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Sazahk blinked as his forehead tingled where Garin had kissed it, the casual affection stinging as it sank in. “Short-lived is not the same as over.” He tangled his fingers with Garin’s and reached up to kiss his jaw. “We have a week before all the treaties are enacted and finalized and your new employment situation begins.”
“That’s true.” Garin tightened his grip on Sazahk’s fingers and turned to him with a smirk. He bumped their noses and kissed Sazahk’s lips as naturally as if he’d been doing it all along. “How ever shall we fill it?”
Chapter Eighteen
Sazahk looked stunning.
Garin had found him pretty from the moment he first saw him, but unique. Notable and attractive in particular because of the juxtaposition of his narrow hips and fine bone structure with his messy braid and functional clothing. Now, he looked every bit the gorgeous Qeshian elite. The crème de la crème of Qeshian high society.
It had to be his brother’s doing. Garin didn’t think Sazahk picked out the flowing golden robes himself, with the fabric so expensive it shimmered as it flowed around his legs like water.
Indeed, Emissary Serihk’s lips twitched smugly as he looked across the ballroom to where Sazahk stood with the members of Squad M, all of which had turned out in the best clothes they had likely ever worn, though none of them compared to the qesh in their midst.
Garin thought he looked quite nice himself. He was pleased with the way his Human-style suit hugged his ass and accentuated the broadness of his shoulders, which weren’t particularly wide but were a good starting point for the taper down to his waist. And he was right to be, if the stares he got from the surrounding men and women were anything to go by, especially the long one from a young ginger-haired man with the look of a politician’s aide.
Still, there was nice and there was stunning, and Garin suddenly felt unsure of himself, faltering at the gala’s entrance.
The event was nothing more than political theater. It masqueraded as a celebration of the cessation of hostilities between the Insects and the sector’s original inhabitants, the new home to be built on Qesha for the Insects, and the betrothal of Dominic Turner and Prince Hyg that made it all possible. In reality, it was an exercise in evaluating the emerging power landscape. Guests attended to see and be seen and to form understandings of who would be in and who would be out in this new world.
That’s what most guests attended for, at least. Garin and Squad M seemed to be invited purely because both Dom and Prince Hyg had genuine affections for them. Which might be the only thing the two had in common.
Garin hadn’t been able to communicate with Dom since the Insects had saved them from the death trap of the Wate station. Judging by the phalanx of Insects and politicians surrounding him now as he stood at Prince Hyg’s side, that wasn’t about to change. But Garin had seen Dom in enough unpleasant situations to know the younger man was in agony and considering his husband-to-be hadn’t looked at him once since Garin stepped in the room, he didn’t think he found any comfort in his future spouse.
The presence of Oliver and his adoring Klah’Eel lover, General Mal’ik—Garin hadn’t seen that one coming when he’d handed Oliver off to the older man all those months ago—probably didn’t help Dom’s mood. Garin considered joining the two of them to chat with Mal’ik, whom he’d long admired, and to nudge Oliver toward reconciliation with his brother, but he recognized the look on Oliver’s face and the tilt of his jaw. He was in full, cutthroat-politician mode, and Garin wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.
He could mingle instead, he supposed, but what he really wanted to do was what he had originally intended to do: spend the evening with Squad M.
Either they or Garin’s family had accompanied Garin constantly over the past week as he’d healed with the help of absurdly advanced Qeshian medical technology. His family had visited him regularly while he’d been bedridden and they’d dined and explored the station together afterwards, but they weren’t used to spending so much time with each other and he’d needed space more often than not.
So Garin had spent his remaining hours with Squad M. He helped Fal’ran and Sazahk prepare for the excursion they’d planned for directly after the gala. He’d trained with them, laughed with them, worked in Sazahk’s lab with them, and become surprisingly attached surprisingly quickly.
Patrick was a fellow soldier with a soldier’s practicality and camaraderie. Fal’ran was sharp, perceptive, and always up for a challenge. Tar made you feel that if he had your back, you’d never need to watch it again. And Bar’in…well, Bar’in was clever and hilarious, but he didn’t seem to like Garin very much, though Garin didn’t for the life of him know why.
But for the entire week, no matter who else was present, Sazahk never left Garin’s side.
Their shared quarters—Sazahk’s with Squad M and Garin’s in a recovery room with two other men—and companions made it impossible for them to be physically intimate beyond stolen kisses in hidden corners, but Garin didn’t care.
He loved being with him. He loved watching every green imaginable spiral across his cheeks when his dark eyes lit up with curiosity. He loved listening to the lilt of his voice as he rambled about something that excited him. He loved feeling his own heart beat when that incredible intellect turned on to Garin himself as though he were fascinating and precious.
He loved…Garin swallowed as he stared at Sazahk from across the massive room. He’d been stopping himself just short of the realization for days now. Some thoughts couldn’t be rewound, and he didn’t dare think this one all the way through.
But then Sazahk turned and caught sight of him and a dark, burnished yellow to match his robes spilled across his nose as he smiled, and it didn’t matter that Garin refused to think the thought, because that didn’t make it less true. Garin’s lips tugged into a matching smile at the shine in Sazahk’s eyes, and he made his way over.
“I didn’t peg you as the sort to be late.” Sazahk widened the circle he stood in with Squad M.
“I’m not late.” Garin slipped in beside him, waffling on how close to stand. His instinct was to stand near enough to mark them as a clear unit, but he was conscious of that and how inappropriate it was, so he backed off. But he didn’t want to stand too far away and be awkward and distant. Damn it, he had lost all objectivity. “These things have a flexible beginning.”
“I think he’s right on time. They’re finally serving some food.” Bar’in jerked his head at the line of waiters holding trays of hors d’oeuvres streaming from a side entrance. Despite his words and gesture, though, he eyed the gap between Sazahk and Garin with a disapproving glint that made Garin think he’d mis-measured.
“Oh, I recognize that smell.” Sazahk, oblivious as usual to Bar’in’s tacit distaste for Garin, gasped and straightened. “I haven’t tasted gurtyst in over a decade. I wonder if new variations have come to dominate given changing culinary trends. Garin, I want to see if you’ll like them. Come with me?” Sazahk grabbed Garin’s forearm without waiting for a reply, probably because he knew by now that Garin wouldn’t deny him.
And he didn’t. He laughed as Sazahk dragged him to the nearest waiter.
For the next hour, Garin forgot he was at a stuffy gala surrounded by conniving politicians celebrating a miserably betrothed couple. He even forgot that the next day Sazahk would disappear into the Dead Zone without Garin, and that Garin would disappear into the far reaches of the sector without Sazahk.
He forgot all of that and chased after the crazy qesh, balancing a dizzying array of morsels and drinks, obediently tasting every bite Sazahk stuck into his mouth and dutifully relaying his observations and opinions. They bickered, and laughed, and debated, and laughed again, learning each other’s tastes and preferences.
Sazahk liked spicy foods, and Garin did not. Neither liked the heavily alcoholic beverages. Sazahk preferred baked goods, and Garin would never say no to something fried. When it came to cheese, they agreed: the stronger, the better.
