No Place That Far (2 page)

Timur's eyebrows jumped. “Why?”

“Why? I—oh, I mean I almost did it by accident.” He set the glass down before he embarrassed them both. “Clumsy.”

The corner of Timur's mouth lifted slightly. “Drunk?”

“I think so, yes.” Marcus laughed. “I guess I won't be driving home tonight after all.”

It was only after the words came out that he realized he and Timur had locked eyes, and that for all the limitations of Timur's English, there was at least one way that comment could be interpreted that Marcus really, really hadn't meant. But now that he'd said it, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. In fact, it seemed like a pretty fucking good idea.

Wow. I am really drunk, aren't I?

And he is really hot.

And I need another fucking drink.

“I mean, I…” He cleared his throat and picked up his glass, hoping it still had at least a few precious drops of booze pooling at the bottom. “Can't drive after I've been…” He gestured with the glass, and, Christ on a cracker, he
was
drunk, because his brain registered a second too late that the damp glass had slipped through his sweaty fingers.

Timur's hand came out of nowhere and caught the glass.

For a moment, they both froze, Marcus's empty hand hovering in the air, Timur's holding the glass a couple of inches below it.

Then Timur chuckled, his eyes narrowing just right to make the tanned skin at the corners crinkle, which did all kinds of crazy fuckery to Marcus's pulse. He set the glass down again and faced Marcus. “Two left hands, yes?”

It had to be a joke, because there was no recrimination in it, and Timur smiled at him again. If a guy built like a wall could be playful, it was this. “Looks like it.” Their eyes met again, and there was definitely interest in Timur's, though Marcus was just drunk enough to jump to conclusions. But Timur was standing really close now, and Marcus only hoped it wasn't because the man thought he'd keel over drunk. Though ending up in those arms might not be the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Marcus glanced around, but the party was still going strong and likely would be for several hours. This was the Wilde's crowd. They had stamina when it came to dancing and alcohol. He and Timur wouldn't even be missed if they left now. Under slightly different circumstances, he'd just ask Timur straight out whether he fancied a bit of action, but he didn't feel quite so confident with this man. He might misread Timur so badly it'd end in embarrassment and awkwardness, and while Marcus wouldn't have minded the risk with a total stranger, Timur struck him as too sweet and gentle to be embarrassed like that. Damn his soft spot for big teddy bear types.

“I think I'll check if the hotel has a free room.” He turned away a bit. “Shower might be good to clear my head.”

“You could use my shower.”

There was no way to misread that, was there? Marcus looked into Timur's eyes, but the color distracted him from the expression. Marcus drew closer, close enough to whisper in Timur's ear, “You inviting me to your room?” Just making sure Timur knew what he was asking.

Again, Timur didn't pull back, didn't insist on any distance between their bodies, and Marcus placed a hand on Timur's shoulder to test the theory. Solid muscle, but not so much as a shrug. Nobody paid them any mind. And getting laid would get Marcus away from the wedding for a little while and away from his dark and bitter thoughts. Doing the best man at a wedding—well, it was a first, but it seemed like a really good idea just then.

Timur half turned and placed a hand between Marcus's shoulder blades. “My room is that way.”

Chapter Two

Timur may have been the quiet teddy bear type, but apparently there wasn't a passive bone in his body. Or a shy one, for that matter.

In the elevator, he pushed the button for the fifth floor and didn't even wait for the doors to close.

No prelude, no long, lingering look. He grabbed a fistful of Marcus's jacket, shoved him back against the wall and kissed him. Shock and a few gallons of booze kept Marcus from responding immediately, but, damn, he still caught on quick. He wrapped his arms around Timur's narrow waist, as much for balance as to pull their bodies closer.

Timur tasted like whiskey, and he smelled of… Hell, Marcus couldn't put his finger on it. Pure masculinity, he decided, and took in another long, deep breath through his nose. Yes. Masculinity. And it was hot. Jesus.

He curved a hand around the back of Timur's head, letting his fingers hiss across the recently shaved hair—almost to the skin, but not quite—as he opened to Timur's assertive tongue.

And, goddammit, that was the moment the elevator lurched to a halt, and the quiet
ding
startled them both. They separated, and Marcus was already thanking God they'd reached their floor when two things happened at once.

First, he realized they were only on the third floor.

Second, the door opened, and a family poured in through the door, Mom and kids dressed for the swimming pool. Which he remembered was also on the fifth floor.
Fuck.

He and Timur stood against the back wall, both using their jackets for a little modesty, and they stared straight ahead while the doors closed and the elevator carried the two men and the cluster of chatty children and their mother upward. Six elevators in this hotel, and they had to pick this one, didn't they?

The journey from the first to the third floor hadn't been nearly long enough—Marcus could have made out with Timur against that wall until they reached the five-hundredth floor, for all he cared. Getting from the third to the fifth?
Ages.
By the time they finally reached Timur's floor, Julien and Chris would probably be celebrating their tenth anniversary downstairs.

Finally, though, it stopped. The doors opened, and the kids and their mother were gone. Marcus exhaled. He reached for Timur, fully intending to pick up where they'd left off, but Timur held up a card key with the hotel's logo on it.

“This way. Isn't far.”

Not far. Thank God.

Though as they stepped out of the elevator, walking fast and staying a few inches apart, it dawned on him that he thought he'd watched a documentary on the French Foreign Legion a few years ago, and he could have sworn they'd said something about hundred-mile forced marches. It was entirely possible that he and Timur had very different ideas about “not far”.

But not this time.

Three doors down from the elevator, Timur slid the key into a reader with hands that were way, way too steady for someone in this state. The door clicked, and he pushed it open, gesturing for Marcus to go in ahead of him.

Marcus's legs obeyed in spite of his excitement and inebriation, and he stepped into the room. Behind him, the door shut, and he had time for a few
holy shit
heartbeats and a gulp before strong hands materialized on his waist.

“Shouldn't stay away long,” Timur murmured beneath his ear. “People will notice.”

“I'd fuck you on the wedding cake if that was the only option.” Marcus turned before those strong hands pushed him toward the bed—nothing teasing about it, though his heart was racing from the anticipation all the same.

He did manage to get his jacket off before they reached the bed. Within moments, he was lying flat on the mattress, Timur on top, both of them with shoes still on and neither of them caring even a bit.

Normally, Marcus would challenge Timur for the top spot, but he was too drunk and mellow to do that this time. Timur kissed him again and lowered himself some more, just enough to cover Marcus's body and rub their groins together.

Marcus pulled at Timur's shirt and got to the skin underneath just as Timur was pushing against him. The man was solid, rippling muscle, hot and smooth to the touch, but while Marcus was usually happy to get them both fully undressed, right now, all he wanted was to get off, so he pulled at Timur's belt and opened it, then button, zip, and he pushed the trousers down along with the underwear. Timur's cock sprang free, and Marcus's mouth watered. He was long, thick and ready, and with all those muscles around, Timur likely fucked like a machine. Perfect.

He stroked the length, which sped up Timur's movements. The man was so eager to get Marcus out of his clothes, he damn near ripped the seams of the tux. They didn't bother with niceties or even getting fully undressed. Marcus barely managed to get the tux jacket off Timur, but things were moving so fast he didn't care whether they ended up fucking mostly dressed. Maybe that was the way to do it in the Legion too, just bare cock and ass and get fucking before anybody caught them.

“Want to fuck you.” Timur's voice was low and breathy against Marcus's ear.

Marcus mostly regarded himself as a top with some flexibility, but he didn't want Timur to get the wrong idea. “That means I get to fuck you too.”

Timur didn't hesitate. “Only fair.”

Nice. A switch. A switch with a fucking enormous dick and a muscular ass the likes of which were rarely found outside a Tom of Finland drawing.

With his free hand, Marcus dragged Timur down into a kiss, and he kept stroking him, which was getting progressively more difficult as Timur ground against him. Marcus could barely move his hand at all. But since Timur's movements were rubbing Marcus's hand against both their dicks, well, he wasn't going to bitch. And the way Timur's hips thrust, oh hell, he was going to be an awesome,
awesome
fuck.

All they needed now was—

Oh crap.

Marcus broke the kiss—sort of—and murmured, “Condoms.”

Timur didn't miss a beat. “None.” He ground harder against Marcus, fucking into his fist and pushing Marcus's fingers against his own cock.

“We can't…”
Breathe? Think? Talk? Fuck. That's it. We can't fuck.
“We need…we need condoms.”

Timur's lips left his, and Marcus expected a defeated sigh and a few curses in whatever language Timur spoke. Instead, Timur dipped his head and bit the top of Marcus's shoulder. Not just a little nip—he fucking
bit him
right through his shirt—and Marcus damn near came right then and there.

“Oh my God!” Marcus arched against him. He squeezed Timur's dick harder, and the low groan that vibrated against his throat made his head spin.

“No condoms doesn't mean…”

Marcus grimaced.
Please don't tell me you want to go bareback…

“Can still…” Timur shuddered, still grinding against Marcus, “…come.”

“Mmhmm.” Marcus stroked as best he could with his hand pinned between them, and Timur sank his teeth in again, sending another shiver right through Marcus. “Fuck…”

“You like?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

A breath of warm laughter, and then teeth again, this time above his collar, right into bare skin.

“Do you…” Marcus grabbed on to Timur's shoulder with his free hand, “…do you do that when you fuck?”

“Do what?”

“Bite?”

The low growl gave Marcus goose bumps. “You like teeth?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Timur's teeth grazed flesh again, and suddenly he was moving a lot faster, thrusting now as if he really were fucking Marcus, and he murmured something in Marcus's ear, something that sounded somewhat Russian and
very
profane.

More swearing. Teeth. And Marcus lost it. He came against Timur's belly, slickness reducing the friction of the thrusting, and just then Timur moved harder and faster, changed the angle just a bit and fucked against Marcus's skin, groans sounding more labored now, and Marcus held him tight, kissed him again deeply, fucking his mouth with his tongue.

Timur pulled back only a few moments before his own orgasm hit him, and that was also when he buried his teeth again in Marcus's shoulder. Shit, that was going to bruise, but Marcus didn't care, just caught up in the feeling that was part pleasure and part pain and this strong guy coming apart, spurting across his belly, where semen and sweat mixed.

They stared at each other for a few moments, then Timur kissed him again, lips closed now, strangely polite, almost reserved or shy, and then Timur pulled back and got up. He did sway a bit for a moment but collected himself on the way to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a damp towel. Just as he was making moves to clean up Marcus, Marcus took the towel out of his hands and wiped himself down, then handed it back.

While Timur cleaned himself up, Marcus pulled up his trousers and went to the bathroom to check the damage. He looked flushed and rumpled, but it was all still within the realm of deniability. The shirt had ridden up high enough that the semen hadn't actually made it onto the fabric. He wiped at it a bit more with a fresh wet towel and washed his face and neck. He'd be okay.

Just then, Timur came in and looked at him in the mirror. He seemed a bit softer around the edges, a bit drowsy, but that sated expression made Marcus want to draw him out of that and fire him up again. “I'll leave first. You follow in five minutes?”

Timur stepped closer. “Can we fuck again?”

Marcus grinned. “Already?”

Timur paused, then grinned too, a playful, boyish look that might mean he hadn't quite caught the meaning. “Now?”

“They'll miss us. After the party? I need to get a room first.”

“Sleep here. We can fuck all night.”

That sounded like an amazing way to get over that whole wedding-sadness thing. “All right. I'll get lube and condoms.”

Timur said something Marcus didn't quite understand—more Russian, maybe—but before Marcus could ask, Timur wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him. “Go first.”

Marcus nodded. He couldn't resist one more kiss, and that was almost a mistake—the alcohol was probably the only thing that kept him from getting turned on all over again. Timur's hungry, demanding kisses in the elevator and in bed were hot, but this lazy, borderline-affectionate kissing? Hell, he didn't care if they fucked all night as long as Timur kissed him like this for at least half of it.

He made himself break the kiss and finished straightening his clothes. Then they exchanged one more look, grins full of sinful promise, and Marcus slipped out of the room.