Kell had a new life waiting for him and all Marston had to offer was broken dreams and the faint wisp of hope that the good things he’d found in the valley would stay with him when he left. Marston knew he would be leaving one day. What he had wouldn’t last forever, right? He had an obligation, besides, to behave in an ethical manner and abstain from a relationship, however consensual, with Kell.
All of this spun in his mind as he stripped to the skin and buffed himself off, shivering as if he meant to shed one layer after another, getting to the heart of how he felt. What he was going to do.
The smartest thing would be to head to the shower and wash away the scent of lake, to brush his teeth. But putting on cotton briefs, turning off the light, and pulling back the sheets to sink heavily onto his cot was all he could manage. He lay down, not pulling the sheet over him, but letting the night air sift as it would.
The screen was open, unzipped.
He’d be awash in mosquito bites by morning, but couldn’t make himself care. Besides, he’d gotten this far in bed, prone, waiting for sleep to take him, and he didn’t think he could manage more than that.
In the morning, half awake, his body still buzzing from two kisses, one stolen, one given, Marston showered and shaved, and did his best to sink into his normal routine. Which just about steadied him, that is, until he strode up to the mess tent.
Kell was waiting there for him on the wooden platform. His smile wasn’t shy or coy, and his green eyes were filled with brightness, with gladness, even. As Marston went up to him, for where else was there for him to go, Kell tossed his dark hair out of his eyes and tipped his head back as if issuing a fun challenge.
“You need a haircut,” said Marston, reaching to brush Kell’s cheek with his fingers before he could help it. He closed his eyes and half turned away, wishing he could pull the words back where they wouldn’t push Kell into thinking he had to respond in any given way, but in his own way.
Kell should tell Marston to fuck off. That’s what he should do. But of course, Kell being Kell, that was not what he did. Instead, Kell sidled up to him, brushed his shoulder against Marston’s and asked, “Know anybody who’s got some scissors?”
In another minute and a half, they were going to give everybody something to talk about, and Marston wouldn’t have the heart or the power, the will or the energy, to give a damn or do anything about it.
“Me,” he said. “I know someone.”
Kell’s smile was brilliant, shining onto the parts of Marston’s soul that hadn’t seen sunlight, let alone moonlight, in years. And he was gone, gone, gone.
With a touch to the back of Kell’s arm, he guided them both into the line for the buffet, which moved in a slow, desultory way, the scent of salty fried bacon in the air, fresh coffee, the contrast between the hot breakfast and the cool air quite marked, searing the moment in Marston’s brain.
Over breakfast, as they sat across from each other at one of the long tables, Marston hardly noticed that the place they chose to sit was soon surrounded by pretty much everybody in the valley. They were not on their own. They were both part of the general hubbub of the morning, and Marston was no longer on the sidelines.
The moment sank into him, joy bubbling up inside of him. That, along with the sublime pleasure of going over the plan for the day with Kell, of planting flags along the ridge, and how far they would take the signage into the wilderness, made him feel truly alive. And happy. Unbelievably happy.
“Oh, the bat cave,” said Royce, barging into the conversation with his typical energy. “Could you do a placard that explains how not to disturb the bats and when they come out to feed and so forth?”
“You’ll need another sign to indicate how steep the grade is along there,” said Gabe. “And a few more to indicate the distance to the watchtowers we plan to build.”
“You got it, boss,” said Marston, casually, taking a sip of sweet, hot coffee, feeling a curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth that he knew Kell would see. Only Kell.
He would stick to business during business hours, as he would at any job. As for what might happen after hours, he’d have to see.
He’d have to see hard, because what he did next, whether he fanned the flames or doused them, would irreparably change everything between him and Kell.
When breakfast was finishing up, Royce announced that he was making iced coffee for everybody, and that he’d ordered some Valley-branded Yeti mugs for them to take with them. Marston lined up, because iced coffee sounded perfect, and Kell was close at his heels, grabbing his mug, and following Marston into the woods, along the path to the pavilion.
It was a clear, cool morning, the scent of the lake coming through the trees as they arrived in the clearing.
“Work first?” asked Marston as he placed his Yeti mug on the paint table. “Or haircut first?”
He pulled out a stool and patted it, more of a caress, and though it wasn’t perhaps the smartest move, it felt right. More right, anyway, than pretending nothing was happening between them. Even if it was risky, at least it was honest.
Kell sat himself on the metal stool and ducked his chin to unsnap and slip off his shirt. Which was smart, so at least he wouldn’t be itching from specks of hair all day, but it left Marston feeling the shock as his breath left his body. Both at Kell’s boldness, his willingness to be so vulnerable, and also the thin white stripes, three or four, just above Kell’s belt line. The marks from blows. Scars left in anger. If Kell’s dad had been within striking distance—
Settling himself, Marston only asked, “Did those heal okay?” He wanted to offer to fetch something soothing, as if the scars were still healing, still needed first aid, needed care. He wanted to unmake those scars, to heal the skin until it was brand new.
“Yeah,” said Kell. He lifted the hair from his nape with his fingers. “Don’t worry about it. Just cut my hair.”
Marston was a dab hand at cutting his own hair when he wanted to save a few bucks, so it was easy to grab the smaller pair of shop scissors and use his fingers as a comb to align the dark strands and waves and snip away. Kell’s skin shivered as bits of hair fell along his naked spine and settled on his shoulders.
Doing his best to wipe away the hair with his fingers, Marston bent forward and blew a few strands from Kell’s shoulders.
Shivering again, Kell turned to look over his shoulder at Marston, eyelashes in silhouette, cheeks flushed, lips parted. All but begging Marston to kiss him again. And how was Marston supposed to resist that? He couldn’t, so he wouldn’t.
