“Wait until you see inside,” Dietmar said. “It’s a much bigger venue than it looks.”
He was right. A long, dark corridor led to a balcony that looked down over the stage. As Rick looked behind him, he saw there was a bar and booth-style seating that had a gothic-Egyptian feel to it. The lighting was eerie, the electric candles throwing shadows against the dark blue walls. It was going to be perfect for Purple Method.
“This place is awesome,” Tony said.
“Follow me and I’ll take you to your kit,” Dietmar said and gestured for them all to follow him through a door at the side of the bar and to a steep staircase that led to the basement and then around the edge of the main area to backstage. “There’s another door that leads to the street that you can use tomorrow night once the venue is open. Your set will be thirty minutes.”
It was quite pokey backstage, but Rick stayed with Purple Method as they checked through the boxes they had shipped and then helped them stack them out of the way, ready for tomorrow.
“I think we’ve got everything,” Tony said. “It all looks good to me.”
Max grimaced. “I don’t have any spare bass strings. I’ll need to get some more before the gig in case I snap one.”
“There is a music shop not far from here that sells them. It’s a short tube ride.” Dietmar scribbled down the address on a scrap of paper.
“Thanks,” Max said and shoved the paper into one of his pockets. “I’ll head down there tomorrow.”
“I think that’s everything. Unless you have any questions?” They all shook their heads. “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
As they headed outside into the bright sunlight of the busy street, Kyle said, “So, what now?”
“I could use a drink,” Tony said. “Looks like there’s plenty of bars around here. Which one shall we try first?”
Kyle suddenly gasped, and Rick spun around to look at him. He was pointing excitedly at a poster in the tattoo store window. It was advertising an ice hockey match that evening. “We have to go to this, Tony.”
Tony’s grin said it all. “We’ll all go.”
“Absolutely no way,” Max said. “You should go, though. We’ll hang out here and check out some of these food places and those clothing stores.”
“Yeah. I’d rather stay around here,” Rick said and let out the yawn he’d been holding in. “I need to get some sleep.”
Tony said, “We’ll only be gone a few hours, and then we can all have a drink afterward.”
Max shrugged. “Sounds good.”
“Tony, we should head over there now to get tickets. Maybe we can see about skating while we’re there too, if they’ve got a session before the match?” Kyle asked.
“Sure. It’ll be weird not having our own skates. If they’re really shit, I’m sure they’ll have a bar we can go to instead.”
“Great,” Sian said. “What’s the best way to get there?”
“Tube,” Rick said and pointed toward the station. “Definitely the best way to get around London.”
“We’ll see you later, then,” Kyle said to Rick and Max.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Max said as they watched the others walk away.
Rick smirked. “Hotel?”
“Yeah,” Max said. “But we’re stopping for some takeout first.”
Rick reached out to put his arm around Max, but Max shrugged him off.
“What do you reckon… Greek chicken skewers with triple-cooked fries or filled Indian puris?”
“Whatever you want. You choose.”
By the time they reached their hotel room, they’d finished their skewers. Rick could have done with a sleep. But he wanted to make the most of his time with Max before tomorrow. Before he found out what his future held.
“Are you tired?” Rick asked as their hotel room door slammed closed.
“A bit,” Max said and slid his arms around Rick’s waist, kissing him and then resting his head on Rick’s shoulder.
“Nervous about tomorrow?”
“No, not particularly.” Max went over to the bed, puffed up one of the pillows, and slumped against it.
“Not even a little jittery?”
“No, not at all. Why?”
Rick came over to the bed, climbed on top of him, and sat straddling him. “That’s a shame. I guess the bubble bath in my case will have to wait until another time, then.”
“You know, now you mention it, I do feel a little tense,” Max said and cracked his neck for effect.
“Yeah. Thought you might be.” He smiled and leaned over to kiss Max.
Pulling him closer, Rick deepened the kiss, savoring Max’s taste.
“I’ll go get the bath started,” Rick breathed and reluctantly pulled his lips away.
Once the water was running, Rick poured in the bubble bath and inhaled the steamy aroma of rosemary and thyme. This was a great idea. He could do with a decent soak after that long airplane trip and then the rushing about from the second they’d arrived. As he stripped off his clothes, he glanced in the mirror and decided to shave his two days’ worth of stubble—he’d feel better after.
The mirror was already steamed up, and Rick wiped it clear with his hand as he took out his shaving kit. He jumped as Max slid his hands around his waist and pressed his hard shaft to Rick’s bare skin.
“You’re such a tease,” Max said and thrust his hips toward him so his leaking cock rested between Rick’s buttocks. Rick groaned as lust shot through him and spread throughout his body.
“You need to learn to have some patience.” Rick caught Max’s eye in the reflection and winked at him.
Sliding his hand around the curve of Rick’s hips, Max cupped his balls in one hand and caressed them, allowing his fingers to brush against the underside of his shaft. He pressed his thumb over Rick’s tip and smeared the silky precome over the head. Rick couldn’t help groaning, it felt so good.
“Really? You’re the one who keeps on losing our races,” Max murmured, reaching up to grab Rick’s jaw, turning it toward him, glancing his lips across Rick’s, and trailing kisses down the side of his neck.
Max gasped as Rick grabbed his hips and swung him around so quickly that Max reached out to the basin to steady himself. Leaning forward, Rick pressed his mouth against the nape of Max’s neck. “I have no self-control when it comes to you.” Rick took a firm hold of Max’s cock and used what he hoped were agonizingly slow strokes. “Turn around,” Rick said and nipped at his neck, reaching across to turn off the running bath.
As soon as Max obeyed, Rick grabbed some lube from his dopp kit, dribbled it between Max’s asscheeks and teased him by gliding his thick cock between them, deliberately not penetrating. Instead he gyrated against him, making damn sure Max could feel how wet he was for him.
Max’s body trembled as Rick let go of his waist and ran his fingers around his rim, sliding them inside, Max’s breathing quickening as he pressed back into his touch. Dropping to his knees, Rick withdrew his fingers and took hold of Max’s cock with one hand as he ran his tongue around Max’s entrance, darting inside. Max bucked against him, but Rick was ready for him and didn’t allow his tongue to penetrate farther. Pumping Max harder, Rick held his other hand across Max’s lower back to hold him in place as he darted his tongue deeper this time. His hand stayed clenched around Max’s cock, and Max flexed against his grip as Rick’s tongue traced the ring of muscle at his opening.
“Just fuck me, will you?” Max gasped.
Slowly standing, Rick said, “What was that? You want me to fuck you?” He held his body rigid, resisting Max’s attempts to force their bodies together. Pressing his lips to Max’s neck, he waited for an answer.
“Yes,” Max choked. “I want you to ram your cock into me so hard that I have to beg you to stop.”
Rick caressed Max’s neck while he grabbed a condom from his dopp kit and put it on. His sheathed cock teased Max as it rested against him. “You got it.”
“Ready?” Rick whispered, and Max moaned in response.
He thrust harder, and once again Max cried out. Rick clasped his hand over his mouth to remind him to stay quiet. Max wouldn’t want the entire hotel hearing what they were up to. It felt so good being inside him like this. It was these moments, when they were able to be together like this, that everything felt perfect, like they were meant to be together.
Rick was getting close, and he rested his head against Max’s back as Max writhed beneath him. He reached around and batted Max’s hand away, gripping his rigid length as he pumped him, his balls slapping against Max’s bare skin, and pistoning his hips as he thrust into the delicious heat of his body. Max yelled as he tensed, clenching around Rick’s cock and spilling into his hand, tipping Rick over the edge. Rick jerked into him, breathing heavily as he emptied his load, white-hot sparks shooting through him and blinding him for a moment, and then he slumped against Max as he fought to catch his breath, kissing Max’s neck before pulling out and taking a few moments to enjoy the afterglow. “It was supposed to be the other way around.”
Max was still gripping the basin. “I can do you in a minute if you want?”
Rick huffed a laugh. “I meant I’d thought we could take the bath first. But I like your thinking.” He dealt with the condom and lowered himself into the bath. “You going to join me?”
“How much of the bubble bath did you use?” Max laughed and flicked water into Rick’s face. “You sure there’s room in there for me?”
He sighed and relaxed back, reaching for Max’s hand and pulling him down on top of him with a splash, closing his eyes, and smiling at the weight of Max’s body pressing down on him. This was pretty damn near perfect. He wished this moment could last forever.
“I CAN’T believe how much equipment you have in here,” Rick said in amazement as he looked around Neil’s MMA gym the next morning. He’d managed to slip out before Max had woken, and had left him a note to say he’d gone to the gym.
Over to the right of the entrance was a large area of black mats where some fighters were stretching and others were practicing takedowns. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering the walls at the far end, reflecting the octagon to his left and rows of heavy bags. A cornered-off section directly to Rick’s left contained high-tech gym equipment and free weights.
Neil gripped his shoulder and smiled. “Why don’t I show you to the changing area and we can run through some training drills while we talk?”
“Sounds good. I can’t believe it’s been seven years since I last saw you. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Neil laughed. “Thanks. I’m a bit grayer these days.” He scrubbed his hand over his shaved head. “I have to say, I was excited when Jakob told me you might be interested in joining us here. Do you remember when you visited when you were twelve and I gave you your first kickboxing lesson?”
“Yeah.” Rick grinned. “I don’t think Mom’s forgiven you for that, even now. As soon as we got back to the States, I gave up dancing so I could do kickboxing instead.”
Some of the fighters in the changing rooms eyed Rick as he walked in with Neil, sizing him up. He recognized a couple of them from televised fights, but he didn’t flinch. He was used to other fighters trying to psych him out and make him doubt himself, and knew he could handle himself against any of them in the ring.
Concentrating on getting changed, Rick stripped to his fighting shorts, and then Neil surprised him by saying, “Grab your MMA gloves and mouthguard. There’s an advanced class about to start. How do you feel about joining in?”
“Sure.” That sounded like fun. He was getting twitchy from not training for a few days. Hopefully the caffeine he’d taken that morning would keep him going through the jetlag that was threatening to knock him out.
“Great. It’ll give me a chance to see where you’re at and for you to see how we work. They’ll do a warmup, then some drills, and they’ll finish up with some light sparring in the octagon.”
There were nine other guys in the class, including the two he recognized from the changing rooms. Their toned, muscular bodies, gloves that were heavily abraded and falling apart, and relaxed, confident manner made it obvious they were all professional fighters. Rick studied each fighter as they started on the warmup, running along the track marked out around the outer edge of the gym. He noted the way each of them moved—his chiropractor training making it easy to spot what injuries, if any, the fighters had—as well as their levels of competitiveness and aggression. Some of them raced, and others were happy to be at the back. Rick kept pace with the middle of the pack, careful not to let any of his own weaknesses show, as he’d be stepping into the ring with them today.
“Rick, why don’t you pair up with Shawn,” Ian, the trainer, said once they had finished warming up.
“Sure,” Rick said, smiling at the tall dark-haired man shuffling toward him. He felt they were evenly matched based on what he’d seen so far, certainly in terms of weight and build. Their reach was probably about the same. He’d have to make sure he dominated in the drills and then again if they fought. If he couldn’t handle Shawn, there was no way Neil would offer him the position. He had to be able to cope with whatever was thrown at him, and at the highest possible level.
Ian was demonstrating a pretty standard drill of jab, cross, hook, spinning backfist, jumping snap kick, roundhouse, and a compass half-moon capoeira kick.
“You want to pad first?” Shawn asked as they grabbed some water.
“Sure.” Rick picked up his focus pads from the floor and slid his hands through the straps. “How long have you been training here?”
“Since it opened a year ago.”
“It looks like a good setup.”
“Yeah.” Shawn dropped his water bottle and put on his gloves. “Much better than my last place. Plus I’m able to compete in the big competitions. We did quite well over in Japan last month.”
“That’s great.” Rick held up the pads, ready to start the drill.
“I hit pretty hard, so make sure you hold the pads steady, yeah?”
Rick suppressed a laugh, nodded, and indicated for him to begin. The guy was quick, but if he thought this was hitting hard, he had another thing coming. He was going to get a shock when Rick took his turn. “Swivel your left foot more when you turn into the spinning backfist. It’ll give you more momentum and will set you up better for the snap kick. You’re a bit off-balance at the moment.”
Shawn frowned. He clearly didn’t like the “new guy” trying to give him tips, but then he relented and nodded. Rick held up the pads, and this time Shawn’s form was much better. His backfist had more power and his roundhouse was much more controlled. From the sidelines, Rick was aware that Neil was watching him and that he’d smiled and turned away, nodding.
He was right about Shawn not being used to powerful punches and kicks. With his first punch, he saw that the pad had knocked back and had struck Shawn’s mouth, but he didn’t show any sign of pain. With the second punch, Shawn staggered backward, and by the backfist he had securely anchored himself ready for the kicks, almost. With his roundhouse, Rick sent Shawn flying backward.
“Sorry, bud,” he said and offered his hand to help Shawn up. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Shawn was laughing. “Haven’t had that happen to me for a while. Who did you say you were again?”
Ian came over to check on them and watched with amusement.
Smacking Shawn on the back, Ian said to him, “Learn what you can from him.” He winked at Rick. “Looks like the rumors were true. You’ve got one hell of a punch. We’ll get you in the octagon in a minute, see what you’ve got.” He stood back, and
Shawn held out the pads again. This time Shawn was ready for him.
After one successful three-minute round in the octagon against another of the fighters who was lighter than Rick but very quick, he was watching Shawn fight someone who was about thirty pounds heavier than him.
He was clearly struggling to gain an advantage, and Ian was yelling at him to get to his feet when the other fighter took them to the mat. Ian was right. If you were fighting someone heavier, they would usually have the advantage when you were grappling, unless you were very good on the ground. Shawn was struggling. They were face-to-face on their knees, and Shawn was trying to overpower the fighter and flip him. Rick groaned and willed Shawn to listen to Ian, who was screaming at him now. He saw it coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Rick winced as Shawn’s right shoulder dislocated. They carried on fighting, Shawn not seeming to notice. That would be the adrenaline, but his shoulder would hurt like hell later. No one else seemed to notice that Shawn had injured himself, and out of respect, Rick didn’t try to stop the fight. They only had another thirty seconds anyway and the damage was already done.
Shawn lost the fight, and as he walked out of the ring, he was rubbing his shoulder and cracking his neck.
“Neil, mind if I take a look at his shoulder?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, go for it. Thanks, Rick.”
Rick took Shawn to one side. He was a bit pale.
“Your right shoulder hurting?”
“Yeah, I caught it funny. It’ll be okay.”
“I think you’ve dislocated it. Mind if I take a look?”
“Dislocated? Fuck. Yeah, sure.”
He checked his arm movement, and thankfully Shawn only had a partial dislocation of his acromioclavicular joint. At least it wouldn’t need surgery.
“Is he okay?” Ian asked, and Rick filled him in. “Just pop it back into place and he can take some painkillers. I need him fight-ready for next week.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. You can do it, can’t you? I thought you were a chiropractor?”
“Yeah.” Rick shook his head. “Yeah, I can do it.”
Purple Method Page 24
