by Willa Okati
Ivan wasn’t looking at Robbie, but into the middle distance when he said a moment later, “I could have gone for always.” He brushed his fingertips over his soulmark and blinked. “Sorry. Don’t know why I said that.”
A lie, but Robbie appreciated it. Or should. Close enough. “It’s all right,” he said just to break the awkwardness.
Ivan didn’t call him out on that untruth. He cleared his throat, stood up straight and stretched. “Anyway. It’ll be an hour or two before your sweater’s back from the hotel laundry. Are you hungry?”
Robbie would have said no, but his stomach answered for him with a gurgling growl that made Ivan laugh again. “I could eat.” A little longer wouldn’t do any more damage than they’d already wrought. Just a little longer. He dropped into one of the too-small chairs next to the too-small table and caught the slim bound room service menu Ivan tossed at him. “We’ll put it on the bill.”
* * * *
Ivan popped the last bite of a still-warm yeast roll dripping with honey-whipped butter in his mouth and licked a drop off his thumb. He ducked his head, laughing sheepishly, when Robbie raised an eyebrow at him. “Guess I was hungrier than I’d thought.”
“You always could pack it away,” Robbie said with a wave of his hand. He’d done a full job on his steak and potato, leaving nothing on his plate but a meticulously cleaned bone, and had taken his time with a chocolate torte, toying with the crumbs. He dropped his fork with a muted clatter and reached for his phone. “I should check in with Cade and Nathaniel. God knows what they’re thinking.”
“After all these years, you still don’t know?”
“I count myself lucky that no one’s burned the house down or been sent away for life,” Robbie replied dryly. “Any messages come through while I was in the shower?”
“Nope. None for me, either.” Odd, considering. Ivan would guess Abram had seen him doubling back to the room with Robbie in tow and cleared Nick out of the way, but as far as he could remember, nothing stifled Cade for long. He touched the sore spot on his chin and moved his jaw to test it. Sore, but the bruise wouldn’t really turn colors before tomorrow. Like Abram had said, he’d live. And he’d rather pay attention to Robbie while he could.
Robbie eyed his phone with the kind of wary suspicion that made Ivan want to kiss him. “Must be up to something really good this time, then. Usually by this time of night one or both of them needs bailing out. Not literally.” Robbie reconsidered that and waggled his hand from side to side. “Mostly not literally.”
“Cade, maybe. Nathaniel? Never happen,” Ivan said, stretching out on his side. The table hadn’t been made for guys with long legs to linger there longer than necessary.
“He’s a good kid.” Robbie ran a hand through his hair, nudging it out of his face. He might have more gray than he liked, but the rest was as thick and heavy as it’d been when they were both nineteen. “He gets so irritated with me when I call him that. ‘Kid’. I should stop.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-one, this past week.”
“Oof. I remember when he used to hide behind your leg every time he met a stranger.”
“He’s two years older now than we were when we met,” Robbie said, propping his chin in his hand. “Sometimes that doesn’t seem quite real to me. You?”
“God, no. Wish I had a picture with me.” Ivan grimaced. “I was the skinniest, most awkward dork on the face of the planet back then.”
“And I wasn’t?”
Ivan opened one eye. “You weren’t skinny.”
Robbie chuckled. “That I wasn’t. A bear I was born, and a bear I’ll likely die.”
“Cheerful.”
“It’s a gift.” Robbie nodded at his phone, still sat on the bedside table. “I have some photos. Was looking at them earlier.”
When he’d been in line. Ivan sat up straighter, his heart doing funny things behind his ribs. He stuffed the hopes down as best as he could, but—Robbie had photos of them on his phone. When Ivan had caught sight of him in line, his mind so visibly a million miles away, he’d been looking at pictures of happier times. “Can I see?”
He waited while Robbie pinched a lock of still-damp hair between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it into a twist before speaking. He’d changed. When Ivan thought back, he remembered a hot-headed troublemaker much better than the rare glimpse of a thoughtful man. He thought at first he liked this Robbie better, then he wasn’t sure.
“Go ahead,” Robbie said at last. “Odds are they’ll just be copies of the ones you kept.”
“No bet.” Ivan swiped the phone’s screen to wake it up. “No password, either?”
“No password on earth would keep Cade out. I decided not to bother.” Robbie sat back, fingers loosely laced across his stomach. He looked…better than before. Softened with good food and laughter and mostly good memories, set apart in the gentler light of the lamp. Less tired. Warmer. Kinder, too. “I think the topmost one was at that party we crashed. Do you remember?”
“I remember getting kicked out,” Ivan said. He flipped through the pictures with quick taps of his thumb. Each one hit like a donkey-kick to the solar plexus. He whistled in awe. “God, would you look at how young we were.”
“Babies,” Robbie said.
“Not far off.” Ivan clicked his tongue. “No wonder everyone told us to take our time about marriage, soulmates or not. Remember how pissed off you used to get whenever someone thought they knew better?”
“We did have the right. We were mates.” He touched the tip of his tongue to the softness of his upper lip. “Are.”
It wasn’t an invitation. All the same, Ivan couldn’t have stopped himself any more than he could have grown wings and flown to the moon. He was up before he knew it, his hand on Robbie’s face, his lips touching Robbie’s and tasting the sweet smokiness of bourbon on Robbie’s tongue. “Are,” he said, his mouth moving against Robbie’s.
“Ivan…” Robbie said, the low reverberation of his voice a tingle on Ivan’s lips.
“Were and are.” Ivan took Robbie’s wrist in hand before Robbie could finish reaching to push him away. He kept his eyes closed, because otherwise he’d never get this said and he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t. “Could be again. If you wanted.”
“Ivan.” Robbie let himself savor the warmth in Ivan’s touch, in his kiss, for three breaths and no more. More would have been cruel. He wasn’t that man anymore. He hoped. “No.”
The absence of Ivan’s touch, dropped as he moved back, burned like dry ice. “You won’t even think about it, will you?”
“Because it’s already all been said and done.” Robbie made himself copy Ivan’s movement, wedging himself deeper in the chair. He dug his toes into the carpet. “We made our choice a long time ago. Meeting again doesn’t change that.”
“It could.” Ivan sat on the edge of the bed. “We have changed, you know. Grown up. We’re not the kids we used to be.”
“No. We know better. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.”
Stubborn as ever—that hadn’t changed—Ivan kept on pushing. “Think about it, then. We don’t have to decide tonight.”
“Don’t we?” Robbie hardened his heart to do the right thing, no matter how wrong it felt. The soulmarks drew them together, but common sense, which he’d worked far too hard for to abandon, dictated otherwise. “Tonight is all we’ve got, Ivan.”
Ivan wanted to argue. Robbie could tell. He held up a hand to stop him before he could start. “We have grown up. That’s what I mean. I don’t live in town. You wouldn’t know this, but we’ve moved. Finally got out of that shitty shanty and into one of those mill houses I used to like. You don’t live in town either. I’d have known if you did.” He tapped his soulmark. “We both would have. You drove in special for the game. Which means you have a job, a home—a life—to get back to. It won’t wait for you or for me to make up our minds.”
Ivan’s jaw worked, a muscle twit
ching in his cheek.
“Even if we wanted to give it a try again,” Robbie said, though it took effort. “It wouldn’t be as easy as just saying ‘yes, sure, why not’—”
“I never said it would be easy.” Ivan held his head up straight and fixed Robbie with a flat stare. Not a glare, but a kissing cousin to the same. He kept his temper in check, though Robbie could tell he wanted to say more than he did.
Different, that.
“No,” Robbie said after Ivan’s objection died into silence, broken only by the low murmur of water from the decorative fixture. “You didn’t. But I never said you did, either.”
Ivan didn’t like hearing that. He glowered down at the rumpled duvet as if it had personally offended him by not providing the answers he needed.
If only bed were all that mattered, Robbie thought. If only that spark wasn’t still there.
If only he wasn’t—or could be—as good a friend as I remember…or better.
If only.
“I don’t want to hurt you again,” Robbie said at last. “I know I did. I remember every last fight we had, Ivan. They’re etched in stone, up here.” He tapped his temple, and—with an effort—rested his hand in his lap, not on his soulmark. “We’re night and day. Were back then, too. I terrified you sometimes. And you thought you bored me.”
The bald truth hung heavy in the air between them.
“I worried about you,” Ivan said. “I kept trying to rein you in so you’d be safe. And I never knew how to make myself more interesting.”
Robbie snorted. “I was too interesting, if you’re going by that standard. I knew I shouldn’t…but I couldn’t help it, seemed like. The wildness that was in me wanted out.” He lifted his glass for something to do with his hands, not because he wanted to drink the last quarter-inch of melted ice, and traced the rim in slow half-circles that erased one another. “I always thought I should have been able to help it. That I could have, if I’d only tried.”
“I wasn’t perfect, either.”
“No one would ever accuse you of that,” Robbie said as Ivan scowled at him, a scowl that melted into a rueful half-smile. He leaned farther back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him. A move that, unintentionally, put his ankle within Ivan’s reach. Ivan took advantage, dropping one arm over the side of the bed and braceleting Robbie’s ankle. Such big, bold, clever hands.
Robbie could wish…and, God, how he did wish, but… “We had our chance, I think,” he said slowly. “And we missed it. We might be able to get along now. Be friends, even. But we can’t be the young, mad couple head over heels in love with one another, the ones who’d tell the rest of the world to go jump off a cliff if they had a problem.”
Ivan lightly stroked the jut of Robbie’s ankle. “Why not?” he asked, though not as if he were arguing against the fact.
He knows how it has to be, too. Something in Robbie’s chest sank at the realization. Some little flicker of hope sighing out. He ignored the hollow feeling as best he could. He’s just working through it, same as me. Some things change. Some things never do.
“Because we grew up,” Robbie said out loud. “That’s all.”
Ivan said nothing in response to that. What was there to say, after all?
But neither did he let go of Robbie’s ankle. Nor did Robbie move, though he could have, and likely should have. He arched his calf instead, flexing the ankle in the loose circle of Ivan’s hold on him, and let Ivan draw the bluntness of a thumbnail down his arch.
“You don’t have to go yet,” Ivan said. “If it’s just for tonight, then stay the night. That’s not too much to ask.”
No, it wasn’t. And yes, it was. But Robbie could let him have that much, couldn’t he? Both of them. “I don’t have to go yet,” he said, gently breaking Ivan’s hold, but rather than standing, he pushed out of the chair into a crouch on the carpet. He nudged at Ivan’s hip, and in answer to Ivan’s questioningly raised eyebrow, said, “Move over. There’s room enough for two.”
If this was all Ivan could have, then by damn he’d take it. Ivan scooted on his hip, sliding across to the right side of the bed to leave enough room for Robbie. Robbie hesitated with his hands on the buckle of his jeans then gave Ivan a rueful shrug. Habit, the gesture said.
They hadn’t been in the habit of undressing before tucking themselves in bed together for going on fifteen years, but Ivan understood well enough. He almost wanted to thank Robbie for playing fair. That was different, too. The Robbie he remembered wasn’t often clear-headed enough to think ahead about consequences.
He wouldn’t have complained if Robbie had gone in hotter now, but so be it. He wasn’t wrong. They had their lives. Separate lives. Ivan shook his head. He’d take shit from Abram and Nick for years over this. What the guys at the station would say…
And their jobs. Their homes. Who’d give up what? Who would live where? And what about Cade and Nathaniel?
Robbie didn’t want to hurt him again, he’d said. Fair enough. Ivan didn’t want Robbie to resent him. He couldn’t have borne it if he woke up one morning to see the fire in Robbie had gone out, scorched down to bitter ash and cold stones, and it could happen. For either of them.
But it might not, a quiet whisper sounded in Ivan’s mind.
No, it might not, he thought, letting Robbie set the boundary lines. Not cuddled up to him, not spooning or snuggling, but on his side facing Ivan, head tucked into the pillow and one hand laid on the mattress between them for Ivan to take if he chose to. None of the bad things might happen.
But when he weighed them all up against what he knew he could have…it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d take what he was offered, and he’d be glad.
He folded Robbie’s hand in his and laid his fingers on the pulse beating slow and steady in Robbie’s wrist. “I’m not going to be sorry we met here tonight.”
“Nor should you be,” Robbie said, eyes already drifting closed. “We’ll see each other again. It isn’t completely the end.”
Wasn’t it? Ivan shrugged the thought aside and let his eyes close, too. Not completely the end. If Robbie remembered the sorts of things about Ivan that Ivan remembered about him, they had the morning yet to come.
It’d do. It’d have to. And then, just like always, they’d get by.
Chapter Six
Once upon a time, Robbie had been sure he’d never find anyone worse at mornings than him.
Then, he’d met Ivan.
He’d forgotten what it was like to wake with a warm body in the bed beside him—a body who had, in their sleep, turned on their side and thrown a drowsy arm across his chest. The lodge’s blinds might be made from sturdy lathes of dark cherry wood, but they weren’t lightproof.
When Robbie parted his lashes and blinked the heaviness of sleep away, he remembered. Ivan’s hand rested over his soulmark, and Ivan had draped one long leg over his, tangling their feet together.
Easy, then, to take what he wanted. What Ivan wanted. To move into a position they’d once loved more than any other, each with their mouths pressed to the other’s groin, their limbs tangled and hands moving.
Robbie braced his arm against the soft, yielding give of the mattress and nudged Ivan’s thighs farther apart. Ivan’s stomach jumped when Robbie nuzzled the tight skin and rubbed the rough scruff of his beard against it, deliberately tickling. Tight, wet heat drew away from his cock, instantly missed, but he tightened his lips around Ivan’s hard-on and laved it with the flat of his tongue.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Ivan said, strangled. Robbie knew him well enough to be sure it was a mix of mirth and hunger that made him breathless. His cock jerked in Robbie’s mouth. “I’ll lose my balance.”
Wouldn’t want that. Robbie pressed harder against the leg Ivan rested on and pushed the other higher to give himself more room to work. He’d forgotten this taste, musky and dark—he’d forgotten the unbearable tight heaviness of balls that fit just so in the cup of his palm. Memory and nostalgia moved him to brush
a kiss over the soft skin of Ivan’s inner thigh. Ivan’s arms tightened, responding, turn and turn alike, pressing so close to Robbie it was as if he was trying to become just one person.
It was over too soon, though Robbie had known it would never be enough, not really. He kneaded Ivan’s hip in warning and let go, pressing his face to the sleek, musky skin of Ivan’s groin. Ivan whispered something that might or might not have been words, and took Robbie into his mouth so hungry, so fast—
Robbie shuddered when he came, his stomach rippling in flexes and spasms. He shivered again at the messy swallowing sound of Ivan, taking a part of Robbie so deep inside.
He didn’t have the coordination to draw Ivan back into his mouth, but he could manage to wrap his fist around Ivan’s shaft, working him messy, fast, and to lick away the drops that beaded up before they could spill. Ivan tugged his hair in warning, but no—Robbie wanted it all, as much as he could get, and more. He used his tongue again to lick Ivan clean, and to press a kiss to the skin above the thatch of dark hair.
When Ivan tugged at his shoulders, clumsy and near-boneless, Robbie pushed himself up the bed one shove at a time until he could press his forehead to Ivan’s and share breath with him.
“Good morning,” Ivan said, eyes closed and grin broad. “Not bad for being out of practice.”
Robbie took a stray lock of Ivan’s hair between thumb and forefinger and wound it around the knuckles at the first joint. “Out of practice, hmm?” he asked after a moment. Estranged soulmates could and did take lovers during times of separation. It’d never appealed to him.
“More than a little.” Ivan bumped his forehead against Robbie’s, though not so hard he jostled Robbie loose. “There hasn’t been anyone else, Robbie. Not once. You?”
Robbie let go of the small lock and pushed his fingers through Ivan’s hair, warm with sleep and exertion, and cradled the back of Ivan’s skull. “No. No one but you would do.”
Ivan had begun to knead Robbie’s shoulders. Robbie wasn’t sure Ivan knew he was doing it. He didn’t mind. “Should I be glad, or sad about that?”
