Escape (28 page)

Luka wanted to calm Tarik. Soothe him. “My fingers almost never hurt, anymore. Just a little, sometimes, if I've been drawing or painting too much.”

“I didn't mean your hand.”

*

They finished off the stew, and cooked up a large pot of beans to take on the road. Enough to share with the others. Then they went through all their belongings, making sure for the third time that their documents were organized, and there was nothing to link them to their home-towns, or Tarik's military affiliation. And then, even though the sun hadn't set yet, they went back to bed.

An hour or more, just kissing, their naked bodies flexing against each other, hot damp skin sliding against skin. Luka's cock and balls ached, he'd been so excited, so hard almost from the moment Tarik had started to undress him. But Tarik's touches were cruelly chaste. Every time Tarik caressed Luka's waist, his hip, Luka writhed, desperately hoping Tarik would wrap his hand around his cock, or put him on his hands and knees and mount him again. But then Tarik would trail his fingertips up the length of Luka's spine, then rake his nails over Luka's scalp, releasing a shower of shivers down his back, breaking their deep kiss just long enough to watch Luka sigh and shiver. And each time Luka tried to slide down, kissing his way along the trail of dark hair running between Tarik's pecs, down toward his navel, Tarik caught him in another tormenting kiss.

“Please, Tarik,” Luka finally begged.

“Please what?” Tarik's grin, the mischief in his hazel eyes drove Luka's need through the roof.

A rush of blood burned Luka's cheeks, but he made himself say it. “Please let me kiss... you.”

“Like this?” Tarik nursed at Luka's bottom lip, then slid his tongue against Luka's. Another deep, torturous penetration ratcheting up his painful need. Then Tarik drew back, the mischief brighter in his eyes.

Desperate, frustrated almost to the point of tears. “Don't you want me to?”

The mischief dissolved to a haze of tenderness. Voice gentle. Coaxing. “Want you to what?”

Face scorching, Luka said, “Suck you.”

Tarik smiled. Not a taunting grin, this time. “Is that all you want?” He slid his hand down between them and encircled Luka's twitching cock with his fingers. “Is that all you need, Luka?”

Luka shook his head.

“What do you really want?” The soft rasp of Tarik's voice, the tickle of his warm breath against Luka's cheek unleashed a sudden shudder.

“I want us to...” None of the words he knew were right. “I want you to...”

“Luka, you don't need to be shy with me. Don't be embarrassed. Say what you want, so I can give it to you.”

“I want you inside me again.”

Tarik went on gazing at him with his sweet smile, but for some reason, Luka thought he saw disappointment somewhere in that tender look. “You're sure that's what you want?”

It felt like Luka's chest was slowly caving in. “Not if you didn't like it.”

Tarik's kind smile turned mirthful. “If I didn't like it?” He laughed. “I didn't know I was sending mixed messages, with my massive orgasm, and turning to jello in your arms for half an hour, afterwards.”

Warm relief suffused Luka's straining body. “Then... you want to?”

This time, Tarik's kiss was soft. Then his steady gaze. “Or this time, you could... do it to me.”

Scalding heat flared up Luka's chest, up his throat, and seared his cheeks as he dodged Tarik's gaze. Why did the idea shock him? Embarrass him?

“Hey.” Tarik touched Luka's chin and coaxed him to meet his eyes. Voice gentle. “Was it such a crazy thing to suggest?”

It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. But Luka's face was still burning. “No.”

Tender smile, seeking gaze. “Are you blushing like that because you don't like the idea? Or because you do?”

Luka shrugged. God, he couldn't even imagine it, kneeling behind Tarik, relieving his own need by thrusting into him.

“It's okay if you don't want to. And it's okay if you do. But I really want you to tell me, Luka. Please.”

“I will, if you want me to. Anything you want, I'll do.”

Another hazy shadow of melancholy drifted into Tarik's eyes. “I know, Luka. But I want to know what
you
want.”

Luka pulled all the air he could into his tight chest. “I want everything with you. But more than anything, I want it again. What we did this morning.”

They made love for hours. Luka would never have used those words out loud with Tarik, but that's what he called it in his head, being wrapped up together, kissing and touching. Tarik kissing and mouthing and licking inch after inch of his skin. Tarik holding Luka in his arms as he carefully worked his slicked up cock inside him, as he flexed, over and over, pushing his thick length into him until Tarik was trembling, clinging, grunting, writhing. And after, Tarik still shaking, coaxing Luka onto his back so he could take him in his mouth, mouthing and licking and sucking his cock until hours of aching need overflowed.

CHAPTER NINE: The Bridge

The only way of knowing a person

is to love them without hope.

Walter Benjamin

Those who have never known the deep intimacy

and the intense companionship of mutual love

have missed the best thing that life has to give.

Bertrand Russell

“Wake up.”

Tarik's deep, soft voice. Soft brush of fingertips down Luka's bare arm. Warm, feathering caress of lips against his cheek. Luka woke in pleasure, in a haze of happiness.

“Last chance for a hot shower, for a few days.”

Happiness leaking out of him, like blood spilling from an open wound. This was it. Their last morning. Their final moments. Luka willed himself to be calm, and opened his eyes.

God, just the sight of Tarik's face flooded his heart with so much want, so much affection, it immediately ached. He consciously memorized that image, Tarik's messy mop of hair, his dark lashes half-veiling his hazel eyes, the faint lines framing his smile. He'd carry his memory of Tarik in this last, intimate moment with him forever, like a photograph.

Wishing they could share one last shower together, Luka took his turn first. Alone. No way could they risk having Andjela or her son appearing at any moment and realizing what was going on, and possibly kick them off the van, or worse. He rushed, even if he'd never get another hot shower as long as he lived, he didn't want to waste a single minute he could be spending with Tarik, before they were crammed into the van with nine other people, and would have to keep their whispers, their kisses and touches, even their gazes to themselves.

As soon as he was done, Tarik took his turn, telling Luka that breakfast was warming in the oven. He wanted to ask for a kiss, for an embrace, but Tarik was obviously hurrying through his tasks of preparing for their journey, so he stayed silent. It felt like Tarik was gone forever. Luka was barely breathing, waiting for the droning hum of the water to go suddenly silent, so he'd know Tarik was about to re-emerge. But when Tarik did finally come out, Luka looked at his watch and realized Tarik had been in the bathroom less than five minutes.

Hurrying, they put their bags and coats by the door, ate, then started washing up.

“Tarik?”

Tarik finished drying the heavy iron pot and set it on the shelf by the stove. “Hmm?” Instead of looking at Luka, Tarik picked up a plate and started drying it.

“I just want to say, thank you for this.”

Tarik set down the plate, and met Luka's eyes.

There was something else, something harder Luka wanted to say, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what words to use, it didn't seem like the ones he needed existed, so instead, he said, “Thank you for taking me along with you, for getting me out of that cave, out of the war. Thank you for protecting me all this time. And for giving me a chance to go somewhere better.”

Again, that shadow of melancholy in Tarik's beautiful eyes. He used the towel to dry his hands, and cupped Luka's face. “Don't talk like that, Luka. Like we're not going to make it. Like this is goodbye.”

Luka fought back the tears stinging his eyes. Even if they made it over, this
was
goodbye. Their last chance for a real farewell.

Upstairs, that distant, metallic scrape as someone slid a key into the lock. Luka's heart cramped and the air in his lungs leaked out in a broken little wheeze. Then his heart thumped hard and a flood of icy adrenaline surged through him as Tarik leaned down and kissed him, soft but deep, putting his strong arms around him and pulling him close. The clack of the lock, and Tarik kept holding him, kept kissing him. Heart slamming, Luka surrendered to that embrace, that kiss. Footsteps upstairs. Not Andjela's slow, erratic limp. The heavy, even clomp, clomp, clomp of work boots moving toward the stairs.

Finally, as the top step creaked under someone's weight, Tarik pulled back from that sweet, soft kiss and met Luka's eyes. “We're going to be okay, Luka. Soon, everything will be different.”

As soon as Tarik turned his back and went to grab his satchel, the tears Luka had been holding back spilled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve, and hurried to get his coat on and grab his satchel as a tall, broad man descended into sight.

“I'm Ljuban. I'll take you up the road to the rendezvous point. You guys ready?”

Looking back—at the bed where he and Tarik had kissed and whispered and made each other come, at the squat, worn armchair by the stove, where they'd curled up naked together under a blanket and made each other feel safe—Luka's chest ached. Leaving that place felt like turning his back on happiness. But he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders, and followed Ljuban and Tarik up the steps.

The van was already parked on the side of the dirt road, three men loading bags of food into the back, as Ljuban said an indifferent good-bye to them, and headed back toward the village. As they'd planned, Luka feigned muteness so he wouldn't inadvertently provoke any ire with his Bokan accent, and Tarik introduced them both to the group, claiming they were brothers. Luka wondered if Tarik had come up with that as a way of getting into character before crossing the border, or if he'd thought that story would assuage any curiosity if they messed up and looked at each other a little too long, or if one of them unthinkingly touched the other in a way that would raise eyebrows, otherwise.

Once they were all inside, the van was stuffed to capacity, three people jammed into each of the three stiff bench seats, and two more up front. There weren't two free spots together, so Luka squeezed toward the back and wedged himself between a heavy-set guy in his thirties, and a woman with a sleeping child on her lap, while Tarik perched on the end of the front bench seat.

Every three hours, they pulled over, and their little group clambered down from the van, the men standing in a line along the side of the road, pissing, while the woman wandered off a little ways, child in tow, seeking a little privacy to do her business. Then they climbed back into the van, rotating on to a fresh driver, and giving someone from the back a few hours of luxurious space in the front passenger seat. Luka was a little surprised they didn't skip him. When his turn came, the guy who'd taken the last shift behind the wheel just said, “You know how to drive?” and when Luka nodded, handed him the keys.

They drove until well after dark, then pulled off the road and made camp. The woman, Jaga, and her kid slept in the van, and the rest slept on the ground. Chest caving, Luka watched Tarik unrolling his bag, wishing they could zip their two bags together, the way Tarik had that night they'd first touched, first come together. But he contented himself with laying his bag down next to Tarik's, with finally at least getting to be close to him, to look at his face, instead of the back of his head as they rode along in the van. But the closeness was its own torture. They couldn't touch or kiss, they couldn't even talk without wrecking their lie about Luka being mute. All they could do was lie there and look at each other for a little while, until Tarik's lids sank heavier and heavier and finally eclipsed his hazel eyes, and Luka was left alone and awake for the rest of the night, wondering if they had three days left, together, or two, or only one.

At first light, a couple of the men started waking everyone up. After a hasty hot breakfast, the group packed up camp, loaded the van, and they were on the road again. This time, Luka managed to climb in right behind Tarik, and sit beside him on the bench seat in the back. Just feeling the press of Tarik's thigh against his was something; that warm connection eased some of Luka's misery over their imminent separation. Maybe it was that lessening of his anxiety, or the motion of the van, or the fact that he hadn't slept the night before, but he kept nodding off, the sudden drop of his head waking him up over and over again until Tarik curved his hand against Luka's head, and drew him against his chest.

“Get some sleep so you don't kill us when it's your turn to drive.” His voice was flat. Almost cool. But just barely, he was moving his fingertips over Luka's scalp in slow, gentle circles, and Luka wondered if he'd said it that way to keep the others from wondering at the tender gesture.

But what if someone did notice, anyway? For a couple minutes, Luka's heart raced so fast, he wasn't even sleepy anymore. But little by little, Tarik's soothing massaging of his scalp, feeling the warmth of him seeping through his shirt and sweater, against Luka's cheek, lulled him, and he sank into shallow, melancholy sleep, listening, feeling the slow, steady thumping of Tarik's heart.

He woke in the side-slanting, rosy light of late afternoon, in a tangle of hushed voices and a suffocating thickness of fear. No jolting and jostling; the van wasn't moving. When he couldn't tease apart the frayed strands of murmured protests and anxious contradictions, Luka lifted his head from Tarik's chest. Tarik looked down and met his questioning gaze. “We need to cross the Drina. Anto and
Draško say the army's been rigging bridges with explosives to seal the border. And when we're on the bridge, we'll be an easy target for RPGs—soldiers hide in the cliffs and wait for vehicles to cross. But Jadran says there's no other way. Even if we take a long way around, we'll have to cross the river, eventually.”

“Alright, but we can't sit here by the side of the road all day. They can decide to launch a grenade at us here, too, if we keep courting suspicion.” Ljubo flicked the smoldering butt of his cigarette out the window, into the silvery shrubs alongside the unpaved road.

“We have to take the Shali Bridge.” Jaga spoke softly, trying not to wake Jovanka. “What choice do we have? What's the point of going hundreds of kilometers out of our way? Every bridge, every border crossing will carry a risk, won't it?”

“Why commit suicide, after everything we've been through?” Draško asked, his voice shrill. “I don't like tempting God, brazenly crossing bridges just when the radio tells us they're blowing them all up.”

“No. Jaga's right.” Ljubo lit the fresh cigarette he'd just fished from the flattened pack of Primas in his shirt pocket. “Trying to go around, now, it's just delaying the inevitable. Here at the Shali Bridge, or at some other bridge or mountain pass, we're going to have to take our chances sooner or later. If we wanted to cower in the shadows out of sight, we should have stayed hidden in our basements.”

Anto called for a vote. Head for the Shali Bridge as planned, or make the extra eight-hour journey, crawling over unpaved roads with the van's failing suspension, and try to cross at Alkhan, instead. “All for the bridge, raise your hand.”

Anto, Ljubo, and Jaga's hands went up. Luka looked at Tarik.

“What do you think, Luka?”

He couldn't tell if Tarik was hoping for the vote to go one way, or the other. But he agreed with Jaga. There was no guarantee they'd be any safer taking the long way around to another crossing that might be just as risky. It was just a way of putting off the moment they'd all have to face their fear. Face their fate. He raised his hand.

Tarik gave him a subtle nod, and raised his hand, too.

Ljubo slapped the steering wheel. “Right. We go over the bridge.” Ignoring the murmurs of protest from Draško and Simo, Ljubo started the engine and pulled the van back onto the road.

He wasn't sleepy anymore, but Luka wished he could lean into Tarik's strong body again, lay his head against his chest, listen to the rhythmic thumping of his heart. He wanted Tarik to comb his fingers into his hair again and swirl his nails in slow circles over his scalp while they crawled, jerking and bouncing, toward freedom or toward death. As if he'd read Luka's mind, Tarik shifted in his seat, until their thighs and arms were pressed together.

When the bridge came into view, a thick, heavy silence settled over the van. They wound their way down from the foothills, the Drina River and the bridge sliding in and out of view. Luka pushed away the image of a lone Eršban soldier nestled into the rocky hillside, a grenade launcher pointed at the bridge. In his place, Luka conjured the memory of Tarik's low, soft voice that night when he'd first touched Luka, the way Tarik had gently stroked his back while he cried. Savoring every second he could resurrect, Luka relived a hundred whispered words, their first hesitant kiss, the dozens of kisses that had come after. The ecstatic joy of hearing Tarik groan as he came, tasting him, feeling Tarik writhe against his body. Their fraught, nervous first coupling.

“You're smiling,” Tarik murmured by his ear. “I don't know what you're thinking about, but I'm thinking about the last five days and nights. If we only have from here until the bridge, that's all I want. Not to sit here mourning my own death, but reliving the happiest days, the best nights of my life.”

As they crawled out of the foothills and rumbled toward the bridge,
Draško murmured prayers under his breath, while Jaga sang softly to Jovanka. It didn't seem possible that one person, filled up with hate for the Bokans and the Eršbans who refused to risk their lives to kill them, could simply pull a trigger and erase the futures of eleven people. Men who'd worked hard all their lives, just trying to earn enough to feed their families and keep a roof over their heads. A little girl who'd never drawn breath in a country at peace. For the millionth time Luka wondered how the war was supposed to make life better for anyone.