Mated To An Enemy

Myka greedily met Peter's kiss.

Their lips barely touched before his tongue was already seeking entry. Peter opened his mouth, accepting and enjoying the familiar taste of peppermint and honey.

Peter turned toward Myka, and Myka snaked his arm around Peter's waist, pulling him tightly against his body. He clung to him as though he might disappear at any moment.

Their tongues danced together in a desperate and longing-filled tango. Myka squeezed Peter to him, slipping his hand under his shirt to knead lightly at Peter's lower back muscles.

Peter pulled back from the kiss and put his hand on Myka's chest.

“Wait…” he whispered between breaths.

“Why?” Myka asked, stealing a few more soft pecks as he kept his hungry eyes on Peter's lips.

Before Peter could answer, Myka captured his mouth once more. He kissed him hard. Peter didn't fight him or resist in any way.

The touch of their lips, the feel of Myka's fingers pressing into Peter's back, it was as though he had gone back in time to the days they spent wrapped around each other. Their desire for the connection between them was all-consuming, leaving them both feeling delirious.

Peter pulled away once again. This time Myka moved his lips down along Peter's jaw. His tongue traced a warm wet line to his throat, soft nips along the way.

“Wait…” Peter whispered.

“For what?” Myka asked, biting gently against Peter's throat.

Peter let out a soft moan as he felt the jolt run down from his throat to his groin.

“Have I still not earned it?” Myka whispered against Peter's throat.

But this whisper didn't tickle Peter's senses like the ones before. The heat of his words was lost in the trembling voice.

Peter swallowed as he thought of the pained expression Myka wore in the office. The genuine heartbreak in his eyes.

He pulled back. Myka's eyes were cast down. He was on his knees behind the log where Peter sat. His chest heaved with the deep breaths he took through his nose.

Peter stood up and turned toward him. He reached his hand to Myka's chin, lifting until the blue strands fell away, and he could see the dark eyes of the man he loved filled with unshed tears.

Peter's heart ached. He took a deep, painful breath as the grip on his chest spread into his lungs.

“Myka…” Peter whispered as his vision blurred behind a curtain of tears. “I don't understand….”

Myka sniffled.

“You… how can you be so hurt….” Peter asked. “You didn't want me….”

“No!” Myka shouted. Reaching his arms up and grabbing Peter's hands. “That's not true!”

Peter swallowed.

“When I asked you to mark me… to let me mark you… you…” Peter paused, sniffling as the tears fell from his eyes. He swallowed. “You said it would be the end of your journey.”

Myka closed his eyes.

“Yes…” he whispered. “I said that… but I didn't… I didn't understand, Peter.”

Myka's voice cracked. His hands fell away from Peter's.

“I didn't know you would leave… or that I would miss you so much.”

Peter furrowed his brows. He didn't think he would leave? Myka thought Peter would just stay without confirming the bond or sharing the mark. Just his personal bed warmer?

“I get it,” Peter said, wiping his tears. “You wanted me, what we shared… you just didn't want to be bound to only me.”

“What?”

“You wanted to be free to explore your options. But no one else quite compares to sex with your mate, do they?”

“What does that mean?” Myka asked with furrowed brows, his expression hovering between anger and pain.

“What?” Peter asked with a bitter smile. “Believe me, I get it. It's not like I haven't been having my own experiences of freedom over the past five years.”

Myka got to his feet, his expression firmly set in anger as he clenched his jaw.

“You think I refused your mark… because I wanted to have meaningless sex with whoever was willing?” Myka asked through gritted teeth.

“It makes sense,” Peter said, clenching his jaw. “What we had wasn't real anyway.”

“It's clear that's what you thought,” he growled.

“Me?” Peter questioned with insult.

“Seemed pretty easy for you to just treat me like a warm body yesterday,” Myka replied, a look of anger on his face, but in his eyes, Peter still saw the hurt.

Peter looked away, clenching his jaw as the pain in his chest grew.

“I already apologized for that.”

“Yea,” Myka nodded, “you explained that you were doing what you wanted. So, treating me like that, like I wasn't a person, like I didn't mean anything… that's what you want? Just another ‘experience of freedom' to add to the collection.”

Peter growled.

“That feels awfully hypocritical coming from you!”

“Hypocritical?” Myka questioned. “How?”

“Oh, come on,” Peter replied with a sigh. “I know what nomad life is like. A new place every week. New faces, new bodies, new beds.”

“You know nothing about the journey,” Myka scoffed.

“I know more than you think,” Peter replied. “After all, I was born into it, unlike you.”

Myka's eyes widened.

“What? When we met, you were a Winter wolf, and you still are!”

“No, I was trying to join Winter when we met. I couldn't join until I turned eighteen,” Peter replied. “But before that… with my parents, we were nomads.”

Myka was shocked. He had no idea.

“My parents had each other, so they didn't live that life,” Peter continued. “But I saw it everywhere we went. The journey is about being true to your desires and embracing the freedom of nature and all her offerings. My parents were strange compared to most nomads. Committing to one person was practically unheard of.”

Myka sighed.

“That's not me.”

“Yea, I got that.”

Myka took an irritated breath.

“I mean, I'm not someone that finds it strange your parents committed to each other,” Myka clarified. “I'm not the person you are accusing me of being, Peter. You don't have to believe me, but the fact is, you are the only person I have ever wanted to be with. The only one I have been with.”

Peter scoffed.

“It's true,” Myka insisted.

“Bullshit.”

“I already told you,” Myka replied. “You don't have to believe me.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Peter asked. “I was the one that wanted to commit. You were the one who took it as a death sentence.”

“And I told you, I was scared!” Myka growled.

“Of what?!” Peter shouted angrily. “You say you loved me, that you only ever wanted me… so why couldn't you just follow through and complete our bond? If you wanted to be together for the rest of our lives anyway, why fight something so simple as the mark?”

“It's not that simple,” Myka sighed with agitation.

“It's pretty damn simple, Myka!”

“You don't understand!”

“No, I don't!” Peter shouted. “I really don't!”

Myka clenched his jaw, then turned his eyes down. He took a deep breath and then licked his lips.

“I didn't know what it meant,” Myka said quietly. “I had never been told about mates, the mark, any of it.”

Peter furrowed his brows. Myka still averted his gaze.

“When you said you wanted to mark each other… I misunderstood,” Myka said quietly, pausing and taking a deep breath. “I have already been marked once in my life. I swore that I would never belong to anyone else again.”

“You've been marked before?” Peter questioned quietly. “What do you mean?”

Myka swallowed and then looked up at Peter with sad eyes. He took another deep breath through his nose and pulled off his shirt.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, lifting his left arm and pointing toward his ribs where a familiar tattoo made its home.

Peter nodded.

The tattoo was of three daffodils. Peter had been surprised the first time he had seen it. Myka had told him the basic meaning but nothing more.

“New beginnings, right?” Peter commented.

Myka nodded.

“Touch it,” he said quietly.

Peter furrowed his brow. In the three weeks they had been together, that was the one real restriction Myka put on their physical relationship. Not to touch the tattoo. Peter had always assumed it was new and still sensitive.

But maybe there was something more to the story.

Peter swallowed and then reached his hand out to the patch of flesh. It was warm, and as Peter moved his fingers gently across the petals of the inked flowers, he was surprised when there was suddenly a change in the texture of Myka's skin. It was raised, then it dipped, again and again. There was a distinct shape to it, numbers.

“What is this?” Peter asked, looking up at Myka.

Myka swallowed.

“That's my mark,” Myka replied softly. “It's what brands me as Gorn's property.”