FIC: Roses of Picardy [11/12]
Aug. 12th, 2012 03:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Roses of Picardy
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
*
You made me glad; and I can still return
To you, the haven of my lonely pride:
But I am sworn to murder those illusions
That blossom from desire with desperate beauty:
And there shall be no falsehood in our failure;
Since, if we loved like beasts, the thing is done,
And I’ll not hide it, though our heaven be hell.
---Siegfried Sassoon, The Imperfect Lover
*
“Oh, come on, you…bugger.” Gritting his teeth in frustration, Jamie twisted his arm up and pulled. “God damn you, you bloody arse…fuck!”
The snap mechanism refused to budge, and Jamie closed his eyes and sighed. He’d been through a war and killed God only knew how many enemy soldiers and had been decorated by the King himself, but in the eternal battle against his own wardrobe, he was the clear loser, vanquished by a small silver cufflink and reduced to gutter profanities. He sat at his dressing table and propped his elbow on it to resume the fight, and glanced up at a knock on the door. “Come!”
“Jamie? It’s Jim.” Jim’s voice was muffled outside his dressing room door. “Are you decent? Cora said it was all right to come up.”
“Hang on, old man. Won’t be a minute. I’ve got to get this bloody thing…on.” Jamie tried to snap the cufflink on again and failed.
“Anything I can help you with?” Jim sounded amused.
“No, I’m determined to get this if it kills me. Father and I are sharing a valet, and Father’s got him right now, and I can’t –“ Jamie tried to snap the link again. “I can’t get the blasted thing to work. I can field-strip and reassemble a pistol in no time flat, why can’t I work this? God damn it!”
“Cufflink?”
Jamie scowled. “Listen here, old man, I can hear you laughing. You needn’t stifle it. Besides, it’s just this one confounded pair. I never seem to have trouble with the others.”
“Come out and let me help you.”
“Oh, all right.” Jamie heaved himself up from the chair and took an anxious look at his reflection in the cheval mirror. “Now look, Jim. When I come out, you mustn’t laugh.”
“Why? Have you accidentally clipped the cufflink to your nose?”
“Oh, how very droll. No, I have not. Promise you won’t laugh.”
“I’m not sure I can promise that.”
“Then I won’t come out.”
Jim was openly laughing now. “But you’ll miss the party!”
“Oh, what a shame.” Jamie couldn’t help smiling himself. “Really a tragedy. And I was so looking forward to it.”
“Come out now or I’m coming in.”
“Very well.” Jamie put his hand on the knob and swung the door open. “I’d have been ready sooner but for the damned cufflinks.”
Dashing in evening dress, Jim was leaning nonchalantly against a chair, his arms folded, but when he saw Jamie, his mouth dropped open. “Jamie –“
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” Jamie held up a warning finger.
A broad smile created tiny lines at the corners of Jim’s eyes, but he didn’t laugh. “Oh, my heavens.”
“Don’t say it. It looks terrible.”
“Not in the least.” Jim moved closer and stared. “It’s…it’s extraordinary. I hardly recognise you!”
Jamie felt the blush creeping up his neck. “Why? Because I look like a fifteen-year-old boy?”
“You do look a bit younger, though not fifteen.” Jim reached out and delicately traced a finger over Jamie’s newly shaven upper lip. “Thank the Lord for His infinite mercies.” He peered at Jamie’s face. “In fact, I think it’s very becoming, this new look.”
“You don’t have to lie, you know. I look absurd.” Jamie dropped his gaze in abashment. Jim was still staring at him intently.
“I’m not lying. In fact, I think you’re handsomer than ever. I’m curious, though – what made you do it?”
What indeed? It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary that had prompted it – not at first. He’d been shaving, the usual efficient, mechanical process that was his daily routine, when he’d got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and leant forward to examine his reflection.
His parents had had electric lights installed in every room of the house, and the glare was unnerving, showing every droplet of water and bath-reddened patch of flesh where once there had been a dim but soothing glow. As he stared at himself, he saw new lines finely etched into the skin on his forehead, at the corners of his eyes, the startling prominence of his cheekbones and the hollows in his cheeks, a vague hint of shadows beneath his eyes that never seemed to diminish no matter how much sleep he’d had, and a different expression – fatigue, sorrow? – haunting his countenance. He thought of the regimental photographs of himself in the library, in Jim’s parlour. He hadn’t excessive vanity, but it was as if he hadn’t looked in a mirror in four years. Surely he had, at least once in a while. Surely he’d have noticed the gradual alchemy of war and illness unfolding itself onto his features, transforming him from a fresh-faced, battle-ready young major into the too-thin, too-pale, weary soul staring into the looking glass.
Impulsively, he raised the blade and sheared off half his mustache. He wetted, lathered, and methodically removed every trace of hair from his upper lip, then stared at himself, dismayed.
Younger, yes, but too vulnerable, too uncertain. Too girlish, with that deep bow and full lower lip. Too naked; the fatigue seemed sharper now. And too bloody late to realise that a swipe of a razor couldn’t undo four years of hell.
“I thought it would be a bit of a change,” he said to Jim. “I’m rather regretting it now. I look wretched, like a drowned rat.”
“No. You don’t.” Jim rested two fingers against Jamie’s chin and gently tilted his face to one side. He bit his lip. “I never realised how exquisite your mouth is.” Jim leant close and whispered in Jamie’s ear. “You’ve been hiding it all this time.”
The blood burned hot in Jamie’s face. “It’s not –“
“And I’m going to have it later,” Jim said softly. “At my leisure, and to my heart’s content.” He pulled back and gave Jamie a winsome smile.
Jim’s voice and the movement of lips against his ear and the unmistakable intent in his eyes shot straight to Jamie’s prick. He blinked and tried to swallow, but all at once his throat seemed full of sand. “Good God,” he managed in a hoarse croak.
“So let’s get that cufflink sorted and dash off to the party.”
“Can’t we skip it?” Jamie implored. “Go back to your flat and get straight to –“
Jim laughed. “Nothing doing, as the Yanks say. Come on, Colonel, your chariot awaits.”
*
Jamie and Jim descended a flight of dark stairs and passed through two sets of velvet curtains into a raucous din of music and laughter, a crush of bodies in frantic motion, and a fug composed of the mingled odours of cigarette and cigar smoke, a hundred different clashing perfumes, and the pervasive scent of gin. Jamie squinted in the dimness and started abruptly as someone with extraordinarily strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinning him tightly. “Christ!”
“Jamie!”
“Who the hell is that?” Jamie demanded, twisting his head round.
His assailant let him go and spun him round, and Jamie scowled darkly at Billy Thorpe. “Good Christ, warn a chap before you do that! I nearly punched you in the teeth.” He shook Billy’s hand. “Thanks for the invitation. What sort of place is this? We got lost looking for the address.”
“Oh, Charlotte and I hired it out. Charlotte had some sort of mad longing to have a party in Soho, so a party in Soho we shall have. It’s not a patch on St. James, but it’s a lark nonetheless. Nostalgie de la boue, don’t you know? Or something. Who knows with that girl.” Billy, who had the powerful build of the rugby enthusiast he was, clapped Jamie on the shoulder and then turned to Jim with an outstretched hand, his diamond shirt studs winking in the dingy room. “And you brought a pal! Smashing. Introduce us.”
Jamie did. “Saved my life back in Flanders. Got shot for his pains, too.”
Billy shook his head. “You risked your neck for this silly sod?”
“He was my commanding officer. I was afraid I’d get demoted if I didn’t.” Jim winked at Jamie.
“Ah, quite right. Well done, old boy. I say, you’re not the same Jim Nicholls who worked in the War Office with Dickie Hedrick?”
“Yes! He’s a friend of yours?”
“Oh, God, yes. Dickie and I are OCs, don’t you know?”
Jim looked puzzled. “OCs?”
“Old Carthusians,” Jamie explained. “They both went to Charterhouse. Nearly got the boot, too, so I heard.” He nudged Billy in the ribs.
“Don’t believe a word of it, it’s none of it true. Anyhow, Dickie was full of praise for you, said you were a really good egg, and any friend of Jamie’s –“ Billy smote Jim on the arm. “Look here, there’s a set-up in the corner, gin and plonk and all that. Drink up, chaps. Oh, there’s Charlie.” He nodded over Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie wheeled and gaped. Charlotte Thorpe was moving toward them, but she looked altogether different from the last time Jamie had clapped eyes on her. Her blonde curls had been cropped as short as a boy’s, she wore coal-black paint around her eyes, like a film temptress, and her lips had been painted a deep, glistening scarlet. She was dressed – if that indeed was the word for so skimpy a garment – in a glittering grey chemise that barely grazed the bottom of her knees and left her arms entirely bare, and her shoes and cobwebby stockings were silver.
“Jamie!” Charlotte dashed forward and enveloped Jamie in a tight embrace, giving him a heady rush of perfume. “It’s marvellous to see you. Oh, and you shaved your mustache! Thank heavens, you’re much handsomer without it. Much more modern, less…military.”
“Charlotte.” Jamie held her away. “Dear me, you look different.”
Charlotte batted her eyes and laughed. “You always did know how to give a lady a compliment. It’s all quite daring, don’t you think?” She wielded a long cigarette holder in one jewelled hand. “Have you got a cigarette, darling?”
“Why, yes –“ Jamie fumbled for his cigarette case. “Charlotte, may I present my dear friend James Nicholls? Captain Nicholls was with my first cavalry regiment. Jim –“
“Jim Nicholls!” Charlotte beamed and held out her hand. “Yes, Jamie told me about your bravery last time I saw him. How do you do?”
“I’m afraid Jamie’s given me rather an intimidating build-up,” Jim said, bowing over her hand. “But it’s an honour to meet you, Miss Thorpe.”
“Jamie never said how divinely attractive you were.” Charlotte bent so Jamie could light her cigarette.
Jamie was surprised at the jab of possessiveness in his stomach as Charlotte flirted with Jim. And Jim, ever sweet and accommodating, responded – not flirtatiously, not exactly, but with his customary warmth and sparkle. Bloody hell.
Charlotte had linked her arm through Jim’s. “I hear you have a gloriously pretty sister. Why haven’t you brought her?”
“She’d adore a party like this,” Jim replied with a grin. “I think my parents might be scandalised, though.”
“Well, they don’t have to know, do they? Oh! There’s a marvellous ragtime. Do you dance, Jim?”
“Yes, certainly.” Jim grinned over his shoulder at Jamie as Charlotte led him away, and it was all Jamie could do to keep from folding his arms over his chest like some sort of curmudgeonly Victorian. Steady on. Wouldn’t you rather he got on well with people?
“Let me drag you round a bit, Jamie, meet up with some of the old guard.” Billy urged.
Jamie allowed himself to be dragged, and soon found himself chatting with a group of young men he’d known through school, through friends, through the social circuit. On the surface they seemed carefree in their new, slimly cut evening clothes, their modish hairstyles and in the way they wielded their drinks and cigars or cigarettes, still young, still confident and graceful. But if one looked closer, there was a different truth imprinted upon them: a darting, anxious glance here and there, a trembling hand, a laugh that spiraled upward toward hysteria. And on other faces, the same weariness Jamie had seen in the mirror, a resigned acceptance of a world that had changed utterly, an insouciance they would never again possess except superficially, a melancholy knowledge that they had trodden a downward path that was proving difficult to ascend again. And of course, there were faces missing. Far too many faces.
“Who’s the chap Charlotte’s dancing with?” Edwin Hollis-Barton wanted to know.
“Friend of mine,” Jamie said. “Jim Nicholls.”
“Mm. I say, he’s quite a splendid dancer, isn’t he? Not very sporting to monopolise Charlie like that, though, is it? I’ve half a mind to poach.”
Jamie drew on his cigarette to stifle a smile. “Charlotte mightn’t approve, old man. She looks like she’s having a jolly time.”
“She does, doesn’t she. You don’t think he’d be belligerent, do you? I’d quite like to cut a rug with her. Look at those legs!”
Instead, Jamie gazed at Jim, his flushed, laughing face, his shining hair. “Quite nice indeed,” he murmured.
“Well, maybe I’ll have a go later. Why do you reckon nobody’s cut in yet? He’s not keen on her, is he?”
“No,” Jamie said. “I shouldn’t think he is.”
“Oh, good,” Edwin replied with a satisfied nod, and then clapped Jamie on the arm. “Heard you won the V.C. – well done!”
“Thanks, Ned.”
“Awfully good news, Jamie. Awfully good. Glad one of our crew distinguished himself. Oh, God – did you hear about Ronnie Colborne?”
Jamie turned to Edwin. “No. What?”
“Not good news, I’m afraid. He’s in the b – in some sanatorium, I gather. A sort of rest home for officers. Spoke to Pickles Tremaine about him – Pickles said he’d gone a bit…you know, not quite right in the head.”
“Christ,” Jamie muttered.
“There but for the grace of God go the rest of us,” Edwin said. He gazed vacantly out at the floor full of madly gyrating couples. “Can’t blame him, really. Sometimes I dream about it, you know. I see things…terrible things that happened to chaps I knew and so on, and I’m quite powerless to help – to do a blasted thing about it.” He took a long draught of his drink and tried to smile at Jamie, but couldn’t manage more than a grimace. “And I wake up covered in sweat and wanting to scream. You don’t think I’m barmy, do you?”
“No, Ned,” Jamie replied quietly. “I think that happens to most of us.”
“That’s a relief. It’s rather a dirty secret, those dreams. I wondered if I wasn’t alone, and reckoned that these other chaps must be stronger than I am. Maybe they just hide it all a bit better.” The corners of his mouth twisted in an attempted smile once more. “I think I might try looking for someone to dance with after all, Jamie. I’ll be seeing you.” He nodded and walked away.
Jamie watched him go and then peered back at Jim and Charlotte. They were dancing some sort of improvised tango, elbows out and knees flexing, and they were laughing uproariously, to the delight of the crowd that had gathered round them.
“Jealous?”
Jamie stiffened. He didn’t bother to turn to see the speaker, whose voice was as familiar as his own, and kept his demeanour as nonchalant as possible. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I mean that your pal Jim appears to be having a grand time with Charlotte,” Philip said, throwing an arm round Jamie’s shoulder. His breath smelled pungently of gin. “Stealing a march on you, wouldn’t you say?”
“No,” Jamie replied. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. Bloody slippery of him.”
“What are you doing here?” Jamie asked. “I thought you were in Selkirk. Father said you weren’t due back until March.”
Philip laughed and took a swallow of his drink, which appeared to be pure unadulterated gin. “Don’t let’s mention Father. I’m in his bad books right now. Murchison’s, too. Everyone’s cross with me, except Mother and you.”
Jamie contained a derisive snort. “Why? What happened?”
“A little hunting mishap. Nothing to be concerned about, sprat.”
Jamie found he didn’t want to know, and turned his attention back to Jim.
“Quit gazing and cut in, sprat.”
“I’m not jealous, for God’s sake.”
“Then you’re a fool. Can’t think what you see in him, anyhow.”
Jamie wanted to throw off Philip’s arm, but refrained from moving. “He’s a good friend, and a kind and decent man. Perhaps those qualities aren’t fashionable enough for you, but they suit me.”
“And that’s enough for you, I suppose. Kind and decent.”
Jamie scowled and shrugged Philip’s arm off his shoulder, heedless of the consequences. Unsurprisingly, Philip teetered a bit before righting himself. “What the hell do you mean by that? Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Well, come off it. He’s not really our sort, is he?”
“Jesus Christ,” Jamie breathed. “The war really taught you nothing, did it?”
“Au contraire, it taught me a great deal. Some things oughtn’t to be changed, you know.” Philip shrugged, a slow, sinuous movement of his shoulders. “Blood always tells, you know. A real stand-up chap wouldn’t be dancing with Charlotte when his pal’s keen on her. Though I must admit she looks like she’s gagging for it, doesn’t she? That dress – she might as well be naked. Christ.” He grinned.
“I haven’t got a notion of pairing off with Charlotte,” Jamie snapped. “Even so, I’ll thank you not to malign her or Jim. They don’t deserve your filthy remarks.”
Philip shook his head sorrowfully. “One doesn’t pair thoroughbreds with scrubs, sprat, no matter how handsome the scrub.”
“You’re utterly ridiculous,” Jamie replied coldly. “And I think you should go home and dry out before you make a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t get sanctimonious on me.” With slow deliberation Philip took another drink and narrowed his eyes at Jamie over the rim of the glass.
“Hello there.”
Jamie turned to see Jim, mopping his brow with a snowy handkerchief and looking from Jamie to Philip with a trace of anxiety in his eyes. “How was the dancing?”
“Oh, splendid! Charlotte’s a marvellous dancer. Lots of vim and vigour in that girl.”
“You’re certainly energetic, the pair of you,” Philip observed. “What are we to make of this extraordinary camaraderie?”
“A mutual love of ragtime, I think. Jamie’s not so keen on it, are you, Jamie?” Jim flashed Jamie a smile.
“It’s growing on me, thanks to you,” Jamie admitted, and pulled his cigarette case from his pocket. “I think I still prefer Beethoven, though.”
“But you can’t dance to Beethoven, can you?” Philip said. “Not with modern young ladies like Charlie. Modern young ladies with sizeable incomes.” He took another drink, smiled at Jim, and teetered back and forth.
“Philip,” Jamie said.
“Well, Miss Thorpe chucked me in favour of a younger and handsomer model,” Jim said, indicating the dance floor, where Charlotte was swanning about with a young and almost girlishly beautiful young man, unfamiliar to Jamie. “And a better dancer, too, I dare say.”
“Still, you seem to have won her admiration. I call that very ambitious indeed.”
Jim’s amiable smile began to fray at the edges. “I’m not certain I’m following you….”
“There’s quite a bit of expectation that comes with wooing a girl like that. You realise you’d be trapped in Yorkshire half your life, don’t you? Not the most thrilling existence – church fetes and jumble sales are about as madcap as things get up there. You don’t strike me as the sort of fellow who would much enjoy country life.”
“I wouldn’t, as it happens,” Jim said.
“Shut up, Philip,” Jamie barked. “Jim, I’ve got a really dreadful headache. Would you mind if we left? Or if you’d like to stay –“
“No,” Jim said. He regarded Philip with eyes that held none of their customary warmth. “I think we might have outstayed our welcome. Come on, we’ll go find a cab.”
“You’re going to just let him drag you out, Jamie?” Philip drawled. “Thought you had more backbone than that. He poaches your girl, orders you about, and then drags you off – what in God’s name is wrong with you? What sort of friend is that?” He tilted his head to one side and stared at Jamie curiously.
A familiar rush of helpless anger flooded Jamie’s veins like freezing water and held him paralysed. Philip hadn’t changed a whit. There could be no-one of worth who existed independent of his presence, no further discussion of a topic Philip felt was closed, no situation that could not be subjected to his absolute governance. He was the human embodiment of death by a thousand cuts; it was amazing how swiftly that knowledge returned and lodged itself deep into Jamie’s heart. But below his anger simmered a reserve of fear; despite his drunkenness and obvious snobbery, Philip was far from stupid, and the speculative light in his eyes alarmed Jamie. Eventually, Philip might work things out, and Jamie was unprepared for that.
“I’m the one who wants to leave,” Jamie replied brusquely. “Come along, Jim. Billy and Charlotte won’t miss us.” He pivoted and marched out of the room, Jim close on his heels. They went through the velvet curtains, back up the stairs, and outside, where motor-cars crowded the kerbs up and down the length of the street.
“Sir!”
Jamie turned and saw Murchison waving his cap. He changed direction, gave Jim a gentle nudge, and walked toward the driver. “Good evening, Murchison.”
“Evening, sir. Is Mr. Philip on his way up?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“On your way home, sir?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “Can you give us a lift and come back for Philip, Murchison?”
“Of course, sir. Hop in.”
Jamie traded a quick smile with Jim and climbed into the back seat. The evening was perceptibly cooler, and Jamie took the lap rug from the seat and spread it over their knees. “Thanks, Murchison. Saves us the trouble of finding a cab.”
“Not at all, sir. Shall I drop Captain Nicholls in Hampstead first?”
“I’ll be accompanying him,” Jamie replied coolly.
There was a beat and a half of silence, in which Jamie easily registered Murchison’s disapproval. “Very good sir,” Murchison replied in a smoothly distilled blend of professional disinterest and unspoken personal remonstration.
Jamie sighed and glanced at Jim, who looked away from him, out the window. Jamie slipped his hand beneath the lap rug and caressed Jim’s thigh in an attempt at comfort. It worked; Jim turned back to Jamie, slid his own hand beneath the rug and into Jamie’s, and his smile lightened Jamie’s heart and diminished the very real headache that was beginning to throb behind his eyes. Jim was decent, and honest, and kind, and Jamie realised that his happiness, his very life, had been in the safest of hands for years. Damn what anyone else thought.
They sat in silence on the way to Hampstead. Jamie spoke at last when the motor rolled to a stop in front of Jim’s flat. “Thank you, Murchison.”
“Shall I collect you when I drive Mr. Philip home, sir?”
“No need to get out, Murchison. Jim,” Jamie said, “Go on in, I’ll join you in a moment.” He waited until Jim exited the motor-car and leaned up toward the front seat. “Well?”
Murchison didn’t turn round. “Yes, sir?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Out with it.”
A deep sigh escaped Murchison’s chest. “It’s not my place to say, sir.”
Jamie closed his eyes briefly. “I’ve asked you to lie by omission. I’m sorry for it. If you feel that you need to unburden yourself to my parents…all I can do is beg you not to, Murchison. You know the havoc it would wreak in the household. Please.”
“Captain Nicholls seems a nice young man, sir.”
“So I’m the corrupting influence, am I? Interesting.”
“Now, sir, I never said that.” Murchison turned in his seat, and Jamie watched him intently, the weathered planes of his face, the hands, now encased in smart leather gloves, that had guided him so patiently through step after step of horsemanship. “You don’t want me to lie to you, sir. I’ve never done that and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Even to spare my feelings?”
Murchison’s seamed countenance cracked in a wry smile. “You want me to sit here and tell you it’s right? I won’t do that, sir. Can’t. That doesn’t mean much, though. A few days ago your brother took one of the horses out at night when he was in his cups. They went up the crag, and you can imagine what happened.”
“Oh, God,” Jamie murmured. “I probably can.”
“I had to shoot the poor beastie myself. Sweet, gentle thing, not two years old, and Mr. Philip treated her like a hoop and bloody stick. He’s a cruel one, he is, and I’ve done my best to keep him on a curb and chain, but you know how he is.”
“Yes. Incorrigible.”
“And for my money, cruelty’s worse than buggery, but that still doesn’t make buggery right. And none of that matters just the same. You see what I mean, sir?”
“Not altogether, no.”
“What I mean is that I don’t think it’s right, but it doesn’t matter much what I think because you’re a man grown and you can do as you please. I’ve known you since you were a wee bairn in nappies, Mr. Jamie, and I’ve known other lads who were…you know, like you, and it never turned out well for them. You’re a good sort, sir, and you don’t deserve to be unhappy. Neither does Captain Nicholls, I reckon.”
Jamie folded his arms on the back of the seat and propped his chin on them. He sighed a little. “You never have lied to me, have you?”
Murchison shook his head. He stared at Jamie. “You shaved, sir.”
“Not even Philip noticed,” Jamie said with a smile.
“Well, that’s Mr. Philip for you, I expect. I’ve said my piece, sir.”
“I appreciate your candour. I always have.” Jamie hesitated. “Are you going to tell Mother and Father?”
Murchison gave Jamie a tired smile. “Sir, I wouldn’t know how to begin that conversation. So no, they won’t hear it from me. But I expect they’ll have to know by and by.”
“I’d be happy to keep them in the dark forever,” Jamie said. Impulsively, he stuck out his hand, and Murchison shook it. Jamie was conscious of a new frailty in the man’s grip, the bunching of tendons and veins beneath the leather gloves, the onset of age. “Thank you.”
“Plenty of lovely lasses out there, sir.” Murchison gave him a searching look.
“But only one Jim Nicholls. Good night, Murchison.”
The front door opened as soon as Jamie reached it – Jim must have been watching from the window. Without speaking, Jim stood aside to let Jamie in and then closed the door with a quiet click. “Your driver doesn’t appear to think much of me.” He offered Jamie a wry smile without any of its customary twinkling good humour.
“It’s not you at all, Jim,” Jamie said wearily, hanging his hat on the stand. “I’ve disappointed him. He’s known me all my life and I suppose he expected a bit more from me.”
Jim’s shoulders sagged a bit. “I see.”
“Oh, God. That’s not what I – Jim, please.” Jamie reached out and caught Jim’s arm, pulling him close. “I didn’t mean that. It was bloody stupid of me. Forgive me, I’m tired and….” He wrapped his arms round Jim, aware of the stiffness in Jim’s body, and stroked the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Your brother doesn’t appear to think much of me either.” Jim’s voice was muffled in Jamie’s shoulder.
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.” He kissed Jim’s cheek, dismayed that Jim’s body still refused to yield to him.
“He’s cruel to you. I hate that. I wanted to hit him in the mouth tonight.”
“Oh, I want to hit him too, but I’d just be giving him ammunition for a scandal. I can’t.” The words ‘neither can you’ hung unspoken in the air.
“I know,” Jim sighed, and pulled away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slumped against the wall. “I suppose this is just the first taste of it, isn’t it? The hiding, the deception, the fear that we might be exposed. At least they can’t hang us for it anymore.” He let out a bleak little laugh.
“There’s a chap I know – Roo Woodmere. He’s…one of us, I suppose you’d say. Nobody’s ever bothered him about it. He’s a quiet sort, has a flat in Knightsbridge. Lives there with another chap, a solicitor I think. Respectable. I think if we’re discreet, we can manage the same sort of life.”
“But what about your parents? And mine, for that matter? They won’t simply accept this. It might well kill them, in fact.” Jim stared at Jamie, naked pleading in his eyes. “I’m not backing out, you mustn’t think that. I love you. I don’t want to be parted from you. But I’d be a liar if I said that I’d thought it all through.” He ran his hands through his neatly pomaded hair, sending it awry. “And I suppose I want everything to be settled all at once, which isn’t possible. It’s only that – seeing your brother tonight, watching him bully you – I heard him, you know. You were so intent on each other, you didn’t see me. But I listened, and he’s dreadful. Dreadful, Jamie.”
Jamie winced. “It’s nothing. I know he’s an unpleasant bastard, but I don’t see him often –“
“If he finds out, he’ll hurt you.” Jim clenched his fists. “I don’t care what he says to me – I’ve a thick enough skin. But I can’t bear to see him wound you, not when he hasn’t a shred of honour himself. If he doesn’t try to ruin you immediately, he’ll dangle it over your head and you’ll be at his mercy. I’d say we should leave, but…I love London. I’ve made friends, and I’m fond of my work, and it’s your home as well – oh, I don’t know.” He laughed and dragged his hands through his hair again. “I want to hear that everything’s going to be fine, when I know damned well it won’t.”
Jamie risked a step forward, then another. Tentatively, he rested his hands on Jim’s shoulders and gently eased him backward, pressing him against the wall. Jim’s hands flew up and caught Jamie’s wrists, but he didn’t push Jamie away. Jamie saw the fear in his eyes, and his heart ached. “I can’t say that. I don’t know if it’s true.” He glanced down at the rug they stood on, a threadbare flowered carpet of still-cheery green and pink and yellow, one of Mrs. Nicholls’ cast-offs. The sight of it made his heart ache more, though he couldn’t have said why, and he swallowed against a tightness in his throat and met Jim’s gaze once more. “And as much as I want to, I don’t know if I can protect you against scorn and ridicule.”
Jim bit his lip, and his eyes resumed some of their old sparkle. “My dearest Jamie,” he said softly, and unclasped his hands from Jamie’s wrists to cradle Jamie’s face. “How gallant you are. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cause you pain. It’s not your protection I need.” He leant forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, chastely at first, merely pressing his lips against Jamie’s for a long moment. Then he gently suckled on Jamie’s upper lip, then his lower, tasting the silken inner rim, exploring him thoroughly, at last prising his mouth open and kissing him fully, returning now and then to nibble and suckle at Jamie’s lips. He pulled back, flushed. “They’re as glorious as I suspected.”
Jamie was breathless with arousal. “Jim –“ He scarcely recognised his own voice.
“I want you.” Jim slid his hand down to rest between Jamie’s legs. “All of you.”
Jamie couldn’t speak. They’d availed themselves of so much pleasure, but they hadn’t yet engaged in full coitus. Jamie assumed they’d get round to it eventually, but he was too shy to request it, and Jim seemed content to go on the way they had for some months. He nodded, his pulse racing.
Jim took Jamie’s hand and led him into the bedroom. “Back in a moment.” He stepped out and returned with a towel and a tin of hair pomade, then closed the door and leant against it. “Take off your clothes, my love.”
Hands shaking, Jamie complied, stripping off each piece neatly and folding it over the back of the little wooden chair tucked beside the wardrobe. Tailcoat, watered-silk waistcoat, white tie, braces, shoes, trousers. He struggled with the shirt studs and finally worked them free, ignored the cufflinks and dragged the shirt off. He pulled off his stockings and dropped them to the floor, then unbuttoned his underwear and wriggled out of it, gasping as he grazed his hard prick. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jim watching him intently. “Aren’t you going to –“
“I want you to undress me.”
“You’re driving me mad.”
“I want you to undress me, and then take me.” Jim dropped the towel and pomade onto the bed, moved close and lightly kissed Jamie’s mouth, then sank to his knees. He grasped Jamie’s hips and traced the tip of his tongue up Jamie’s erect cock.
“Oh, Christ,” Jamie groaned. “How can I undress you when you –“
“Shh.” Jim moved his lips over the sensitive flesh, now and then flicking his tongue out, teasing at Jamie with wet warmth, then finally wrapping his mouth round the head of Jamie’s cock and suckling.
Jamie threaded his fingers through Jim’s curls and pressed him closer. Jim obediently opened his mouth wider, then gagged a little, but that only fuelled Jamie’s excitement. “Harder,” he whispered. He felt Jim’s tongue sliding back and forth, around his cock, his mouth full and wet, and watched as Jim struggled to take him in fully. “Let go,” he rasped. “Jim, let go.”
Jim pulled back and stared up at Jamie. “What is it?”
“Get up.”
“All right.” Jim got to his feet and stood before Jamie, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lovely, passionate mouth slightly open.
Jamie took Jim’s chin in his hand and kissed him, savouring the taste of Jim’s mouth, drawing him closer, resting his fingers against the rapid pulse in his neck. He slipped his hand down and deftly unfastened Jim’s tie, urging his coat off with his other hand. He pulled away to unfasten Jim’s waistcoat and undo the tiny pearl shirt studs, less trouble than his own. He felt between Jim’s legs, pressing against the hardness there. “Are you certain you want me to?”
“Yes.”
Getting the rest of Jim’s clothes off seemed to take hours, but at last it was done. Jim stood before him, naked, his lean body lightly silvered with sweat. “Pull the bedclothes down.”
Jim yanked the covers and sheet down and carefully draped the towel over the bottom sheet. He sat on the bed and turned the pomade tin over in his hands. “What do you want me to do?”
“What?” With an effort, Jamie dragged his gaze from Jim’s hard prick, flushed with blood. He gave his own prick a languorous stroke, unable to help himself.
“What would you like me to do? Do you want me on my back, or –“
“I don’t know,” Jamie confessed. “I’ve never –“
“Neither have I. I don’t know what’s best. I suppose it would be easiest if I were on my belly.” With a shuddering breath, he set the tin on the bedside table and lay full length on the bed, his head pillowed on his arms, his legs spread apart.
Trembling in earnest, Jamie climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Jim’s parted legs. He leant over Jim’s body and retrieved the pomade, opening the tin and swiping some of the greasy stuff onto his fingers. Cautiously, as if he’d never touched himself before, he grasped his cock and slid his hand back and forth, coating it with the substance. He reached down and caressed Jim’s arse, soft skin over taut muscles, moving in circles, echoing their curves with his fingertips. His breath grew sharp and short as he stroked, finally spreading them apart and positioning himself, then pushing inside. Immediately Jim’s muscles tightened, repelling him.
“Oh –“
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. No. Don’t stop. I’ll try to relax. Oh, God, Jamie. Please don’t stop.”
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.”
A shaky laugh broke from Jim’s throat. “Yes, sir.”
Jamie grasped Jim’s hips. “Raise up. Just a bit.” Jim obediently climbed to his knees, his head still on his arms, and Jamie tried again, holding on to Jim’s narrow hips. He pushed in part way and waited, watching the rapid rise and fall of Jim’s exquisite long back. “All right?”
“Yes. More.”
Jamie pushed in further, his body shaking as he held himself back. He wanted to thrust deeply, to drive himself all the way in. He concentrated on holding still, watching Jim’s body, the delicate knobs of his spine, the shift of his shoulder blades, the helpless curling and uncurling of his fingers in the pillow. It only enflamed him further; he pushed deeper, his thighs braced against Jim’s, his fingers digging into Jim’s flesh.
Beneath him, Jim moaned.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little, but – don’t stop, for God’s sake don’t –“ Jim moaned again and pushed back. “Ah –“
Jamie pushed deeper and felt himself entirely enclosed in a tight, hot grip that almost undid him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, then pulled back, shuddering as Jim’s muscles contracted around his cock. He thrust forward slowly, sweat stinging his eyes, and moved one hand between Jim’s thighs, curling around his hard prick.
Jim let out a hoarse cry and pushed back harder. Jamie slid back, then forward again, engulfed in delicious heat, establishing a rhythm that quickened rapidly as their bodies ground together, rocking back and forth, undulating, slippery and hot against each other. Jim cried out again, stifling the noise against his arm, and Jamie felt the muscles surrounding him seize and tighten, and a warm sticky trickling in his hand. He took his hand from Jim’s cock and grasped his hips again, thrusting deeper and deeper still, shoving himself forward, and at last released with a shuddering groan.
They stayed still for a long moment. At last, Jamie pulled himself free and collapsed next to Jim, who immediately put his arms round Jamie and pulled him close. Jamie buried his face in Jim’s neck, nuzzling the hollow of his throat, tasting salt. “I didn’t hurt you too badly?”
“It did hurt,” Jim said, stroking Jamie’s hair. “Quite a lot at first. And I think I shall be awfully sore tomorrow, but I don’t care. For a moment, when you…it was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it. I thought I would die from the pleasure of it. Let me look at you.”
Jamie brought his head level with Jim’s, resting on the pillow. “I need a bath.”
“Shall we both take one?”
“I doubt we’d fit in the tub together.”
“Nonsense, it’s huge. What a smashing idea, Jamie.” Jim rolled out of bed with a groan. “Come on, slugabed. Get up.”
“I’m sorry I mentioned it,” Jamie grumbled, and heaved himself up. His body was sticky with sweat and seed and pomade, though, and a bath would do them both good. He followed Jim into the bathroom and watched Jim run the hot water. “It is rather generously sized, isn’t it?”
“Yes, perfect for two. Don’t tell my dad, or he’ll stop making them.” Jim dropped a wink and shut the water off, then closed the bathroom door. “That’ll keep it nice and warm. Hop in.” He stepped into the tub and lowered himself with a sigh.
Jamie got in on the other side and sat, shivering as the hot water enclosed his sweat-chilled body. “Lovely.” He leaned back and drew his knees up. “Ah.”
Jim, who had his knees up as well, stretched his legs out, clasping Jamie’s hips. “That’s quite nice.”
“You’ve got a cheek, Captain Nicholls.”
“Plain old Mr. Nicholls now.” Jim smiled, his expression a bit wistful. “Do you know, I never thought I’d miss the army, but –“ He shrugged. “Some bits, anyhow.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. It’s not a bad old life.”
“Not for everyone. Your brother, for example.”
Jamie shook his head. “The very thought of Philip in the army is a ridiculous one. He only went because he was compelled to. And he didn’t exactly prosper there, if you recall.”
“No, in fact –“ Jim pressed his lips together. “Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything.”
Jamie nudged Jim’s thigh. “I rather envy you, having a job to go to every day. I find myself with time hanging heavy on my hands lately.”
“I could ask about, if you’re interested in publishing.”
“I don’t think that would suit me,” Jamie said.
“What about the War Office? Surely with most of the men returning to their ordinary lives, there must be something that interests you.”
“I haven’t much patience for paperwork.” Jamie smiled apologetically. “I’m not being terribly helpful, am I?”
“No, no, it’s just as important to know what you don’t want to do, I think, as it is to know what you do want. Not to worry, we’ll sort you out.”
Jamie caressed Jim’s leg, then drew his foot up and began to rub it, pressing his thumbs into the arch. “You must be terribly sore from all that dancing.”
Jim made an incoherent gurgling noise. “Good Lord, where did you learn to do that?” He slid lower in the water. “Don’t stop. Ever.”
Jamie snorted a laugh and began to rub the other foot. He gently bent Jim’s foot back, stretching it, and rubbed the heel, squeezing it. “Like it?”
“If I drowned – which I might – I would die a happy man.” Jim smiled.
Sweet, generous Jim. Jamie thought of Philip’s sneering insults, and his chest tightened with anger. “I’m sorry for Philip’s rudeness tonight.”
“It isn’t your fault. Besides, I thought you leapt to my defence quite bravely.”
“If only,” Jamie muttered.
“Here. Spin round and I’ll wash your back,” Jim said, sitting up. Jamie obediently turned, and Jamie rubbed soap over his back, scrubbing it gently with a flannel. “Arms up.” He soaped beneath Jamie’s arms, and moved forward, fitting himself against Jamie’s back. “Lean back on me.” He drew the soapy flannel up and down Jamie’s chest and scrubbed his belly, then kissed his ear. “I had a bit of a panic earlier, and I’m sorry about it. I was being utterly unfair to you. I don’t expect you to have answers.”
“But the questions haven’t gone away.”
“No.” Jim fell silent and wordlessly washed Jamie’s arms and thighs. “Shall I wash your hair?”
“Thank you.”
Jim wetted Jamie’s hair and soaped it, moving his fingertips back and forth until Jamie was limp with relaxation. “My parents will disown me when they learn the truth. My father will, at least, and my mother will be forced to go along with him, even if she doesn’t repudiate me in her heart. I reckon I’m trying to get used to the notion. What about your parents?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie murmured. “They’ve never paid me much mind. I expect they’d be quite angry, though I don’t know if they’d disown me altogether. They’ve always muttered sympathetically about my cousin Percy and how badly my aunt and uncle treat him, but it might be another thing entirely to have a son who indulges in the Greek vice.”
Jim chuckled. “’The Greek vice.’ Good God.”
“As if the Greeks were the only ones,” Jamie said.
“The only ones who admitted to it, I suppose.” Jim tilted Jamie’s face upwards with a finger, bent, and kissed his mouth. He pulled back and traced the teardrop-shaped indentation above Jamie’s upper lip. “Yes. I quite like this new look.”
“I’ll keep it, then.” To hell with Philip. And to hell with Jim’s parents, too, if they turned him away. If they wantonly discarded the gift of Jim’s love and affection, they didn’t realise its value and didn’t deserve it in the first place. If there was such a thing as perfect mortal happiness, he had it, deserved or not. In Jim’s arms, he knew paradise; in Jim’s letters and gifts and palpable grace and generosity, he’d found solace to see him through the worst darkness he’d ever known. And as long as he had Jim beside him, he knew he could never be truly unhappy again. Humble gratitude filled his heart. He grasped Jim’s hand and squeezed it.
“Shall we go back to bed?”
Jamie brushed the back of his hand over Jim’s cheek. “Yes, if you answer a question first.”
“Why, of course.”
“Will you grow old with me?”
“Yes.” Jim caught Jamie’s hand and kissed it. “Yes.”
*
This astounding gif is by black-nata on tumblr. Find the original post here.
Author: Alex
Fandom: War Horse
Rating: Varies, G to NC-17
Pairing: Jamie Stewart/Jim Nicholls
Disclaimer: No money made, no harm intended. Michael Morpurgo owns War Horse and its characters.
Summary: Captured in battle, Major Jamie Stewart faces an uncertain fate.
Warnings: Violence, explicit sexual content.
Notes: Canon divergent [see pairing]
Can also be read on AO3
*
You made me glad; and I can still return
To you, the haven of my lonely pride:
But I am sworn to murder those illusions
That blossom from desire with desperate beauty:
And there shall be no falsehood in our failure;
Since, if we loved like beasts, the thing is done,
And I’ll not hide it, though our heaven be hell.
---Siegfried Sassoon, The Imperfect Lover
*
“Oh, come on, you…bugger.” Gritting his teeth in frustration, Jamie twisted his arm up and pulled. “God damn you, you bloody arse…fuck!”
The snap mechanism refused to budge, and Jamie closed his eyes and sighed. He’d been through a war and killed God only knew how many enemy soldiers and had been decorated by the King himself, but in the eternal battle against his own wardrobe, he was the clear loser, vanquished by a small silver cufflink and reduced to gutter profanities. He sat at his dressing table and propped his elbow on it to resume the fight, and glanced up at a knock on the door. “Come!”
“Jamie? It’s Jim.” Jim’s voice was muffled outside his dressing room door. “Are you decent? Cora said it was all right to come up.”
“Hang on, old man. Won’t be a minute. I’ve got to get this bloody thing…on.” Jamie tried to snap the cufflink on again and failed.
“Anything I can help you with?” Jim sounded amused.
“No, I’m determined to get this if it kills me. Father and I are sharing a valet, and Father’s got him right now, and I can’t –“ Jamie tried to snap the link again. “I can’t get the blasted thing to work. I can field-strip and reassemble a pistol in no time flat, why can’t I work this? God damn it!”
“Cufflink?”
Jamie scowled. “Listen here, old man, I can hear you laughing. You needn’t stifle it. Besides, it’s just this one confounded pair. I never seem to have trouble with the others.”
“Come out and let me help you.”
“Oh, all right.” Jamie heaved himself up from the chair and took an anxious look at his reflection in the cheval mirror. “Now look, Jim. When I come out, you mustn’t laugh.”
“Why? Have you accidentally clipped the cufflink to your nose?”
“Oh, how very droll. No, I have not. Promise you won’t laugh.”
“I’m not sure I can promise that.”
“Then I won’t come out.”
Jim was openly laughing now. “But you’ll miss the party!”
“Oh, what a shame.” Jamie couldn’t help smiling himself. “Really a tragedy. And I was so looking forward to it.”
“Come out now or I’m coming in.”
“Very well.” Jamie put his hand on the knob and swung the door open. “I’d have been ready sooner but for the damned cufflinks.”
Dashing in evening dress, Jim was leaning nonchalantly against a chair, his arms folded, but when he saw Jamie, his mouth dropped open. “Jamie –“
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh.” Jamie held up a warning finger.
A broad smile created tiny lines at the corners of Jim’s eyes, but he didn’t laugh. “Oh, my heavens.”
“Don’t say it. It looks terrible.”
“Not in the least.” Jim moved closer and stared. “It’s…it’s extraordinary. I hardly recognise you!”
Jamie felt the blush creeping up his neck. “Why? Because I look like a fifteen-year-old boy?”
“You do look a bit younger, though not fifteen.” Jim reached out and delicately traced a finger over Jamie’s newly shaven upper lip. “Thank the Lord for His infinite mercies.” He peered at Jamie’s face. “In fact, I think it’s very becoming, this new look.”
“You don’t have to lie, you know. I look absurd.” Jamie dropped his gaze in abashment. Jim was still staring at him intently.
“I’m not lying. In fact, I think you’re handsomer than ever. I’m curious, though – what made you do it?”
What indeed? It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary that had prompted it – not at first. He’d been shaving, the usual efficient, mechanical process that was his daily routine, when he’d got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and leant forward to examine his reflection.
His parents had had electric lights installed in every room of the house, and the glare was unnerving, showing every droplet of water and bath-reddened patch of flesh where once there had been a dim but soothing glow. As he stared at himself, he saw new lines finely etched into the skin on his forehead, at the corners of his eyes, the startling prominence of his cheekbones and the hollows in his cheeks, a vague hint of shadows beneath his eyes that never seemed to diminish no matter how much sleep he’d had, and a different expression – fatigue, sorrow? – haunting his countenance. He thought of the regimental photographs of himself in the library, in Jim’s parlour. He hadn’t excessive vanity, but it was as if he hadn’t looked in a mirror in four years. Surely he had, at least once in a while. Surely he’d have noticed the gradual alchemy of war and illness unfolding itself onto his features, transforming him from a fresh-faced, battle-ready young major into the too-thin, too-pale, weary soul staring into the looking glass.
Impulsively, he raised the blade and sheared off half his mustache. He wetted, lathered, and methodically removed every trace of hair from his upper lip, then stared at himself, dismayed.
Younger, yes, but too vulnerable, too uncertain. Too girlish, with that deep bow and full lower lip. Too naked; the fatigue seemed sharper now. And too bloody late to realise that a swipe of a razor couldn’t undo four years of hell.
“I thought it would be a bit of a change,” he said to Jim. “I’m rather regretting it now. I look wretched, like a drowned rat.”
“No. You don’t.” Jim rested two fingers against Jamie’s chin and gently tilted his face to one side. He bit his lip. “I never realised how exquisite your mouth is.” Jim leant close and whispered in Jamie’s ear. “You’ve been hiding it all this time.”
The blood burned hot in Jamie’s face. “It’s not –“
“And I’m going to have it later,” Jim said softly. “At my leisure, and to my heart’s content.” He pulled back and gave Jamie a winsome smile.
Jim’s voice and the movement of lips against his ear and the unmistakable intent in his eyes shot straight to Jamie’s prick. He blinked and tried to swallow, but all at once his throat seemed full of sand. “Good God,” he managed in a hoarse croak.
“So let’s get that cufflink sorted and dash off to the party.”
“Can’t we skip it?” Jamie implored. “Go back to your flat and get straight to –“
Jim laughed. “Nothing doing, as the Yanks say. Come on, Colonel, your chariot awaits.”
*
Jamie and Jim descended a flight of dark stairs and passed through two sets of velvet curtains into a raucous din of music and laughter, a crush of bodies in frantic motion, and a fug composed of the mingled odours of cigarette and cigar smoke, a hundred different clashing perfumes, and the pervasive scent of gin. Jamie squinted in the dimness and started abruptly as someone with extraordinarily strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinning him tightly. “Christ!”
“Jamie!”
“Who the hell is that?” Jamie demanded, twisting his head round.
His assailant let him go and spun him round, and Jamie scowled darkly at Billy Thorpe. “Good Christ, warn a chap before you do that! I nearly punched you in the teeth.” He shook Billy’s hand. “Thanks for the invitation. What sort of place is this? We got lost looking for the address.”
“Oh, Charlotte and I hired it out. Charlotte had some sort of mad longing to have a party in Soho, so a party in Soho we shall have. It’s not a patch on St. James, but it’s a lark nonetheless. Nostalgie de la boue, don’t you know? Or something. Who knows with that girl.” Billy, who had the powerful build of the rugby enthusiast he was, clapped Jamie on the shoulder and then turned to Jim with an outstretched hand, his diamond shirt studs winking in the dingy room. “And you brought a pal! Smashing. Introduce us.”
Jamie did. “Saved my life back in Flanders. Got shot for his pains, too.”
Billy shook his head. “You risked your neck for this silly sod?”
“He was my commanding officer. I was afraid I’d get demoted if I didn’t.” Jim winked at Jamie.
“Ah, quite right. Well done, old boy. I say, you’re not the same Jim Nicholls who worked in the War Office with Dickie Hedrick?”
“Yes! He’s a friend of yours?”
“Oh, God, yes. Dickie and I are OCs, don’t you know?”
Jim looked puzzled. “OCs?”
“Old Carthusians,” Jamie explained. “They both went to Charterhouse. Nearly got the boot, too, so I heard.” He nudged Billy in the ribs.
“Don’t believe a word of it, it’s none of it true. Anyhow, Dickie was full of praise for you, said you were a really good egg, and any friend of Jamie’s –“ Billy smote Jim on the arm. “Look here, there’s a set-up in the corner, gin and plonk and all that. Drink up, chaps. Oh, there’s Charlie.” He nodded over Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie wheeled and gaped. Charlotte Thorpe was moving toward them, but she looked altogether different from the last time Jamie had clapped eyes on her. Her blonde curls had been cropped as short as a boy’s, she wore coal-black paint around her eyes, like a film temptress, and her lips had been painted a deep, glistening scarlet. She was dressed – if that indeed was the word for so skimpy a garment – in a glittering grey chemise that barely grazed the bottom of her knees and left her arms entirely bare, and her shoes and cobwebby stockings were silver.
“Jamie!” Charlotte dashed forward and enveloped Jamie in a tight embrace, giving him a heady rush of perfume. “It’s marvellous to see you. Oh, and you shaved your mustache! Thank heavens, you’re much handsomer without it. Much more modern, less…military.”
“Charlotte.” Jamie held her away. “Dear me, you look different.”
Charlotte batted her eyes and laughed. “You always did know how to give a lady a compliment. It’s all quite daring, don’t you think?” She wielded a long cigarette holder in one jewelled hand. “Have you got a cigarette, darling?”
“Why, yes –“ Jamie fumbled for his cigarette case. “Charlotte, may I present my dear friend James Nicholls? Captain Nicholls was with my first cavalry regiment. Jim –“
“Jim Nicholls!” Charlotte beamed and held out her hand. “Yes, Jamie told me about your bravery last time I saw him. How do you do?”
“I’m afraid Jamie’s given me rather an intimidating build-up,” Jim said, bowing over her hand. “But it’s an honour to meet you, Miss Thorpe.”
“Jamie never said how divinely attractive you were.” Charlotte bent so Jamie could light her cigarette.
Jamie was surprised at the jab of possessiveness in his stomach as Charlotte flirted with Jim. And Jim, ever sweet and accommodating, responded – not flirtatiously, not exactly, but with his customary warmth and sparkle. Bloody hell.
Charlotte had linked her arm through Jim’s. “I hear you have a gloriously pretty sister. Why haven’t you brought her?”
“She’d adore a party like this,” Jim replied with a grin. “I think my parents might be scandalised, though.”
“Well, they don’t have to know, do they? Oh! There’s a marvellous ragtime. Do you dance, Jim?”
“Yes, certainly.” Jim grinned over his shoulder at Jamie as Charlotte led him away, and it was all Jamie could do to keep from folding his arms over his chest like some sort of curmudgeonly Victorian. Steady on. Wouldn’t you rather he got on well with people?
“Let me drag you round a bit, Jamie, meet up with some of the old guard.” Billy urged.
Jamie allowed himself to be dragged, and soon found himself chatting with a group of young men he’d known through school, through friends, through the social circuit. On the surface they seemed carefree in their new, slimly cut evening clothes, their modish hairstyles and in the way they wielded their drinks and cigars or cigarettes, still young, still confident and graceful. But if one looked closer, there was a different truth imprinted upon them: a darting, anxious glance here and there, a trembling hand, a laugh that spiraled upward toward hysteria. And on other faces, the same weariness Jamie had seen in the mirror, a resigned acceptance of a world that had changed utterly, an insouciance they would never again possess except superficially, a melancholy knowledge that they had trodden a downward path that was proving difficult to ascend again. And of course, there were faces missing. Far too many faces.
“Who’s the chap Charlotte’s dancing with?” Edwin Hollis-Barton wanted to know.
“Friend of mine,” Jamie said. “Jim Nicholls.”
“Mm. I say, he’s quite a splendid dancer, isn’t he? Not very sporting to monopolise Charlie like that, though, is it? I’ve half a mind to poach.”
Jamie drew on his cigarette to stifle a smile. “Charlotte mightn’t approve, old man. She looks like she’s having a jolly time.”
“She does, doesn’t she. You don’t think he’d be belligerent, do you? I’d quite like to cut a rug with her. Look at those legs!”
Instead, Jamie gazed at Jim, his flushed, laughing face, his shining hair. “Quite nice indeed,” he murmured.
“Well, maybe I’ll have a go later. Why do you reckon nobody’s cut in yet? He’s not keen on her, is he?”
“No,” Jamie said. “I shouldn’t think he is.”
“Oh, good,” Edwin replied with a satisfied nod, and then clapped Jamie on the arm. “Heard you won the V.C. – well done!”
“Thanks, Ned.”
“Awfully good news, Jamie. Awfully good. Glad one of our crew distinguished himself. Oh, God – did you hear about Ronnie Colborne?”
Jamie turned to Edwin. “No. What?”
“Not good news, I’m afraid. He’s in the b – in some sanatorium, I gather. A sort of rest home for officers. Spoke to Pickles Tremaine about him – Pickles said he’d gone a bit…you know, not quite right in the head.”
“Christ,” Jamie muttered.
“There but for the grace of God go the rest of us,” Edwin said. He gazed vacantly out at the floor full of madly gyrating couples. “Can’t blame him, really. Sometimes I dream about it, you know. I see things…terrible things that happened to chaps I knew and so on, and I’m quite powerless to help – to do a blasted thing about it.” He took a long draught of his drink and tried to smile at Jamie, but couldn’t manage more than a grimace. “And I wake up covered in sweat and wanting to scream. You don’t think I’m barmy, do you?”
“No, Ned,” Jamie replied quietly. “I think that happens to most of us.”
“That’s a relief. It’s rather a dirty secret, those dreams. I wondered if I wasn’t alone, and reckoned that these other chaps must be stronger than I am. Maybe they just hide it all a bit better.” The corners of his mouth twisted in an attempted smile once more. “I think I might try looking for someone to dance with after all, Jamie. I’ll be seeing you.” He nodded and walked away.
Jamie watched him go and then peered back at Jim and Charlotte. They were dancing some sort of improvised tango, elbows out and knees flexing, and they were laughing uproariously, to the delight of the crowd that had gathered round them.
“Jealous?”
Jamie stiffened. He didn’t bother to turn to see the speaker, whose voice was as familiar as his own, and kept his demeanour as nonchalant as possible. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I mean that your pal Jim appears to be having a grand time with Charlotte,” Philip said, throwing an arm round Jamie’s shoulder. His breath smelled pungently of gin. “Stealing a march on you, wouldn’t you say?”
“No,” Jamie replied. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. Bloody slippery of him.”
“What are you doing here?” Jamie asked. “I thought you were in Selkirk. Father said you weren’t due back until March.”
Philip laughed and took a swallow of his drink, which appeared to be pure unadulterated gin. “Don’t let’s mention Father. I’m in his bad books right now. Murchison’s, too. Everyone’s cross with me, except Mother and you.”
Jamie contained a derisive snort. “Why? What happened?”
“A little hunting mishap. Nothing to be concerned about, sprat.”
Jamie found he didn’t want to know, and turned his attention back to Jim.
“Quit gazing and cut in, sprat.”
“I’m not jealous, for God’s sake.”
“Then you’re a fool. Can’t think what you see in him, anyhow.”
Jamie wanted to throw off Philip’s arm, but refrained from moving. “He’s a good friend, and a kind and decent man. Perhaps those qualities aren’t fashionable enough for you, but they suit me.”
“And that’s enough for you, I suppose. Kind and decent.”
Jamie scowled and shrugged Philip’s arm off his shoulder, heedless of the consequences. Unsurprisingly, Philip teetered a bit before righting himself. “What the hell do you mean by that? Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Well, come off it. He’s not really our sort, is he?”
“Jesus Christ,” Jamie breathed. “The war really taught you nothing, did it?”
“Au contraire, it taught me a great deal. Some things oughtn’t to be changed, you know.” Philip shrugged, a slow, sinuous movement of his shoulders. “Blood always tells, you know. A real stand-up chap wouldn’t be dancing with Charlotte when his pal’s keen on her. Though I must admit she looks like she’s gagging for it, doesn’t she? That dress – she might as well be naked. Christ.” He grinned.
“I haven’t got a notion of pairing off with Charlotte,” Jamie snapped. “Even so, I’ll thank you not to malign her or Jim. They don’t deserve your filthy remarks.”
Philip shook his head sorrowfully. “One doesn’t pair thoroughbreds with scrubs, sprat, no matter how handsome the scrub.”
“You’re utterly ridiculous,” Jamie replied coldly. “And I think you should go home and dry out before you make a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t get sanctimonious on me.” With slow deliberation Philip took another drink and narrowed his eyes at Jamie over the rim of the glass.
“Hello there.”
Jamie turned to see Jim, mopping his brow with a snowy handkerchief and looking from Jamie to Philip with a trace of anxiety in his eyes. “How was the dancing?”
“Oh, splendid! Charlotte’s a marvellous dancer. Lots of vim and vigour in that girl.”
“You’re certainly energetic, the pair of you,” Philip observed. “What are we to make of this extraordinary camaraderie?”
“A mutual love of ragtime, I think. Jamie’s not so keen on it, are you, Jamie?” Jim flashed Jamie a smile.
“It’s growing on me, thanks to you,” Jamie admitted, and pulled his cigarette case from his pocket. “I think I still prefer Beethoven, though.”
“But you can’t dance to Beethoven, can you?” Philip said. “Not with modern young ladies like Charlie. Modern young ladies with sizeable incomes.” He took another drink, smiled at Jim, and teetered back and forth.
“Philip,” Jamie said.
“Well, Miss Thorpe chucked me in favour of a younger and handsomer model,” Jim said, indicating the dance floor, where Charlotte was swanning about with a young and almost girlishly beautiful young man, unfamiliar to Jamie. “And a better dancer, too, I dare say.”
“Still, you seem to have won her admiration. I call that very ambitious indeed.”
Jim’s amiable smile began to fray at the edges. “I’m not certain I’m following you….”
“There’s quite a bit of expectation that comes with wooing a girl like that. You realise you’d be trapped in Yorkshire half your life, don’t you? Not the most thrilling existence – church fetes and jumble sales are about as madcap as things get up there. You don’t strike me as the sort of fellow who would much enjoy country life.”
“I wouldn’t, as it happens,” Jim said.
“Shut up, Philip,” Jamie barked. “Jim, I’ve got a really dreadful headache. Would you mind if we left? Or if you’d like to stay –“
“No,” Jim said. He regarded Philip with eyes that held none of their customary warmth. “I think we might have outstayed our welcome. Come on, we’ll go find a cab.”
“You’re going to just let him drag you out, Jamie?” Philip drawled. “Thought you had more backbone than that. He poaches your girl, orders you about, and then drags you off – what in God’s name is wrong with you? What sort of friend is that?” He tilted his head to one side and stared at Jamie curiously.
A familiar rush of helpless anger flooded Jamie’s veins like freezing water and held him paralysed. Philip hadn’t changed a whit. There could be no-one of worth who existed independent of his presence, no further discussion of a topic Philip felt was closed, no situation that could not be subjected to his absolute governance. He was the human embodiment of death by a thousand cuts; it was amazing how swiftly that knowledge returned and lodged itself deep into Jamie’s heart. But below his anger simmered a reserve of fear; despite his drunkenness and obvious snobbery, Philip was far from stupid, and the speculative light in his eyes alarmed Jamie. Eventually, Philip might work things out, and Jamie was unprepared for that.
“I’m the one who wants to leave,” Jamie replied brusquely. “Come along, Jim. Billy and Charlotte won’t miss us.” He pivoted and marched out of the room, Jim close on his heels. They went through the velvet curtains, back up the stairs, and outside, where motor-cars crowded the kerbs up and down the length of the street.
“Sir!”
Jamie turned and saw Murchison waving his cap. He changed direction, gave Jim a gentle nudge, and walked toward the driver. “Good evening, Murchison.”
“Evening, sir. Is Mr. Philip on his way up?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“On your way home, sir?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “Can you give us a lift and come back for Philip, Murchison?”
“Of course, sir. Hop in.”
Jamie traded a quick smile with Jim and climbed into the back seat. The evening was perceptibly cooler, and Jamie took the lap rug from the seat and spread it over their knees. “Thanks, Murchison. Saves us the trouble of finding a cab.”
“Not at all, sir. Shall I drop Captain Nicholls in Hampstead first?”
“I’ll be accompanying him,” Jamie replied coolly.
There was a beat and a half of silence, in which Jamie easily registered Murchison’s disapproval. “Very good sir,” Murchison replied in a smoothly distilled blend of professional disinterest and unspoken personal remonstration.
Jamie sighed and glanced at Jim, who looked away from him, out the window. Jamie slipped his hand beneath the lap rug and caressed Jim’s thigh in an attempt at comfort. It worked; Jim turned back to Jamie, slid his own hand beneath the rug and into Jamie’s, and his smile lightened Jamie’s heart and diminished the very real headache that was beginning to throb behind his eyes. Jim was decent, and honest, and kind, and Jamie realised that his happiness, his very life, had been in the safest of hands for years. Damn what anyone else thought.
They sat in silence on the way to Hampstead. Jamie spoke at last when the motor rolled to a stop in front of Jim’s flat. “Thank you, Murchison.”
“Shall I collect you when I drive Mr. Philip home, sir?”
“No need to get out, Murchison. Jim,” Jamie said, “Go on in, I’ll join you in a moment.” He waited until Jim exited the motor-car and leaned up toward the front seat. “Well?”
Murchison didn’t turn round. “Yes, sir?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Out with it.”
A deep sigh escaped Murchison’s chest. “It’s not my place to say, sir.”
Jamie closed his eyes briefly. “I’ve asked you to lie by omission. I’m sorry for it. If you feel that you need to unburden yourself to my parents…all I can do is beg you not to, Murchison. You know the havoc it would wreak in the household. Please.”
“Captain Nicholls seems a nice young man, sir.”
“So I’m the corrupting influence, am I? Interesting.”
“Now, sir, I never said that.” Murchison turned in his seat, and Jamie watched him intently, the weathered planes of his face, the hands, now encased in smart leather gloves, that had guided him so patiently through step after step of horsemanship. “You don’t want me to lie to you, sir. I’ve never done that and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Even to spare my feelings?”
Murchison’s seamed countenance cracked in a wry smile. “You want me to sit here and tell you it’s right? I won’t do that, sir. Can’t. That doesn’t mean much, though. A few days ago your brother took one of the horses out at night when he was in his cups. They went up the crag, and you can imagine what happened.”
“Oh, God,” Jamie murmured. “I probably can.”
“I had to shoot the poor beastie myself. Sweet, gentle thing, not two years old, and Mr. Philip treated her like a hoop and bloody stick. He’s a cruel one, he is, and I’ve done my best to keep him on a curb and chain, but you know how he is.”
“Yes. Incorrigible.”
“And for my money, cruelty’s worse than buggery, but that still doesn’t make buggery right. And none of that matters just the same. You see what I mean, sir?”
“Not altogether, no.”
“What I mean is that I don’t think it’s right, but it doesn’t matter much what I think because you’re a man grown and you can do as you please. I’ve known you since you were a wee bairn in nappies, Mr. Jamie, and I’ve known other lads who were…you know, like you, and it never turned out well for them. You’re a good sort, sir, and you don’t deserve to be unhappy. Neither does Captain Nicholls, I reckon.”
Jamie folded his arms on the back of the seat and propped his chin on them. He sighed a little. “You never have lied to me, have you?”
Murchison shook his head. He stared at Jamie. “You shaved, sir.”
“Not even Philip noticed,” Jamie said with a smile.
“Well, that’s Mr. Philip for you, I expect. I’ve said my piece, sir.”
“I appreciate your candour. I always have.” Jamie hesitated. “Are you going to tell Mother and Father?”
Murchison gave Jamie a tired smile. “Sir, I wouldn’t know how to begin that conversation. So no, they won’t hear it from me. But I expect they’ll have to know by and by.”
“I’d be happy to keep them in the dark forever,” Jamie said. Impulsively, he stuck out his hand, and Murchison shook it. Jamie was conscious of a new frailty in the man’s grip, the bunching of tendons and veins beneath the leather gloves, the onset of age. “Thank you.”
“Plenty of lovely lasses out there, sir.” Murchison gave him a searching look.
“But only one Jim Nicholls. Good night, Murchison.”
The front door opened as soon as Jamie reached it – Jim must have been watching from the window. Without speaking, Jim stood aside to let Jamie in and then closed the door with a quiet click. “Your driver doesn’t appear to think much of me.” He offered Jamie a wry smile without any of its customary twinkling good humour.
“It’s not you at all, Jim,” Jamie said wearily, hanging his hat on the stand. “I’ve disappointed him. He’s known me all my life and I suppose he expected a bit more from me.”
Jim’s shoulders sagged a bit. “I see.”
“Oh, God. That’s not what I – Jim, please.” Jamie reached out and caught Jim’s arm, pulling him close. “I didn’t mean that. It was bloody stupid of me. Forgive me, I’m tired and….” He wrapped his arms round Jim, aware of the stiffness in Jim’s body, and stroked the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Your brother doesn’t appear to think much of me either.” Jim’s voice was muffled in Jamie’s shoulder.
“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.” He kissed Jim’s cheek, dismayed that Jim’s body still refused to yield to him.
“He’s cruel to you. I hate that. I wanted to hit him in the mouth tonight.”
“Oh, I want to hit him too, but I’d just be giving him ammunition for a scandal. I can’t.” The words ‘neither can you’ hung unspoken in the air.
“I know,” Jim sighed, and pulled away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slumped against the wall. “I suppose this is just the first taste of it, isn’t it? The hiding, the deception, the fear that we might be exposed. At least they can’t hang us for it anymore.” He let out a bleak little laugh.
“There’s a chap I know – Roo Woodmere. He’s…one of us, I suppose you’d say. Nobody’s ever bothered him about it. He’s a quiet sort, has a flat in Knightsbridge. Lives there with another chap, a solicitor I think. Respectable. I think if we’re discreet, we can manage the same sort of life.”
“But what about your parents? And mine, for that matter? They won’t simply accept this. It might well kill them, in fact.” Jim stared at Jamie, naked pleading in his eyes. “I’m not backing out, you mustn’t think that. I love you. I don’t want to be parted from you. But I’d be a liar if I said that I’d thought it all through.” He ran his hands through his neatly pomaded hair, sending it awry. “And I suppose I want everything to be settled all at once, which isn’t possible. It’s only that – seeing your brother tonight, watching him bully you – I heard him, you know. You were so intent on each other, you didn’t see me. But I listened, and he’s dreadful. Dreadful, Jamie.”
Jamie winced. “It’s nothing. I know he’s an unpleasant bastard, but I don’t see him often –“
“If he finds out, he’ll hurt you.” Jim clenched his fists. “I don’t care what he says to me – I’ve a thick enough skin. But I can’t bear to see him wound you, not when he hasn’t a shred of honour himself. If he doesn’t try to ruin you immediately, he’ll dangle it over your head and you’ll be at his mercy. I’d say we should leave, but…I love London. I’ve made friends, and I’m fond of my work, and it’s your home as well – oh, I don’t know.” He laughed and dragged his hands through his hair again. “I want to hear that everything’s going to be fine, when I know damned well it won’t.”
Jamie risked a step forward, then another. Tentatively, he rested his hands on Jim’s shoulders and gently eased him backward, pressing him against the wall. Jim’s hands flew up and caught Jamie’s wrists, but he didn’t push Jamie away. Jamie saw the fear in his eyes, and his heart ached. “I can’t say that. I don’t know if it’s true.” He glanced down at the rug they stood on, a threadbare flowered carpet of still-cheery green and pink and yellow, one of Mrs. Nicholls’ cast-offs. The sight of it made his heart ache more, though he couldn’t have said why, and he swallowed against a tightness in his throat and met Jim’s gaze once more. “And as much as I want to, I don’t know if I can protect you against scorn and ridicule.”
Jim bit his lip, and his eyes resumed some of their old sparkle. “My dearest Jamie,” he said softly, and unclasped his hands from Jamie’s wrists to cradle Jamie’s face. “How gallant you are. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cause you pain. It’s not your protection I need.” He leant forward and kissed Jamie’s mouth, chastely at first, merely pressing his lips against Jamie’s for a long moment. Then he gently suckled on Jamie’s upper lip, then his lower, tasting the silken inner rim, exploring him thoroughly, at last prising his mouth open and kissing him fully, returning now and then to nibble and suckle at Jamie’s lips. He pulled back, flushed. “They’re as glorious as I suspected.”
Jamie was breathless with arousal. “Jim –“ He scarcely recognised his own voice.
“I want you.” Jim slid his hand down to rest between Jamie’s legs. “All of you.”
Jamie couldn’t speak. They’d availed themselves of so much pleasure, but they hadn’t yet engaged in full coitus. Jamie assumed they’d get round to it eventually, but he was too shy to request it, and Jim seemed content to go on the way they had for some months. He nodded, his pulse racing.
Jim took Jamie’s hand and led him into the bedroom. “Back in a moment.” He stepped out and returned with a towel and a tin of hair pomade, then closed the door and leant against it. “Take off your clothes, my love.”
Hands shaking, Jamie complied, stripping off each piece neatly and folding it over the back of the little wooden chair tucked beside the wardrobe. Tailcoat, watered-silk waistcoat, white tie, braces, shoes, trousers. He struggled with the shirt studs and finally worked them free, ignored the cufflinks and dragged the shirt off. He pulled off his stockings and dropped them to the floor, then unbuttoned his underwear and wriggled out of it, gasping as he grazed his hard prick. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jim watching him intently. “Aren’t you going to –“
“I want you to undress me.”
“You’re driving me mad.”
“I want you to undress me, and then take me.” Jim dropped the towel and pomade onto the bed, moved close and lightly kissed Jamie’s mouth, then sank to his knees. He grasped Jamie’s hips and traced the tip of his tongue up Jamie’s erect cock.
“Oh, Christ,” Jamie groaned. “How can I undress you when you –“
“Shh.” Jim moved his lips over the sensitive flesh, now and then flicking his tongue out, teasing at Jamie with wet warmth, then finally wrapping his mouth round the head of Jamie’s cock and suckling.
Jamie threaded his fingers through Jim’s curls and pressed him closer. Jim obediently opened his mouth wider, then gagged a little, but that only fuelled Jamie’s excitement. “Harder,” he whispered. He felt Jim’s tongue sliding back and forth, around his cock, his mouth full and wet, and watched as Jim struggled to take him in fully. “Let go,” he rasped. “Jim, let go.”
Jim pulled back and stared up at Jamie. “What is it?”
“Get up.”
“All right.” Jim got to his feet and stood before Jamie, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lovely, passionate mouth slightly open.
Jamie took Jim’s chin in his hand and kissed him, savouring the taste of Jim’s mouth, drawing him closer, resting his fingers against the rapid pulse in his neck. He slipped his hand down and deftly unfastened Jim’s tie, urging his coat off with his other hand. He pulled away to unfasten Jim’s waistcoat and undo the tiny pearl shirt studs, less trouble than his own. He felt between Jim’s legs, pressing against the hardness there. “Are you certain you want me to?”
“Yes.”
Getting the rest of Jim’s clothes off seemed to take hours, but at last it was done. Jim stood before him, naked, his lean body lightly silvered with sweat. “Pull the bedclothes down.”
Jim yanked the covers and sheet down and carefully draped the towel over the bottom sheet. He sat on the bed and turned the pomade tin over in his hands. “What do you want me to do?”
“What?” With an effort, Jamie dragged his gaze from Jim’s hard prick, flushed with blood. He gave his own prick a languorous stroke, unable to help himself.
“What would you like me to do? Do you want me on my back, or –“
“I don’t know,” Jamie confessed. “I’ve never –“
“Neither have I. I don’t know what’s best. I suppose it would be easiest if I were on my belly.” With a shuddering breath, he set the tin on the bedside table and lay full length on the bed, his head pillowed on his arms, his legs spread apart.
Trembling in earnest, Jamie climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Jim’s parted legs. He leant over Jim’s body and retrieved the pomade, opening the tin and swiping some of the greasy stuff onto his fingers. Cautiously, as if he’d never touched himself before, he grasped his cock and slid his hand back and forth, coating it with the substance. He reached down and caressed Jim’s arse, soft skin over taut muscles, moving in circles, echoing their curves with his fingertips. His breath grew sharp and short as he stroked, finally spreading them apart and positioning himself, then pushing inside. Immediately Jim’s muscles tightened, repelling him.
“Oh –“
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. No. Don’t stop. I’ll try to relax. Oh, God, Jamie. Please don’t stop.”
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.”
A shaky laugh broke from Jim’s throat. “Yes, sir.”
Jamie grasped Jim’s hips. “Raise up. Just a bit.” Jim obediently climbed to his knees, his head still on his arms, and Jamie tried again, holding on to Jim’s narrow hips. He pushed in part way and waited, watching the rapid rise and fall of Jim’s exquisite long back. “All right?”
“Yes. More.”
Jamie pushed in further, his body shaking as he held himself back. He wanted to thrust deeply, to drive himself all the way in. He concentrated on holding still, watching Jim’s body, the delicate knobs of his spine, the shift of his shoulder blades, the helpless curling and uncurling of his fingers in the pillow. It only enflamed him further; he pushed deeper, his thighs braced against Jim’s, his fingers digging into Jim’s flesh.
Beneath him, Jim moaned.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little, but – don’t stop, for God’s sake don’t –“ Jim moaned again and pushed back. “Ah –“
Jamie pushed deeper and felt himself entirely enclosed in a tight, hot grip that almost undid him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, then pulled back, shuddering as Jim’s muscles contracted around his cock. He thrust forward slowly, sweat stinging his eyes, and moved one hand between Jim’s thighs, curling around his hard prick.
Jim let out a hoarse cry and pushed back harder. Jamie slid back, then forward again, engulfed in delicious heat, establishing a rhythm that quickened rapidly as their bodies ground together, rocking back and forth, undulating, slippery and hot against each other. Jim cried out again, stifling the noise against his arm, and Jamie felt the muscles surrounding him seize and tighten, and a warm sticky trickling in his hand. He took his hand from Jim’s cock and grasped his hips again, thrusting deeper and deeper still, shoving himself forward, and at last released with a shuddering groan.
They stayed still for a long moment. At last, Jamie pulled himself free and collapsed next to Jim, who immediately put his arms round Jamie and pulled him close. Jamie buried his face in Jim’s neck, nuzzling the hollow of his throat, tasting salt. “I didn’t hurt you too badly?”
“It did hurt,” Jim said, stroking Jamie’s hair. “Quite a lot at first. And I think I shall be awfully sore tomorrow, but I don’t care. For a moment, when you…it was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it. I thought I would die from the pleasure of it. Let me look at you.”
Jamie brought his head level with Jim’s, resting on the pillow. “I need a bath.”
“Shall we both take one?”
“I doubt we’d fit in the tub together.”
“Nonsense, it’s huge. What a smashing idea, Jamie.” Jim rolled out of bed with a groan. “Come on, slugabed. Get up.”
“I’m sorry I mentioned it,” Jamie grumbled, and heaved himself up. His body was sticky with sweat and seed and pomade, though, and a bath would do them both good. He followed Jim into the bathroom and watched Jim run the hot water. “It is rather generously sized, isn’t it?”
“Yes, perfect for two. Don’t tell my dad, or he’ll stop making them.” Jim dropped a wink and shut the water off, then closed the bathroom door. “That’ll keep it nice and warm. Hop in.” He stepped into the tub and lowered himself with a sigh.
Jamie got in on the other side and sat, shivering as the hot water enclosed his sweat-chilled body. “Lovely.” He leaned back and drew his knees up. “Ah.”
Jim, who had his knees up as well, stretched his legs out, clasping Jamie’s hips. “That’s quite nice.”
“You’ve got a cheek, Captain Nicholls.”
“Plain old Mr. Nicholls now.” Jim smiled, his expression a bit wistful. “Do you know, I never thought I’d miss the army, but –“ He shrugged. “Some bits, anyhow.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. It’s not a bad old life.”
“Not for everyone. Your brother, for example.”
Jamie shook his head. “The very thought of Philip in the army is a ridiculous one. He only went because he was compelled to. And he didn’t exactly prosper there, if you recall.”
“No, in fact –“ Jim pressed his lips together. “Never mind. I’m sorry I said anything.”
Jamie nudged Jim’s thigh. “I rather envy you, having a job to go to every day. I find myself with time hanging heavy on my hands lately.”
“I could ask about, if you’re interested in publishing.”
“I don’t think that would suit me,” Jamie said.
“What about the War Office? Surely with most of the men returning to their ordinary lives, there must be something that interests you.”
“I haven’t much patience for paperwork.” Jamie smiled apologetically. “I’m not being terribly helpful, am I?”
“No, no, it’s just as important to know what you don’t want to do, I think, as it is to know what you do want. Not to worry, we’ll sort you out.”
Jamie caressed Jim’s leg, then drew his foot up and began to rub it, pressing his thumbs into the arch. “You must be terribly sore from all that dancing.”
Jim made an incoherent gurgling noise. “Good Lord, where did you learn to do that?” He slid lower in the water. “Don’t stop. Ever.”
Jamie snorted a laugh and began to rub the other foot. He gently bent Jim’s foot back, stretching it, and rubbed the heel, squeezing it. “Like it?”
“If I drowned – which I might – I would die a happy man.” Jim smiled.
Sweet, generous Jim. Jamie thought of Philip’s sneering insults, and his chest tightened with anger. “I’m sorry for Philip’s rudeness tonight.”
“It isn’t your fault. Besides, I thought you leapt to my defence quite bravely.”
“If only,” Jamie muttered.
“Here. Spin round and I’ll wash your back,” Jim said, sitting up. Jamie obediently turned, and Jamie rubbed soap over his back, scrubbing it gently with a flannel. “Arms up.” He soaped beneath Jamie’s arms, and moved forward, fitting himself against Jamie’s back. “Lean back on me.” He drew the soapy flannel up and down Jamie’s chest and scrubbed his belly, then kissed his ear. “I had a bit of a panic earlier, and I’m sorry about it. I was being utterly unfair to you. I don’t expect you to have answers.”
“But the questions haven’t gone away.”
“No.” Jim fell silent and wordlessly washed Jamie’s arms and thighs. “Shall I wash your hair?”
“Thank you.”
Jim wetted Jamie’s hair and soaped it, moving his fingertips back and forth until Jamie was limp with relaxation. “My parents will disown me when they learn the truth. My father will, at least, and my mother will be forced to go along with him, even if she doesn’t repudiate me in her heart. I reckon I’m trying to get used to the notion. What about your parents?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie murmured. “They’ve never paid me much mind. I expect they’d be quite angry, though I don’t know if they’d disown me altogether. They’ve always muttered sympathetically about my cousin Percy and how badly my aunt and uncle treat him, but it might be another thing entirely to have a son who indulges in the Greek vice.”
Jim chuckled. “’The Greek vice.’ Good God.”
“As if the Greeks were the only ones,” Jamie said.
“The only ones who admitted to it, I suppose.” Jim tilted Jamie’s face upwards with a finger, bent, and kissed his mouth. He pulled back and traced the teardrop-shaped indentation above Jamie’s upper lip. “Yes. I quite like this new look.”
“I’ll keep it, then.” To hell with Philip. And to hell with Jim’s parents, too, if they turned him away. If they wantonly discarded the gift of Jim’s love and affection, they didn’t realise its value and didn’t deserve it in the first place. If there was such a thing as perfect mortal happiness, he had it, deserved or not. In Jim’s arms, he knew paradise; in Jim’s letters and gifts and palpable grace and generosity, he’d found solace to see him through the worst darkness he’d ever known. And as long as he had Jim beside him, he knew he could never be truly unhappy again. Humble gratitude filled his heart. He grasped Jim’s hand and squeezed it.
“Shall we go back to bed?”
Jamie brushed the back of his hand over Jim’s cheek. “Yes, if you answer a question first.”
“Why, of course.”
“Will you grow old with me?”
“Yes.” Jim caught Jamie’s hand and kissed it. “Yes.”
*
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