The kiss was tender as he clasped Kell’s chin, unlike the hard kiss the night before in Marston’s tent. This sweet, sweet connection sent shivers up Marston’s back, slithering into his belly, his groin, a tender press.
Kell’s soft lips curled in a smile, making Marston want to swallow Kell whole. Holding himself back from that, he sank into the moment, submerging his whole being in that gentleness, the joy that rose around them. The taste of salt, the rose softness of Kell’s mouth.
When he heard footsteps coming toward the pavilion, he lifted himself up, as though lifting a great weight, pulling away, his thumb to his mouth as Royce came into view, a manila folder of papers in his hand. Which turned out to be a treatise on bats and their habits and habitats.
Marston took the folder, mumbled something about getting right on it, and didn’t allow himself to explain the tableau that Royce was casting his gaze over. A half-naked Kell propped on a metal stood like an art student’s dream, a scattering of dark hair on his shoulders, the scissors in Marston’s hand, opened like jaws.
“Come to me with any questions,” said Royce, not commenting, not one word, about anything else.
“Will do,” said Marston, and Kell nodded in agreement, curling forward, his spine and ribs in relief, then straightening up.
“Guess we should finish up and get to work,” said Marston as Royce’s footsteps faded away amidst the quiet peace of the morning.
“I could cut your hair, too,” said Kell, as Marston trimmed the final wisps of dark hair, until the layers were even along the top of Kell’s neck.
“Maybe later,” said Marston, because he knew full well and good that if he felt Kell’s hands upon his neck, he would not be able to say no to what might follow. “Why don’t we measure the wood for Royce’s bat sign and get work underway?”
“Sounds good.”
Kell hopped off the stool and put his shirt back on, ducking his chin to snap the buttons and tuck the shirttails into his jeans. Marston resisted the urge to help him, because if he did that, the urge to undress Kell might take over, and who knew if and when Royce might be back to give them additional information about his special sign. Best to focus on the work, and not on the newly shorn nape of Kell’s neck, leaving him as cute as a cut button.
The rhythm of the morning was soothing. Together they cut the remaining signs, setting them aside to be traced, lettered, and then scored with wood-burn to make them look old. From there, the signs would be painted and touched up before being shellacked all over.
They had flags still to plant on the west side of the lake and up along the ridge, so they went over the map and made red grease pen circles where the pink flags should go.
“We’ll need help planting flags on the ridge,” said Marston at one point.
“Maybe we could do it ourselves,” said Kell, which told Marston that yes, Kell preferred that it was just the two of them, just as Marston did.
At lunch, Marston brought up the idea of getting a little help to plant the remaining flags, so, in spite of Kell’s slight pout about this, Gabe urged Royce to assign Duane and Tyson. And while those were the last two Marston wanted to work with, once on the ridge, once they’d finished goofing around and threatening to push each other off the paths along the steeper parts, they were good, solid workers, heads down, eyes shaded beneath the brims of their hats, sweat pouring off their necks when Marston made them all stop for a break.
As they all stood in the spot where Marston wanted to put a map indicating what everything in the valley was, Duane said, “It’s pretty up here,” as if he was surprised to think it so.
Marston imagined that the magic of the valley was working on Duane, as well as all of the other ex-cons, slowly and surely showing them how their lives could be different from the ones they’d once known.
Considering this small miracle kept Marston focused on the reason he was there, to help ex-cons move into new kinds of lives, a change in attitude that had overtaken him without his knowing it.
Marston tried to let helping ex-cons keep his focus, rather than his gaze resting on Kell, sweet faced with his newly shorn hair, his pale straw cowboy hat planted on the back of his head as he guzzled down the cool water they’d brought in their canteens. Water slid down Kell’s skin, splashing onto his neck like a glinting necklace made of diamonds.
Marston made himself look away. It was one thing to share small kisses and anticipate, perhaps, more than that. It was another thing to stare like a lovesick kid, and never mind that Duane was giving them side eyed glances, like he totally knew what was going on.
Which made one of them, at least.
The last flag was planted near the top of the trail, just before it leveled out. There was a spot, as Marston knew, where one or two watchtowers were going to be built. Only from the trail, with the curve of the path, the gain in height, with gray spires of rocks jutting skyward, it was hard to tell how much farther it was to that spot. The bright pink flag, slowly flapping, stood bravely, a sentinel, as they headed back down the path.
“Do we report back to Gabe, now?” asked Tyson as they stopped at the pavilion and handed Marston the few remaining flags.
“I think you can take a break,” said Marston. He placed the flags on the paint table, along with the map, and his canteen, his movements slow as he did his best to think everything through. “It’s hot, and it’s only an hour or so until dinner.” When none of them moved, Marston made a little waving gesture in the air. “You are on break. Seriously, you are. I’ll let Gabe know.”
With a small flurry ofFuck, yeah, as if the two of them had just stuck it to The Man, Duane and Tyson ambled along the path and disappeared into the woods. Which left Marston alone with Kell.
Kell had taken off his hat, holding it at his side with his fingers. There was sweat on his bare neck, dirt stains on his knees, and his blue jeans were still a little large on him, but he looked beautiful to Marston.
“I was going to take a shower and cool off,” said Marston, only seconds quicker than he could stop himself. It was an invitation he should not be making, but he’d made it. “Care to join me?”
This would not be a fast fuck in an anonymous motel room. This would not be a casual encounter in someone’s trailer in the back parking lot of a small-town rodeo, with only a single light atop a very old wooden pole to help him find his way back to his own truck. This would not be any of those things.
Marston’s heart was in this one, his tongue too thick to ask if Kell felt the same. Only the expression on Kell’s face should have told him what he needed to know, bright and shining, those green eyes filled with light.
