The Brotherly Shove

21. Breaker

CHAPTER 21

brEAKER

Now

San Francisco, California

"You know, just because we decided to keep this on the down low doesn't mean it has to be a complete secret. You can tell your Ma. Here, give me your phone, I'll FaceTime her. Everyone knows Mare loves me most," Lennon says, adopting the exaggerated Delaware County accent he always puts on when talking to, and about, my mother.

He reaches over me to where my phone sits on the arm of the couch, leaning and I swat him away and he laughs as he sinks back into the cushion next to me. I wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him in for a side snuggle. I love that my gentle giant loves to let me cuddle into him, but it turns out I really, really love when he cuddles his big, warm body into mine. We came back to my apartment after our breakfast, and even though I was so ready to jump his bones that my hands had been shaking as I paid at the restaurant, by the time we made it into my room, we were both asleep so fast we barely got our shoes off.

I can't complain though, because I woke up to Lennon coming through on his promise of finding out what I taste like. I expected him to be a little hesitant — I mean isn't everyone at least a little nervous the first time they suck a dick? No hesitation from my Len, though. He dove right in. Even if he was apprehensive, those nerves never showed. And what he lacked in experience, he made up for with raw talent and enthusiasm. More than just my mind was artfully and thoroughly blown.

We meandered out to the living room afterwards to watch TV and have been here since. We get few Sundays to ourselves between July and January, but even so, neither of us can stay away from football completely. We've had the various games happening today playing on my TV while we've been alternating between playing Spite and Malice — a highly competitive card game that he taught me in college that usually ends up with one of us flipping the table. This time, though, it ended up with me on his lap, our groins rutting against each other to completion. We even managed to actually watch entire parts of the games. We root for friends on other teams and try to pick up on strategies from opponents we still need to face off against this season.

The only reason the clandestine nature of our new relationship even came up is because Len won't stop teasing me for insisting on putting a shirt on before the food we ordered arrives. He says that no one is going to think twice about two guys watching football together shirtless, even if those two guys are football players themselves, and I agree. I just think it's impolite. I mean what delivery person wants a half naked man answering the door outside of a poorly produced porno?

"You're out of your mind, Len. I can't tell Ma. She's got the biggest mouth this side of the Schuylkill River. We tell her and we'll be on the front page of The Inquirer along with pictures of me as a baby, naked as the day I was born in her turquoise blue bathtub tomorrow morning," I say as I run my fingers through his hair. I'm not even going to risk telling her that we're friends again. There's no way she wouldn't be able to figure me out if she knew. On the screen, Knoxville's kicker scores a field goal, and Lennon fist pumps the air a few times. They may have been our opponents a few weeks ago, but some teammates are teammates for life. You gotta show up and show out for your boys, even at home.

"Oh my god, that's so true. I'm pretty sure she's the reason everyone knew it was me who got too drunk on her Twisted Teas at the block party the summer before my senior year and accidentally knocked over that stop sign on your street corner when I tried to climb it," he says, chuckling into my chest as he reminisces. My eyebrows draw together.

"Honey, everyone knows you knocked over the stop sign because we all saw you do it. It's on video. The Flannigans included it in their holiday highlight reel at the Christmas party that year," I tell him, pulling up the video on my phone and handing it to him just as I hear a knock on the door. I know the second he starts the video, even though I'm halfway across the room ready to meet our delivery person because of the unmistakable sound of Lennon's adorable, drunk, raspy voice singing the local chant coming through my phone's speakers.

' No one likes us, no one likes us

No one likes us, we don't care!

We're from Philly,

FUCKING Philly!

No one likes us,

We don't care!'

Lennon giggles at himself and I laugh as I open the door and retrieve the massive amount of sushi and sashimi we ordered. We were, of course, unable to narrow down our choices to only a few rolls. I'd love to stuff my face with some pizza tonight, but much like my beloved Oreos, that delicious bomb of carbs and saturated fats will have to wait until January if I want to keep up my stamina on the field — and off of it — I suppose.

"Jesus, look how hard I came down on that thing. I'm surprised I have any balls left!" Lennon screams out while cackling from the couch. I slip the grimacing delivery person an extra twenty before he leaves. That feels like enough to apologize for the mental image Lennon no doubt planted in the poor guy's brain.

I swing into the kitchen and grab two iced teas from the fridge as well as a bottle of Kikkoman soy sauce from the spice cabinet. Neither of us should really be taking in the extra sodium, but honestly I don't care. A salmon avocado roll not doused in soy sauce laced with wasabi is something I am really not interested in.

Besides, I have high hopes that Lennon and I will find a fun way to get sweaty and battle off the bloat before morning.

"You know, some people might say that anything other than a cheesesteak and wings while watching Sunday night football is sacrilege, B," Lennon says as I set the takeout bags filled with sushi on the coffee table in front of us. Even though he's complaining, he's already leaning forward and tearing open the bags like a man unhinged. I take my seat next to him, close enough that our thighs graze each other and help him unpack the food.

"Yes, honey. That might be true, but those people don't have Monday morning football practice, do they?" I tease as I start to stir a healthy amount of wasabi into a plastic container of soy sauce. He scrunches his nose and pouts at me, looking defeated. I take the opportunity to lean in and press my lips against his for a quick, sweet peck that turns into two, and then three. If it wasn't for the growl coming from his stomach, I would keep going, kissing him, licking at him, opening him up for me and watching him turn to putty in my hands.

Instead I pull back and start to dig into my food, forgoing the wooden chopsticks littered at the bottom of the bag and picking up two pieces of sushi with my fingers and dipping them into my spicy sauce mixture before tossing them into my mouth. It's not that I don't know how to use the chopsticks, it's just that I prefer not to. One splinter that somehow got right under my thumb nail from the cheap chopsticks at a seedy buffet near campus in college was enough for me to swear off wooden utensils.

It felt like getting hit in the tip of my thumb with a tiny, pointy hammer every single time I held a football for a week.

Lennon doesn't share my completely rational and not at all insane grudge against chopsticks, but when I look over at him, he's using his to poke at the sushi in the container he holds instead of actually picking it up and eating it.

"Len, I know it's not fried and greasy, but you love sushi. Eat, babe," I tell him with a nod that says 'go ahead', but he doesn't eat. No, instead he continues to poke at the food in his hands like a picky toddler refusing to eat their broccoli.

“Lennon, if you want something else I can—” I start, but stop when he starts shaking his head.

"It's not the food, B. I was just thinking. What's going to happen tomorrow?" he asks, and my eyebrows draw together. He looks up, noting my confusion, and then sighs. He unties his hair, shaking it loose before pulling it back together into a bun at the back of his head, which I know is his 'I don't want to say what I'm going to say next' move. I wait patiently for a few moments while he gathers the strength to explain himself.

"I know it was my idea to keep us on the down low for now, and I stand by that, but Breaker? Are you going to go back to being mean and ignoring me? You know, to keep up appearances? It's okay if that's what you're going to do but I think I need to know. Just so I can prepare myself, you know?"

His voice is soft and timid, and it makes the organ in my chest ache painfully because I know that I did that to him. I put that sadness and doubt and the expectation that I would revert back to being a horrible piece of shit tomorrow morning in his mind, in his heart. I mean what else would he expect? He told me last night that he forgives me for how I've acted during the last few months, and while I believe him, it doesn't change the fact that I did and said all of the things that I said and did. It kills me to think of how my immaturity has him questioning the faith he has in me.

I take a deep breath before I answer him, setting my food back down on the coffee table. I look back at him, and I can see the fear swimming in Lennon's gorgeous blue eyes. I lean forward, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into me with a searing, bruising kiss. The kind of kiss where teeth clash, lips are bitten, blood is drawn. It intensifies further when Lennon places a hand on each of my cheeks, his fingertips gripping me like I'm the one thing keeping him tethered here to this moment, this couch, fuck maybe even this planet. He moans into my mouth and I swallow it, giving him one of my own in return. My fingers dig into the the silky soft strands of his hairline, desperate to bring him closer, closer, so much fucking closer.

His lips break away from my mine and he takes in a gasping breath, but I don't let him go far. I take his cheek in my free hand as I press my forehead to mine.

"Listen to me, Lennon. I will never, ever go back to the way I'd been treating you this year, you hear me? Never. I was an asshole, an idiot, a giant fucking dick. I will never stop being sorry for ruining us, for hurting you, and I will never stop making it up to you. Fuck keeping up appearances. Fuck what the team thinks. I'd walk up to you on that practice turf tomorrow and kiss the life out of you in front of the entire team. I'd kiss you on the field on Sunday in front of the entire country if you'd let me. Nothing will ever make me go back to how things were before. I don't even need you to tell me you believe my words because I'm going to prove it to you with my actions. Every. Single. Day, Lennon."

I punctuate each of the last few words with soft pecks of my lips on his, and I can feel his smile forming as I kiss it.

"So we're officially going to be Shrek and Donkey again?" he asks, and I snort and roll my eyes.

"Still don't love the Shrek and Donkey comparison. Let's go with Bert and Ernie. Everyone knows those two are more than just roommates. They're queer icons. Now hurry up and eat your sushi so I can kick your ass in another round of Spite and Malice."