No Place That Far

by Aleksandr Voinov

  We.

  Yeah, because speaking of himself and somebody else in the plural at such occasions wasn’t a dead giveaway.

  Timur helped with the luggage, loading himself down with a suitcase and a couple of assorted bags that were likely presents, while Julien and Chris talked about just how beautiful that island was where there’d been. Jungle, white sandy beaches and an active volcano. Apparently, they’d also made a detour to India and Hong Kong, which explained some of the gift bags.

  While Chris spoke, his eyes were alight with happiness. First time ever he’d left the States, aside from his missionary work, and apparently he’d loved it, while Julien seemed to get a bigger kick out of Chris’s enthusiasm than seemingly from the memory, but maybe that was what summed up love in a nutshell—getting a bigger kick out of your partner than just about everything else in the world. That ability to see things anew and with unjaded, fresh eyes because your partner had never seen it before. Loving their pleasant shock and surprise when your partner fell in love with something you’d shown them, and appreciating old favorites all the more.

  On the way out to the car, Julien and Timur carried on in rapid-fire French, Julien gesturing wildly as he told his comrade about…something.

  “Great,” Chris muttered to Marcus. “Just when he’d finally stopped switching to French all the time.” He gestured at Timur. “That guy’s a bad influence.”

  You don’t say.

  Marcus laughed, but it probably sounded as halfhearted as it was.

  Chris glanced at the two soldiers chatting like a couple of schoolkids, then back to Marcus. “What brought you along, anyway? I thought Julien misread Timur’s e-mail when he said you were coming along.”

  “Oh. Um.” Marcus nodded toward Timur. “We’ve been…” Dating? Fucking?

  Chris chuckled and elbowed him. “You dirty dog. And here I thought the two of you just hooked up at the wedding.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Well, if it’s good one night, it’ll be good the second night.” And the seventh…and the tenth…

  “Good point.” Chris paused. “Have you guys spent this whole month together?”

  “When I wasn’t working.” And sometimes when I was.

  “Wow.” His friend patted his shoulder. “That’s good. Glad to see you getting out there. And I was worried about leaving Timur alone in Seattle, but I think he did all right.” Chris winked.

  “Yeah. He did.” Marcus laughed again with a tiny bit more enthusiasm. “It’s going to be weird when he leaves.”

  Chris’s amusement evaporated. “Oh. Yeah. I can imagine.”

  Marcus started to think, No, you can’t. But then his eyes shifted toward Julien, who was smiling broadly as he told some story or another to Timur. Then again, maybe you can.

  A skybridge led them from the terminal into the parking garage. After about three seconds’ worth of debate, Chris insisted Timur and Julien sit in the back so they could continue their conversation.

  “But I don’t want to ditch you,” Julien protested.

  Chris kissed him. “We’ve been joined at the hip for the last month. You don’t get to see Timur very often.” He gestured at the backseat.

  Julien hesitated, but then kissed his husband again and climbed into the backseat with Timur. Before Marcus had even backed out of the parking space, the two soldiers were already back to their unintelligible conversation.

  Chris laughed and rolled his eyes. “They’ll do this right up until we drop Timur at the airport. Guaranteed.”

  Oh. Marcus smiled. “I’m sure. Must be tough to go that long without seeing each other.”

  They exchanged glances. Chris didn’t seem at all threatened by it. If anything, he understood how close they’d been, and how difficult it was to be a world apart from someone you still loved.

  Marcus paid for the parking space, and they headed out onto the freeway just in time to land right smack in the middle of the daily Boeing exodus. He tapped his thumbs on the wheel and inched along. Merging in this kind of traffic was a slow process that rivaled how long it took for the continent of India to smash into Asia and create the Himalayans. And that probably hadn’t involved quite so much road rage or assholes on cell phones.

  After a while, Chris broke the relative silence—Marcus and Julien had barely stopped for air—and said, “I’m assuming you and he will want a little, uh, time together? Before Saturday?”

  “Well.” Marcus glanced in the rearview. “I’d like to. But as you said, they don’t get to see each other much.”

  “Neither will the two of you.”

  Ouch, Chris.

  “I hope you guys didn’t ruin your appetite with that airplane food.” Marcus half turned to include Julien in the conversation. “I may have prepared for a welcome-back meal.”

  Nobody protested. The most merciful thing he could do to Chris and Julien was keep them awake until the late evening, and a nice, relaxed meal with decent company should accomplish that.

  Finally, the Indian subcontinent docked, and Mt. Everest had reached its final height. The Boeing traffic thawed just a bit there toward the end, and Marcus was glad he’d already bought all the ingredients he needed so they didn’t have to brave even more traffic and could head straight to Burien and hole up there with food.

  When they did arrive at the house, a fluffy tail swished across the curtains. “I think the cats know you’re coming back today.” Marcus killed the engine. “Maybe you go first, Timur and I bring in the luggage?”

  “Good idea. The cats are going to try to climb all over us.” Julien pushed the car door open. Chris hesitated, looked between Timur and Marcus, but then followed his husband, who was already unlocking the door. Marcus grabbed a backpack, a suitcase and some of the smaller bags, and Timur took the rest. By the time they’d dragged everything indoors, Julien and Chris were besieged by cats—and how two felines managed to be everywhere at the same time was anybody’s guess. Marcus dropped his burden in the living room and vanished into the kitchen. He’d prepared some of the antipasti in advance, but there was still a fair bit of work to do.

  Working, he had the strangest sense of Zen. His mind emptied, and he concentrated completely on the task at hand, but there was zero stress involved. Pure muscle memory and concentration, and somehow that was better than meditation. He used to be able to cook like that, before running a whole kitchen and half a restaurant had instilled a constant anxiety in him that nothing eased. None of that now. He didn’t worry. He just cooked, trusting his hands completely.

  From the living room, a French conversation drifted over. Somewhere else in the house, a shower was running. The atmosphere was relaxed, completely chill, and somehow felt like it had been this way all along. And would stay that way.

  Marcus’s hands faltered for a second. No. No. Stop thinking about that. He shook the thought away and continued preparing the food and not obsessing about the hours that were ticking by way too quickly.

  He was distantly aware of the shower stopping. A few minutes later, the stairs creaked under someone’s feet, and the conversation in the other room shifted to English. Funny how he could tell what language they were speaking, but they were just quiet enough he couldn’t actually make out the words. Chris’s voice. Now Julien’s. A short, gruff comment from Timur. Julien again. Some laughing.

  Oddly, he didn’t feel left out. He knew damn well the conversation would pull him in once he was finished in here and they’d all sat down to eat. He was perfectly content to let Chris and Julien relax after their long flight, and let Julien and Timur catch up. God knew how much time those two had had to actually talk between Timur’s arrival and the wedding. If Julien had been half as frazzled and busy as Chris had been, then…not much.

  Soft footsteps padded on the kitchen floor, and as the language in the living room went back to French, Chris said, “You need any help in here?”


  Marcus glanced up and shook his head. “No, I’ve got it. But some conversation is always good.”

  “That I can do.” Chris pulled a chair away from the kitchen table. He turned it, straddled the back of it and folded his arms on top. “So this is what you did before you came to Wilde’s? Cooking?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t tell Liam. He might start nudging the owner again about serving food at the club.”

  “Damn it. Now you tell me.” Marcus sighed dramatically. “We had him and his husband over for dinner while you were gone.”

  “We?” Chris’s eyebrow arched. “As in…” His eyes flicked toward the living room, and that eyebrow climbed higher.

  “Yes.” Marcus shifted his attention to the food, focusing unnecessarily intently on chopping tomatoes. “Timur came over, and so did Liam and Jon.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t be surprised if you find yourself volunt-told to cook instead of pour drinks.”

  Marcus chuckled. “I could think of worse things. With the drinks people order at that place, they do seem to have good taste.”

  “Yeah, and they can probably be placated with hot wings just like everybody else.”

  “Then Liam had better find someone else to work the grill.”

  “You take that up with him. Let me know how it works out for you.”

  They exchanged glances, and both laughed.

  A moment later, Julien and Timur strolled into the kitchen.

  Julien leaned over and wrapped his arms around Chris’s waist. “We figured we should check on you two.” He kissed Chris’s cheek. “Make sure you’re staying out of trouble.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chris eyed him. “For all we know, you two are in there plotting world domination.”

  Julien flashed a toothy grin and turned to Timur. “See? They don’t understand a word we’re saying.” He added something in French, and Marcus suspected it was along the lines of “we really could be plotting world domination”.

  Timur’s laugh was boyish and adorable, the mischievous sound of someone who probably had been scheming with his old friend. He stepped around behind Marcus and wrapped an arm around his waist. “No French?”

  Marcus glanced at him. He usually hated people in his space while he was cooking, but with Timur, it was different. And when he met that grin up close, it was hard not to laugh. “If I spoke any French, you’d have known it by now.”

  Chris and Julien both snickered.

  Timur’s grin just got a little bigger. He hooked his finger around Marcus’s chin, turned his head slightly and kissed him. Right there in the kitchen, in front of his buddy/lover/comrade and his husband. As he let him go, Timur looked Marcus in the eye and said something in French. Something Marcus couldn’t begin to understand, but the gleam in his eye filled in a few of the blanks.

  “Jesus, Timur.” Julien laughed, and a hint of color bloomed in his cheeks. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  Chris tilted his head back to look up at Julien. “What did he say?”

  “Yeah.” Marcus eyed Timur playfully. “What did you say?”

  Timur just combed his fingers through Marcus’s hair—okay, fuck it, done cooking, upstairs—and murmured another phrase that had to be something deliciously filthy.

  To Chris, Julien said, “I’m pretty sure Marcus will know what it means after tonight.”

  His balls tightened, and Marcus swallowed. But he raised his hands and made shooing motions. “Guys, I need to get my vegetables out of the oven. Get the table set and open up the wine, will you?”

  It was the best save he had. But the feeling of Zen now had that sexual undercurrent—expectation, anticipation, desire. He doubted very much that they’d last very long here tonight. He was emphatically not going to squeeze into the guest bed when his own was larger, and the times of trying to have extremely quiet sex, freezing every time the bedframe creaked, had been over ever since he’d had enough money not to have to live with a roommate to share the bills.

  He finished the bruschetta, made sure they looked good on the plate and carried it into the living room, where, judging by the chuckles and low murmurs, people were still teasing each other. Timur looked a bit sheepish and seemed glad when the food began arriving.

  Marcus finished off the last dishes and began serving them, then settled down with his friends and enjoyed the “aaahs” and “ooohs”, and how quickly the homemade pasta vanished. Good food was impossible to get cynical about. Restaurants, yes, but never the dishes themselves. He kept pouring the red and noticed Timur’s thigh brushing his. He didn’t pull away. No point.

  Once all the food was eaten, he stood. “Tiramisu?”

  Julien tsked at him. “Is that supposed to be a question?”

  “Just making sure. It does contain espresso.”

  “Won’t be enough to keep me awake after this.” Chris rubbed his belly. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much when I wasn’t stoned.”

  “Oh, now there’s an idea.” Marcus laughed. “Get you all stoned, then cook for you.”

  “I’m in,” Julien said.

  Marcus chuckled. “You boys are really taking this ex-Mormon thing seriously, aren’t you? Next thing you’re going to tell us is that you’ve rigged up bondage equipment and started bringing thirds into your bedroom.”

  Julien and Chris both stiffened. Glanced at each other. Blushed hardcore.

  “Uh…” Julien picked at his food.

  Chris cleared his throat. “I think I need more wine.”

  Marcus snorted. “Oh my God…”

  Timur just laughed. He may not have caught all the words, but he always seemed to hold his own and grasp what was being said. He smacked Julien’s arm and said something very French and very snide.

  Julien’s face could not possibly have gotten any redder as he retorted something in the same language and shot his comrade a good-natured glare.

  “I don’t even want to know,” Chris said into his freshly topped-off glass.

  Marcus reached for his own wine. “I was just teasing, but…if the shoe fits, feel free to lace it up and wear it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chris paused. “And, uh, not a word at work, right?”

  “Yeah, God forbid we horrify all the choirboys on either side of the bar.”

  “It’s not that. But Sam keeps dropping hints that he and his partner would like to get together, and, quite frankly, I’d prefer he keeps it in his little mind that Julien and I are strictly monogamous.”

  Julien snickered.

  “Shut up,” Chris muttered, but then he laughed.

  Julien and Timur exchanged a few words, probably to catch Timur up on some of the subtext that might’ve escaped him.

  Marcus glanced at Timur. The grin told him he was definitely caught up. And not in the least bit bothered by the conversation.

  Gaze still fixed on Marcus, Timur spoke in French to Julien, and it didn’t matter what he was saying, because his lips mesmerized Marcus.

  Julien laughed softly and responded in the same language.

  Marcus’s mouth had gone dry, so he took another drink.

  Chris cleared his throat. “What am I missing?”

  “Nothing.” Julien waved a hand. “Timur’s just asking if our bed is big enough for four.”

  Marcus choked on his wine. He barely kept himself from sputtering all over the table, and at least the three bastards sitting with him gave him a chance to recover. He coughed a few times and took another drink. As he wiped his watering eyes, he looked at Julien. “I’m sorry, could you run that by me again?”

  Timur laughed, rubbing his knee against Marcus’s.

  Julien stared back at Marcus as if they were just discussing weather or traffic patterns. “He was curious if we could fit four.” Julien shrugged. “And, I mean, the frame is sturdy and all.
And usually at that point, it’s not like everyone takes up a lot of space. Humans are surprisingly”—he paused, quirking his lips as if searching for the right word—“stackable.”

  No surprise that Julien didn’t bat an eyelash, he of the legionnaire fivesome. What was a little more surprising was that Timur apparently liked the idea as well. He hadn’t really seemed the type, though silent waters usually did run deep, and Timur had to have a wild streak to join the Legion in the first place. Chris? Chris looked curious, not appalled at all. And Marcus had to admit, it was tempting. He genuinely liked Chris—would have flirted with him if word hadn’t been out about him dating a soldier. Julien he liked too. And Timur—well, that part was amply settled. Somehow, the mood in the room had turned, and it seemed it all hinged on whether he wanted that foursome.

  “Uh. I’ll get the other kind of dessert first.” Marcus stood and went in the kitchen, where pulling the heavy glass dish out of the fridge and serving up four pieces on plates distracted him enough that he could think a bit more clearly.

  Julien joined him, gathering up two plates. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” Marcus laughed, though it sounded a little breathless to his own ears. “You gotta warn me before you spring something like this on an old man.”

  Julien looked perplexed, then glanced around. “Which old man? Brought another guest?”

  “Hah. Nice Timur impersonation.” He nodded toward the dining room. “You go first.”

  Either Chris or Timur had refilled their glasses. Both of them attacked the tiramisu with gusto the moment the plates touched the wood.

  Marcus took a bite and decided that the night in the fridge had done the flavor a world of good. “Speaking of earlier… You’re serious?”

  Julien shrugged and nodded. Timur moved his jaw thoughtfully.

  Chris lifted an eyebrow. “If you’re up for it?”

  “Not sure, to be honest. Will that get weird afterward? You guys are…” Shit, they were his only friends, well, apart from Liam and Jon, though those two were a bit more distant. He’d even felt quite a bit closer to Julien, maybe ever since he’d inherited his ex-lover.