by Elle Keaton
When Sacha’d arrived in the United States in 1990, aged 12, the American family that had taken him in already had five other kids. A couple of their own, the rest homeless like himself. There was never enough of anything to go around: food, clothing, beds, space, or comfort. Still, Sacha hadn’t cared that he shared a bedroom with a seven-year-old, nor about hand-me-downs or a lack of books and toys.
That reminded him that he still hadn’t heard from Parker.
Parker Crane and he ended up being roommates for the six years Sacha had been in foster care. Sacha refused to contemplate what kind of trouble Parker might have landed in this time around. After almost twenty years in law enforcement, he still shook his head over Parker’s escapades… and, somehow, Parker had nearly always managed to include Sacha in them.
There was the time Parker had been certain the creepy neighbors had abandoned their dog in the backyard. That had ended badly. The dog had been left out in the yard because the neighbors were cooking meth in the basement. Those neighbors disappeared and new ones moved in. Parker convinced himself that they were spies. They weren’t spies. The husband was, however, having an affair while his wife was working swing shift.
Sacha turned the shower off. Stepping out of the tub, he hesitated before grabbing a towel off the rack. He should have brought his own.
There was a soft tap on the door. Seth’s voice followed it. “When you’re dressed, come out to the backyard. I got the barbeque going. It’s really nice outside.” Sacha heard Seth’s footsteps fading to silence as he walked away.
After drying off, then dressing in shorts and a T-shirt, the only clean clothing he had, Sacha glanced at himself in the tiny mirror over the matching tiny sink. The salt was overtaking the pepper in his hair. Tired eyes, a few new lines on his face; better not to look.
Wandering through Seth’s tidy house on his way to the backyard, he noted that while there were a lot of plants there wasn’t much that was personal. A single framed photograph, no knickknacks, nothing that screamed “Seth” to him. He snorted. Like he knew who Seth was.
“Hey, how was the shower? You look better.” Seth was sitting in one of several ratty plastic lounge chairs, long legs stretched out in front of him, an open beer on a small side table between the chairs.
The slight breeze fluttering into the backyard, across his body, and through his damp hair cooled Sacha’s still-overheated skin. Flopping down onto the chair next to Seth’s with a groan, he leaned back and shut his eyes.
Lack of sleep and exhaustion from the unending construction threatened to overwhelm him. Sacha was suddenly so tired forming words was impossible. So he didn’t; he lay back in the creaky chair and let the breeze, the sounds of the neighborhood, and the fragrant scents from Seth’s garden wash over him.
A light touch grazed his shoulder. Snapping out of a hazy dream, he grabbed the wrist of whoever touched him. Seth, of course, his brain told him. Awareness sizzled under his skin. He knew Seth felt it too; he dropped Seth’s arm before he pulled Seth onto his lap or down to the ground so he could further explore his body like he wanted.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” The sun was directly behind Seth, so Sacha couldn’t see him clearly, his face thrown into deep shadow. “I’m gonna grill chicken and veggies, sound good?”
Sacha’s stomach rumbled. Seth chuckled.
“I’ll take that as a yes, big guy.” He turned and headed into the house. Sacha was momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun as he moved away. “While you were napping, I called a friend. His boyfriend got called out of town, so he’s at loose ends. He’s going to be here in a few.”
“I wasn’t napping,” Sacha mumbled, but Seth was inside already and didn’t hear his ridiculous protest.
Sacha’s ass was still firmly planted in the lounge chair when Seth’s friend arrived. He was a little shorter than Seth, slender, with crazy curly brown hair. He tripped on the way down the back steps, nearly losing hold of the six-pack of beer he had in one hand.
“They don’t call me Grace for a reason.” Smiling, he stuck a hand out. “Micah Ryan, thanks for letting me crash your dinner.”
The two men were funny; clearly there was significant affection between the two of them. Seth brought up the Warrick, and the three of them spent the rest of the evening discussing the building, renovations, and general Skagit history. Micah was a local and knew a lot of random facts about Skagit.
“So, yeah, the Warrick brothers were local lumber barons who cashed out their investments in land to start a bank. This is all before any kind of banking regulation, and the brothers were somehow ousted and replaced by the Cutler family. I think one of the Warrick brothers lost the bank in a bet?”
“No way!”
“It was a pretty big scandal for the time. Skagit had like 2,000 permanent residents at the time, so everybody knew everybody’s business. Kinda like now.” Micah snickered.
“Skagit is still pretty small.”
“Man, if I wasn’t so busy with work right now I’d totally come over to help you out. Maybe I’ll stop by, if it’s okay, and get a tour?”
Sacha found himself agreeing.
The evening light faded, and Micah gathered himself to leave, muttering about his evil cat. Sacha made to leave as well, but Seth stopped him with a hand to his shoulder as Micah exited through the side gate, managing not to trip this time.
“This may sound crazy, but you’re welcome to crash on the couch here. It has to be more comfortable than the pancake you’ve been sleeping on.”
It was probably the beers that had him nodding without hesitation, or maybe his near inability to move. Lack of sleep, beer, and the thought of something not hardwood underneath his body as he slept sounded like nirvana. He wasn’t certain who was more surprised that he accepted, him or Seth.
“I’d offer you the spare room, but it’s still full of boxes from when I moved in. I haven’t bothered to unpack everything yet. You could share my bed but,” a naughty grin spread across Seth’s face, eyes filled with blatant appreciation, “when I get you there it’s not going to be for sleeping. And, sadly, I think that’s what you need most right now.”
Sacha found himself prone on a lumpy, slightly musty couch hardly long enough for his body, a sheet and light blanket thrown over him. He barely heard Seth as he moved around, locking up the house, before falling into a deep, mostly dreamless sleep.
Eleven
Seth
When he offered up his couch, Seth was certain Sacha would refuse and drive himself home. And Seth would have had to argue with him about it because the man was clearly too worn out to drive on top of two beers. But no, he’d accepted, and now there was a hulking form snoring softly on the couch in Seth’s tiny living room.
They hadn’t talked about the scorching kiss Sacha had laid on him. Seth had thought about it, though. Seth had thought about almost nothing else. He probably wouldn’t be able to eat Danishes ever again without popping a semi.
Before heading to bed himself, he tossed Sacha’s laundry into the dryer and started a second load. Stripping his clothes off, he took a quick shower before crawling under the sheet in his own bed.
The next morning he wasn’t surprised to find the bedding tidily folded on the couch, the laundry gone, and no sign of Sacha. Shuffling into the kitchen, he found a pot of coffee already made and a note from the man himself.
Thanks for dinner and the couch. —Sacha.
He grinned and tucked the note into his junk drawer before heading out to spend the day remodeling people’s yards. Life didn’t get much better.
The front door of the Warrick was unlocked again. Letting himself in with impunity, Seth glanced around, cataloguing what had been done over the course of the morning. Sacha was nowhere to be seen. Muffled pounding and cursing floated down from the second floor. Heading up the staircase, Seth was unsurprised to find Sacha wielding a huge sledgehammer, battering down an offending wall. Shirtless was a benefit.
Not desiring
a repeat of the evening before, when he startled Sacha and nearly ended up in a choke hold, Seth waited until the pounding came to a stop before making himself known. Taking the time to really appreciate a half-naked Sacha. As he’d suspected, there were several scars marring his torso. Two Seth recognized as old bullet wounds, plus another much fresher of the same. A single small tattoo along his rib cage; what it meant Seth didn’t know, the words were inked in what was maybe Cyrillic.
“Thanks for the coffee this morning.” And the view right now. As if reading his mind, Sacha grabbed the shirt hanging on the metal railing and pulled it over his head. Damn. Sacha probably thought he was a stalker, but Seth hadn’t been able to stop himself from dropping in. He was fascinated by both the building and the man trying to save it.
“No problem, thanks for the couch and dinner.” Sacha peered behind him. “No Danishes?” He waggled his thick eyebrows.
Heat flooded Seth’s body with the memory of yesterday’s kiss. “If I thought bringing Danishes would get me another kiss, I would have brought a baker’s dozen.”
Sacha’s body language morphed from casual to dangerous. He prowled closer to Seth, stealing his oxygen, making breathing difficult. “It’s probably a good thing, because I want in your bed, and I’m too old to fuck you on this floor.”
The air rushed out of Seth’s lungs and he tried unsuccessfully to breathe. “Yeah?” he rasped out.
“Yeah.” Sacha stalked closer. “Except now I’m thinking it would be worth it.”
What was that about being a predator right up until you became the prey? Seth wasn’t in the same league as the man in front of him.
Careless of the now-open windows, Sacha tilted Seth’s chin and brought his mouth down on Seth’s. Seth was too lost in the kiss to realize he was being slowly pushed backward until he felt the rough edges of exposed brick against his back and shoulders. He sagged against it, letting Sacha and the wall hold him up.
Sacha pressed his chest against Seth’s, and Seth could feel the larger man’s heart drumming against his own. Sacha’s wicked tongue dipped into Seth’s mouth, a flicker touch sending a flash of desire directly to Seth’s groin. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped; after yesterday his body responded immediately, wanting what it hadn’t gotten then.
Seth didn’t care who walked by or into the Warrick at this point. The mayor could have been there and it wouldn’t have stopped him. He ground back against Sacha, reveling in his heavy erection through the fabric of the shorts they were both wearing. He lost himself in the sensation of kissing and rubbing against each other. Sacha managed to get one large, rough hand down the back of Seth’s shorts to massage his ass and slide a finger in and out of his crack.
“Jesus fucking Christ, please, please, don’t stop.”
“What do you need? My hand or my mouth?”
“I, uh, uh… fuuuuck.”
Sacha dropped to his knees, popped open the snap on Seth’s shorts, and pulled everything—shorts, boxer briefs—down past his knees. They both looked down at Seth’s cock jutting out of his dark pubes, and it pulsed as they watched, pushing precome out of the pink tip.
“Please,” Seth begged, out of his mind.
Grabbing the root in one hand, Sacha pulled Seth’s erection toward his mouth, licking off the precome before opening wide and sucking him down. The sensation was so intense Seth banged his head back against the brick wall trying to keep himself from coming. That was before Sacha snuck his other hand around, sliding his index finger back into Seth’s crack, dragging it around his hole and pushing a dry finger slightly inside. Seth couldn’t take it anymore; there was no way he could hold on or warn Sacha. Grabbing Sacha’s head, he came into his hot, wet mouth and down his throat, thrusting against him with no finesse. He would have been embarrassed, but he came so hard he literally had spots in his eyes from forgetting to breathe.
Sacha slowly stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning in to ravage Seth’s mouth again. Seth managed to fumble into Sacha’s shorts and take his thick, throbbing cock into one hand to pump it. Sacha stopped kissing him, short, hard breaths panting into his ear. Softly, slowly, harder at the top, a little twist, a thumb in the slit wringing gasps of pleasure from the big man. Sacha’s body stiffened against Seth’s. Grabbing Seth’s chin again, Sacha plundered his mouth, their tongues dancing and twisting as Sacha’s orgasm overwhelmed him.
They stood pressed together for eons trying to catch their breath, hanging on, neither ready or willing to pull away or speak, breathing against each other, eyes closed and foreheads pushed together.
“That was fucking amazing,” Sacha whispered into his ear, so softly he almost didn’t hear it over the pounding of his heart. “I’m pretty sure when we actually fuck, it’s going to be an out-of-body experience.”
“I’m not sure I will survive, but I’m game to try.”
Sacha grimaced. “My knees would prefer carpet next time.” He moved away from Seth. “I’m not sure what you see in me. I’m old and broken.”
“Well, I’m broken too. You just can’t see it. Quit fishing for compliments; you’re fucking hot. What does your tattoo mean?”
Sacha looked down along his rib cage, which was amusing because he had a shirt on. “An adolescent mistake.”
“Oh come on, at least it’s not a tramp stamp. I know one guy who has a ladybug on his hip. I have no idea what he thought he was doing, but it’s been there long enough that it looks like a melanoma now.”
“It’s Russian, ‘It’s better to be slapped by the truth than kissed with a lie.’ I was eighteen and very dramatic. It was before I joined the military, and I thought I was a badass when I was really only a punk.”
“So, you’re Russian?”
“Bosnian, but I also speak Russian and Croatian. I have a knack, I guess. It came in handy when I was in the military. I came to the US when I was twelve. Look, this is going to sound shitty, but I don’t like to talk about it. I left, I was glad to leave, I probably would be dead if I hadn’t left. I was one of many orphans living on the streets, but I am the only one I know of lucky enough to have escaped.” He paused, and Seth thought maybe he was done talking, but then he continued. “I’m not explaining this well, but… my childhood, it was a war zone, and I feel guilty about escaping. I can’t change what happened, but I also don’t like to talk about it.”
“Okay. Believe me, I understand.” And he did. Seth never told anyone about his early childhood, not if he could help it. Over twenty years since his mother’s arrest and he still had nightmares. Dark hallways, closets, strange voices, hunger, being too hot or too cold featured in all of them.
Downstairs they did their best to clean each other up with hand wipes. Seth’s shirt was totaled, so Sacha loaned him one of his. It was too large, but Seth got a kick out of wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “US Marshals Service.”
“Come back upstairs, I wanna show you something.”
Sacha had been working in one of the small offices on the second floor, as evidenced by the gaping hole along the back wall and the exposed red brick behind it.
“That’s pretty cool. You going to leave it open like that?” Seth was slightly behind Sacha going into the room.
“Somebody dumped a bunch of shit behind there, boxes and old tools, trash. So, yeah, going to have to leave it like that, at least for now, while I drag the crap out of here,” Sacha grumped.
“Lemme help.” Seth moved to his side. They stood side by side, taking in the mess. The interior wall had about twenty-four inches of space between it and the red brick behind it. Tucked into what should have been empty space between the walls were several wooden crates, the type fresh fruit had been packed in back in the day. One of the crates was crushed and splintered where, presumably, the sledgehammer had come crashing in on it.
“Wow, when I was wondering what kind of secrets these walls were hiding, I didn’t mean literally.”
“What are you talking about?” Sacha
asked, looking at Seth like he was addled.
“On my way over here, I was thinking about how long the building had been around and what kind of history it had seen that we, I mean you, would never know.”
“Well, all I’m thinking right now is that this stuff is a pain in my ass.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “It’s not the end of the world. Let’s pull it out of there. I’ll drag it downstairs so you can get back to bludgeoning the wall into submission.”
They got the crates out, and then Sacha picked up the sledgehammer again, hefting it over his shoulder with ease. His back muscles flexed under the shirt, leaving Seth breathless. He lugged the boxes downstairs, dust, grime, and spider corpses be damned. Two of the boxes were filled with random tools and metal pieces. The third, the one the sledgehammer had hit, was packed with old paperback books, postcards and pictures wrapped in twine, loose papers, and a folded-up piece of fabric. At the bottom there were a couple of tin cups, an old pair of spectacles, and some half-disintegrated balls of string.
Since there was nowhere else to put them, Seth stacked the crates against the wall away from the enormous pile of demolition debris. Gently, he tugged one of the books from the box. The slim volume was battered and torn. Whether from today’s beating or from wear and tear before it had been hidden away, it was difficult for Seth to tell.
Holding it carefully in one hand, he did something he’d learned from his aunt. Before paging through books they found at thrift stores and yard sales, Marnie would try to learn as much as she could without opening the cover. Was it heavy or light? Well cared for or rumpled? Was a section dog-eared or bookmarked? If not, she would hold the book spine down and see if it opened to a particular page or section.
