C O M M O D U S III by reid
Chapter I
All I know was that I slept long and late the next morning. When you've been worrying about one day for such a long time and then it ends quickly, you're ready to drop. On top of that, when you engage in the best sex of your life, you'll sleep like a baby and be in no mood to complain.
What woke me up was the knocking on the door of our dorm room. Kaj stirred under me and lifted his head as I opened my eyes slightly. I squinted, my eyes directly in the path of the sun coming through the white curtains. Kaj hacked and coughed, his customary morning ritual. I winced at the less than appealing sound and closed my eyes again, groaning unhappily as he slid out from under me. My upset didn't last long as I snuggled down under the covers.
Before sleep could set back in, I heard a dull thud and opened my eyes.
"Ow! Fuck you!" Kaj hissed as he rubbed his elbow.
The knocking continued on the door.
"Just a second! I'm undressed!" Kaj primly called in his hoarse, crackly morning voice.
Snickering from under the covers, I watched as he struggled to pull on a pair of red mesh practice shorts. He stumbled several times, his senses still a little dulled by sleep and a sore stiffness having spread in his body. He coughed one last time and pushed his hair up into messy spikes. Rubbing his bleary eyes as he scratched his chest, Kaj walked over to the door and opened it.
We didn't have much to worry about since the door was located behind a wall, the bed out of view. I yawned and extended my legs under the blankets, enjoying that good morning stretch that feels better than pretty much anything known to man. Floating on cloud nine, I listened as Kaj spoke with someone that had a Dutch accent. Dutch or Belgian or Danish, I really couldn't tell the difference.
"Thank you." Kaj said before he closed the door.
I watched as he hobbled back towards the bed, moving stiffly and carefully on his sore legs. He carried a large blue velvet box and several papers which had been stapled together. Idly, he tossed the papers on to the other bed and opened the box, smiling as he did so. I knew that smile. It was his genuine, happy smile. Sarcasm unusually absent.
"What's up?" I asked, resting my head on my folded arm.
Kaj pulled out his silver medal and tossed the box down with the papers. I couldn't help but smile myself. Proudly, Kaj draped the medal around his neck and stood up with his hands on his hips, flashing his most handsome grin. I laughed and rubbed the last of the sleep out of my eyes, wanting to fully admire the way the silver stood out against his tanned skin.
"How do I look?" He asked, looking at the front of the medal.
"Smooth!" I said in my deepest baritone.
With the medal still around his neck, Kaj crawled back under the covers and snuggled down next to me. I draped my arm over him and lightly stroked his stomach. He was still admiring the token of his accomplishment, running his thumb over the carved surace. Even I had to admit, it looked pretty damn cool. I'd seen a gold medal up close but something about the silver had more bad ass appeal. It was more flashy. It fit Kaj's personality so much more.
"Nice ceremony they gave you."
He nodded and crossed his stretched legs casually, "They remembered the two dots this time."
"Where?"
He showed me the back of his medal. They had engraved his name, the year, and the event in the surface. They had also, quite impressively, remembered to add the two dots over the 'u.' If I couldn't complain about one thing, it would be the attention to detail in this foreign land.
"You sore?"
"Nah," He said, letting the medal rest on his stomach, "Just a nice, wide spread burning sensation overlaid with stiffness."
"Just that?"
Kaj smiled and kissed the bridge of my nose, "Like a telephone pole."
I yawned and rubbed my eyes as I reveled in the sensation of having his warm body so close. Part of my pleasure was the complete lack of stress. That moment was the longest possible time until anything else could ever bother me. I didn't know how I'd handle such a new sensation, but I was damn sure going to try.
My inner peace was interrupted as the door opened. I tensed but immediately relaxed when I realized that it was Dag, fresh of spending the night in the same room as his parents. With exasperation, he threw his bag down on the bed and yanked the zipper open. Kaj and I both watched with amusement at this new development.
"Hey! It's the uncrowned Olympic champion!" Kaj said in a mockingly admiring tone.
Dag simply looked at him distastefully before going to back his rummaging. I smiled at how he and Kaj had the exact same disgusted expression.
"What? Did they do it or something?" Kaj asked, laughing halfway through at his own wit.
"No. They didn't do it," Dag ranted, "Dad just gave me a four hour lecture about 'focus' and 'dedication' while we watched tapes of the Goodwill Games over and over," He paused and looked at Kaj with something not unlike envy, "That was all."
Kaj had noticed the look, "What else did he say?"
"Nothing."
Kaj leaned up on his elbow, intrigued, "Dag - what did he say?"
Relenting, Dag sighed as he pulled his sweatshirt off, "He said I should be more like - you."
He said the last part like he was eating dirt.
"Dad said that?"
"Yeah."
"Our dad?"
Dag looked at him with the same disgust before yanking his practice gear out of the bag. As Dag changed out of his jeans and into the black shorts and white t-shirt, I looked at Kaj. I saw the same smile he always had when he got an unexpected dose of esteem from his dad. I'd seen it the day before. It made me feel warm in my stomach.
When he was finished, Dag threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow. I had to feel for him. He'd just spent the night in close proximity as his parents. A twenty year old male in the same room with his parents. The thought made me chuckle and I instantly decided that Kaj and myself had most likely had a better night.
"Did he make you take the vitamins?"
Dad mumbled something to the affirmative.
"Did he make you do the thing with the cottons balls and glycerin?"
He mumbled the same way.
"Gee - it sounds like you had a rough night."
Dag raised his right hand and extended the middle finger.
"My night was pretty rough, too."
Again with the middle finger.
"You want to hear about it?"
Dag rolled over onto his side, "That's pretty funny."
"I know," Kaj said and held up the medal, "It's the power of victory."
"You know what's even funnier?" Dag didn't wait for a response, "Y'all are going."
Kaj looked horrified, "Fuck you!"
"'Fraid so, homo."
"Why?!"
"I went to your final and that was more than enough to convince Mom that your lovely presence - the both of you, that is - would be required."
I tried not to laugh at Kaj's look of utter revulsion at the idea of having to attend what would likely be his brother's proudest moment. I also knew that Kaj also realized the futility of trying to get out of the obligation. He was pretty much stuck with no hope of redemption. I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind seeing an Olympic gold medal match without stress suffocating me.
Kaj reached up and pulled his watch from the night stand. He squinted his eyes as he tried to read the hands.
"What time do you have to be at practice?" He asked his brother.
Dag laid on his back with his eyes closed, "11:30. What time is it?"
"11:45."
Dag groaned as he rolled off the bed and pulled his sandals out of the lower half of his suitcase.
"Does Dad have your shoes?"
"Of course." Dag said as he tossed his sweatshirt and jeans in the general direction of the bathroom door.
They shared one trait as twins, it was their messy personalities.
"Yeah - housekeeping will be by shortly." Kaj said in a prim tone.
Dag flipped Kaj off one last time behind his back as he opened the door and left.
I snickered, "Sometimes I can't tell you two apart."
Kaj shuddered, "Don't even suggest that."
I hugged the pillow and sighed contentedly, "It's not that bad. We'll get to watch your beloved brother win a gold medal."
Kaj laughed, "Wouldn't that be a kick in the balls if he lost?"
He laughed again until he noticed my disturbed expression. Immediately, he stopped and cleared his throat, trying to look pensive.
"That would be awful." Kaj then said, and if I didn't know him better than I did, I would have bought it hook, line, and sinker.
I shook my head and turned towards the TV, looking for the remote. I climbed down to the end of the bed to grab it off the dresser when I saw the blinking light on the VCR. Suddenly, I remembered that I'd taped NBC's local coverage of the wrestling finals. When the tape had finished, it had rewound and suddenly, I had an idea.
I grabbed the controller and switched the TV on, turning it to the input station.
"What are you doing?" Kaj asked.
I just smiled as I pressed play.
The screen lit up as the NBC logo flashed across the screen and the cheesy intro to the Olympic coverage played. Kaj made a retching sound next to me as he realized what I was doing. I just smiled as the smarmy, punchable face of Bob Costas filled the screen.
"Tonight - from the Olympic Sportshall here in Athens," Bob said importantly, "the first half of a potentially historic Olympiad for the U.S.A. Olympic Wrestling Team."
"Yeah. He couldn't just say 'Olympics.'" Kaj grumbled and I elbowed him.
On the screen, two small pictures of Dag and Kaj were shown as Bob went on about the significance of twin brothers competing at the same Olympics. I chuckled to myself as I remembered that to those watching it live, they hadn't seen the complete ass whooping that would shortly follow. At least I could laugh about it now, and that made me feel better.
Unsurprisingly, NBC didn't show the American being slaughtered by the foreigner. Their spin doctors managed to do a decent job of making the match look more competitive than humanly possible. My favorite part was the lack of shots containing me. The most the audience saw was my shoulder as the camera zoomed in on Dag looking pensive and worried about his brother. Or was he worried about his own gold medal destiny? Which were we, the viewing public, to believe?
"Can't they be sued for false reporting?" Kaj asked in wonder.
After Kaj got dumped on his ass for the millionth time it seemed, a magical swoosh of the NBC special effects team brought us to the medal ceremony. The pride of Turkmenistan was reduced to a ten second clip of his gold medal presentation while Kaj got nearly thirty seconds of coverage. NBC chose to focus on Kaj as the arena played the national anthem of another country. That part just made me wince.
"So - I didn't win?"
I shook my head sadly, "Nope. NBC wants the world to believe otherwise, however."
When the Olympic coverage shifted to a preview of the upcoming track and field heroics, I shut the TV off. It struck me again how there was little else to do except relax and not worry. Kaj was all mine for - well, forever. Taking him at his word, which he never went back on, he was done with it all. How would I ever handle it?
"What time do we have to go, do you think?" I asked as I pulled on a clean pair of underwear.
"Match starts at 5:45," Kaj yawned, "We don't have to be there until 5:30, at least."
"That's cutting it kind of close." I said, my voice muffled momentarily by the t-shirt I pulled down over my head.
"I ain't wrasslin'"
"You're sure not very excited for your brother there, sporto."
Kaj scratched himself unabashedly, "Well hey, I AM his brother."
Chapter II
You could always tell who had already competed by what they were eating in the cafeteria. The track and field crowd were still all about the broccoli, chicken, and fish. Swimming, wrestling, and cycling, however, had their trays loaded with all the fruits of the carbohydrate orchard. Kaj was no different. He always loved to take advantage of the unlimited food service at the bigger events, especially after he'd finished his own sport obligation.
Kaj had already been congratulated several times by other athletes, mainly on how impressive he'd been in getting his ass kicked. He seemed more than okay with it, he actually seemed proud of himself. However, after the fifth 'You don't lose a gold medal, you win a silver!' I wanted to clock both him and the people that prompted him to say it.
As he worked the room, I picked at the granola as best I could. Olympic village forks were made of the softest plastic known to man. I'd learned my lesson after nearly taking my eye out on an extra-well done piece of salmon. Luckily for my pride, the cafeteria was clearing out quickly due to the event schedule, leaving us nearly alone.
"Got enough crap there?"
Kaj did his best to saw through a piece of overcooked ham.
"I need to replenish my energy - Porky."
I blushed and looked away. At that moment, I was glad no one else was in the cafeteria with us. Of course, my embarrassment was material for comedy. Kaj snickered and chewed on a jagged strip of the meat, working it back and forth between his teeth until it came away with a cracking sound.
"Well, look at this!"
My stomach churned when I heard the voice.
It wasn't a voice I was familiar with, but it held the distinct tone with which I'd had plenty of experience. It was the tone of a tried and true, biblically bolstered homophobe. Not even needing to look at the speaker, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Whomever it was had a thick accent.
"Look at the two fags! Sitting together!" It was French. A French accent.
Kaj was aloof as he looked at the speaker. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him. He was tall and lanky. Must have been a swimmer. Chlorine or not, from where I sat, I could smell the pack of Greek cigarettes he'd smoked the night before.
This Frenchman got impatient, "You think people want to see that shit, huh? You two fags sitting around and kissing. It's like watching stacks of shit get mushed together."
"Hardy har har." Kaj said, just quiet enough to be easily heard.
This new homophobic gent didn't take too kindly to Kaj's sense of humor about being demeaned. He planted his hands on the tabletop and leaned down, his smoke scented self getting close enough to make me want to retch. He smelled like cigarettes and body odor, truly a nauseous combination.
"You think it's funny?"
Kaj wrinkled his nose, "No. It's not funny how your B.O. is making me want to puke."
The guy didn't say anything.
"Yeah, so maybe you could step off?"
Pepe LePeu smiled sarcastically, "You don't think it's funny when I'll kick your ass, bitch. You're lucky I don't do it now but I go to go."
"Yeah, I'm sure." Kaj scoffed.
Our new friend leaned up off the table and walked towards the exit. For the first time, I realized that I'd been holding my breath ever since the exchange began. Slowly, I let my lungs relax and I took a deep breath, glad that the stench of cheap tobacco was gone. At least the source was gone. The lingering smell would take a little while.
Kaj went back to the burned ham, "And they wonder why."
Not hearing him, I looked down at my hands.
They were shaking. Badly.
My mouth felt dry and tacky, my palms damp and cold. The feeling scared me because, at the very least, I'd thought that I'd become somewhat immune to homophobia in it's earthly forms. Hearing some narrow minded douche bag talk trash never really threw me off like it did this time. That scared me more than anything that had actually happened.
I rubbed my eyes, "You're lucky he didn't kick your ass."
"Who?"
"The guy that was just here."
Kaj frowned, "Like he was actually gonna do anything."
I cracked my knuckles, relieved that my hands had stopped shaking, "They never are actually gonna do anything until they kill you."
"Reid, he's on the equestrian team. What the hell is gonna do? Dressage me to death?
God help me, I laughed. I couldn't resist. The past 12 hours had been full of such pleasure, joy, and relief, it wasn't possible to let some Frenchman with a stick up his ass get in the way of our paid vacation to Hellenia. I could have taken him, anyway.
Kaj seemed to sense my nervousness.
He looked up and I knew that, for a brief second at least, he saw my hands were still shaking a bit. For a little while, we didn't say anything. My reaction wasn't particularly unique in any way, but I knew that it made Kaj feel bad sometimes. The outness of our relationship wasn't meant to cause me aggravation, it was just the way Kaj was. When it did cause problems, I knew he felt responsible.
Kaj frowned, "You know that if the shit really legitimately hit the fan, I'd make sure you didn't get hurt. You know that, right?"
I leaned back in the folding chair, "If I were physically incapacitated, I know that you could take care of things, yes."
"I'm serious. If you needed me to take care of you, I could."
"I know."
"See, you're being funny now. Normally, I love that but I'm being serious with you."
I shrugged, "I know you are."
Kaj didn't say anything for a few more seconds. I began to get the impression that maybe my fatuosity hadn't gone over too well. Not like it was my fault or anything. I wasn't the only one whom had built the relationship on a foundation of jokes and sarcasm. You can't hang a man with only half a noose.
I watched silently as Kaj dug one of the tines of his plastic fork into the remains of the burnt ham. At that point, I knew that what I'd said was definitely a mistake. Those rare times when they try to be serious and you fuck it up by joking around are the relationship "things" that you never learn about. Half a noose, I told myself, can't hang a man with it.
Repeating such a grim, passive aggressive mantra did little to make me feel better, however. As I sat there and watched Kaj, I felt progressively worse. I thought back to what Kaj had said the day before. His words that he'd said after I'd managed to dampen the victory celebration. They worked on me like a termite gnawing on a table leg.
'I acted like it was a joke but it isn't and as much as I act like 'this' is a joke, it isn't.'
The frustrated tone in which he'd said it was the same one he'd just used. Quick and frustrated, tired of having to drill through the sarcasm. Luckily, I hadn't heard it a whole lot in our three years. I began to curse myself for not hearing it this time. Even though Kaj had to know differently, I was treating 'this' as a joke. More specifically, his concern and care for my well being and the lengths to which he would go to protect it.
As I opened my mouth to apologize like the asshole I was, Kaj dropped the fork and stood up. He pulled on his blue sweatshirt and sighed loudly, his signal that the issue really shouldn't be pressed. Normally, I'd press it like the panic button in an MRI machine, but this time I hung back. Instead of trying to provoke him, I stood up too and stretched, my own signal of passive aggressive annoyance: made weary by the stress of such a petty argument.
We walked out of the cafeteria in silence. Kaj had dug his hands deeply into the pockets of the sweatshirt and pulled the hood up over his head. Being isolated from the peripheral view of your lover is a surprisingly hurtful feeling. Being isolated because of your own actions is extra hurtful. Especially when you're not used to the whole 'fighting/hurting' thing.
Trying to forget the ache in my heart, I busied myself with enjoying the surroundings of the Olympic Village. Outside the cafeteria, the main promenade of the village had been filled with different kiosks and shops. In the bright sunlight, the whole area looked alive and filled with world peace. Inside, I envied them for being so happy.
"I'm going to the bathroom." Kaj mumbled and walked off towards the lobby.
I watched him go and when he'd disappeared inside the glass doors of the arena, I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. If that French guy hadn't started gay bashing and acting like a huge prick, this never would have happened!
Of course, that conclusion only buoyed me for a few seconds before I realized how wrong it was. He'd only helped move the whole thing along. This one wasn't anyone else's fault. This fight couldn't be blamed on a French equestrianarian or my parents or people from my high school or whoever else I wanted to blame. This one rested squarely on my shoulders.
Absent mindedly, I wandered over towards the row of booths. Each one was dedicated to a different culture: Japanese, Mexican, German, Indian, African, it seemed like all were represented. I smiled slightly as I looked at the tables and the different things they offered. Each one was very unique and non-tchotchke like. It impressed me.
Just as I moved on from the ornate Thai booth, I found myself in front of the Swedish kiosk. The large blue and yellow flag was something I'd found myself quite familiar with. I knew more about Sweden than could be considered healthy. So much so that the Swedish flag gave me the same sort of pride as the American flag.
Underneath the flag were several trays of jewelry and glass artwork. My eyes scanned the wooden boxes until I saw a bright glint. The sun had bounced off a small gold pin mounted against the green velvet lining of the tray. It was half of a Swedish flag and half of an American flag, outlined in gold. Or at least a faux-gold substance.
I looked at the volunteer running the booth, "How much?"
He looked at the pin, "Five dollars."
"Is that Greek, American, or Euro?"
"Whichever you want."
I dug the beaten canvas pouch I called a wallet out of my pocket and ripped open the velcro. Hurriedly trying to remember the conversion rates, I went for the Drachma and handed it over. The shopkeeper, if he could be called that, dropped the pin into a small white bag and took the money. I only assumed that it was a five dollar equivalent because it had a five on it. When he didn't give me back any change, I realized there wasn't a whole lot that could be done anyways.
"Is there a warranty on it?" I asked.
Just a blank stare in return. Somewhere I knew there had to be a rimshot.
"Thanks." I said and turned to leave.
Keeping my eye out for any celebrating hordes, I walked back towards the alcove where Kaj had left me. I saw him sitting on one of the wooden benches that lined the area. Approaching carefully, I tried to cultivate a look of appropriate contriteness. I just kept telling myself that, this time at least, it was my fault.
Not saying anything, I sat down on the bench next to him. I knew that he knew I was there and we both knew that I had to apologize somehow. I looked down at the small white bag in my hand, feeling the weight of the pin roll around inside. Looking up at the sky, I prayed for someone to give me the strength to not fuck this up royally.
"I do know that you could take care of things." I said finally.
Kaj looked at me for the first time since we'd been in the cafeteria. As much as I hated to admit, it gave me a nice sunny feeling inside. Partially because I knew that the bloodiest part of the battle was over: I'd apologized in my own way.
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Kaj said, stopping to clear his throat, "That's all I care about you taking seriously."
All I could do was nod.
"I'm serious. You can joke about anything else. I don't care. Just take it seriously that if something bad was happening, I wouldn't sit there and joke while you got hurt. If you really ever need me, I can take care of you."
I chose my next words carefully.
"Despite everything else, I do take it seriously and I know that you would protect me in a serious situation."
The hyper-serious tone of my voice made Kaj laugh reluctantly. Making him laugh was the best feeling in the world for me. Until that moment, I don't think I'd ever realized how good it made me feel. I'd never appreciated it. Until now.
I reached over and played with his hair, "I do love you. For real."
Kaj smiled, "You better."
Throwing all caution to the wind, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. To my surprise, the earth didn't open up. The sky above us didn't turn black. The streets didn't fill with the blood of the meek and mild. I don't think anyone even noticed that I'd done it. Maybe the world didn't care all that much after all.
Kaj leaned against me and rested his head on my shoulder, his weight feeling comfortable against my frame. I rubbed my hand up and down his back, feeling the broad muscle and the warmth of his skin. Even in the escalating heat of the summer, the warmth of his body was reassuring. Maybe he really could make me feel safe after all.
"What's that?" He asked, pointing to the bag.
"Oh!" I tore open the bleached paper and took the pin out, "I saw this and immediately thought of you."
Kaj took the pin from me and inspected it, turning it over in his hands. He smiled and looked at me, his blue eyes washing over me and pulling me in like a tractor beam. Those damn eyes. So bright and beautiful yet so naughty at the same time. He had 'crazy eyes.' They were the eyes of a sociopath, I'd been told. By his own mother, no less, although I comforted myself by thinking that it was the language barrier.
My infatuation with his eyes was interrupted by a great joyful cry.
In the middle of the plaza, five guys dressed in orange, brown, and yellow streaked across the tarmac. Hooting and hollering like chimpanzees with ADHD, they leapt and pranced with glee. Shaking my head and trying not to laugh, I found myself able to share in the joy of a German Olympic triumph.
"What do you think? Fencing?" Kaj speculated.
"Nah. Definitely wrestling."
He snorted, "Not in this lifetime."
Chapter III
Much to my chagrin, I found myself planted back in what felt like the very same molded plastic chair. My spine certainly told me that it was the same one. If not my spine, then my nose detected the same melange of differing opinions on the need for deodorant and regular bathing. It was definitely the Olympic Sportshall. No doubt about it.
Next to me, Kaj shifted in the chair, aghast at the discomfort it was causing him. That and the indignity of having to be present at his brother's biggest and proudest moment ever. I watched him squirm against the chair, snickering at his discomfort.
"Jesus Christ! How the hell is this supposed to work?!" He whined.
"You sit there and you be quiet. That's how you work it." Marek said, his tone hard and not to be argued with.
Kaj made his best pissy face and sighed, trying to arrange his back in a comfortable position. Eventually, he amused himself by engaging in the same sort of obscene gesture exchange as Dag had the day before. With a German wrestler, of course. I watched the diplomatic sign language and couldn't stop from laughing.
"I don't think that's appropriate." I said sternly to Kaj.
"Listen, I'm repairing America's damaged world view here."
"I bet. We'll be at war with Germany by tomorrow."
Kaj stopped and sat back down in the chair, "Well, you have to entertain me then."
"I left all my shiny objects back at the room."
Sonia overheard me and laughed loudly.
On the giant video screen above the event floor, various tidbits were flashing about the upcoming event final. It mentioned Dag and Kaj being twin brothers and their shot at being the first pair of twins to win gold medals in a combat sport in the Olympics. Another factoid stated, with charming wit, that Dag was a law student and Kaj was an auto mechanic. Hardy har har har! How wacky.
They also played the NBC video footage of Kaj's silver medal ceremony. Around us, various spectators patted Kaj on the shoulder and offered their congratulations. On the screen, the ceremony gave way to Bob Costas prattling on about how excited America was for Dag Skullerud and his chances at Olympic immortality. Kaj nearly peed himself laughing at the last part.
Before Old Bob could embarrass himself anymore, the Olympic fanfare began and the officials filed out of the backstage area. Sonia prayed to herself and Marek leaned forward in his chair, the moment of truth soon at hand. Kaj yawned and cleared his throat noisily after which I elbowed him in the ribs.
Introductions were made over the PA system while the different coaching staffs filed out of the locker rooms. The Italian crew in their gleaming green and white wind suits. The Americans in their gauche red white and blue. Only when Dag emerged, following the head coach, did I feel anything more than shame for the rampant American nationalism.
Even Kaj had to applaud for his brother as the two wrestlers were directed onto the podium. They removed the wind suits and stood in the center of the mat, waiting patiently as the announcer read their names in each of the major languages. Even from our seats in the stands, I could tell that Dag was in "the zone." I looked over at his opponent and I could immediately tell that the Italian kid was nervous.
The referee of the final, a stout Armenian man, made sure that both competitors knew and understood the rules. I looked over at Marek and for a second, I was worried that he might drop dead of a heart attack. His hands were shaking slightly and sweat was rolling down his brow. Then I looked at Kaj, who actually seemed interested when the situation was actually, physically at hand.
The match began and almost immediately, Dag went down low and took the Italian wrestler off of his feet. Then, in one swift and graceful move, Dag picked him up and deposited him back on the mat with a resounding thud. The American contingent in the crowd leapt to their feet, as did the head coach of the American wrestling team. In an instant, the referee slapped the mat and signaled that the match was over.
Dag jumped to his feet and pumped his fist in the air, the most emotional thing I'd seen him do in the past six months. The referee raised Dag's hand and made it official, the sheer suddenness of the event still sinking in among the crowd. Marek realized and began to cheer, his fatherly pride impossible not to smile at. Even Kaj had to defy all the laws of sibling hood cheer for his brother, though I was sure he'd explain that it was the adrenaline of such a quick match that he was really responding to.
As Dag was embraced by the coaching staff, I felt a pang of bitter amusement. These were the same guys that tried to have him kept off the U.S. team for being "resistant to team dynamics." Now, they couldn't be happier to swarm around him like flies on a ripe, overfull garbage can. As I watched Dag stiffly respond to their sudden affection, I could tell that he wasn't buying it for a second.
I looked up at the video screen and saw that they had cut back to Bob Costas in the studio. Bob was busy trying not to sound gobsmacked at the quickness of the match. As he blustered and tried to improvise some sort of routine, I watched as Dag was escorted back to the locker room. The arena was still either in shock or ecstatic at what had happened. Mostly it was the non-Americans who were in shock and the Americans that were bouncing off the walls of the place. My nationalistic side enjoyed the sort of "suck it, world!" feeling the situation seemed to radiate.
Before I could enjoy it too much, we were ushered off to the "family area." The walk down through the tunnel was surprisingly less stressful than it had been during my last visit. This time, I wasn't crippled my anxiety or relief. Now, I was simply another member of the congratulating party waiting to see the newly crowned Olympic champion.
When we arrived, I saw the very same abused wooden block of a footstool. In the twenty four hours since I'd last seen it, even more destruction had been heaped upon on it's poor red surface. One corner looked like it had taken the brunt of being hurled up against the wall in a fit of rage. Kaj noticed it for the first time and broke up laughing, not aware of how it feels to be the family of a miserable loser.
While we waited, I could still hear the arena pounding with the excitement over what had happened. I wasn't much of an expert when it came to "U.S. Olympic Gold" memorable moments, but I was safe in my assumption that this would be a big one. As we'd walked to the family area, one member of the international press was calling it "the fastest Olympic final in history."
A minute later, the door opened and Dag emerged from the locker room. I laughed out loud when I saw that he was soaked from head to toe in champagne. He was still mopping it off his face when Marek swept him into a big, tight hug. The pure pride and joy was a very nice thing to see. Weirdly enough, it was the same kind of hug that he'd given Kaj the day before. Dag blushed at the sudden affection, his modest personality rejecting the sudden onrush of worshiping and first-born offering.
Sonia heaped a slightly more appropriate series of compliments while cleaning some of the champagne bubbles out of his hair. Bemusedly enough, Kaj was forced to admit that Dag had done a good job at something while not overlaying it with sarcasm. Even though he did do it with feigned reluctance and aloofness, I could tell that Kaj was genuinely happy for his brother.
Why wouldn't he be? Why wouldn't we all be? We were the ones that had to watch Dag be treated like Willard Stiles. We'd heard about him being provoked for their amusement. How his somber personality had been poked and prodded for nothing more than a cheap laugh. Moreover, we'd seen the hurt that he tried to hide but could never quite conceal totally. It made this moment of triumph that much sweeter.
For Dag too, even.
CHAPTER IV
As much as I'd hated the plastic seats at the Sportshall, airplane seats somehow managed to be even worse. To make matters worse, it was in the first class section of a British Airways flight no less. Just the sort of discomfort I needed when dealing with jet lag, lack of sleep, and the knowledge that I'd have to entertain Kaj for his suddenly open ten hours of each day.
Whenever I tried to close my eyes and drift off into blessed unconsciousness, the whir of the jet engine and the little crease in the seat bored into my nervous system. Not even the feeling of Kaj curled up in the seat next to me could drill through the crust of my discomfort. I rubbed my eyes and clenched my jaw, cursing whichever sick bastard had decided to invent airplane travel for humanity. My only savior was that the seats reclined totally, allowing me to lay down flat.
My head rolled to the side and I looked at Dag in the seat across the aisle. He was still wearing his gold medal; he hadn't taken it off since getting it back from the engraver. I smiled and remembered how proud he was. As un-attracted I was to Dag, I had to admit it was charming how he obligingly took off the medal for the security checkpoint in Amsterdam. For such a quiet, taciturn gentleman, he had his own charm.
Trying to find some sort of ease, I rolled onto my side facing Kaj. I looked at the fading bruise on his cheek and the curves of his face. As goofy as he was in the waking world, he managed to look so peaceful when he slept. His face always stayed very still and he never moved from his usual position. When we'd met, I could barely lay in bed awake for thirty seconds without needing to thrash around. After two nights of sleeping with Kaj pressing against me in some form or another, I never felt uncomfortable in bed ever again.
Kaj squirmed in his sleep and his eyes tightened shut. Suddenly, I felt guilty that I'd woken him up somehow with my staring. He reached up from under the cotton blanket and rubbed his eyes. I pretended to be asleep as he yawned and coughed behind his hand.
"Yeah, I know you're awake."
I opened my eyes, "So to speak."
He rolled onto his stomach and hugged the pillow, "What the hell more do you need? We're flying first class."
"Silk sheets." I mumbled softly as I rubbed my eyes.
Kaj extended his sock covered foot and rubbed the back of my leg with his toe. Just his touch made me comfortable. Not comfortable enough to fall into a deep sleep, of course not. It did make me long to run my hands over every inch of his body in a fit of passion. But of course, the wonderful flight attendants managed to appear at random intervals.
"We only have," Kaj paused to look at his watch, the indiglo panel flashing blue in the darkness, "Seven more hours until we get home."
I grumbled softly and draped my arm over my eyes, "Fantastic."
Kaj reached over and gently ran his fingers through my hair. The sensation sent a shiver through my body and I felt goose bumps stand up on my arms. As Kaj continued to play with my hair, I thought back to how stressed I was before his match. It didn't seem quite so important now, looking back in retrospect. Then again, things rarely do.
I moved my arm off of my face and rolled onto my side, giving Kaj better leverage. He alternated between petting my hair and scratching my scalp, his touch relaxing me a great deal. A comfortable sigh escaped me as suddenly, the airplane seat didn't feel so damn uncomfortable anymore. In fact, it felt just as good as any bed I'd ever slept in.
"Told you." Kaj's voice broke my reverie.
I opened my eyes, surprised at how heavy they felt, "Huh?"
"I told you I could do it."
I squinted, not sure what he meant.
"I can take care of you when you need me to."
Even in my half asleep state, I smiled.
I knew why I smiled. It wasn't because he kept rubbing my head. It wasn't because somehow, he knew I was uncomfortable and woke up because of it. It wasn't because of how sexy he looked in his singlet or how funny he was. Not because of how he'd flown for thirty two straight hours from Moscow to Los Angeles on Christmas Eve just for me. It wasn't because of the free trip to Greece I'd gotten. Hell, it wasn't even because he pretended to fingerbang a statue of a naked Greek God in the oldest museum in the world.
I smiled because it was true.
/ THE END /
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