No Place That Far (4 page)

“Thought you were lost.” Timur reached for Marcus, hooked his finger under the edge of his vest and hauled him closer. He was strong enough he probably could've dragged Marcus all over town if he wanted to, but it wasn't like Marcus put up a fight. He let himself be drawn in, and he let himself be gathered up in those insanely strong arms and kissed. Fuck, he could get addicted to the way this man kissed.

They were moving. Timur was in control, and the alcohol was flying copilot, and Marcus went along for the ride, following passively while he kissed not so passively. The door closed. One of them pushed Marcus's jacket off his shoulders, though he didn't know or care who had done it.

“I hope you're planning on checking out late tomorrow,” Marcus said as he unbuckled Timur's belt.

“Checking out late?” Timur drew back enough to meet his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Right. Language barrier. And Marcus's English wasn't so great at this point either.

“Never mind.” He tugged at Timur's belt. “Just meant it's going to be a long night.”

“Good.” Timur claimed Marcus's mouth again, and Marcus forgot whatever the hell he'd been doing with the belt still in his fingers. Whether Timur knew if he was gay, straight, bi or whatever, one thing he did know was how to kiss a man. All that alleged uncertainty, not to mention the language barrier and whatever culture shock the poor dude must've had ever since he'd touched down, vanished whenever their lips met. Neither of them could probably understand each other, could barely hold a conversation, but they sure as hell understood
this
.

Timur figured out what to do with his hands before Marcus did, and he unbuttoned Marcus's silk vest. As he did that, Marcus realized he was still holding the barely connected pieces of Timur's belt, and he managed to separate those pieces the rest of the way, the buckle jingling between their nearly touching hips.

Still kissing, they worked their way past buttons, buckles and zippers. Marcus toed off his shoes without missing a beat. Timur had already lost his—Marcus suspected he'd kicked them off the second he'd come into the room. His were likely rentals and not nearly as comfortable as the ones Marcus had been wearing, since those were his everyday work shoes and were thoroughly broken in.

Well, maybe Marcus was dragging Timur away from his sacred duties as best man, but at least that meant liberating him from god-awful brand-new dress shoes that had likely been pinching his feet to death. That should've been enough to score Marcus some points with Saint Peter.

That absurd train of thought made Marcus break the kiss with a laugh.

“What's funny?” Timur cocked his head.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Marcus busied himself working Timur's tuxedo shirt over his massive arms and shoulders. “Just…didn't expect this when I came to the wedding.”

Timur laughed too. “Is a nice surprise.”

“It so is.”

And so was all that ink. Holy shit. Marcus stepped back and stared at the elaborate lines and colors all up and down Timur's powerful arms and across his chest. He couldn't even comprehend the designs—just skin, muscles, ink.
Hot.

“You like?” Timur raised his eyebrows.

“Oh yes. Oh God yes.” Marcus ran his fingers along one of the lines. It was raised slightly, and the detail was fairly basic. An amateur tattoo? Maybe done by an artist using some ancient technique instead of the precise guns used in the States? Whatever the case, it was beautiful. He had some rather significant scars too. Nothing that he would've acquired by wiping out on a bike as a kid or anything like that. Marcus wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

“There is a bigger one. My favorite.” Timur gestured over his shoulder.

“Your favor— Oh, tattoo.” Marcus swallowed. “Can I see it?”

Timur flashed a small smile, then turned around.

Whoa.

The whole picture blew Marcus's mind. That powerful body, naked from the narrow waist up, was sexy enough, especially with a pair of perfectly tailored tuxedo pants to emphasize that ass. And the tattoos provided the most mouthwatering framework, bringing out the contours of his muscles. There were some scars on this side too, but mostly, the tattoos held his attention. Or rather, the tattoo. Singular. It was designed to fade in, and the center was a huge portrait of a Russian Orthodox Madonna with child, done in the same style as the icon paintings—big halos around Mary's and Jesus's heads, and Mary had that long, narrow patrician nose and soulful, almond-shaped eyes that in turns seemed to look sad and loving. From the stylized features to the carefully arranged folds of her clothes and the reaching hands of baby Jesus, it was nothing short of art.

“That's… Never seen anything like it. Not in the flesh.”

Timur half turned around. “Like it?”

“I do.” Marcus couldn't decide whether it was incongruous or not. Timur could just as easily have had a sprawling dragon or tiger on his back, but of all things, he'd chosen a Virgin Mary and Child. He reached out to touch it, traced the line of Mary's veil. “Why did you get it?”

“For protection.” Timur turned fully around again and lifted his shoulders. “After first firefight.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No. Friend did.” Timur shrugged again. The few words seemed to hold a lot more meaning, but Timur didn't seem the kind of person who'd just spill his guts. And, anyway, he was supposed to be no more than a booty call—a nice one, where sexual history and orientation didn't even matter, let alone what the significance of all his tattoos was and what else lay encoded in his flesh as scars and habits and reflexes. Timur reached out and touched the band around Marcus's upper arm. “This?”

“I used to have barbed wire around it—like just about every adult male, so I had it covered up with a tribal.” Marcus rubbed along it. “I was considering a sleeve, but I used to work in a five-star fucking restaurant, and we liked to keep up appearances.”

“And now?”

Timur was right. Now he didn't, and quite a few employees at Wilde's were inked wherever the hell they wanted. Ray hadn't been keen on anything that might raise eyebrows. But Ray didn't call the shots anymore. “I'll think about it.”

Timur nodded.

“So, what…what's your favorite thing? I mean, in sex.” Quick change of topic, but then he realized that might be answered with
pussy, if I can get it
, when he really didn't care just now.

A grin spread across Timur's lips, and something told Marcus
pussy, if I can get it
wasn't going to be the answer. Not tonight, anyway.

Timur stepped closer to him and slid his hot, rough hands over Marcus's waist, drawing him in. “Naked.”

Marcus gulped. Semidressed fooling around had been hot earlier, but now that Timur mentioned it… Yes. Naked. “We should…we should get…”

But then Timur was pushing Marcus's trousers and boxers down over his hips. He let them pool at Marcus's feet, and then stripped off his own clothes.

“Better?” Marcus asked as he toed his clothes out of the way.

“
Da
.” Timur's lips quirked. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Yes. Good.” Timur's hands landed on Marcus's hips again, but instead of drawing Marcus closer, he pushed him back a step and followed. Another step, and Marcus's calf bumped the bed.

He shivered. This was getting more and more real by the second, and he loved it. He was overwhelmed by it and couldn't tell where the booze ended and the arousal began, but he couldn't get enough.

“Wait.” He gestured at his discarded trousers. “I should get the…the things. So we don't have to stop.”

Timur nodded, and Marcus knelt to grab his trousers. He fumbled with them, but found the bag containing the condoms and lube. “There. Now we'll—”

Oh Lord. He was right at eye level with Timur's cock. Right at the perfect height.

He glanced up at Timur and was met with the filthiest, most knowing little smirk. Any other night, Marcus would've been all about power games and posturing and
if you want me to suck your dick, you'd better start sucking mine
.

Tonight, he put a hand on Timur's hip, took his cock between his lips and wondered how the fuck he'd made it this far into the evening without doing this. Timur got even harder, and, yep, he was definitely too big to get anywhere past a gag reflex that wasn't at the level of professional porn. But Marcus still enjoyed teasing him and loved the taste and feeling, and the small signals from Timur's body, the way he sucked in a breath or shifted his weight, or even how his balls felt in his sac when Marcus rolled them in his free hand.

Timur didn't touch him, didn't grab his head or ears or shoulders, just stood there, head rolled slightly back, hands clenched at his sides, breathing and groaning every time Marcus pulled back and focused his attention on the big cockhead. Slowly, slowly, Marcus pushed for more and took him as deep as was possible, then slipped away and instead sucked on his balls and stroked him.

A tremor passed through the big man. “I want to fuck you.”

Marcus glanced up.

Timur offered him a hand, and Marcus used it to pull himself to his feet. He didn't expect it when Timur spit into his hand and closed his strong hand around Marcus's dick. The spit did almost nothing to temper the calloused roughness of the hand, and the touch was too intense to be just pleasant, but the discomfort added an edge. Whatever Timur's orientation, he seemed to believe in giving a guy a hand. Marcus found himself thrusting into the rough hand and steadying himself on Timur's shoulder as he did, then felt Timur's other hand slide to his ass, and a bit farther, two fingers pushing into his crack to rub against his opening. “Getting impatient?”

“Can I fuck you?”

“All right.” Truth was, he was more than eager to know what Timur would feel like fucking him. Quite possibly part of the attraction was his sheer size, and another part was that he was a complete stranger and would be gone soon, and that he wasn't part of the usual scene. No expectations, no routines, just what they both wanted and what they were willing to give the other. Marcus got on the bed.

The plastic bag crinkled. Marcus couldn't help chuckling at Timur's expression as he turned the box of condoms in his hand.

“The instructions are probably in English.”

Timur eyed him, then laughed softly, some color blooming in his cheeks. “I can figure out.”

“Better yet…” Marcus got up on his knees and took the box, “…let me.”

Timur didn't protest, and he watched, his brow slightly furrowed, as Marcus thumbed open the box and withdrew the strip of condoms. Marcus tore one off the strip, then dropped everything on the bedside table where it would be within reach. Something told him this wouldn't be the last one they used tonight. He ripped the foil with his teeth, and after he'd gotten rid of the wrapper, he put a hand on Timur's hip and drew him closer.

Timur pulled in a sharp breath as Marcus rolled on the condom. Weird sensation, excitement—Marcus had no idea. He was lucky he could breathe himself as he handled this impressive cock that was about to be inside him. And he'd thought he'd be sleeping alone tonight.

Right. As if there'd be any sleeping tonight.

He reached for the lube, but Timur beat him to it. “Turn around.”

Didn't have to tell him twice.

Timur put some lube on himself and knelt behind Marcus. He didn't bother with fingers—he pressed his dick against Marcus, and Marcus tensed.

“Hurts?”

“Uh, well.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Not yet. But you're…big.”
So big. Oh my God.

Timur froze, a hand resting on Marcus's hip. “Too much?”

“No. I don't think. Just…” he swallowed, leaning back against Timur's cock, “…just go slow.”

“Of course.” There was a note of caution in his tone, but some amusement too. “No rushing.”

“No rushing.” Marcus had a playful comment on the tip of his tongue, but then Timur pushed against him, and all his thoughts evaporated. Truth was, he liked it when men fucked him without much prep. Sometimes it hurt, but it was intense, and hot, and he fucking loved it.

He was a just a little intimidated by the prospect of
Timur
fucking him that way.

Timur pressed harder. Marcus pushed back, bracing for the barrage of sensations.

More pressure, and his vision went white for a few seconds. It had been a long time since he'd been fucked with a cock anywhere near this size—well, one that wasn't made of glass or silicone, anyway—and intense didn't begin to describe it. Though he'd asked Timur to go slow, he was instantly addicted to the sensation of that thick cock moving inside him, and he rocked back against him, driving Timur deeper and encouraging him to move faster.

“Not hurting?”

“Feels good.” Christ, his English was as broken as Timur's now. “More.”

Timur gave a soft, almost sadistic laugh. Marcus gripped the comforter beneath him, searching for something to anchor himself, because he had a feeling this was going to be one hell of a ride.

Timur pushed all the way in, and he pulled Marcus's hips against his, holding him there for a moment. He exhaled hard and ran a calloused hand up and down Marcus's back.

“Timur.” Marcus glanced back at him. “Fuck me. Hard. Please.”

Timur said something in a language Marcus didn't understand. It might've even been English. All Marcus knew was it sounded dirty, and the man kept speaking, his words somehow slurred and sharp at the same time, and he was pulling out slowly as he did. Marcus held on tighter. He knew what was coming. Thought he knew. Hoped he knew.

Timur pulled almost all the way out. His fingers twitched on Marcus's hips.