by Willa Okati
Barrett rolled all that over in his head. It did make an awful sort of sense. And if proximity triggered the development of soulmarks, it’d start to explain why Nick’s had cropped up now. He’d been in the blast zone for pheromones when Ivan and Robbie had found one another again. It would have been more surprising if Nick had walked away unscathed.
“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” he said, sorting through his words and picking them as carefully as he could. Daniel might not be volatile, but vulnerable was a different story. Tread lightly. “Or are you asking for my opinion?”
“Somewhat,” Daniel said. His gaze leveled on Barrett. “Your opinion, or Nick’s. Because even if you’re not really soulmates, you know more about love than I do.”
Barrett’s mouth fell open.
“You’re not wearing your cuff,” Daniel said, quiet and gentle, but not backing down. “Nick didn’t have his on last night. I’m not blind, Barrett. Nor am I stupid. I know courage when I see it. You both did what you wanted, and got what you needed. That’s why I thought you’d—”
“Nick’s got a soulmark coming through,” Barrett blurted. He covered his mouth with one hand but then peeled it away. Even if the startled dismay in Daniel’s face made him want to hide his head, he kept going. He bent his head to show Daniel his bare nape. “It’s on his neck. Right about there. It started last night. He has a soulmark, Daniel. A true mate. Somewhere out there. You picked the wrong person to ask for help. I can’t tell you what to do. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Stop.” Daniel touched the tip of his tongue to the bow of his upper lip a second time. He lifted his chin and made a turn-around motion. “Barrett…”
* * * *
It isn’t just me, is it? Nick’s mind wandered as he picked up detached branches and wood chips on body-autopilot. If it were only his pain, then fine. He’d deal with that all day long. As many days and years as it took. He’d never noticed Ivan fidgeting or rubbing a hole through his chest. It’d fade to something bearable—maybe even forgettable—as time went by.
Someone else out there had a brand rising on the back of their neck, driving them half-mad. They’d be wondering— Who is it? Do I know him? Will I love him?
Where is he? Why isn’t he looking for me?
It’d be the breaking—no, the crumbling—of a heart. Worn away by care like limestone and water, leaving a yawning cavern behind where there could have been…
If not love, then at least they could have friendship. Or just the knowledge of who, and what, and why.
But Barrett… Nick pressed his knuckles hard over his mark. God, how cruel would it be to make him watch that? Like dying the death of a thousand cuts, one shallow slice per day. Maybe that was what he’d meant, when he seemed so ready to cut and run. Protecting himself, sure.
Protecting them both, more so. He couldn’t bear to see the love in Barrett’s face change to resentment. Or worse, to hatred. He’d rather stick his neck under the ax and get it over with if that was all he had to look forward to—
Nick sank down on the raw wood of the freshly cut tree stump and hid his face in his folded arms, atop his knees.
What do I do? What can I do?
* * * *
“I what?” Barrett said dumbly. He covered the back of his neck. “No, no, that’s not right. I’m not the one who has a soulmark coming in. It’s a spider bite, or—”
“Barrett.” Daniel seemed more tired and sad than he had before. “I wouldn’t lie. Not about that. Look for yourself.”
Barrett’s jaw tightened. “The hell I will.” He made a dive for a drawer in the end table by the door. Usually they kept keys, stamps, bits of odds and ends in there, and— yes. A tiny first-aid kit. He broke the plastic hinges, wrestling its latch open then shook out a square of gauze and some medical tape.
“That’s not going to make it go away.”
“No, but it’ll hide it,” Barrett said, strapping the gauze down with more tape than was strictly necessary. “I don’t—it doesn’t hurt. Nick’s is driving him crazy. It can’t really be a mark if—”
“Everyone’s different,” Daniel said, patient as the moon. “You know that as well as anyone.” He drew his knuckles along his cheek with a sound of scraping stubble. “And that won’t hide it from Nick.”
Barrett pressed the tape down hard. He didn’t look at Daniel.
“And it’s possible…” Daniel started.
“People are different. Not that different. Even I know soulmarks start at the same time. The universal tick, isn’t that what it’s called? Like a clock that’s counted down to zero.”
“People are different,” Daniel insisted. “Nothing you two have done has been by the book so far.”
“I won’t get my hopes up!” Barrett snapped. He held up a hand, palm out, to ward Daniel off. “I won’t look. I won’t. I can’t even think about it. Because if I dare to hope, and I’m wrong…”
Daniel subsided into silence. “You might not be.”
Barrett shook his head in despair. His body had gone rigid and chilly with dread. They wouldn’t even have time to pretend, now. Daniel was right. Nick would see, and he would know, and the life they’d built together was as good as over.
He left the bandage in place. There was no way to stop Nick from noticing, but if he could talk Nick into leaving it alone, they could pretend it wasn’t there for just a little longer. Let us have one more night at least, for fuck’s sake. Just one! That’s not too much to ask.
Daniel glanced through the narrow window panel set into the top of the door. “I don’t hear Nick anymore. He’s probably on his way in.”
Barrett nodded, rough and jerky. He found himself reaching for the bandage again, smoothing it down.
Daniel sighed. “They say, to thine own self be true,” he said. “And they say you can’t fight fate. I don’t think love makes any sense. I don’t think soulmarks make any sense at all. But it’s how we were made.”
Barrett huffed softly. “Even if it’s fucking unfair?”
“I don’t think fair has much to do with anything.” Daniel said. “All we can do is play the hand we’re dealt and hope for the best. Me and you both. Talk to him, Barrett. He should know.”
“As if there’s a choice?”
Daniel raised one shoulder in agreement and empathy. He stepped aside, then, just in time to avoid a collision with the door when Nick opened it.
“Daniel,” Nick said, surprised and not hiding it. And awkward. “I owe you an apology.”
“Not really.” Daniel stepped backward, through the open door, and lifted his chin to Barrett. “It’s not over until it’s over.”
Nick frowned at the door as it closed. “What did he mean by that? I—”
He saw it, then. Not like Barrett had a chance to hide. Not that Barrett tried. He shook his head, helpless and afraid, and bent his neck to show the neat white bandage.
Nick covered his mouth for a long beat. “Fuck,” he said from behind the barrier of his fingers. “Well, fuck me. Have you seen the pattern?”
“No. God, no. I couldn’t make myself look.” Barrett gazed up at him, woebegone. “Can you?”
He watched Nick swallow hard. “I know I should, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Nor me.” Barrett spread his hands. “What do we do?” When the only choice open to us is an unbearable one?
He knew the answer to that question. All they could hope for was to be together for as long as possible, for as long as they had left. Barrett wasn’t sure who reached for whom first. Only that they did, both of them, and they didn’t move from the spot for a long, long time. Not before late afternoon had faded into dusk.
Not even after that.
Chapter Six
Nick popped the cork on a bottle of red on his way back to the couch. Barrett had already curled up on the far left cushion with his feet tucked beneath him. Comfort food had nothing on comfort cozying.
Th
ey didn’t have long. He could feel that. It would be soon. But it wasn’t now, not yet, and be damned if he’d waste a second of the time they had left.
Barrett’s ears pricked up at the sound of glasses clinking together. “Half a glass for me, if you’re pouring.”
“I could do that.” Nick filled one of the two glasses he carried to the brim and passed it over. Ruby droplets spilled across the back of Barrett’s hand. “But I always saw you as more of a glass half full kind of person.”
A lame joke, that was, and it mostly fell flat. Barrett hummed noncommittally as he cleaned the drops of wine off the back of his hand by licking them. Quick laps of pink tongue over sun-browned skin. Nick watched as he poured his own portion. Not half, not full. Three-quarters.
“Messy,” Nick said, taking his seat on the right hand side of the couch. He sat sideways, all the better to watch Barrett without a crick in his neck.
“Never did get the hang of being housebroken,” Barrett said. He touched his mouth. “Damnedest thing. I’m not doing it on purpose, but everything I say…” He took a slower sip of the wine.
Yeah. Nick knew what he meant. He tipped his head back and watched Barrett’s hand drift from mouth to neck. No idea how and why he hadn’t seen it before. Too focused on his own problems was the only reason he could think of, and he didn’t like that. Didn’t seem worthy enough. With Barrett’s face turned in profile, he’d bet he would have been able to see the soulmark if Barrett hadn’t covered it. How dark was it by now? Nearly black, or getting there fast.
Barrett stopped, hand frozen at his nape. Red bloomed high on his cheeks. “I owe you a few dozen apologies for bitching about all the fiddling. I didn’t know.”
Apologies were the last thing Nick wanted to waste his time on. He waved it aside with a wry grimace he hoped Barrett would understand, and left it there. “Does yours itch?” he asked. “Like a hair growing the wrong way?”
“It didn’t at first. Now it’s like being tickled with the tip of one paintbrush bristle.” Barrett rubbed restlessly at the square of gauze taped over his skin. “Not that scratching helps, but talk about resistance being futile.”
Nick traced the pattern of his soulmark, despite nearly having the complicated whorls memorized. He licked his lips, carefully, and spoke before he lost his nerve. “Have you looked yet?”
Stroke, stroke, stroke. “Not yet,” Barrett said. “I don’t want to…”
Don’t want to know for sure it doesn’t match yours. Don’t want to see that yours doesn’t match mine. Don’t want to make it that much more real. All of the above.
“There’s still a chance,” Nick said. “If you haven’t looked yet, you can’t be sure.”
Barrett shook his head. Nick heard what he didn’t say more clearly than the words emerging from his mouth after— don’t make this harder than it already is with false hope. “There’s a chance. But you know it’s not likely.”
“I’ve heard stories, though,” Nick insisted. Just couldn’t give up, he guessed. Not yet. If there was even a thread of hope… He moved his wine glass to the coffee table, out of harm’s way. “Proximity and triggers.”
Barrett left off fiddling with his neck and plucked at a strand of his hair instead. “I’ve heard the stories too. That it’s what draws mates together.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Yes and no. I don’t know. Daniel was talking about that earlier.” He made a face. “Don’t ask. Not my story to tell.”
Which would only make anyone who heard that crazy to know, but Nick bit it back. “I think that’s what happened to Ivan and Robbie at the game. Neither of them knew the other would be there. See, they’d made a deal a long, long time ago that when the powers that be finally opened that coliseum, they’d go to the first game. Only it’d been so long, they both forgot.”
Barrett propped his chin on his hand in momentary distraction. “Yet they both kept their promise.”
“So it would seem.”
“Where’d you get all this? Abram?”
“Who else? That burly bastard dishes more gossip than a three-church sewing circle.”
Barrett chuckled quietly. “He does, doesn’t he?”
Nick wished he hadn’t put his wine aside. He wanted it now, but not enough to shift himself off the couch and reach when Barrett had stretched out his legs and it was easy, so easy, to do the same and tangle their bare feet together.
“So,” Barrett said after a moment. “Proximity triggered them. Ivan and Robbie.”
Nick nodded and gave a quiet hum. His pulse had picked up with the tension thickening the air between them. Talk about other things though they might, it didn’t change the reality of what was happening. What they’d face in moments, just moments, or so it felt. This sense of inevitability coming closer and closer.
He could tell Barrett felt it, too. He gripped the stem of his wineglass too hard, and the level of liquid vibrated in tiny waves.
“That’s the other thing about triggers,” Barrett said. “They set things off. I’ve heard the stories from people besides Daniel, about what it feels like when you cross paths with your mate. That it can drive you wild. Make you more of an animal than a person.”
“Not always,” Nick said. Insisted. “Not always.”
“But almost always. And when I look at you…” Barrett leaned back, resting his head against the crimson knitted throw. “Do you feel any different about me than you did before?”
Damn it. “No more than usual,” Nick said when he couldn’t take another second of the silence. “I want you the same as always.”
“God.” Barrett tipped back his glass. “You don’t feel it now. But you will soon. And so will I.”
“I don’t feel anything different at all,” Nick insisted. “Maybe mine’s broken.”
Barrett snorted. He disentangled their feet and pushed forward, setting his glass roughly on the table and standing. “You’re the furthest thing from broken, love.”
Nick frowned, watching him. “Barrett?”
Barrett touched his tongue to his lips and held out one hand. “We’re changed. Not broken. I’d like to show you that.”
Nick let Barrett pull him to his feet. He could hear his pulse thudding in his ears now, fast as a quarter horse’s hooves striking wild green turf. He overbalanced but caught himself with an arm around Barrett’s waist. “I won’t let you go,” he said. “I don’t care what happens. I will never not love you. Understand that.”
He thought for a second that Barrett would argue—but Barrett didn’t. Barrett’s arms went around him, and Barrett pressed his head to Nick’s. “We’ll figure something out,” he swore. “All right? I promise. We’ll find a way. I’m not letting you go either.”
“Good.” Nick took the hand that’d gotten them both into this mess and tugged. “Bed. Now.”
Slow. Slow. As if they had all the time in the world, even if they had almost no time left at all. He could feel it building, the pressure behind his eyes and against his eardrums that would leave him half-blind and half-deaf until he’d set his teeth into his true mate’s skin.
God, he hoped whoever it was lived close by, or they were looking for him, just so he could get the worst over with quickly. Then he scrunched his eyes tighter shut in disgust. He didn’t hope that at all. He hoped they never found him.
Only the same would be happening to them. They wouldn’t have someone like Nick to cling to.
He couldn’t be that cruel, no matter how much he might want to. Barrett bit back a sound that was half shout, half cry, and banged his head against Nick’s hip.
Nick hesitated before stroking his hair. “I know,” he said. “Me too.”
They lay side by side on top of the mattress. Never had made the bed that day. It didn’t matter. Nothing to get in the way, and not even any pillows to kick aside. Plenty of room to stretch out and make a circle at the same time, formed and fitted together.
Barrett ran his lips over the length of Ni
ck’s cock and dropped small nipping kisses against the softer skin of Nick’s inner thigh. He hissed in a breath as Nick did the same.
“Do you remember the first time?” he asked, barely louder than a whisper.
“God yes. Scared out of our minds.” Nick had hold of Barrett’s hips, kneading them. “I remember I asked you if you’d brought anything.”
“And I hadn’t.” Barrett let go long enough to reach to the bedside table. They hadn’t neatened that either. A clutter of wrappers littered the drawer, but a half-empty tube of slick and a smattering of intact foil lurked at the bottom of the mess. “Learned from my mistakes.”
He had to stop, to moan, at the touch of Nick’s tongue as low as Nick could go, almost between his cheeks. “Learned this the first time,” Nick murmured, wicked. “Might be something to say for necessity and invention.”
He made Barrett laugh. Always, always made Barrett laugh. Barrett flexed his hips, pressing into the light brushes of Nick’s tongue against his skin, and fumbled open the cap to the crinkled tube. “Don’t want me to share?”
“I didn’t say that.” Nick put out his hand.
Barrett’s hands shook and he nearly lost his grip, but the second time he tried he squeezed the middle of the tube and poured a puddle of cool gel in the cup of Nick’s palm.
They didn’t do this often—prepare each other, as if they’d both have a chance. Mostly because they’d only wished they could go twice, or more, the way real mates did.
Sometimes, though, they’d pretended.
One more time, Barrett decided. Once more for the memory of it. He emptied the tube across his fingers and slipped behind Nick’s heavy sac to slide two fingers in. Nick could take it. He liked it a little rough. Would the mate waiting out there for him figure that out, or—?