No Place That Far (14 page)

Ideal customer? Jesus, Marcus.

Maybe Timur's pleasure compensated for Marcus's ruined enjoyment of food. He couldn't eat anything these days without running an inner critique of it—the meat too cooked, the dressing too vinegary, maybe he should have introduced another texture here or left out an ingredient that proved a distraction. If he gave himself an eight out of ten, he considered it a success. Less than that and he returned the recipe to the drawing board. In some ways, he envied Timur the easy pleasure he got from decent food. Hell, the easy pleasure he got from everything, it seemed.

Marcus took a sip of wine, wondering how much better it tasted to Timur than to everyone else at the table.

I could learn a thing or two from him.

Chapter Twelve

Jon and Liam stayed well into the evening, until they were sober enough to make it safely home. Not that they had to go far, or even had drunk enough to really get inebriated, but it did seem prudent to make sure they were both coherent and balanced before getting on Liam's motorcycle.

On their way out, the guys shook hands with Marcus and Timur. As Liam shook Timur's hand, he said, “We'll have to do this again. Before you go back to Europe.”

And just like that, he might as well have hit Marcus in the gut. After a relaxed evening of enjoying good food and good company, there it was—the reminder that at least some of this was temporary at best.

But Marcus kept a happy face painted on until after they'd left. He gestured for Timur to follow him into the kitchen, and as he started that way, said, “Let me clean things up from dinner, and we can turn in for the night.”

Strong hands on his hips stopped him in his tracks.

“Can wait.” Timur kissed the side of his neck, and suddenly Marcus's head was lighter than it had been all night.

The chef wanted to pry himself free and make sure his kitchen was immaculate. The man who only had so much time left with Timur…suddenly didn't care about dishes and countertops.

“Bedroom,” Marcus whispered.

“Da.”

The wine and a good meal had subdued them both, kept them from throwing each other around and fucking each other violently like they often did. Instead, they just kissed and touched, hands roaming all over naked bodies pressed close together on top of cool sheets.

Like no one else, Timur could make the rest of the world—even a kitchen that still needed to be cleaned—vanish. Marcus was aware of everything else, but he didn't care about anything except the way Timur's lips moved against his, how hot Timur's skin was and how turned on they both were as their hard cocks rubbed together between their bodies.

His orgasm built slowly, a pot of water taking its sweet time boiling, and Marcus didn't mind at all. He wanted this to last. Judging by the blissed-out, little moans and shivers and goose bumps, Timur was very much on the same page.

Timur rolled onto his back, pulling Marcus with him, and he ran his calloused hands all over Marcus's torso as they kissed and rubbed against each other. Marcus's head spun—he couldn't be all that drunk, not if he was this hard and this close to coming, so it must be Timur who made him dizzy.

When was the last time a man had that effect on him? He had no idea. He didn't care. Timur made him feel this way now, and Marcus surrendered completely to it, and he didn't want this to ever, ever end, but every touch brought him closer to the edge, and every gasp told him Timur was right there with him, and Marcus just…let go. He held on to Timur but didn't hold back anymore, and as he arched his back and came on Timur's cock and both their stomachs, he thought he heard Timur whisper a few curses before he too lost it.

Marcus collapsed on top of him. Both panting and trembling, they kissed lazily. Timur stroked Marcus's hair, the gesture as tender as it was unsteady.

I could get used to this.

Marcus quickly banished that thought. He kissed Timur once more and pushed himself up. “Stay here. I'll get some tissues.”

After they'd cleaned off the semen and sweat, they dropped onto the bed together. Timur wrapped his arm around Marcus's shoulders, and Marcus rested his head on Timur's chest, their fingers laced together on top of Timur's flat abs. Lying like this, Marcus didn't want to move. Like, ever. Even his not so clean kitchen couldn't drag him out of this room.

After a while, Timur broke the silence. “Your friends. They're…husbands?”

“Mmhmm. They got married at city hall the first day it was legal.”

“Hmm.”

Marcus shifted a little so he could look up at him. “Why?”

“Curious.” Timur absently rubbed his thumb along the back of Marcus's. “Men as husbands to each other…is…” He stared up at the ceiling, then shook his head. “Don't understand.”

“What about Chris and Julien? You were there when they got married.”

“Of course. For Julien, anything.”

Jealousy flared in Marcus's chest, but he quickly tamped it down. “But you don't understand?”

Timur shook his head. “Is all very strange, men getting married.”

Marcus shifted, propping himself up on his arm so he could see Timur's face, though he kept his other hand loosely clasped with Timur's. “What's not to understand? Two men fall in love, and…”

And then wind up divorced, alone and bitter, wondering what the fuck just happened.

“I never understood men falling in love with each other. Not until Julien.”

Marcus chewed the inside of his cheek—he wasn't sure if Timur meant until Julien fell in love with Chris, or…. No, he was still in too good a mood to let his mind go down
that
road.

He cleared his throat. “Liam and Jon are the same way. They fell in love, they got married, they're happy together.”

“And you and your husband?”

Marcus flinched. “Well, we're just proof that same-sex couples are just as capable of sabotaging themselves as straight couples.”

Timur studied him, his expression a mix of confusion and…sympathy? Pity? Then he shook his head again. “Is all new.”

“What's so new about it?” Marcus tilted his head. “I'm not the first man you've been with, so you can't be surprised that men are gay.” He grinned cautiously. “You were a little too far up my ass last night to be questioning the things that can happen between men.”

Timur laughed softly. “Surprised…men love each other. Like men and women. Love between comrades is…different.”

Marcus arched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Friends. So battlefield and barracks aren't so lonely. Not to be husband, like with woman.” He ran his fingers through Marcus's hair. “But Julien and Chris. Liam and Jon.” His eyes met Marcus's, and Marcus's chest tightened. “Didn't know this happened.”

Marcus swallowed. Part of him wanted to dismiss Timur's use of
this
as a result of his less than perfect English. Holding Timur's gaze, though, that intense, green-eyed gaze that seemed to be able to bore holes right through to whatever Marcus was thinking or feeling, Marcus couldn't help wondering if
this
meant exactly what it sounded like.

So not ready for this.

Sure, if Timur's stay were open-ended, he'd consider it. If they could be like this with no best-before date, it could get a hell of a lot deeper. This right here felt like a holiday affair, half-removed from real life and the return ticket was already booked. It was why Marcus had been ready to rush things—to not waste time. But it was based on the understanding that it would end in a couple of weeks. If that particular carpet were pulled—no, definitely not ready.

Marcus tried for a chuckle. “It definitely happens all the time. If it keeps going at this rate, there won't be any singles serving drinks at Wilde's. Speaking of which, I need a glass of water. Want anything from the kitchen?”

Timur shook his head.

Marcus crawled out of bed and walked into the kitchen, where he poured himself a large glass of water. Leaning against the work surface, one arm crossed in front of his chest, he took deliberate sips, staring at the wall opposite without seeing much. He'd spent way too much time like this in his marriage, avoiding the issue, dodging Ray rather than making another futile attempt at patching things up. It always came down to how they'd both changed and how the stupid restaurant had brought out the best, worst and most stubborn in both of them. He didn't want to go through that with Timur.

And with Timur, it was a moot point. He'd be gone soon, and whatever state this relationship was in wouldn't matter, because it would be over. It wouldn't end with a slamming door like Marcus's marriage. Just the closing of an airplane door, and they'd both move on. Easy as that.

So why didn't it
feel
that easy?

“You're all right?” Timur's voice startled him so badly he nearly dropped the glass in his hand.

Marcus set it down just to be safe and turned to see Timur's imposing silhouette in the doorway. Timur took a step toward him, coming into what little light spilled in from outside. He hadn't bothered putting on any clothes. Neither had Marcus. Now they were standing here in his kitchen, naked and silent.

“I'm fine,” Marcus said after a moment. “Just…” Yeah. The glass of water had probably convinced him. Which was why he'd stayed in the bedroom rather than strolling out here to find out if Marcus was okay.

Timur came closer. The streetlights illuminated his face, making him look deceptively pale, and picked out that ever-present sparkle in his eyes. “Something is wrong?”

Marcus lowered his gaze, intending to avoid Timur's, but of course ended up looking right below his nonexistent belt instead. Rubbing a hand over his face, he turned his head. He was just…not in the mood. Not for any playfulness. Not for sex. Not for conversation.

A warm, calloused hand slid over the small of his back. Timur's voice was low and soft as he said, “I've upset you?”

“No.” Marcus dropped his hand and looked at him, not realizing just how close they were now, even though he'd been aware that Timur was touching him. “No, I…” He swallowed. “Listen, can I be perfectly honest about something?”

Timur nodded.

Marcus took a breath. “I know men in relationships is a new thing for you. And with you and me, it's…well, it's kind of irrelevant because you're going to be gone soon.” He swallowed hard. “But to put it bluntly, I don't want you to leave.”

Timur held his gaze. “Stay tonight?”

“Yes.” Marcus laughed softly and wrapped his arm around Timur's waist. “But I mean…I don't want you to leave. At all.” He sighed. “I know you have to. I know you're going to.” He cupped Timur's cheek. “But I don't want you to.”

Timur ran his fingers through Marcus's hair. His eyes were still locked on Marcus's, but he didn't speak. Marcus held his breath, wondering if Timur was trying to comprehend what he'd said, or maybe he was trying to translate his own thoughts into his understandably limited English, or maybe he was—

Timur pulled him closer and kissed him.

Marcus released his breath. He let himself be gathered into a gentle embrace, and wrapped his arms around Timur's neck as the kiss went on. And on. And on.

He was physically exhausted—he'd had enough wine and sex today that more sex was out of the question, but nothing about this kiss seemed sexual anyway. Though they were both naked, bodies pressed together in the near darkness, the way Timur kissed him was just sweet and affectionate, his hand cradling the back of Marcus's head as tenderly as their lips moved together.

After a while, Timur broke the kiss and drew back, and their eyes met again in the darkness.

“You're not—” Marcus paused, trying to find his breath. “You're not making it any easier to deal with you leaving.”

Timur looked equal parts sad, amused and sweet. “Wasn't trying to.”

You bastard.

Timur took his hand. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah.” Marcus let himself be led back into the bedroom. They didn't speak as they climbed under the covers again.

Timur rested his head on Marcus's chest. Marcus wrapped his arm around those gorgeous broad shoulders.

And that too didn't make it any easier to deal with Timur leaving.

Chapter Thirteen

It didn't take Marcus long to get used to falling asleep and waking up next to Timur. There was no fighting over the covers, nobody taking their half of the bed out of the middle, and a general understanding that if one woke up in the dead of night with a hard-on, the other would enthusiastically help him take care of it. Even if he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, Marcus was definitely in a good mood whenever the sun came up.

Except today.

He'd barely opened his eyes before that heavy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Today was the day—they were picking up Chris and Julien at the airport in a few hours. Which meant Timur's visit was rapidly winding to a close.

Sighing, Marcus rubbed his eyes, then stretched a little and rolled over. They'd stayed at Chris and Julien's place last night, and now Timur was on his stomach with his arm wrapped around one of the cats, whose head rested on the man's heavily tattooed shoulder.

In spite of that lead ball in his stomach, Marcus couldn't help but smile. When he eventually went looking for someone he might stay with in the long term, he'd definitely look for a man who cuddled with pets. Because that image—his tanned, rugged, inked legionnaire curled up with a cat—was just too fucking adorable.

Timur was still asleep. He didn't seem to have any of that fabled soldier awareness or those routines that saw Julien still wake up at five or something in the morning (Chris had told him), or maybe he woke up and then fell back asleep, like a civilian would. In any case, Marcus managed to get out of bed without waking him. He even managed to get into his pajama bottoms, less for modesty and more because one of the cats didn't know the difference between clothed human and naked human, and didn't care either when it tried to climb him.

Timur and he had quickly settled on their favorite breakfast, so that was what he'd make. He'd bought the eggs and tomatoes and other assorted things before he'd arrived yesterday. Large skillet, dash of oil, squish a generous amount of garlic and chop up a large onion. While those cooked off, he chopped up some chorizo. The dish was Mediterranean, going back to either Jewish or Arab cooking. While Timur was a Tatar, he also was apparently an Orthodox Christian, not a Muslim, which Marcus understood was pretty damn rare among Tatars (and no, he hadn't done that much research—it was just small things Timur had hinted at). No dietary restrictions, in any case.

Once the chorizo had cooked a bit, he threw in some garam masala, which turned the mix a nice rich orange. He let the spices warm a bit while he skinned the tomatoes and chopped them up finely, then tossed them in, where everything cooked for a while. When the mix had reduced somewhat, he opened holes in the mix and cracked an egg in each, then reduced the heat a bit. The food was ready when the eggs were cooked. While it was completely okay if they were still a bit runny, Timur much preferred them cooked through, so once they were halfway there, Marcus gathered them up with a scoop and just turned them over for a few more moments.

The dish was a fragrant one, and it attracted first the cats—they came running at the smell of anything cooking, even if it wouldn't actually appeal to them—and then Timur. He'd pulled on a pair of plain gray sweatpants. Trust Timur to look good in them.

“Morning.” Marcus met his gaze over the steam rising from the frying pan. “Hungry?”

Timur smiled sleepily. “Always, when you're cooking.”

Marcus's heart fluttered—even after nearly a month of this weird little relationship, Timur's eyes still lit up every time Marcus made something. It could be the simplest dish like the one he was making now, or an elaborate five-course feast that took days of preparation, and Timur was still thrilled by the sight, smell and taste of it. After living with an impossible-to-please restaurant owner for way too long, the novelty of Timur's unflinching appreciation hadn't even begun to wear off.

And it won't get a chance to wear—

Stop it.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Coffee's ready too.”

Timur muttered something in what Marcus had come to recognize as his native tongue. Probably “Oh thank God” or close to it.

As Timur poured himself a cup of coffee, he said, “Julien's flight is on time. I checked.”

Marcus focused on the bubbling food in in the pan and tried to ignore the ball of lead sinking deeper in his stomach. “We'll need to leave around noon, then. To beat the Boeing traffic.”

Timur grunted an affirmative. He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. “Will be strange, Chris and Julien here.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said quietly. He forced a playful, if halfhearted, smile and glanced at him. “Guess we can spend more nights at my place. Since you won't have to worry about the cats.”

Timur nodded.

“I mean…obviously you'll want to spend time with Julien. But at night. Um.” Marcus swallowed and focused on the food again. “At night, if you want, we—”

Timur stepped closer and touched his arm. “Do you want me to stay with you at night?”

Marcus looked up at him. “Yeah, I do. Very much so. I just don't want to keep you from your friend.”

Timur leaned in for a soft kiss. “Julien has Chris. I have you. Is good.”

Considering he and Julien had been deployed together, ranking roughly at the same level meant a great deal, but they both knew that.

He'd never outright spoken about it, but as far as Timur's sexuality was concerned, things were pretty clear. Timur had no hang-ups about being gay—and he seemingly wasn't attracted to women. More importantly, he had good overall relationship manners. He left plenty of space and was always reliably there when and where needed.

From what Marcus had gathered, he was also a one-man guy. Likely a holdover from the Legion too, where Julien had been his “special comrade” and other men didn't appear to figure. That seemed to take care of all of Timur's emotional needs—if you could call them that. Timur didn't seem to have any needs, didn't make demands and didn't seem the type to ever do so.

In Marcus's experience, everybody had needs, but Timur never made a big deal of them, never showed any entitlement and seemed genuinely happy with however much he got. He also wasn't the damsel-in-distress type—the kind of man who was a wreck and needed a relationship to prop himself up, at least until that relationship floundered, because no man should be made to drag somebody else through life. Timur stood on his own two feet and seemed perfectly capable of living on his own if he cared to. Marcus liked them independent like that.

The eggs were done, so he killed the gas flame and dished up. He handed Timur his plate, and they both walked over to the breakfast bar, where the cutlery was already settled. One of the simplest dishes on the planet, but so good every time.

“When's your return ticket for?” It was a question he'd dreaded asking—until about now, “end of the month” had been precise enough, but it had been so far away. With today being the twenty-fifth, it was now much closer than felt right. They hadn't seen everything, done everything. Five years until his contract was done. Afterward—Marcus had no illusion that either of them would still be up for it in five years' time. Timur was easy to hook up with, and he, well… Five years was a damn long time. Wilde's was a barrel teeming with fish. He might be the resident silver fox serving drinks, but he got plenty of compliments. Something would work out between—next month and five years from now. Right?

“Flight is Saturday.”

Saturday. Without thinking about it, Marcus glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Wednesday. On Saturday…

Ouch.

“That's…” he swallowed, “…sooner than I thought.”

Timur nodded. “Time has gone by.”

Too quickly. Much too quickly.

“Well…” he forced himself to meet Timur's eyes, “…we'll just have to make sure the next few days are memorable.”