It didn’t take Marcus long to get used to falling asleep and waking up next to Timur. There was no fighting over the covers, nobody taking their half of the bed out of the middle, and a general understanding that if one woke up in the dead of night with a hard-on, the other would enthusiastically help him take care of it. Even if he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, Marcus was definitely in a good mood whenever the sun came up.
Except today.
He’d barely opened his eyes before that heavy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Today was the day—they were picking up Chris and Julien at the airport in a few hours. Which meant Timur’s visit was rapidly winding to a close.
Sighing, Marcus rubbed his eyes, then stretched a little and rolled over. They’d stayed at Chris and Julien’s place last night, and now Timur was on his stomach with his arm wrapped around one of the cats, whose head rested on the man’s heavily tattooed shoulder.
In spite of that lead ball in his stomach, Marcus couldn’t help but smile. When he eventually went looking for someone he might stay with in the long term, he’d definitely look for a man who cuddled with pets. Because that image—his tanned, rugged, inked legionnaire curled up with a cat—was just too fucking adorable.
Timur was still asleep. He didn’t seem to have any of that fabled soldier awareness or those routines that saw Julien still wake up at five or something in the morning (Chris had told him), or maybe he woke up and then fell back asleep, like a civilian would. In any case, Marcus managed to get out of bed without waking him. He even managed to get into his pajama bottoms, less for modesty and more because one of the cats didn’t know the difference between clothed human and naked human, and didn’t care either when it tried to climb him.
Timur and he had quickly settled on their favorite breakfast, so that was what he’d make. He’d bought the eggs and tomatoes and other assorted things before he’d arrived yesterday. Large skillet, dash of oil, squish a generous amount of garlic and chop up a large onion. While those cooked off, he chopped up some chorizo. The dish was Mediterranean, going back to either Jewish or Arab cooking. While Timur was a Tatar, he also was apparently an Orthodox Christian, not a Muslim, which Marcus understood was pretty damn rare among Tatars (and no, he hadn’t done that much research—it was just small things Timur had hinted at). No dietary restrictions, in any case.
Once the chorizo had cooked a bit, he threw in some garam masala, which turned the mix a nice rich orange. He let the spices warm a bit while he skinned the tomatoes and chopped them up finely, then tossed them in, where everything cooked for a while. When the mix had reduced somewhat, he opened holes in the mix and cracked an egg in each, then reduced the heat a bit. The food was ready when the eggs were cooked. While it was completely okay if they were still a bit runny, Timur much preferred them cooked through, so once they were halfway there, Marcus gathered them up with a scoop and just turned them over for a few more moments.
The dish was a fragrant one, and it attracted first the cats—they came running at the smell of anything cooking, even if it wouldn’t actually appeal to them—and then Timur. He’d pulled on a pair of plain gray sweatpants. Trust Timur to look good in them.
“Morning.” Marcus met his gaze over the steam rising from the frying pan. “Hungry?”
Timur smiled sleepily. “Always, when you’re cooking.”
Marcus’s heart fluttered—even after nearly a month of this weird little relationship, Timur’s eyes still lit up every time Marcus made something. It could be the simplest dish like the one he was making now, or an elaborate five-course feast that took days of preparation, and Timur was still thrilled by the sight, smell and taste of it. After living with an impossible-to-please restaurant owner for way too long, the novelty of Timur’s unflinching appreciation hadn’t even begun to wear off.
And it won’t get a chance to wear—
Stop it.
Marcus cleared his throat. “Coffee’s ready too.”
Timur muttered something in what Marcus had come to recognize as his native tongue. Probably “Oh thank God” or close to it.
As Timur poured himself a cup of coffee, he said, “Julien’s flight is on time. I checked.”
Marcus focused on the bubbling food in in the pan and tried to ignore the ball of lead sinking deeper in his stomach. “We’ll need to leave around noon, then. To beat the Boeing traffic.”
Timur grunted an affirmative. He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. “Will be strange, Chris and Julien here.”
“Yeah,” Marcus said quietly. He forced a playful, if halfhearted, smile and glanced at him. “Guess we can spend more nights at my place. Since you won’t have to worry about the cats.”
Timur nodded.
“I mean…obviously you’ll want to spend time with Julien. But at night. Um.” Marcus swallowed and focused on the food again. “At night, if you want, we—”
Timur stepped closer and touched his arm. “Do you want me to stay with you at night?”
Marcus looked up at him. “Yeah, I do. Very much so. I just don’t want to keep you from your friend.”
Timur leaned in for a soft kiss. “Julien has Chris. I have you. Is good.”
Considering he and Julien had been deployed together, ranking roughly at the same level meant a great deal, but they both knew that.
He’d never outright spoken about it, but as far as Timur’s sexuality was concerned, things were pretty clear. Timur had no hang-ups about being gay—and he seemingly wasn’t attracted to women. More importantly, he had good overall relationship manners. He left plenty of space and was always reliably there when and where needed.
From what Marcus had gathered, he was also a one-man guy. Likely a holdover from the Legion too, where Julien had been his “special comrade” and other men didn’t appear to figure. That seemed to take care of all of Timur’s emotional needs—if you could call them that. Timur didn’t seem to have any needs, didn’t make demands and didn’t seem the type to ever do so.
In Marcus’s experience, everybody had needs, but Timur never made a big deal of them, never showed any entitlement and seemed genuinely happy with however much he got. He also wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type—the kind of man who was a wreck and needed a relationship to prop himself up, at least until that relationship floundered, because no man should be made to drag somebody else through life. Timur stood on his own two feet and seemed perfectly capable of living on his own if he cared to. Marcus liked them independent like that.
The eggs were done, so he killed the gas flame and dished up. He handed Timur his plate, and they both walked over to the breakfast bar, where the cutlery was already settled. One of the simplest dishes on the planet, but so good every time.
“When’s your return ticket for?” It was a question he’d dreaded asking—until about now, “end of the month” had been precise enough, but it had been so far away. With today being the twenty-fifth, it was now much closer than felt right. They hadn’t seen everything, done everything. Five years until his contract was done. Afterward—Marcus had no illusion that either of them would still be up for it in five years’ time. Timur was easy to hook up with, and he, well… Five years was a damn long time. Wilde’s was a barrel teeming with fish. He might be the resident silver fox serving drinks, but he got plenty of compliments. Something would work out between—next month and five years from now. Right?
“Flight is Saturday.”
Saturday. Without thinking about it, Marcus glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Wednesday. On Saturday…
Ouch.
“That’s…” he swallowed, “…sooner than I thought.”
Timur nodded. “Time has gone by.”
Too quickly. Much too quickly.
“Well…” he forced himself to meet Timur’s eyes, “…we’ll just have to make sure the next few days are memorable.”