As Sure As The Sun

by Elle Keaton

  Without stopping, without hesitation, Sacha lowered his mouth to Seth’s. This kiss was a rocket. Hard and explosive. Seth opened for Sacha, flicking his tongue along his lips and inside his mouth. Sacha couldn’t help releasing a low groan, feeling Seth’s response. Seth’s arms came around him; there was no space between them as they touched and explored each other’s mouths, lips, faces, bodies. In the middle of Seth’s kitchen.

  Sacha couldn’t stop caressing Seth, molding himself to the slighter man’s shape. Couldn’t stop running his hands across as much of Seth’s skin as he could reach. Frustrated by their clothing, he pulled Seth’s shirt off, following it with his own, discarding them onto the kitchen floor.

  They came back together skin to skin, chest to chest, hips pressing together. Sacha groaned again, louder and longer. He almost (almost) didn’t need any more than Seth’s mind-blowing touches. His body sought more, though; demanded it. Sacha felt himself harden further and twitch against Seth’s hip. Seth skimmed his fingers along Seth’s back. He shivered, not knowing what to do next, where to put his own hands, needing to be everywhere.

  Long, gentle fingers skimmed further and paused on the button of Sacha’s shorts. Seth cocked his head again, questioning. “Yes,” Sacha rasped, “please.”

  The shorts were quickly dispensed with, leaving Sacha in his boxer briefs. Seth started to take off his own, but Sacha stopped him. Leaning his forehead against Seth’s shoulder, he unbuttoned them carefully, pushing them down over Seth’s hips so they landed in a heap on the floor. Watching as Seth was exposed to him, thick erection bobbing against his groin.

  Sacha was conscious of his scarred and battered body. In the daylight there was no way for him to hide the myriad battle scars from the life he’d led. His imperfections were obvious, both the physical and the emotional.

  As if he’d read his mind, Seth began to trace a gentle finger along his scars, from bullets, knives, flying glass, a very old one from before he’d come to America when he’d been hit by a car. So many.

  “I love your body, how it tells your history. Maybe someday you will tell me where these all came from.”

  “Jesus Christ, the things you say…”

  Seth leaned in and began to kiss him again: hot, open mouth; thrusting tongue; sucking lips. Sacha wasn’t going to be able to hold off, didn’t try. His uncertain hands ended up on Seth’s ass. Lost in the kiss, feeling the flex of muscle under his palms, the drag of Seth’s erection against his own, he was living a fantasy barely conceived.

  “My room?” Seth whispered into his ear.

  “Yes.”

  Taking him by the hand, Seth led him into his tiny bedroom. He crawled onto the bed, a double mattress and box spring directly on the floor, and turned to lie on his side. Sacha followed. They lay chest to chest, anticipation surrounding them like a heavy blanket.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, hoping Seth understood he meant more than sex.

  Seth took his face between his hands. “I’m a big boy, in case you haven’t noticed.” They both looked down at Seth’s cock nestled next to Sacha’s like it belonged there. Yeah, Seth was nicely built.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Sacha chuckled.

  “I know.” He smiled, eyes locking onto Sacha’s. “Trust me? Trust me to know what I can handle?”

  Sacha laughed into Seth’s neck. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.” Sticking his tongue out, he licked Seth’s neck, reveling in his salty flavor.

  They became… a tangle of arms, legs, and touching. Sacha stripped his briefs off, pressing his naked body against Seth’s, nearly coming from that too. Pushing him onto his back, Seth straddled Sacha’s hips before he could figure out what was happening, leaning forward and tracing the tattoo with his tongue. Sacha melted into sensation. He moved over to Sacha’s shoulder, to his left side. Sacha realized Seth was tracing his scars again. The ones on the outside of his body. Maybe someday he would tell him about the ones on the inside.

  Helplessly turned on, he thrust his hips upward against Seth’s weight. Seth answered with his own before wrapping a hand around both of their cocks and bringing them together, using the precome dripping from them as lubricant. Sacha lost himself in sensation again, wondering that he’d finally managed to get to this place where he was with another man and the world wasn’t crashing around him.

  Orgasm surprised him, although they had been chasing it for several minutes. His balls tightened, a spark of lightning sizzled along his spine, and Sacha was coming so hard it ached; he had to wrap himself around Seth to make himself stop shaking. Seth’s face pressed into the crook of Sacha’s neck, and then Sacha felt the answering warmth of Seth’s come on his stomach. Fucking amazing.

  Lying with Seth covering him like a blanket, Sacha felt the most at peace he’d been maybe ever in his life. The mattress was lumpy, the covers had been kicked aside, both of them were drenched with sweat, and there was no mistaking the sharp smell of come. Sacha shut his eyes and let himself drift for a few minutes.

  Seth slid off him. “That was amazing,” Sacha huffed out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He opened his eyes, and deep brown ones looked back, a little question lurking in them. Sacha squeezed him. “Really.”

  “Tell me something about yourself. I know it’s backward—sex first, questions later…”

  Seth tucked up against his side while Sacha stared at the ceiling. The sense of peace had still not disappeared, emboldening him to speak. “As I told you, I am originally from Bosnia—well, Yugoslavia. Bosnia became a separate nation after I was brought over here.”

  “Yeah?” He turned his head so he was face to face with Seth and his compassionate gaze.

  “I lived there until I was twelve.” Drawing a deep breath, he continued with his story, one he hadn’t told more than a handful of times over the years. “I was brought over as part of a humanitarian effort. Somehow I ended up homed with a very conservative Christian family.”

  “What happened to your own family?”

  “I don’t know. I was left at an orphanage when I was young, but then it closed. You have to understand how chaotic things were back then. We, Bosnians, had been fighting for years, but to the rest of the world, the war had just begun. I’d been on my own for a long time before I was evacuated. Probably at least a year.” His memories were vague. “A lot of us were forced to live on the street—war orphans, dispossessed, some runaways.”

  “You lived on the streets of… Sarajevo?”

  “Yeah. Then I came here and wasn’t on the street anymore. But other than that, not a whole lot changed.”

  “Plus you had to learn another language, right?” Sacha nodded. “And meet all new people and live in a scary new country.”

  “Street rules are universal, though, and I was a fast learner. And I’m good with languages.” He wasn’t lying when he said the rules were the same. “At least in the US I wasn’t constantly cold and wondering where my next meal was coming from. The Finlaysons may have used the system to line their own pockets, but they were forced, by random inspection, to provide somewhat regular meals as well as a roof over our heads. Being small, with a foreign accent, and hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit or match was a worse offense.” Hence Sacha’s drive to shed the accent.

  Seth didn’t say anything for the longest time. Sacha started to worry; about what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

  Seth rolled against his side and pressed his face into Sacha’s neck, still not saying anything. Sacha swore he could feel Seth’s body shaking. “Are you okay?”

  It was difficult to understand with Seth muttering into his neck, but he thought he heard something about hummingbirds.

  Seth came up for air. “What time do you have to be at the airport?”

  Parker. He’d managed to forget about that. “Fucking fuck. I have to take a fucking shower.”

  Fifteen

  Sacha

  The trip out to the airpo
rt was uneventful. The other drivers seemed to sense Sacha’s heavy mood, slowing down and pulling to the right as he approached. Or it could have been the roar of his engine as he gunned it down the two-lane road behind the airport property.

  The terminal was like every other small-town airport Sacha had ever visited. The exception was the 5’8” pissed-off man waiting for him at the curb outside baggage claim. Sacha didn’t have to get out of his truck to know Parker was out of sorts; he wore his moods like clothing. Sacha had no idea what he could have done to irritate him after so many years.

  Leaning across the cab, he pushed the passenger door open. “Get in.”

  Parker picked up his bag and tossed it into the truck bed before climbing inside. “Nice, the first words you bother to say to me in years aren’t ‘Hey, Parker, I missed you,’ it’s a grumbly ‘Get in.’”

  Parker had more lines on his face; his hair was a little less blond, his body lankier than Sacha remembered. He still had the grace of an athlete, though, which was evident as he climbed into the truck.

  “Damn, Sacha, why do you have to drive these monsters? They make me feel like a toy human,” Parker groused.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Horrible.” He pouted. “I had to sit next to someone who took their socks off, and their feet smelled like tuna fish.”

  “Buckle your seat belt.” Sacha pulled away from the curb, sliding into the traffic leaving the airport.

  The snick of the buckle engaging reached Sacha’s ears. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Do we have to talk about this now? I’m tired and hungry.” Not irritated, then; hangry.

  “I’m staying with a friend; tell me now or tell the both of us.” Why he would threaten Parker with Seth made zero sense. It was like threatening Parker with a kitten.

  “I can stay in a hotel.” Parker looked out the window instead of at Sacha, his shoulders now slumped and tense.

  “Bullshit, Seth already made space available.”

  Still looking out the passenger window, Parker asked, “Who’s Seth?”

  The million-dollar question. He wasn’t sure how to answer it. Was he anything, yet? Did he need a label for what they were exploring? He settled on, “A guy I’m staying with while some work is being done on my building.” He immediately felt like shit for downplaying what was happening between the two of them. Even though he was practically a caveman, he knew it was more than nothing.

  “Your building.” Parker paused and glanced over at Sacha. “A guy. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  Fuck if he was going to talk about fucking anything. Parker could take his talk and shove it—

  “I can tell when you’re thinking asshole thoughts inside your head.”

  The rest of the drive from the airport to Seth’s house was made in complete silence. Sacha couldn’t see how this was going to go. Things with Parker historically went sideways.

  Seth’s front door was still open when they arrived. What the fucking hell was with that? Was Seth really clueless that this neighborhood was not great? Creeps lived right up the street and would be perfectly happy to waltz in and fuck up his shit. He slammed the truck door, the sound ricocheting across the street, before stomping up to the house, ready to give Seth a piece of his mind. Parker trailed along behind, probably thinking Sacha had lost his marbles. Which he had.

  He stopped short at the sight of Seth through the open door, causing Parker to smack into Sacha’s back.

  “Jeez, give a guy some warning,” Parker groused.

  Seth was in his tiny kitchen with the music player on, cutting vegetables or something while moving to the beat, dark hair pulled back out of his face in a sort of artful tangle. He’d showered and changed into a pair of thin cotton sweatpants, which clung to his butt as he danced.

  Parker cleared his throat, looking around Sacha. “Like that, is it? I wondered. It’s always the quiet ones.”

  “What?” Then, deciding denial would get him nowhere, he added, “Fuck off, Parker,” using his most threatening growly voice. Because, no, he had never actually come out to his foster brother. Between one thing and another, Sacha’s sexuality had never been up for discussion.

  Seth heard them over the beat of his music, and he grinned as they walked in. The force of his smile was a velvet slap in the face. “Hi, I’m Seth. You must be Parker. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.” He walked forward to shake Parker’s hand. “Sacha, put his things in your room.” He turned back to Parker. “You need a shower? It’s not the best, but it does the job.”

  Sacha pointedly ignored the raised eyebrows from Parker. Regardless of the years since they had seen each other, Parker knew that Sacha did not take direction very well. Or at all. Fuck that; he was trying. New fucking leaf or something. Picking up Parker’s bag from where he’d dropped it, Sacha stomped into the tiny bedroom.

  Seth’d put on a ratty T-shirt while Sacha was following directions. Thank fuck. Bad enough Parker was here, with his knowing glances and mocking smile; he didn’t need Seth parading around half naked. Thankfully, Parker opted for a shower, giving Sacha a few more minutes to collect himself and prepare for the inquisition.

  The already-small house was going to feel like a sardine can with the three of them here, and it was too fucking hot. Sacha didn’t know what was going to happen. Between the distraction known as Seth and whatever was going on with Parker, something was going to give. Collapse, more like.

  “So, Parker?” Seth interrupted his wandering thoughts.

  He quelled his irritation at Seth’s question. The man was, after all, generous enough to offer a place not only to Sacha but to his semi-estranged/deranged foster brother as well. “I haven’t had a chance to question him yet.” Like he was a suspect or something.

  “Did you piss him off already? That was quick.”

  Sacha grinned, because Seth did have his number. “Maybe. But he’s pretty good at pissing me off too. Always has been.”

  “I imagine that’s not very hard.”

  “Fuck off.” There was no heat behind his words, though. He leaned against the kitchen counter watching Seth work.

  “See?” Seth returned to cutting veggies and sliding them onto skewers before laying them on a cooking sheet and brushing olive oil, or something, over each one. There were burger patties laid out as well. “Does Parker eat meat?”

  “Hell, yeah,” said the man in question.

  “Fuck’s sake, Parker, can you not?”

  “What? And miss a chance to see you get all riled up? I haven’t taken that quick of a shower since you and Mae-Lin played the trick on me with the garter snake.”

  “Jesus Christ, don’t bring that up again, we fucking apologized. We had no idea they actually bit. It’s not like it was poisonous.”

  “You put a snake in the shower. While I was in it. You still owe me. And they are in fact poisonous.” Parker emphasized his point by jabbing his index finger against Sacha’s chest.

  Seth had stopped prepping and was doubled over laughing. When he got himself under control, he chuckled, “This is going to be awesome.”

  This was so not going to be awesome. And if Parker thought Sacha had forgotten he’d travelled across the country to include Sacha in his Big Drama, he had another think coming.

  By mutual agreement they headed out to the backyard, where Seth had the grill going. Sacha ended up sitting between the other two men. Seth dragged over a wooden bench to use as a setting spot for their plates and beers. It was much more pleasant than inside the tiny house. With all the windows open to relieve the heat, Sacha was having to put aside some of his misgivings about the neighborhood. The family parking their car, for instance, was probably merely that: a family parking their car.

  Parker had bulked up a little over the years. As a kid he’d been chubby, and then in high school, when the bullying began, he got way too skinny. He was wan under his tan, though, the lines on his face exaggerated as the su
n began to set, and dark circles lurked under his eyes.

  Tired or not, he looked like he took care of himself, which, Sacha supposed, he’d been doing for at least ten years. Sacha watched as Parker mowed through a huge burger and helping of vegetables while they enjoyed the slightly cooler evening temperature.

  As if reading his mind, Parker remarked, “Is it always this hot here? I thought it was supposed to be cold and rainy.”

  Sacha’s mouth was full. Seth answered, “This is my first summer here. I’m from Scottsdale. This winter was brutal. I’ve never been somewhere it rained every day for literally months. I’m not complaining about the heat.”

  Swallowing, Sacha added, “Last couple summers have been pretty hot.” Seth’s sharp gaze jerked over to him, his eyes narrowing. Sacha replayed what he’d said. Ah. Fuck. “I was here on assignment,” he mumbled. He watched Seth tuck the information away and wondered when he would be on the receiving end of an interrogation.

  “Assignment?” Seth prodded.

  Parker put his plate down and leaned forward to peer around Sacha. “Yeah, the US Marshals. You know, like that old movie, The Fugitive.”

  “You’re going to be a fugitive if you don’t shut your trap.” Sacha enjoyed Tommy Lee Jones, but that fucking movie drove him crazy. In fact, all cop shows drove him up a wall. When he watched TV he preferred stuff like House Hunters, but there was no way he was telling these two.

  He’d been so careful, keeping his worlds separate. It occurred to him that that wasn’t going to be possible any longer. Maybe he didn’t care enough or have the energy to keep things in their tidy little cubbyholes. The reasons why he’d distanced himself from Parker were gone. The reasons why he hadn’t allowed himself the kind of relationship he yearned for, also gone. A gaping hole where he used to hide… was waiting to be filled.