by L. A. Witt
And nodded. “Timur?”
Marcus’s heart damn near exploded. “Yes. Timur. You know him? Is…” he struggled to conjure up any of the French phrases he’d heard Timur and Julien exchange, but it wasn’t happening, “…is he here?”
The man pointed above his head. Then he pulled a telephone out from under the bar, pressed a couple of keys and waited. A second later, he said something terse in French, and Marcus was sure he heard Timur’s name in there.
The bartender hung up the phone and shoved it under the bar. He waved a hand toward the doorway then went back to cleaning glasses. The other three legionnaires walked away, toward an empty table in the back.
Marcus stood there like an idiot, alternately staring at the three soldiers and the grouchy bartender. What the hell? That was it? What did any of that even mean?
The bell on the front door jingled as someone came in.
“Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?”
The voice stopped Marcus in his tracks.
He turned around.
And there was Timur. Marcus’s legs almost gave with relief. Julien had told him of this place, said it was cheap, Legion friendly and a bit out of the way, and that Timur would likely go to ground here for a couple of days. But actually seeing him here was a different matter. Alive. In one piece. Not yet reenlisted.
Marcus struggled to find words, then managed to clear his throat. “How…how are you?” Okay, that was a rare form of stupid.
Timur frowned and nodded at him. “You’re all right?”
“I don’t think being an idiot is terminal.” Marcus took a deep breath. “I…I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have let you go.” Another deep gulp. “Can we talk about this?”
Timur nodded, still looking concerned, and reached for Marcus’s arm, gently pulling him to the side. Once they’d stepped out of the way, Timur lowered his hand, though seemingly reluctantly.
Just put your hand back on my arm. God, touch me anywhere.
“Did anything happen?”
“No. Yes. I just realized I’m a coward and a fool. I didn’t…trust any of this. Didn’t trust my feelings. I tried to be smart, you know, and I was too worried I’d repeat all my mistakes, and fuck, but I almost did. I shouldn’t have let you get on that plane.”
Timur still seemed more surprised than angry, and Marcus hoped that was a good thing, though now he worried if he’d misunderstood. No. No. He’d spent what conscious hours he’d had on the plane thinking this through, running their conversations through his head. Timur had tried very gently to tell him they were way beyond fuck buddies. And Marcus had only really responded by shoving his own head even farther up his ass, until he resembled a kind of Moebius band.
“You come all this way?”
“Yes. For you. I can’t reach you any other way. If you still…want to try…unless you want to reenlist. Have you?”
Timur shook his head. “No. Bought tickets for Marseilles this morning.”
“That’s good. If you want to try living with me…I’d be happy to try. I want you in my life, Timur. I really do. Like…I mean, there are no guarantees, right? We don’t know whether it’ll work out, but I’d take the risk.”
Timur held his gaze, and he looked dubious, his lips tight and the crevices between his eyebrows deepening. “You barely know me. Is what you said.”
“I know. I know. And I…” Marcus exhaled hard, shaking his head. “The thing is, I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. Until you were gone.” He stepped a little closer, his senses tingling with awareness of the bartender and soldiers keeping an eye on them. “No, I don’t know you very well. You don’t know me very well. But I know I love you. And I…I want to know more than that.”
Timur’s expression didn’t change. His eyes darted to the side, in the general direction of the three soldiers. Then back to Marcus. “Julien sent you?”
“No. Well.” Marcus sighed. “He told me where to find you. And he told me what an idiot I was to let you leave, as if I hadn’t already worked that out on my own. But, yes, he pushed me over the edge and made me realize I would be an even bigger idiot if I didn’t get on the first plane to Paris and at least tell you how I feel.” He held Timur’s gaze, which had never been quite so difficult. “So that’s…that’s how I feel. If you want me to go back, I will. If you want to come with me, you’re welcome to. It’s your call, Timur.”
As they stared at each other in silence, he realized the tables had turned since the other night. Now it was Marcus wanting to stay, and Timur who could decide if he stayed with him or got the hell out of there. If this was even remotely how Timur had felt the other night, Marcus swore then and there that if he had the opportunity, he’d make sure Timur knew—daily—how much he wanted him to stay.
Timur glanced at the other soldiers. The bartender. Marcus.
“Not in here.” He gestured for Marcus to follow him and didn’t wait to see if he would. Timur was halfway to the door before Marcus remembered how to use his feet. He jogged after him, and they stepped out into the quiet afternoon.
In silence, Timur led him around the side of the building and back inside to a staircase. Their feet—Marcus’s sneakers, Timur’s weathered combat boots—made the steps creak as they climbed up to the second floor. Timur took him to the end of a short hall, keyed open a door and waved him in.
Marcus’s blood pressure was all over the place. Timur was impossible to read right now. Did he want to do this in private so the other legionnaires didn’t witness him reading an ex-lover the riot act?
Fuck, Timur, Marcus thought as the man shut the door behind him, would you just give me a sign so I know what—
Timur grabbed his shirt, pulled him in and kissed him. All Marcus could do was push Timur against the wall and kiss him for all he was worth. God knew what Timur’s comrades had thought, but even the concept of somebody walking in on them didn’t register. All that did register was Timur’s lips on his and the fact Timur hadn’t told him to get lost.
Marcus broke the kiss, mostly to breathe. “Yes? Will you come with me?”
“Seattle?”
“Yes. I don’t speak much French. Not in the linguistic way.” Marcus smiled at Timur’s blank expression and made a mental note to explain the joke as soon as was feasible—practical demonstrations included.
“But I cannot stay. No visa.”
“You can get in on a temporary work visa through Wilde’s.” Liam would likely be willing to help. No doubt he would. “Or, if you want to go back to school, you could be on a student visa.”
Timur nodded. “Yes, maybe. Get a civilian job. Stay.”
“That’s the idea. I know you’ll lose your full pension, but…I’ll make it worth your while. I won’t just drop you to fend for yourself…even if we don’t work out.” Marcus took Timur’s hand and pressed it. “And if it does…if things stay good and we get to know each other more and everything’s going well, there’s always another option.” He looked into Timur’s eyes and saw that Timur understood.
He seemed surprised at first, but then smiled a slow, happy smile. Marcus was just glad he didn’t have to spell it out. Not yet. The idea of another marriage still seemed enormous, and it was far too soon, but if he was going to tie the knot again, it would most likely be with Timur, and not just for a fucking green card.
Timur stroked Marcus’s cheek, the calloused fingertips warm and familiar against his skin. “Is many options. No decision today.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. “No decision? At all?”
The smile turned to a grin that turned Marcus’s knees to jelly. “One decision.” Timur moved in again and kissed Marcus. Wasn’t this how they’d communicated since day one? The language barrier made things difficult, but like this, kissing and wrapped up in each other’s arms, they understood each other perfectly. This made sense. It had since the night of Chris an
d Julien’s wedding, and it did when Marcus had flown halfway around the world on a moment’s notice and his ex-husband’s dime. It just…worked.
Timur glanced over his shoulder at the smallish bed pushed up against the wall. Then he met Marcus’s eyes.
Marcus was exhausted and stiff from the long trip, and from not sleeping well since he’d walked away from Timur. If they’d simply been vacationing somewhere, this would have been a “let me sleep for a bit, and then we can fool around” moment. The bed would’ve been for a nap and nothing more, because he was completely out of gas.
After stupidly pushing Timur away, though, and then chasing him thousands of miles and winding up here in this room with that amazing kiss tingling on his lips, he wasn’t about to say no. He didn’t know where he’d find the energy reserves, but, damn it, he’d find them.
As he and Timur shed their clothes and slipped under the sheets together, Marcus could still feel the fatigue in his bones, but his body responded eagerly to Timur’s touch. They were both hard, and Marcus’s nerve endings tingled with every brush of Timur’s skin against his.
Timur broke the kiss. “I have no…” he glanced at the bedside table, “…condoms. Lube.”
Marcus shrugged and pulled him closer. “I don’t care. We don’t need them.”
Timur’s eyebrows jumped.
“I mean, we don’t need them now.” Marcus trailed his fingers along the recently shaved side of Timur’s head. “We don’t have to…we don’t have to fuck this time.” He paused and couldn’t help smiling. “That can wait until we get home.”
Timur studied him, but then he smiled too. “Home?”
“Yeah. If…if Seattle can be home for you.”
“Seattle. This place.” Timur half shrugged and curved a hand around the back of Marcus’s neck. “With you is home.”
Marcus’s heart melted. If he’d been standing right then, his knees would’ve collapsed out from under him. How in the world had he thought he could let this man leave?
“With you is home too,” he said, caressing Timur’s face. “And we’ll have plenty of condoms and lube wherever we go. But for now…” he nudged Timur onto his back and climbed on top, “…we can do just fine without them.”
Timur didn’t question him. He drew him down into a kiss and then wrapped his strong arms around Marcus. As their bodies moved together, there was a different feel to it this time, a different vibe. Hungry and desperate as always, but…different. In a brief moment of awareness that the outside world still existed, Marcus wondered if this was what it had been like for Chris and Julien when Julien had come back from the dead—holding on for dear life, disbelieving they were here at all.
And though the conversation had been challenging, this was easy. It made sense. So much more sense than any words either of them had been able to say. This was the one language they both understood perfectly. Maybe Timur needed reassurance in this language. Maybe he needed Marcus to tell him things that couldn’t be conveyed through words alone, and Marcus didn’t hold back. He kissed Timur passionately, and he thrust against Timur as if condoms and lube hadn’t been an issue and he was inside him.
“You feel so good,” Marcus whispered.
Timur held him tighter and pushed back with his hips, creating the most spectacular friction. “Feels good. Good that…” he dug his fingers into Marcus’s back, “…is you. Is good.”
Marcus moaned. “I missed you,” he murmured breathlessly between kisses. “God, Timur, I—” he shivered hard, his balls tightening as his orgasm closed in, “—I was stupid to… I can’t believe I… Fuck, I love you.”
Before Timur could respond, Marcus kissed him, hard, and he came, the friction between them turning to slick heat. Timur shuddered too, and Marcus didn’t even know who’d actually come first. It didn’t matter—they were both moaning, shuddering, coming together, holding on to each other. They were here. Nothing else mattered.
Marcus struggled to hold himself up on his shaking arms. Timur gently rolled him onto his side, holding him until Marcus had settled comfortably on the firm mattress.
Then he met Marcus’s gaze. “I love you too.”
Marcus smiled. “Thanks for hearing me out. Not turning me away.”
“You came this far.” Timur ran the backs of his fingers down Marcus’s cheeks. “Seemed important.”
“It was. It definitely was. I am so sorry, Timur.”
“No.” Timur kissed Marcus’s forehead. “You’re here. Is good.”
Marcus laughed softly. Part of him honestly hoped the language barrier between them never changed. It made even the most complicated conversations so simple. Ground them down to short phrases that said so much more than an hour-long argument ever did.
Timur kissed him on the mouth this time and then got up. He found a small towel and cleaned both of them off. Then he lay beside Marcus on the narrow bed—Marcus had heard Europeans didn’t dig California kings—as they slowly caught their breath and returned to earth. After sex like that, Marcus felt even more like an idiot for thinking he and Timur couldn’t make it work. Or that they shouldn’t give it one hell of a try.
“I’ll need plane tickets.” Timur ran his hand up and down Marcus’s arm. “Only have to Marseilles now.”
“We can book something online. I’m assuming there’s Internet access around here somewhere.”
Timur nodded.
“We might not be on the same flight back.” Marcus pushed himself up onto his elbows so they could see each other, carefully not putting so much space between them that he’d tumble off the narrow mattress. “But if you fly in after I do, I promise I’ll be at the airport waiting for you.”
Timur nodded. “I know.”
Marcus ran his fingers through Marcus’s short black hair. “I have no idea how this will work out, but…I’m glad you’re game to give it another try.”
“Me too.” Timur trailed his hand up and down Marcus’s damp chest. “You’ll stay here? Or do you have hotel?”
“I haven’t booked anything.” Marcus glanced at the mattress. “Is this big enough for both of us to sleep on?”
Timur laughed. “Is small. But Julien said people are…” His eyes lost focus. “The word…”
“Stackable?”
“Yes.” Their eyes met, and they both laughed
Marcus slid closer, draping his arm over Timur. “Indeed they are. And I think I’d rather be this close to you than far away.”
Timur nodded. “So this room. Is good, yes?”
“Yes.” Marcus leaned in and, just before he kissed Timur, whispered, “Is good.”
About the Authors
Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he is one of the unsung heroes in the financial services sector. His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.
In his spare time, he goes weightlifting, explores historical sites, and meets other writers. He singlehandedly sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing research projects. His current interests include heavyweight boxing, World War II, European magical traditions, and how to destroy the world and plunge it into a nuclear winter without having the benefit of nuclear weapons.
Visit Aleksandr’s website at www.aleksandrvoinov.com, his blog at aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com/, and follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @aleksandrvoinov.
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer currently living in the glamorous and ultra-futuristic metropolis of Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two cats, and a disembodied penguin brain that communicates with her telepathically. In addition to writing smut and disturbing the locals, L.A. is said to be working with the US government to perfect a genetic modification that will allow humans to survive indefinitely on Corn Pops and beef jerky. This is all a cover, though, as her prim
ary leisure activity is hunting down her arch nemesis, erotica author Lauren Gallagher, who is also said to be lurking somewhere in Omaha.
Visit L.A.’s website at www.loriawitt.com, her blog at gallagherwitt.blogspot.com, and follow her on Twitter where she tweets (usually bantering with Aleks) as @GallagherWitt.
Look for these titles by L.A. Witt
Now Available:
Nine-tenths of the Law
The Distance Between Us
No Distance Left to Run (with Aleksandr Voinov)
A.J.’s Angel
Out of Focus
The Closer You Get
Conduct Unbecoming
Meet Me in the Middle
The Only One Who Knows (with Cat Grant)
Tooth & Claw
The Given & the Taken
The Healing & the Dying
The United & the Divided
Coming Soon:
General Misconduct
The Walls of Troy
I’ll Show You Mine (writing as Lauren Gallagher)
Writing as Lauren Gallagher:
Who’s Your Daddy?
All The King’s Horses
The Princess and the Porn Star
Look for these titles by Aleksandr Voinov
Now Available:
Break and Enter (with Rachel Haimowitz)
No Distance Left to Run (with L.A. Witt)
Back from the dead…and back to square one.
No Distance Left to Run
© 2014 L.A. Witt and Aleksandr Voinov
The Distance Between Us, Book 4
The night before Chris and his best friend Joshua were sent thousands of miles apart on their respective Mormon missions, they finally gave in to their mutual desire. Left trying to make sense of what happened, Chris’s already shaky faith crumbled altogether a year later, when Joshua suddenly died.
Inconsolable, ostracized by his family and the only community he’d ever known, Chris found his way on his own. Now he’s going to school and loves his job as a bartender at Wilde’s. Years after Joshua’s death, he’s finally moving on.
