Fourteen

Sacha

 

Seth insisted they stop at the grocery store on the way home. Sacha followed behind him in his truck again. Sacha paid, since they were getting food for three. They ended up with enough for a small army.

Today Sacha better appreciated Seth’s backyard. It was an oasis. Quiet, peaceful, and set away from the street, an abundance of flowering shrubs encouraged honeybees, butterflies, and birds. When he sat down, a flash of wings turned out to be a tiny brown hummingbird hovering over a blue cone-shaped blossom.

Seth puttered, insisting on cooking since Sacha had paid, getting the grill ready for the chicken they’d purchased and watering the shrubs and flowers that were desperately thirsty after the sweltering day. Sacha had offered to cook; he could, after all. But Seth insisted.

“You mind if I turn on some tunes?” Seth asked, startling him from his lazy observations.

“Sure?” Sacha didn’t really do music. Seth took his quasi-answer for a yes, racing inside for some kind of portable speaker. Soon enough there was music to go with their dinner.

“I’m pretty eclectic; there’s a little of everything on my playlist,” Seth commented.

It was unnervingly pleasant to sit in Seth’s backyard sipping a couple of beers and eating dinner off real plates, not paper or out of a bag. Both things Sacha had done with some regularity over the past two years, as well as before that. He cooked for family once in a while, for the occasional friend, but not much more than that.

“So, what do you think about that box of stuff? Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” He’d forgotten about the wooden crate of mementoes he’d nearly crushed into kindling. “What else was in there?”

Grabbing a napkin, Seth wiped his hands before getting out of his chair. Sacha saw the stack of photos or postcards sitting on the little metal side table.

Seth grinned at him. “You fell into my hastily laid trap.” Sacha found himself grinning back. That shit was infectious.

The collection consisted of nearly twenty postcards all addressed to Owen Penn, four badly faded handwritten letters, and a single photograph of two young men laughing, their arms around each other’s waists. The postcards were from parks and cities across the US. The farthest away was from Acadia Park in Maine; the closest had been postmarked at Marble Mount, which was about a hundred miles away in the North Cascades National Forest. The same spidery handwriting flowed across the four letters, much too faded to read in the dying light of Seth’s backyard, possibly too faded to read at all. Sacha turned the photograph over. On the back was written: Owen Penn, Theodore Garrison Lake Chelan. It was dated 1939.

He stared at the photo, hoping to divine its secret history. The young men—boys, really—looked happy, laughing over a secret or merely smiling for the camera. The picture was black-and-white, of course, but one of them had darker hair and was a little taller than the other. They were skinny in a way people weren’t anymore, wearing similar dark work pants and white button-up work shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Sacha wondered who had been on the other side of the camera. A friend? A passing stranger? What were the two of them doing at Lake Chelan in the late 1930s as the world was going mad?

Seeming to share, or understand, Sacha’s thoughts, Seth broke the silence that had fallen between them. “I wonder why these were hidden? Clearly, this Owen person saved everything.” Leaning over, he tugged the photo from Sacha’s limp grasp. “I wonder which one he is?” He stared at it for a few moments before tucking it back in with the postcards, gingerly, as if it were the most precious treasure.

Seth looked up, his gaze catching Sacha’s, and an intense spark crackled inside Sacha’s chest. He felt short of breath. Dropping his eyes, he found himself mesmerized by Seth’s lips. Seth bit his lower lip shyly before breaking into a broad smile and taking Sacha’s breath away again. The moment lasted forever, shattering time barriers, and was over far too quickly, leaving Sacha reeling. The feeling in his chest expanded, and he looked away, afraid of what unfamiliar emotion was showing on his face. He was used to sex, fucking, but had never allowed an emotional connection to form before. It almost hurt.

A gentle hand tugged his chin. The chairs were close together; there wasn’t much distance between the two of them.

“You wanna kiss?” Seth asked quietly, brown eyes looking directly into Sacha’s. Sacha nodded, mute. Yes, he wanted to kiss under the broad blue sky and the sun that never changed no matter where it shone. The same sun that shone over Kansas City, over Miami, Paris, or Sarajevo. He wanted to be absolved, to be clean, unsullied by life, the sun shining down on him free of judgment.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

Heat flared across his cheeks. His expression must have encouraged Seth, though; he leaned forward, gently touching his lips to Sacha’s.

Sacha’s lips opened of their own volition, desiring more, but Seth merely pressed their mouths together, a barely there touch. A touch so strong it was close to sending Sacha into orbit. He breathed in, smelled the beer they’d had, felt Seth’s warm breath mingling with his own. Felt.

If Sacha knew one thing, it was that he was in trouble. A whole hell of a lot of trouble.

 

 

Together they straightened up the little house. Seth dug out some blankets and sheets for Parker; he would be sleeping on the couch. Not that Parker was going to need blankets, or even sheets, since it was still fucking hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Together they moved the last of Seth’s moving boxes from the spare room to the living room, then they tackled the air mattress. A half hour later, Seth declared victory.

“Duct tape really is a miracle.”

“It won’t hold,” Sacha groused.

“Quitter.” Smiling, Seth led the way back out into the living room. “Besides, you know where my bed is if you find yourself sleeping on the floor.”

With both the front and back doors open to encourage a breeze, Sacha stared outside into the offending early evening sunshine. The neighbor’s pathetic wind sock didn’t even twitch, only hung limply from her porch.

What in the fucking hell was he going to do with Parker? Why was he coming to Skagit? Mae-Lin didn’t tell him anything. Claimed she didn’t know. Besides, she never involved herself in Parker’s drama any more than she had to. Sacha felt this was a copout, seeing as both he and Parker jumped to her assistance whenever she called.

Somebody in the neighborhood was hosting a BBQ or something. Street parking at Seth’s was a little dicey, seeing as there were no sidewalks, and residents parked wherever and however they felt like. As he stared out the front door, trying to make some sense of Parker’s arrival and what was possibly blooming between himself and Seth, he watched a shiny black late-model four-wheel-drive circle the block.

The driver deftly maneuvered the vehicle in between two other equally large and unwieldy ones about halfway down the street. He didn’t know if it was Parker’s imminent arrival that had him on alert or something else he wasn’t able to put his finger on, but he continued watching until a family spilled out to unload their vehicle, a multitude of screaming children, strollers, and bags of what looked to be drinks and to-go containers spewing from inside.

He wandered back into the kitchen and, apparently inevitably, Seth. “Is there anything I need to know?” Seth asked over his shoulder. “You know, a deathly seafood allergy, won’t step on cracks, do I need to put away the silver?”

Sacha snorted. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Seth stood from where he’d been putting the contents of the cooler back into the fridge. Seth’s hair was a mess. His T-shirt was, as usual, untucked, and his ratty shorts hung low on his hips, exposing a sliver of skin that Sacha longed to run his fingers across.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of him. Didn’t want to.

Stepping into Seth’s personal space, Sacha focused on Seth, letting his body do the talking. Placing his hands on Seth’s hips, he tugged him close, sliding his hands up under Seth’s rumpled shirt, feeling the soft bumps and curves of his torso, smooth beneath the tips of his fingers, and Seth shuddered.

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.”