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.”
Chapter Fourteen
Marcus timed their departure perfectly. Though Chris and Julien’s place wasn’t all that far from Sea-Tac, there was that lovely interchange between the two freeways that always got clogged up, and once Boeing released its day-shift employees, that interchange would be a goddamned parking lot. Better to get to the airport early, pay a few extra bucks for parking and chill in a coffee shop while they waited.
They’d agreed to meet Chris and Julien at Baggage Claim, and as luck would have it, their flight would be collecting baggage at the carousel nearest the coffee shop. Win.
Now if the flight would just magically arrive ninety minutes early so Marcus could stop fantasizing about what it would be like to sit here and wait for Timur to appear after a long absence…
He shook his head and idly stirred his coffee for something to do. On Saturd
ay, he’d see Timur off, wish him well, and by Sunday, be on his way toward moving on. He had to work on Saturday night. Considering Wilde’s was a veritable cornucopia of horny single men, he could probably find one or two who’d be willing to distract him for the night. After all, a night with Timur had been effective in distracting him from his divorced-dude-at-a-wedding pity party.
His gaze slid toward Timur.
Yeah, and look how that night of distraction turned out.
Shit.
A loud buzzer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see the baggage carousel starting up. Tired passengers were already shuffling toward it, heavy bags on their shoulders and under their eyes.
“That’s their flight.” Marcus got up. “We should go wait for them.”
Timur gathered their coffee cups and napkins. Once they’d cleared off their table, they made their way to the growing crowd of exhausted travelers.
“There!” Timur jerked his chin toward the escalator.
Julien and Chris appeared, both looking as wiped out as everyone around them, but tanned, happy and holding hands like they didn’t give two shits if anyone was offended by two men being affectionate in public. Marcus silently dared someone to say something—a smart-mouthed homophobe probably wouldn’t last long once two gay legionnaires got in his face. The thought made him chuckle, which relieved a tiny bit of the tension that was clawing its way into his back and shoulders.
Quit stressing over it, he told himself. Timur’s here for a few more days. Just enjoy it.
Julien spotted them first and leaned in to Chris, pointing their way with a smile. Chris lit up, and they both waved but stayed near the luggage carousel until their bags came around.
Not long, and they were hugging. “I’m so glad you guys are picking us up. I don’t think I could drive after that flight.” Chris pointed at Julien. “He never told me how long those damned flights are…”
“Don’t worry about that. We got that.” Marcus flinched and hoped nobody’d seen it.