Escape (19 page)

Luka's head sank down until Tarik couldn't see his face.

“I don't care about that. You know that, right?”

“My parents are secular. We never went to services. And I'm...”

“Look at me, Luka.” He waited until Luka met his eyes again. “What are you?”

“An atheist.” He confessed it like a crime.

Tarik smiled. “Me too.”

He wanted to erase the last of the fading shadows of worry from Luka's eyes, wanted to bridge the narrow but dark abyss that had opened as soon as he'd brought up the religion thing, wanted them to slip back into the groove that had them both taut and breathing hard, so he kissed Luka's soft lips, tasted him. When Luka's rigidity slackened, Tarik went deeper, his hunger surging. Impulse to get out his own cock. Something thrilling in the idea of seeing it there, facing off against Luka's. Tarik undid the button, then watched Luka's face as he pulled the zipper open. Nervous anticipation in his storm-dark eyes? Or apprehension? A soft, sweet kiss lightened the shadow there, and Luka glanced down, too, but looked away just as Tarik released himself from the bind of his jeans.

“It's okay. You're allowed to look, too.”

After a moment of hesitation, Luka lowered his eyes, then was still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“And you're allowed to touch. If you want to.”

Luka brought his hand toward Tarik's cock, but stopped short, leaving it hovering mid-air. Tarik touched his wrist, guided him in, until the pads of Luka's fingers touched down against Tarik's rigid shaft. Tarik curved his own fingers against the girth of Luka's erection, stroking softly. Just that—his caress, and holding Tarik's cock in his hand—had Luka trembling, his breaths quickening, more and more shallow.

“I can't believe how fucking good you feel,” Tarik whispered against Luka's neck, then kissed, licking and mouthing his soft skin, making Luka whimper.

Kissing, caressing, riding the wild thrill of Luka's shy touches. Tarik brought one hand around along Luka's waist, slid it down over his narrow hips, his round ass, delighting in the firm flesh in his grip, then running his fingers lightly over the furrow between his cheeks, startled at the sudden gripping urge to get behind him and fuck him. God, just the idea torqued his already tormenting want past the point of endurance.

Still gently stroking—teasing more than working toward getting Luka off—Tarik curved his other hand around Luka's as it caressed him in return, and coaxed him to tighten his grip. “This time, I'm going to make you wait,” he teased. Watching Luka's face, Tarik flexed his hips, pushing his stiff cock into Luka's grip, and all at once he was taken over by his urge, his need to fuck, his aching dick compelling him to pump his hips, get himself off. “Keep doing that, just like that,” he murmured, almost breathless already with that perfect friction. Still grasping Luka's ass, he raked his other hand into Luka's hair, slowly fucking his hand, incredulous that another mere hand job—and an inexpert one, at that—had him hurtling so fast toward another climax.

The way Luka surrendered to another deep, possessive kiss fueled Tarik's escalating urge. Grunting, rubbing himself needfully against Luka's slender fingers, his palm, Tarik tasted and sucked and bit Luka's lips, then demanded entry, sought Luka's shy but responsive tongue. That soft, wet penetration, claiming Luka's mouth, Luka's trembling yielding to him as Tarik desperately sought that tormenting, releasing friction drove him over the edge, the pulsing ache in his cock and balls coalescing, going dense, heavy, then rupturing. And God, the sight of Luka's cock just an inch from his own, Luka's hand wrapped around it as he came, a thick whitish jet spurting forth.

Luka's eyes locked on that same image, lips parted but breathless.

Panting, Tarik bowed his head to Luka's brow while he caught his breath, then taunted, “Your turn,” practically purring.

Something about being with Luka brought out unfamiliar impulses. Maybe it was finally being with another man, or maybe it was being with someone so much younger than he was. An eight year gap. Another first. Or Luka's fretful shyness.

When Tarik saw the glistening tear slinking down the flushed crown of Luka's cock, still rigid and jutting upward even though Tarik hadn't touched him in minutes, Tarik caged the stiff member in the circle of his fingers, barely making contact. Holding Luka's gaze, he slid the pad of his thumb through the slippery fluid, smearing it slowly over the engorged tip. Luka startled, gasping a sharp inhale. Brow furrowed, Luka closed his eyes and hid his face against Tarik's chest.

“No.” He gently pushed Luka back. “I want you to watch me touching you.”

God, every time Luka blushed like that, it was like Luka's hot skin warmed that spot at the center of Tarik's chest. But Luka opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on his cock and Tarik's slowly circling thumb. A visible shudder rippled through him, its echo humming through Tarik's body.

He touched Luka's chin, tilted his face upward, devoured the startled rapture in his turbulent gaze, and kissed him. Luka was always so tentative in his kissing, shy, almost evasive, hesitantly following Tarik's lead. But now, as Tarik went on teasing along the ridge of Luka's cockhead with his thumb, there was palpable desperation in Luka's kiss, a ravenous feeding. And he was whimpering. It almost sounded like he was crying.

Tarik pulled out of their kiss, and when Luka didn't open his eyes, whispered, “Look at me.”

The sight of Luka's face contorted in the torment of his pleasure hit Tarik with a twinge of excitement. And, God, he was going to come, just like this. No real stroking, only fretting that sensitive joint just under the head with his thumb. Even though he was pressed back between Tarik and the tree, Luka clutched at Tarik's jacket as if he were about to fall, and cried out, voice high, warbling, as a milky spurt arced up between them and showered down on the dull confetti of soggy leaves and detritus at their feet.

Tarik folded Luka, still stiff and seizing, into his arms and held him tight until he calmed, then kissed him, feeling strangely needful, compelled to seek something vital deep down in the soft warmth of Luka's total surrender, his sweet, yielding kiss.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Terrestrial Paradise

Life begins on the other side of despair.

Jean-Paul Sartre

The idea of the safe house, of getting indoors, having food and a bed and a shower, had comforted and motivated Luka through two days of difficult marching, and two nights of hunger and cold. But as soon as the village was in sight, something inside of him started to collapse in on itself and his legs went weak. Forcing himself, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, feeling dizzier with every step. If there had been anything in his stomach, he would have thrown up.

Either Tarik sensed Luka's anxiety, escalating toward panic the closer they moved toward the village, or he was wound up for his own reasons. He'd gone even more quiet and watchful than usual. And, even though Luka thought he sensed Tarik's focus on him, as much as the sounds and shadows around them where he might discover some sign of danger, at the same time he seemed far away. Unreachable. Twice, Luka said something to him, and Tarik seemed not to hear.

Just like the last time, they waited until dark, but this time once they crept up on the village under the cloak of night, Tarik rapped softly on the front door. Empty and light and unable to breathe, Luka wanted to run back into the woods, to starve rather than go into that house with strangers who would hate him for his accent, for not looking how he was supposed to look, for not being what he was supposed to be. When the door opened, he could barely root himself, but he stayed still, heart feeling like it was hacking its way through his ribs. He almost laughed, he almost burst into tears when an old lady peered through the gap, studying Tarik, then him, then opened the door wide and gestured for them to come in.

“Come on down. It's best to keep to the basement.” With her single candle, the woman who'd hastily introduced herself as Andjela led them down the creaking stairs.

As they descended into the dark, Luka's apprehension launched back into overdrive, his head filling with vague suspicions about Eršban soldiers hiding in dark corners, waiting to ambush them. Once they reached the bottom, though, the old woman touched a switch and the room filled with light. Windowless and spare, but warm and clean. Gradually Luka started breathing normally again, and the pounding of his heart subsided.

“I don't expect anyone else for the next five or six days. You can stay longer, if you don't mind sharing.”

“I was told there'd be transports going over the border.” Tarik's voice was uncharacteristically tight.

“There should be a group coming through in the next couple of days. I'm sure you'll be able to squeeze in.”

Tarik set his bag down against a wall. “Yes, we'd like to get over as soon as possible, if there's room for us.”

“If they check in before they arrive, I'll let them know. But don't worry; they'll be stopping here for provisions, regardless. Meanwhile, there's food in the pantry. You've got hot water. There are no windows down here, so don't worry about the light, but keep it dark upstairs or you'll have unwanted visitors. There's only one bed down here, but of course one of you can sleep upstairs. It will be cold, though.”

“Much better than out in the woods, I'm sure.” Tarik gave her a warm smile, and even though that smile wasn't for him, it filled Luka's chest with a comforting glow.

“Do you boys need anything? If either of you is injured, I have a few basic first aid supplies.”

“Thank you, but fortunately neither of us has been seriously hurt. We're just grateful for your help and hospitality.”

“Idiotic war. I'd sooner put Zivković, Kadryov, and their ministers in a stadium and let them fight to the death and call it a day. Why is propaganda so much more successful when it stirs up hatred than when it tries to stir up friendly feeling?” Luka only noticed her limp as she painstakingly worked her way back toward the stairs. “Now and then we get a platoon coming through, raiding our food stores and hunting Eršban deserters and Bokan holdouts, but we've got a pretty tight net of lookouts in the surrounding area, so I should be able to give you warning well in advance. We have better hiding places than this—not as cozy, but far harder to discover. We'll make sure you're safe. Meanwhile, if you have any serious trouble, I'm in the house with the yellow front door, at the other end of town, past the church. But only come if you have to, and please try not to be seen.”

“Thank you. We'll be careful.” Tarik gave her another smile, but she was already making her way upstairs, and never turned back.

When they'd heard the old woman close and lock the front door, Tarik turned to Luka. “Hot water. I don't know what I'm dying for first—a hot shower, or something to eat.”

“Go take your shower, I'll get some food heated up.”

Luka got a fire going in the fireplace, then got the wood-burning stove heating up. The pantry was so well stocked it brought tears to his eyes and made his empty belly rumble. Brown potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, onions, bags of beans, grains, flour, apples, dried fruit. He started some beans soaking for the next day, and threw together a vegetable stew and got it cooking in the oven.

When Tarik emerged from the bathroom, smiling and shirtless, Luka's belly fluttered. Would Tarik kiss him again, now that they were alone in the comfort and safety of that warm basement? Would he touch him again? Undress him again?

Tarik pulled an armchair closer to the fire and collapsed into it. “Bathroom's all yours. Anything still need doing for dinner?”

“I made a stew. It just needs to cook a while longer.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Tarik's big warm smile made Luka's heart give a heavy thump, even if it was the same smile he'd given the old lady.

He didn't want to be greedy, but with every minute, every hour that passed, Luka felt their time together slipping away. Once they were over the border and Tarik was with his son, nothing would happen between them again. Tarik would go back to dating women. Sleeping with women. Soon, he'd meet a girl, and marry her, and she'd become his son's mother.

Luka would never feel Tarik's warm, strong embrace again. Never hear his voice vibrating through his chest again. Never feel that impossible bliss of complete surrender in his hands.

Tarik was sprawled in the armchair, head tilted back against the worn cushion, his eyes closed.

“Okay. I'll go get in the shower.”

Without opening his eyes, Tarik said, “Okay. Enjoy that hot water.”

Even more than the hot shower, after days of cleaning his teeth with salt on his fingertip, Luka was thrilled to find a cup full of brand new toothbrushes by the sink. He unwrapped one from it cellophane, loaded the bristles with Freshdent, and spent a good five minutes brushing, swearing that even if the entire Eršban army charged the house, he wouldn't forget it like he had when they'd fled Begović's.

It was weird, seeing himself in the mirror. He'd lost weight, and his cheekbones were much more pronounced than they used to be. While he brushed, he fingered the bruise ringing his neck, a nauseating chill slinking through him at the sight of the wound on his wrist as he lifted his hand to his lips, pushing them out of shape the way they must have squished and bulged while Skinny smeared them with lipstick. Had he really looked like a girl? Or had they only said it to humiliate him?

What did Tarik see, when he looked at him?

Daris. Tarik was a father. Even though Luka tried to push it away, he couldn't escape the image of Tarik kissing the ephemeral vision Luka had of the mother of his child, holding her in his arms, lying on top of her, moving over her.

What was he to Tarik? Maybe, probably, he was just an implement. A diverting alternative to jerking off. He thought of things he'd heard or read about silicone toys. About men getting caught doing things with animals when there weren't enough women around.

Stripped naked, Luka's bruise-mottled body didn't match his face, like a perverse child had put the wrong head on his doll's body. He wrapped a towel around himself, pulling it tight across his chest and tucking the corner in like starlets he'd seen in old movies. Maybe Skinny was right. Luka took the wet towel Tarik had used, charged with the little thrill of knowing that dampness came from Tarik's body, and wrapped it around his head like a turban. He looked like someone else.

Was that other self in the mirror a revelation, or an erasure?

Luka jumped and gasped, startled by the soft knock at the bathroom door.

“Luka?”

He took a breath and tried to calm his voice. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I didn't hear the shower.”

A reckless impulse, reaching out, fingers trembling, heart pounding hard, legs unsteady, and opening the door.

“Are you alright?” Tarik held his gaze, and Luka couldn't tell if Tarik saw the revelation, or the erasure.

“I was just trying to decide...” Luka stopped and took another breath because his voice was failing him. Then his courage failed him. He couldn't say it.

Tarik gave him a kind smile. “What were you trying to decide?”

“Like this,” a breath, a leap, “do I look like a woman?”

Tarik's kind smile still frozen in place, his eyes filled with confusion. After a few horrible seconds of silence, in a low voice he asked, “Do you want to look like a woman?”

“I don't know.” He didn't want to start crying. “Would you like it?”

“I don't understand, Luka. Are you... does this have something to do with what Armin and Begović did to you?”

It didn't. But it did. “They liked it.”

Tarik was quiet for a few moments, and Luka had the feeling he was carefully weighing each syllable of whatever he might say next. “Was the wig your idea?”

“No.” The word shuddered out of him, embarrassment squeezing his ribs in a sudden clench.

Tarik's stance and expression softened.

“But if you'd like me like that...” He hated that he couldn't keep his voice even.

Without knowing why, when Tarik stepped toward him, Luka backed away until he was up against the counter. “Do you know how I'd like you, Luka?”

Why was he shaking so badly? Why couldn't he speak? Why was he suddenly cold, shivering in some lingering shadow of the fear he'd felt those first moments in the cave, Tarik bearded and wielding his big knife, twisting up in the terror of the belt squeezing his throat closed while Armin forced his mouth open?

Tarik raised his hand to Luka's face. Bracing himself, willing himself to be still, Luka waited for a touch. A caress. Instead, Tarik lifted the towel from Luka's head and dropped it on the counter. “This is how I'd like you to be. Just as you are.”

When Tarik touched the towel Luka had wrapped around his body, a shudder shook Luka. Tarik hesitated a moment, then, watching his eyes, pulled the corner free from where Luka had tucked it under his arm. A strangled little noise escaped Luka's throat and he caught Tarik's wrist.

“You don't want me to?”

Luka met his eyes, but his hand stayed frozen

“Why does it scare you? Are you still afraid I'll get angry with you?”

Luka's throat felt like it was clogged with glue. “No.”

Voice quiet, but firm. “Then let me look at you.”

Like falling, falling from the safety of trusted arms toward cold, suffocating water waiting to swallow him, giddy with dread, bracing himself, Luka made himself let go of Tarik's wrist.

Holding his gaze, Tarik pulled the towel from Luka's body, then slowly looked him over. Panting for breath, Luka rooted himself there, strangling his desperate need to duck away, to run, to hide under something. To disappear.

Tarik's gaze slid up his torso, and met his eyes. “This is how I like you, Luka.” Tarik's voice was low and thick. For a second Luka thought Tarik was going to touch him. “After these last couple days, why would you think I wouldn't like you, just like this?”

Luka shrugged and broke away from Tarik's searching gaze.

“Luka?” Tarik brought his hand to his face, almost cradling his jaw but barely touching him.

Finally he yielded and met Tarik's eyes. “You've always been with women.”

Agony, waiting while Tarik stood there, not answering. With those sharp hazel eyes fixed on his face, Luka imagined Tarik balancing whatever paltry, mediocre attraction his own face held against all the women Tarik had made love to, all the women he'd longed for and fallen in love with. The longer Tarik went on looking, the more worthless and ugly he felt. When Tarik brought his other hand up and really cupped Luka's face in his big palms, then shifted closer, bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, it felt like a confession. Their nights clinging to each other in the warmth of their interlocked sleeping bags was just a way of escaping the ugliness of the war at their backs, of diluting the dread of the crossing. A release while in exile from normal life, in exile from all the women he really wanted to kiss and touch and... A confession that what he'd done with Luka he'd done out of curiosity, out of desperation.

When Tarik pulled away and looked at him again, his blissful expression instantly darkened. It took Luka a second to realize it was something in his own face that had eroded the elation of their brief, tender kiss. “God, Luka. You look so sad. Is it so hard for you to believe I want you?” Another tender kiss. “Just like this.” Tarik ran both hands lightly over Luka's naked torso, feathering his fingertips over his pecs along the way, briefly grazing his nipples and sparking sudden pleasure that poked through his anxious sorrow. “I love your body,” he murmured, his lips and resurging beard brushing against his cheek, the contrast of softness and roughness sending shivers cascading down his neck and back. “I love looking at you. How your body felt under mine. Feeling your cock against me when I was on top of you. Holding it in my hand.” Word by word, Tarik's voice took on weight, drag; now, as Tarik spoke, Luka felt almost like he was being touched. “I've been dying for a chance to really see you. Like this.” Tarik moved back and slid his gaze down Luka's body again. “Can't you believe just looking at you makes me want you, as much as I've ever wanted anyone?”