained dark, but it crossed Sean’s mind that they might have been providing entertainment to the whole neighborhood.

Later, they sat on the sofa bed, snuggled under the blankets, with two cups of tea warming their hands.

“How often do you visit?”

“Once a year, sometimes twice.” There was hurt in Asbjorn’s voice. Anger too. “She bitched me out for living in the States and getting my citizenship. You know, it’s her fucking fault she agreed to move there when I was a kid, and it’s her fucking fault she decided to move back once I joined the Navy. It’s not like I feel welcome here. I’ve been replaced by her designer shoe collection. Fucking Imelda Marcos.” His eyes shone at Sean, now reflecting the cool LED lights from the computer. “This isn’t my home anymore. I don’t think it ever was.”

Sean shifted his body to straddle Asbjorn, this time enjoying the soft blankets instead of the bitter snow. He cupped Asbjorn’s jaw as he leaned forward to kiss him with sweet tenderness.

“Were you planning to come here this summer?”

“Yeah. For just a while. Then maybe visit my friends in other countries—they’re studying or working there. The EU made everyone more mobile, y’know? It’s almost like the US—people moving from here to there all the time. It’s all changed. Everything’s different. It’s not home anymore.”

Another kiss, another caress. Sean’s fingers slid behind Asbjorn’s ear and into his hair, massaging his scalp just the way he loved it best. Asbjorn’s need stirred as Sean licked the hollow of his throat, tasting him. Sean groaned with contentment, then moved on below his navel with alarming speed. He tweaked his nipples on the way down, and Asbjorn arched, gasping.

“Sean.”

“Hmmm?” Sean hummed against Asbjorn’s erection. They were both tired and travel-weary and stressed—but it felt like it had been a while. “You’re so hard,” Sean murmured, giving his tight head an exploratory lick.

“Mom will freak if we mess up the sheets.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t.” Sean pulled Asbjorn down and licked him from base to tip, earning a gasp.

“Your pleasure does wild things to me, Sunshine.” Asbjorn’s voice was naught but a feral growl.

“What do you want?” Sean gasped, his breath short.

“I wanna fuck you up your ass so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“The sheets?”

“Screw the sheets.”

Sean rolled off the bed and propped his forearms against the armrest of the sofa bed. “Come and get it if you want it, then.”

A
SBJORN
FELT
a growl build in his chest. He reached for his backpack in the dark.

Now where, in which little pocket… there.
Asbjorn rolled on a condom, opened the small tube of lube, and slicked his length.

“Can you keep quiet?” His voice rasped next to Sean’s keen ear. He thought he felt the younger man shiver.

“Maybe I can’t.”

“Maybe I’ll make you, then.” He fished around for a clean pair of socks. “Open up… bite down.” He felt Sean comply, and not wasting a moment, he grasped the slim hips and kicked his legs apart for a better position. Now he had the access he needed to ply his newfound magic.

It wasn’t long before Sean arched his back and whimpered with need. Asbjorn positioned himself and plunged in, burying himself balls-deep.

Sean’s moan was barely muffled by the pair of socks in his teeth. Asbjorn felt the heat of desire swell, felt Sean open up to him and take him in, and that alone excited him enough to set a rough, punishing pace. His hands grasped hard as his eyes threatened to roll back inside his skull, and his control strained in an effort not to come just yet. This time, for the first time ever, he didn’t hold back. To his delight and relief, Sean’s hips rose to meet his every thrust.

It didn’t take long for his control to snap, his pleasure cresting in a wild release. He let go of Sean’s hip and bit his own arm. Had he cried out, he would have woken up the whole house. He felt Sean clench around him as he joined him, ejaculating onto the upholstery of Helga Jenssen’s sofa bed.

“We need a shower.” They barely caught their breath, but Sean’s voice was uncompromising.

Asbjorn slumped in the dark, leaning against the sofa. “Slave driver.”

They stumbled upstairs to do so, wrapped only in large guest towels.

N
EXT
MORNING
,
Sean watched Helga Jenssen scald the goose with hot water in preparation for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. His offer of help was rejected as resolutely as before.

“You should go out to the Tivoli Gardens. There is a Christmas market there,” she said instead.

Asbjorn shook his head. “After Christmas,” Then he turned to Sean.

“I didn’t get you anything, with all that was going on in Boston. I’ll make it up to you, though, if you’ll give me an extra few days. We’ll go sightseeing, and it will be fun.” Then he looked at his mother again.

“Mom, seriously. If you don’t have anything for us to do, we’ll go for a walk, and then we’ll read a book, or something. Both Sean and I are too wiped to bike downtown right now.”

And they were. They spent the day hanging around the house and sleeping off their jetlag.

N
EXT
DAY
was December 24. At four o’clock, church bells began to toll, and they all emerged from their rooms, having changed into festive clothing. Christmas dinner was delicious. Sean followed the lead, complimenting on the goose with cabbage and caramelized potatoes and the cold rice pudding with cherries that came after.