Blue Cruise

by Liz Crowe

  Tarkan lead him up a steep grassy hill, dotted with the odd remnant of ancient temple or church or whatever, Caleb had no idea. History was not his thing. The man in front of him was though. He guided Caleb into what looked like a small, elegant restaurant on the outside but was obviously a private home. One table was set, in front of a blazing fire, for two. A few people appeared, poured wine, put some food down and disappeared. Caleb was nervous again. He wanted Tarkan so badly at that moment he didn’t think he could control himself. And he knew damn good and well Tarkan felt the same way.

  “Afiyet olsun.” Tarkan gestured to the food, which was a delicious simple meal of lamb, rice and fresh vegetables. Caleb stared at him, not sitting, not moving any closer. The room hummed with chemistry, electricity, and primal need.

  “Are we alone?” he ground out. “Because if we aren’t we should be, and soon.”

  He was thrilled to see Tarkan finally appear unsettled. The guy was one cool customer for certain. Calmer than anyone had a right to be. He glanced around, motioned with one hand, and the lights were dimmed, leaving the room lit by a single candle and the flickering flames in the grate. He took a step toward Caleb, ran a finger down his face, palmed his cheek. Caleb’s entire body broke out in a chill and if it were physiologically possible, his cock got even harder. “We should eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Caleb growled and reached for him, yanking his face close, covering his lips with his own, hungry beyond imagining for the Turkish treat in his arms. They melded together, nearly identical in their six-foot-two-inch bodies, arms wound around each other, tongues colliding with passion. Caleb groaned into Tarkan’s mouth as the other man’s hands slid down his arms, around to his ass, and pressed their bulging groins together, grinding into him so hard Caleb nearly came in his shorts. He yanked his face away and stared into the dark-skinned man’s eyes.

  “I am one pent-up guy, I have to warn you. I...oh, shit....”

  Tarkan dropped to his knees and tugged Caleb’s zipper down in one fluid motion, releasing his throbbing cock to the air. “Lovely,” he murmured, before dipping his tongue into the weeping slit, licking his way around the edge of the head and finally swallowing Caleb’s shaft all the way down, pressing his nose into the curls at the base.

  “Jesus, I...oh....” Caleb bit it back, cocked his hips and held onto Tarkan’s hair, fucking his lovely mouth like an animal, making noises he didn’t know he had in him. The man moaned, clutched his ass and deep-throated him, again and again, sucking and tugging until Caleb saw stars at the edge of his vision, felt the orgasm gathering at the base of his spine. “Baby, I’m gonna blow.” His voice was a whisper in the nearly dark room. “I can’t hold back.”

  In response, Tarkan pulled his mouth off with a final bit of suction, stood, and yanked his own shorts down. He possessed Caleb’s mouth, sweeping his talented tongue in and through, owning him with his lips. Their erections pressed together, the hot, hard sex between them beautiful and urgent.

  Pressing a condom packet into Caleb’s shaking hand, Tarkan pulled his shirt off and did the same to Caleb, leaning in to lick at his rock hard nipples. Caleb suppressed a moan, ripped the packet open with his teeth and ran the thin latex down over his straining shaft. He tugged the man up, level with his face and put both hands on either side of it, relishing the roughness of the man’s skin under his palms. “I need you,” he said simply.

  “Take me,” Tarkan hissed, pressed his lips to Caleb’s, then turned around, arching his back up, presenting that glorious ass Caleb had been ogling all day long. He ran his hands down the man’s dark flesh, across his back, rested them on his hips, before leaning over and biting down on his delicious shoulder. He tasted of cinnamon, saffron, allspice, and Caleb knew at that moment he could never get enough.

  “Oh evet, yes, my love,” Tarkan moaned as Caleb reached down to grasp his cock and rolled the soaking wet head in one hand. The smell of Tarkan’s sex filled his nose, and he moved against the man’s ass, needing inside but unwilling to go there—not yet. He wasn’t a fuck-on-the-first-date kind of guy, really. He moved his hand up and down Tarkan’s long, elegant shaft, relishing the way the other man’s hips moved into his strokes then back against his own needy, hard body. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, keeping himself bent, curled around the other man. Tarkan shifted, spread his legs as his hips moved faster. Caleb smiled against Tarkan’s tantalizing skin, licking his neck, nipping and biting, moving his own hips now, ready to penetrate.

  “Lube?” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Tarkan’s breathing was ragged, and Caleb sensed him readying to orgasm in his hand. He licked two of his own fingers and pressed against the man’s anus. Oh, dear Lord, it was tight.

  “Uh huh, evet, luften, please!” Tarkan’s voice had deepened, and he arched back, using his body to press against Caleb’s intrusion, accepting the penetration. Caleb slid two fingers all the way into Tarkan’s ass, moving them, spreading him. He grunted at the sight, more turned on by it than anything he’d ever seen in his life. Tarkan’s brown skin, bunched muscles, and lean body were so ready for him.

  “I’m gonna fuck you. Now. I...I have to, or I’m....” He groaned and gripped the man’s slim hips, sliding first the tip then the whole of his cock deep. His heavy ball sack pressed against Tarkan’s flesh. The sensation of being gripped, held, caressed by Tarkan’s body was the most erotic thing Caleb had ever experienced. They both groaned as Caleb pulled out, then slammed back into him. He gripped his hips, digging his fingers in hard, hanging on for dear life. Tarkan held a chair, bracing himself against Caleb’s aggressive moves.

  Caleb took a long breath and tried to regain control. He was almost afraid of this. He hadn’t had sex in so long, he knew he wouldn’t last. And he wanted more from this man. His entire soul felt complete—he didn’t want it to ever end. Tarkan met him thrust for thrust, arching back, stroking his own cock in earnest. Caleb sensed the man’s body clamp down even tighter, took a deep breath of the lust in the room, and with a last hard shove, pressed home. He hung onto Tarkan’s shoulders now, needing him closer, unwilling to let him go.

  “Oh, my God!” Caleb heard his own deep grunt and released, and smelled Tarkan’s passion as the other man came all over his own belly. Their hips bucked together, their cries entwined. Finally, Caleb released his death grip on Tarkan’s shoulders and slid his arms around the other man’s taut body. They stayed close, front to back, as their breathing calmed and the sheen of sweat dried between them. Caleb pressed his lips to his lover’s salty shoulder and pulled out, taking off the condom and wrapping it in a napkin he grabbed from the table.

  Tarkan stood and faced him. Caleb was stunned to see the tall man’s eyes shining with tears. He tugged him close. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry...I....” Tarkan shook his head against Caleb’s shoulder, tilted his head back and stared deep into his eyes. Caleb’s heart beat faster.

  “No. That was amazing. I...well...let’s eat.” He grinned and pulled his shorts up, helping Caleb reassemble his zipper, lingering over his slowly softening shaft in a way that promised more fun to come. They sat, drank wine, talked, laughed about Caleb’s near-miss with Emre, Tarkan’s brother and fed each other the rich lamb, crisp cucumbers, delicate rice and currants. By the time they had boarded the boat again, it was dark. They’d managed to fit in another hard fuck, this time spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Caleb was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love.

  ***

  Caleb startled awake, his lover’s soft brown eyes appearing to him the moment the plane touched down in the U.S. As soon as they appeared, they were gone, making his gasp with anxiety. Yanking his leather bag down from the overhead bin, he shouldered his way out, setting his face such that no one questioned his rudeness. One foot in front of the other, one more foot and I’ll be out in the terminal, find a fucking television and see….

  “Sir!”

  He spun around, annoyed. The
attendant was there, holding his phone. “You left this.” He yanked it from her hand. Her eyes were full of tears.

  He gritted his teeth and continued the endless journey out of the plane, up the jet way and out into the hustle and bustle of LAX. People milled around, eating, drinking, going about their business. Caleb found someone in a uniform.

  “Where is the nearest television?” The man frowned at him. He must look and sound like a crazy person, but he didn’t care. The uniform pointed to the massive screen right behind him. He heard it before he saw it, the calm tone of the CNN talking head booming out over the gate area.

  “The Turkish capital Ankara has come under terrorist attack. Parliamentary offices were bombed and nearly destroyed. Hundreds are feared dead. It is believed the military was the target of the attack as details are emerging about an entire Turkish military battalion stationed there being completely decimated.”

  The screen was awash with devastation. The camera jerked, jiggled, and showed the same image over and over again. A dazed-looking woman, covered in dust and blood wandered in front of the camera as a policeman intercepted her, rushing her away from what used to be the Parliament building. Her wail of utter terror and pain, on an endless loop on the huge screen reflected exactly how Caleb felt.

  His vision darkened from the edges inward. Hands guided him into the nearest seat. For the next thirty minutes, he stared at the screen and watched his life end, over and over again.

  ***

  The coffee cup slid out of her hands and Elle’s knees buckled. The screen that remained tuned to MSNBC in their large conference room was usually just background noise. But today, of all days, as she guided her staff through the plan for their upcoming shareholders meeting, her eyes were drawn to it. Breaking news was hard to ignore.

  The staff stared at her. Then all heads swiveled as one to look at the carnage in the Turkish capital as reflected on the screen. There were gasps, a few “holy shits,” and when she dropped into her chair, many of them sprang up and tried to help her. It was absolutely unfathomable. It could not be happening.

  Turkey was safe. Its large standing military had not incurred any sort of terrorism for over twenty years. It was in firm control, which in turn caused its own problems. But someone, some group, had broken through. And the dazed woman, wandering from the wreckage of the parliament building before being hustled away, her wails of recognition and fear, was a perfect representation of how Elle felt. Her skin burned, her head pounded.

  She had to reach her husband.

  Elle’s third in command, Ruth, handed her a phone, Emre’s number already dialed. But Elle hit the button to end the call. He was at that moment defending his dissertation, only a few weeks from receiving his PhD in economics from UCLA. A tear slid down Elle’s cheek. She glanced at her watch.

  “Cancel everything,” she barked at Ruth and ran toward her office to grab her purse and keys. “I’m going to the airport to meet Caleb.”

  “Wait! Elle! A driver should be leaving right now. Let me catch him and you can ride along.” The woman clutched her arm and Elle stared down at the hand on her bicep. The surrealism of this moment—the moment before her husband found out his twin had been killed in a brutal bombing, weeks before being discharged, almost paled in comparison to what she was going to face with her friend Caleb. “You shouldn’t be driving.” The woman’s soft voice brought Elle back to the present. She clenched her eyes shut.

  “You’re right. But if Emre calls here, put him through to me. And somebody call my house, tell the nanny to turn off the television. I don’t want Ayla to see this.”

  Her daughter was devoted to both her uncles Caleb and Tarkan, even from only meeting the latter a couple of times. She was fascinated in her young way with a man who looked exactly like her beloved father. Tarkan always sent her little blue beads from Turkey, which she collected in a box on her bedside table.

  The Nazarlik, or “God’s eye” tokens were meant to be good luck charms, keeping one safe if worn or displayed around the house. Most Turkish children wore a small one pinned on them everywhere they went. Ayla was too young to understand the danger Tarkan was in, but once she made Elle put one of the blue beads in an envelope and mail it back to him. So he could be safe, too.

  Elle choked back a sob and gripped the railings of the elevator that took her down to the parking garage. She always operated best under pressure, and her natural inclination to solve problems kept bumping up against the hard reality that this was one situation completely out of her control. She could only comfort the ones left behind.

  ***

  Caleb lurched to his feet, unable to watch another minute. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his face stiff with unshed tears. But he let them flow unabated as he moved away into the terminal teeming with people merely going about their daily business, unaware that his entire existence had been ripped to shreds. A few people hovered around other TV screens, but mostly they walked, talked, ate, worked, and lived their lives.

  He had to sit again, or he’d fall. His throat ached and the underlying nausea he’d fought for the last two hours of the flight made him choose the men’s room instead of a seat. Crashing against the metal partitions in his haste to puke into a toilet and not all over the floor, he emptied the contents of his stomach then leaned back onto the stall door. He stood and held an arm to his face. When he smelled Tarkan’s scent on his shirt, he had to brace both hands against the stall walls and remind himself to breathe.

  “Hey, you okay in there?” Someone tapped on the door.

  Caleb groaned and fought the urge to yell. “Um, no, but I’ll be….” He leaned over to dry heave a few more times, wiped his mouth and exited the stall. A security guard eyeballed him, probably wondering what drugs he’d taken. After rinsing out his mouth, he met his own bloodshot stare in the mirror.

  His beloved was dead. And he had to continue to put one foot in front of the other. He had to get his luggage. He had to go back to work. Caleb stifled a sob and felt the world continue to narrow, giving him nothing but a dark tunnel of vision as he plodded through the terminal.

  Elle stood down by the baggage claim, the sight of her familiar face his undoing. He crumpled into a chair and she held him, rocking back and forth, and crying with him as the sea of busy airport humanity flowed around them.

  Chapter Two

  Two Years Later

  “You are nuts, you know that?” Caleb threw up his hands in disgust.

  “What? I think it’s a great idea.” Elle poured him another glass of red wine. They sat at the table in her kitchen. Ayla was banging on the piano, “practicing” in the next room. He took a sip and looked at his friend. She was pregnant again, nearly seven months, and in dangerous territory as a forty-four-year-old woman. But she positively glowed and if a healthy baby could be conjured by sheer force of will, then by God, Elle would make it happen. His throat tightened at the sight of Emre as he stood at the counter and sliced vegetables for their dinner. It still seared his nerve endings to look at him. Took him months after the horrible funeral to even be able to be in the same room as the man whose scarily identical twin had been his lover for so many years.

  Elle patted his hand. “Well, you can yell later, but here.” She slid a plain white piece of paper over to him. Caleb glanced at it, familiar with Elle’s email printouts. Keeping track of her life was his job after all. But when he read the words, he closed his eyes, and tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

  “You have no business….”

  “I beg to differ with you.” Emre wiped his hands on a towel, came around to kiss Elle’s cheek and accept a glass of wine from her. “We have every business. You are our family. It’s all sorts of our business. Sorry, it’s a—”

  Caleb held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I know. It’s a Turkish thing.” He slumped back in his chair and picked up the paper, staring at the invitation from Madame Evangeline to join his date on a boat in the Mediterranean for a five-day blue cruise. “Ju
st because this 1Night Stand thing worked out perfectly for you two doesn’t mean….” He groaned and stood, taking his wine into the other room so he wouldn’t yell, curse, or throw things like he’d done for a solid year after Tarkan’s death. A small body wrapped itself around his legs.

  “Uncle Caleb! Where have you been? Are you mad at us?” She clutched one of the small Narzrlik charms in one hand. “Here. This will make you happy again. It’s from Uncle Tarkan.”

  He knelt down to stare into Ayla’s brown eyes. She sported the stubborn look he knew well from years spent with her mother. He tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “I’ve missed you, too. I won’t be gone like that anymore, I promise.” Swallowing hard, he pocketed the blue glass bead. “Thank you for this.”

  “Yay!” She clutched his neck and nearly pulled him over with the force of her hug. He blinked back tears and crumpled the 1Night Stand invitation into a small ball in one hand. There was no way he’d ever set foot back in Turkey, much less onto a boat like the one he’d shared with his one true love a week before the man had been blown to bits in the line of bullshit duty. No fucking way.

  ***

  Elle sighed and sipped her tea, flinching when the baby gave her kidneys a whack. Emre put his hands on her shoulders. She leaned back into him and put one of his hands to her lips. As she watched her friend carry her daughter into the other room for what would undoubtedly be endless rounds of Chutes and Ladders, she tried to banish anger at his stubbornness. Her husband kissed her neck. Elle’s skin pebbled at his touch.

  “Seni seviyorum, Elle,” he whispered, cupping her full breast in one hand. She sighed and watched the Viking-like man who’d worked for nearly twenty years for her hunch over the board, as intent as her small daughter over a silly game. Tall, blond, gorgeous, gainfully employed, wealthy, and with a great sense of humor—at least until a couple of years ago. He must have sensed her looking. He looked over and gave a thumbs-up. She smiled. He was the most amazing human being on the planet and she wanted so badly for him to be happy again.