by Ruby Moone
Chapter 7
Charles lay sprawled on Harry’s chest. On the rug in front of the fire in his study. He couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. Ever. The younger man had his arms around him tightly, possessively, and for the first time in his life he felt complete. Full; whole. It felt as though this was who he was, this was what he was meant to do. He was meant to love another man and there was nothing that would change that. He knew he couldn’t keep Harry, he had made that plain, but that didn’t stop the welling of feeling inside him. But they had the night, possibly the day tomorrow and he intended to make the very best of it before he too left him.
“Did I hurt you?” Harry whispered a little while later as he sifted gentle fingers through Charles’ hair.
“No. It was wonderful. Thank you.”
“So polite,” Harry said with a soft laugh. “It was wonderful for me, too.”
Charles ran a finger down Harry’s naked chest and kissed his nipple, making him squirm.
“You are remarkable,” Charles said softly. When Harry didn’t reply, Charles squeezed him tighter. “Don’t worry, I remember everything you said. I know you have to leave.” He wriggled a little so he could lift his head and look up at him. Harry’s eyes held wariness, tenderness…so many things. “I know it is just for tonight, so let’s enjoy what we have.”
“Truly?” Harry said with a small smile.
“Truly.”
Harry’s smile broadened. “Is there any more of that cake left?”
Charles stared at him a moment and then laughed, dropping his head onto Harry’s beautiful chest and rubbed his face in the soft hair that dusted the space between his nipples.
“What?”
“Nothing. We shall eat cake by the fire. Naked.”
“Best way if you ask my opinion,” Harry said, shuffling around.
Charles got up and headed to the kitchen to seek out something to clean themselves with and brought the rest of the rich fruit cake with him and a platter of cheese.
“Here you go,” he said, offering the bowl and towel to Harry, having cleaned himself.
Harry took it and tended to himself whilst Charles folded both robes and put them neatly on a chair, then cut more cake and poured more brandy. They pulled up armchairs in front of the fire by Harry’s makeshift bed and sat themselves on the floor, leaning against them, and each other, wrapping the other blanket around their shoulders.
“This is the most wonderful Christmas,” Charles said around a mouthful of cake. He held his hand to his mouth as he chewed and then smiled. “Snowed in with a magnificent cake and a beautiful man.”
Harry laughed and leaned against him. “Snowed in with a magnificent cake and a beautiful angel.” He settled his head against Charles shoulder and put his hand on his chest. Charles covered the hand with his own and lay his cheek against Harry’s soft hair. They stayed like that for a while, just staring into the firelight, each lost in their own thoughts until Harry shivered.
“You’re cold,” Charles murmured, lifting Harry’s hand to his lips.
“No, just someone walking over my grave.”
“You can tell me, you know.”
Harry fidgeted. “Tell you what?”
Charles looked down at him, laid so trustingly against him, naked and vulnerable. He smiled and kissed the top of his head. “You can tell me what troubles you, what had you running in the snow, what brought you to me.”
Harry scrunched up. He drew his legs up tight and burrowed tighter against him. “There’s nothing wrong.”
In that moment the ten years between them felt like a hundred. Charles kissed his head again. “If you say so, but you can always talk to me. I would never judge you.” He could feel the tension in Harry’s body as they sat silent, but then he uncurled in a sinuously beautiful movement and rolled over to straddle Charles’ lap. Charles caught him by the waist, a smile curving his lips as he watched Harry’s erection grow.
“Oh, to be twenty again,” he laughed. “Insatiable boy.”
Harry’s answering grin was wicked. He leaned forward and put his hands on Charles’ shoulder, his hair a wild mass of curls, his eyes endless, unreadable pools of darkness. He leaned forward and let his mouth hover over Charles’, nipping at his lips. Charles moaned and reached up but Harry held himself just out of reach. He touched his lips to Charles’ chin, his nose and Charles followed, trying to latch onto his mouth until he growled with frustration, grabbed Harry around the waist, and tumbled him onto his back. Harry went down laughing and let Charles grab his hands and pin them up over his head. He lay there, smiling, arms spread, and Charles’ breath stuck in his chest. His heart squeezed so tight it hurt. He straddled Harry and put a finger in the centre of each of his palms, and then ran them gently down the tender skin of the underside of each arm, watching each finger in turn, touching, feeling; absorbing him. He touched the backs of his fingers to the hair under his arms and then ran his hands over his chest. Harry’s breathing was uneven. Charles brought his gaze up to Harry’s face. His eyes were wide, watchful; filled with an aching desire that was echoed in every part of Charles’ body. He leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to Harry’s, swallowing the soft moan. He kissed his eyes, his forehead, wanting to imprint every part of that beautiful face in his memory. Harry remained still and allowed his exploration for a little while, but then surprised Charles by grabbing them and flipping them over. Charles found himself on his back, a little winded, with Harry grinning down at him.
“Let’s go to bed.” He dropped a hard kiss on Charles’ lips. “It’s Christmas and I want my angel.”
Charles ran his hands down Harry’s sides and took his arse in both hands, massaging his taut cheeks. “Insatiable boy,” he said again.
Harry growled. “I. Am. Not. A. Boy.” Every word was punctuated with a kiss until they were both laughing. Harry languished against him for a moment and then jumped up and offered a hand. Charles let him pull him up and tow him out of the room. Charles glanced at the mess before the fireside and opened his mouth to speak, but took one look at Harry and abandoned it.
Chapter 8
They ran through the house to the bedroom because it was bloody freezing. Harry kept hold of Charlie’s hand as he ran behind him. It was a lovely house. Soft, thick carpet, shiny polished wood. It felt like a home. Something inside Harry ached. Charlie stopped outside what looked like a bedchamber door and turned. His face was soft in the candlelight, his hair pale.
“This is my chamber.” He touched the door.
“Well, let’s get in there. I’m freezing my cock off out here.” He huddled against the warmth of Charlie’s body and smiled when he was held tight.
“What?” he asked when Charlie didn’t move.
Charlie kissed his temple. “I’ve never had a man in my house before, in my chamber, so I am savouring the moment.”
Something akin to panic shivered down Harry’s spine at the feeling of being…cherished. Of feeling cared for. He wrapped his arms around Charlie and, shaking the feeling away, held tight. Charlie kissed him gently again and then opened the door.
A blanket of warmth hit Harry as they slid into the room and closed the door quickly behind them. Along with the warmth came the scent of sandalwood and polish that he knew instantly he would always associate with Charlie. The sandalwood was Charlie, the polish; his house. The fire crackled and spat as he looked around. The room, like the rest of the house, was immaculate with everything lined up with military precision.
He spotted the large bed with two bed warmer handles sticking out. One each side. “Did you plan this?” he said, incredulous.
Even in the firelight Harry could tell that Charlie blushed furiously. He swallowed and gestured awkwardly. “I hoped.” He nodded. “I just hoped you might…”
Harry moved closer. Firelight danced over Charlie’s nakedness. “Hoped what?” he said and reached out to take hold of Charlie’s hand, but he moved away rubbing the back of his neck.
“
Nothing. I don’t know, just…perhaps there might be…you might…want me.” He headed towards the bed and began fiddling with the sheets.
Harry immediately went and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. He kissed the side of his neck and rubbed his nose against his ear.
“I do want you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the warmth that was Charlie. His heart beat was heavy. He sucked in a breath and turned Charlie so they could hold each other properly.
“I still have to go,” he said, more for his own sake.
He felt Charlie smile. “I know. Probably for the best. I’m not very good with people. Best not to rely on me.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before Harry could ask he was swept up in Charlie’s arms being kissed in a way that disconnected his brain. He gave up thinking and threw himself into a kiss that made his legs weak.
He pulled away panting. “We didn’t bring the oil,” he said.
“I have more oil there,” Charlie said nodding to a bottle sat on the table beside the bed.
Harry grinned. Charlie flushed again and let go of him to remove the warming pans, then then they tumbled into the bed laughing and shivering until they found the warm parts.
“My feet are freezing,” Harry said, trying to tuck them between Charlie’s warmer ones. Charlie yelped and a skirmish ensued that left them both sweating and laughing. They huddled under the blankets and explored soft skin, hard muscle, and aching cocks. When Harry was happy that Charlie was close to the edge, he reached out for the oil. When Charlie started to roll over he stopped him.
“I want to do it facing you,” he whispered. “I want to see you.”
Charlie hesitated.
“Like this,” Harry said, pulling a pillow down so he could stuff it beneath Charlie’s backside and settle himself in the space between his thighs.
Charlie looked serious as he reached up and took Harry’s face between his hands. He sighed.
“My beautiful boy.”
“My beautiful angel,” Harry replied and they kissed for a moment.
Harry applied the oil to his hands and found Charlie’s entrance, making him moan. He stretched and rubbed until Charlie was writhing beneath him.
“Pull your legs right up,” he murmured as he oiled his cock. He daren’t touch it too much he was so close. He wasn’t sure how long he could last.
“Right up,” he said, positioning Charlie’s hands to hold up his thighs. “That way it won’t hurt.”
“Hurry,” Charlie whispered, “please hurry.”
Harry lined himself up and eased in, suddenly conscious that he might be sore from before. He rocked himself gently, watching his face.
“Tell me if it hurts. Are you sore?”
“It’s perfect,” Charlie whispered.
* * * *
Charles held tight. Held tight to the man, the moment, and the pleasure that rippled through every fibre of his being. There was nothing in the world that would ever compare to being filled by Harry Valentine. Harry’s face was pressed against his neck and he could feel the tremors that rippled through him. Cocooned in the warmth of the bed, confined by the blankets and firelight, it felt as though they were in their own, private place where no-one or nothing could intrude. He let his hands roam down Harry’s back, his buttocks, his shoulders until Harry started to move. Gently at first, slowly, making each thrust long and deep as though he was memorising every second in exactly the way that Charles was. Harry’s lips found his and they kissed. Harry’s tongue delved into his mouth just as his cock delved into his body and Charles took him in. All of him—and felt claimed. Someone wanted him, someone needed him. As Harry’s thrusts grew harder, faster, shorter, Charles waited for him to find that spot inside that lit up the world and when he did he cried out long and loud, moaning and writhing, thrusting to meet Harry until he spent so hard, the darkness closed in on him for a moment. He felt Harry go rigid and heard him shout as he emptied himself, body and soul, into Charles. Sweating and panting they clung to each other as though the other were the only other person in the world, the only other person that mattered.
* * * *
Charles cleaned himself and then tended to his lover. His lover. He liked that. He climbed back into the bed and settled his head on Harry’s chest. Those hard arms came about him and he closed his eyes.
“That was the most amazing…Christ, Charlie, I’m almost dead,” Harry said.
Charles just held him tighter.
“Did I hurt you? You must have been sore from last time; I should have thought…”
“Harry, I am fine. Truly.” It was the truth. He was. His body was perfectly fine but his emotions felt stripped raw and flayed.
“Oh, Charlie,” he murmured nuzzling his head. “Do you mind me calling you Charlie?”
Charles thought about it for a moment, trying to push back the feelings that the name evoked.
“Charlie is fine. It’s just…” he hesitated. “My sister used to call me Charlie.”
He felt Harry shift so that he could look down at him. “Used to?”
Charles stared at his chest, tracing a pattern with his finger. “Yes. She died.”
Harry was quiet for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Was it recent?” His hands stroked Charles’ back.
Charles shook his head. “Carriage accident. I was ten, she was eight.” He forcibly beat back the terror that threatened to consume him. “Mother and Father died, too.”
“Were you with them?”
Charles felt like he was drowning. “Yes. Lucky to survive.” It was hard to breathe. He couldn’t quite believe he had told Harry. That he had allowed the memory to surface. He couldn’t move. He felt Harry’s arms tighten about him, felt his lips in his hair.
“I couldn’t save them. It took them a while to find us.” Charles was back in the carriage, listening to the terrified horses screaming, listening to his father…
“Oh, love,” Harry whispered into his hair.
The darkness, the sounds, the fear all bubbled up out of nowhere and swamped him. He tried to push it back, but before he could the tears started leaking from his eyes. He tried to stop them, shamed by them, but Harry kissed them and that opened the floodgates and Charles, for the first time in his life, wept for his lost family, and for himself.
When the storm subsided, he lay quiet in Harry’s arms. Harry was still gently stroking him and every now and then would kiss the top of his head.
“Sorry,” he murmured, and tried to move away.
Harry held tight. “Stay there.”
They lay in silence for a while. Charles was drained. Completely drained. Emotion was not something that he dealt with on a regular basis, in fact, his life was ordered specifically to avoid it, but laying in Harry’s arms he found he could think about his sister and parents without feeling like he was going to fall into some unnamable, inescapable void.
Charles moved a little and looked up at Harry in the firelight. “I think you should call me Charlie.”
Chapter 9
Harry held Charlie as he slept and wiped the tears from his own face. He trailed a finger down Charlie’s back, wondering at the network of scars and his life as a soldier. He didn’t look like a soldier, but that didn’t mean anything. He kissed Charlie’s head and closed his eyes. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how young Charlie had felt losing his whole family like that, but having held the man in his arms as he wept, he felt connected to him in a way he couldn’t explain and felt ill-equipped to deal with. Every moment that he spent with Charlie made him feel torn. He needed to get back on the road to Scarborough, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his angel needed him.
He dozed a little, keeping one eye on the huge clock on the mantel that was just about visible in the firelight. He needed to watch the weather and be out of the house and on the road as soon as the snow let up. He needed to keep ahead and could only pray that the snow had held up hi
s pursuers in the same way.
He needed to get to Scarborough and get to Julian. The only chance that he had of doing that was in a carriage and with money. There were two ways that he could accomplish that. He could steal from Charlie. He could take his horse and carriage, steal some money…the thought of doing that was so abhorrent it made him shudder. A few hours ago he would have done it without a backward glance. The other way was to tell all. Tell him everything. The whole sordid story of his life and beg him to help. He was fairly sure that Charlie was goodhearted enough to make sure he got to Scarborough, but once he knew the truth? Well, that would most certainly put paid to anything that there might have been between them. He squeezed his eyes shut. Who was he fooling? There could never be anything between them. For a start, Charlie was a toff and he was from the gutter. Moreover, and more importantly, they were men. Men were not allowed to love men. He would never be able to have a family with another man. His kind were not even deemed fit to live amongst decent people; not fit to live. He was not the kind of man who had Christmas miracles. He was the wrong kind of man.
Charlie stirred and then seemed to go quite still. Harry swallowed. He hoped that he didn’t regret it. Men got funny when they regretted sexual congress with another man and seldom wanted to be faced with their transgression. Charlie’s head came up. He blinked a couple of times and then his face dissolved into that beautiful, shy, lopsided smile and Harry relaxed.
“Did I lean on you the whole night?” Charlie whispered.
“You did.”
“That must have been damnably uncomfortable,” he said, not moving.
“Not a bit.” They smiled at each other. Soft morning smiles that held the reflection of the night before, flushed cheeks that recalled the pleasure and rekindled the delight.
Charlie moved off him. Harry followed and rolled him onto his back. He pulled the blankets around them as he did so because the fire had dwindled to almost nothing and there was a distinct chill. Charlie went willingly and opened his legs so that Harry could lay between them and then wrapped his arms around him.
