by Anthology
ConnorCap: Can you do me a favour?
JamieArt: Sure. What?
I wondered if I was going to have to scour the shops for more Fruit Gums. They weren't easy to find.
ConnorCap: Will you send me something of yours? A pillowcase, T-shirt? Just something that smells of you? The photo isn't enough. I look at it and it's fucking torment.
JamieArt: You kinky bastard.
I thought it best to try and keep it light.
JamieArt: What would you prefer? I'm wearing my black T-shirt right now. Do you want me to send that?
ConnorCap: Oh, Christ yes. You look so fucking hot in that shirt. Just take it off, wrap it up, and send it. Don't wash it, please.
JamieArt: It smells of baked goods. I wore it to work today.
It was also dusted with flour and smudged with fondant icing. He didn't need to know that.
ConnorCap: Even better. Send it.
I removed the shirt, folded it, and set it on the desk.
JamieArt: Right, I've taken it off. It's freezing cold in this bloody flat but I'm sitting here, without my favourite black T-shirt because I'm about to shove it in a big brown envelope and send it to you. Because I love you.
There was a pause. For a moment I wondered if the line had gone. It wouldn't have been the first time. It wasn't like BT ran a service out in the wilds of Helmand Province.
ConnorCap: The mental image I have right now… what you do to me, Jamie. I'm closing my eyes and I can feel your skin beneath my fingertips. I feel your breath catch in your throat when I touch you, when I move my hand lower… Jesus. I wish I could have a wank but I'm in the mess tent.
I could almost hear his voice, low, soft and wistful.
JamieArt: You'll have to wait until you're back in your tent then.
ConnorCap: Yeah, my bunk mate would really appreciate that. No wanking here. It would be sod's law, nearly at the crucial moment and we'd be shelled or there'd be an emergency.
JamieArt: Christ, you wouldn't want that.
ConnorCap: Have a wank for me. Please. At least let me know I can still get you off.
I was already hard. I slid my hand beneath my jeans.
JamieArt: All right then. Start talking dirty.
ConnorCap: Tell me what you're doing.
JamieArt: I've just opened my flies. My dick is poking out of the top of my shorts. What do you want me to do now?
ConnorCap: Run your thumb over the top, just like you do to me. Imagine it's me touching you.
I closed my eyes for a moment, summoning Connor's image, feeling the slow sweep of his thumb around the tip of my cock.
ConnorCap: Tell me how it feels.
JamieArt: Like you're here with me. Like you're touching me.
I moved my hand up and down, squeezing, twisting, palming the top and sliding beneath my balls. I was already close; it had been that long. I lost myself in the moment, pausing to take a deep breath and look at the screen.
ConnorCap: Jamie?
JamieArt: Here. Just.
ConnorCap: Are you close? Oh, God, tell me you're close.
JamieArt: Yes.
Bloody close. Everything blurred; everything spun. I whimpered when I came. I dropped my head and caught my breath. I picked up the shirt and wiped myself with it.
ConnorCap: Jamie? Are you there?
JamieArt: Yes.
ConnorCap: Did you come?
JamieArt: Yes. Yes, I did.
I looked at the shirt.
JamieArt: About that shirt.
ConnorCap: Oh, no, you didn't?
JamieArt: I did. It was handy so I… It's all right. I'll sleep in one tonight.
ConnorCap: Yes, that'll do. I love the smell of you when you're sleeping. Look, I'd better go. It's late and I need my wits about me these days. Goodnight, Jamie. I love you.
JamieArt: I love you too.
The message box disappeared from the screen. I stared at it for a while, feeling more than a little lonely and a little ashamed. I turned the computer off, tossed the T-shirt in the hamper and went to bed, too tired and sad to stay awake.
Chapter Six
I set the dirty plates beside the sink. "That's the last of them. Thank Christ."
Hayley glanced through the door. "Quiet today, wasn't it?"
"Can you blame anyone? It's pissing down out there." The wind hurled rain against the kitchen windows. "Typical March weather." I just wanted to go upstairs, put my feet up and mark another day off the calendar. Three more weeks. Connor only had to hang on another three weeks and that would be it. He'd be home.
"No, I can't." She wrapped the remains of a chocolate cake and stowed it away.
I reached up to turn off the radio, tired of listening to the happy, poppy music.
"Several British soldiers were reported wounded today after a skirmish with insurgents in Helmand Province."
Hayley's face turned white. She looked at me with wide eyes. "Turn it off. You don't want to be listening to that."
"Too late. I already want to vomit." I leaned over the counter, fingers gripping the cold steel.
"Not in my bloody kitchen you don't." Hayley steered me firmly toward the back door. "It's all right. Connor will be fine. If anything had happened to him, you would've heard."
I opened the door and drew in a lungful of damp, cold air. "We don't know that."
"Of course we bloody do. His parents would phone you. Didn't you say that's what he'd arranged?"
I let the rain fall on my face and remembered that conversation on a deserted Welsh beach, the warmth of his breath on my skin, the way his arms slid around my waist, drawing me close, offering refuge from the October chill. Talk of ashes and lawyers. The sorrow in Connor's eyes; the ache inside me.
Jesus, not now, not when we're so close.
Hayley turned the kitchen lights out. "Come on, I'm taking you upstairs and making you a cup of strong, sweet tea. It'll be all right."
I took a deep breath and let her lead me up the steps. I shoved the key in the door and stumbled into the kitchen.
"Go and sit down and I'll get that tea." She bustled me into the living room.
"You don't have to. What about Jamie?"
"He'll be fine. He can get his own tea."
Sinking into a chair and setting my phone on the coffee table, I willed it not to ring. Hayley clattered about in the kitchen. She hummed while she waited for the kettle to boil. I closed my eyes and thought of Connor. I was wishing he was there, wishing I could hold him and protect him from the world.
"Here you go." Hayley set the mug on the table. "Drink up." She sat on the settee and sipped her tea.
I stared at the phone and prayed for it to remain silent.
"See, it's not ringing. That's a good thing, right?" Hayley offered me an uncertain smile. "Come on, drink your tea. I'm not leaving until you've finished it."
"Jesus, Hayls."
"I mean it. Don't make me go all big meany-pants sister-in-law on you."
I picked up the mug and sipped the tea. Bloody, sodding tea, the British cure-all for every disaster or ailment. I thought wistfully about the bottle of Irish whiskey in the kitchen cupboard and wondered if it was too early to start drinking. There was a bottle of champagne in the fridge. I'd bought that in anticipation of Connor's homecoming. Fucking hell, I'd jinxed it all.
Hayley set her empty mug down and glanced at the clock. "It's been half an hour. You would've heard by now if it was bad news, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I suppose so." My hands had stopped shaking and the roiling in my gut died down to a lingering nausea. "I just wish he was home. These last six months have been hell enough for me. God alone knows what it's been like for him. He never says. I guess he can't since he's on a welfare laptop."
She gathered up the empty mugs and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm sure he's counting down the days until he sees you again. Will you go and meet him?"
"As much as I'd like to, I can't. He's not told his men about me. He doesn'
t want them finding out." I tried to dismiss the little stab of hurt at the thought. "I thought he might change his mind, but so far he hasn't."
"There's still three weeks. Perhaps he will."
The phone vibrated, indicating an incoming email. I picked it up.
Bad day at the office. I survived. I love you. C.
"He's all right." I sank back into the chair.
"Thank Christ for that."
I typed in a reply.
Was worried sick. Glad you're ok. Love you right back. J.
"I'll leave you to it." Hayley carried the mugs into the kitchen. "I'm so relieved."
"Thanks." The long, empty evening stretched ahead of me. Only three more weeks. We can do this.
* * * *
Another week marked off the calendar. I sat down with my microwaved curry and stared at the television. Behind me, on the desk, the laptop remained resolutely silent. No messages since the day of the ambush. My inbox held nothing but spam emails and a weekly update from my mother. I'd sent a couple of "How are you doing? " emails, but they were left unanswered.
When the phone rang, I felt a foolish lift of hope. I set my plate down and picked up the phone. When I saw Connor's mum's name flashing on the screen my appetite disappeared, swallowed by worry.
"Hello, Jamie." Mrs Lewis's voice was warm. "How are you?"
"Counting down the days." I took a deep breath. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine. I was just calling to see if you'll be coming to Brize Norton with us."
The stabbing pain returned. I pushed the half-eaten curry away. "I hadn't planned on it."
"But you must. He'll want to see you there."
"No, he doesn't want me there. As far as I know, he hasn't changed his mind. He hasn't told his men."
"He hasn't?" Mrs Lewis sighed. "Silly boy. Perhaps you should come anyway."
"I… I'm not sure that would be such a good idea."
"Of course it is. Come to the house in the morning and we'll go down together. He's hardly going to kick up a fuss if you're there, is he?"
I hated that she made sense. The stabbing pain disappeared. The curry smelt good once more. "All right, I'll be there."
"Marvellous. I'll let you know the details closer to the time. I don't imagine you'll be wanting to spend the day here. You'll both want to be together without all the family fuss."
Christ knows, I don't.
All I wanted was time alone with Connor to make up for all the time we'd spent apart.
Chapter Seven
The arrivals hall at RAF Brize Norton was a heaving mass of fractious children, balloons, banners, and anxious families. I stared at the runway, at the plane that taxied with agonising slowness toward the terminal. The steps were wheeled out to meet it.
"Are you all right?" Maggie touched my shoulder.
I tried to push the desperate fluttering in my stomach away, seeking some comfort in the feel of cool glass beneath my fingertips. "Yeah. I think so."
"So you didn't tell him you'd be here?"
"No. I reckoned he couldn't say no if he didn't know."
"I didn't tell him either. I want to see the look of pure joy on his face when he sees you." Maggie smiled. "Don't worry. I know my son, Jamie; I know that he's been torn to pieces from missing you. When he sees you, he won't give a damn what anyone thinks."
"I hope you're right." I wiped my clammy palms on my jeans when the plane doors opened. After a moment's pause, soldiers, still in their desert fatigues, filed down the steps and walked wearily toward the terminal.
"There he is." Connor's dad pointed. "Top of the steps."
The spring breeze tugged at Connor's dark hair. I had to try to remember how to breathe as I watched him make his way down the steps. Weariness dogged his every step. It didn't matter. He was home in one piece, and all I wanted to do was touch him.
It seemed to take forever for the men to reach the terminal. I stood between Maggie and Robert watching the doorway and ignoring the other joyful reunions taking place all around us. When Connor walked towards us, everything inside just seemed to stop, the world fell into muffled silence. Even Maggie's tight grip on my arm ceased to matter. There was only Connor, exhaustion etched in the dark smudges beneath his eyes, stubble clouding his cheeks.
I think Maggie sobbed. I'm not sure. I know she hurried toward her son and I watched him embrace her, while Robert looked on, wiping his eyes. I couldn't move. I didn't want to break their moment.
Connor stepped away from his parents. Looking for a clue, I tried to read his face, wondering what he was thinking, whether he was angry or ashamed or panicked because I was there.
"Jamie." He made my name sound like a prayer of thanksgiving.
"Hi." So stupidly inadequate. I hoped my expression told him everything I was too tongue-tied to say.
"My God, man, you're a sight for sore eyes." He sidestepped his discarded gear and swept me into a fierce hug. "Oh, thank Christ you came."
I tightened my hold on him and closed my eyes as his cheek brushed against mine, his breath hot on my skin. He smelt of aviation fuel and dust, and his hair was soft beneath my fingers. "Really?"
Connor stepped back and cupped his hands around my face. "Really. I don't care who knows." He covered my lips with his, drawing me back into his arms once more.
It didn't matter where we were. The whole bloody lot of them could've stopped and watched for all I cared. Evidently, Connor wasn't all that fussed either. There was nothing in his kiss but desperation and heat. I was sorry when he let me go.
He retrieved his pack. "Let's go home."
* * * *
I closed the window to the chilly evening breeze and drew the curtains against the gathering dusk. Connor emerged from the shower wearing nothing but a smile and a towel loosely draped around his waist. My breath caught at the sight of him, leaner but no less beautiful.
"That's better. First decent shower for months." He kissed me.
"Welcome home." I wanted to strip the towel away and drag him into the bedroom. Instead, I rested my hands on the curve of his arse, just happy to be able to feel it again.
"Can we go to bed? I know it's early and we haven't eaten, but I just want to make love to you."
"Yes." I kissed him back, feeling his lips part beneath mine.
Connor took my hand and led me those few short feet to the bedroom. He'd already closed the curtains. The lamplight cast a soft amber glow across the bed where the duvet was turned back. "I've waited a long time for this," he whispered.
"So have I." I hurried out of my clothes, kicking them to the side before Connor pulled me down onto the mattress, onto him.
He grabbed my hips and silenced me with his touch while he moved beneath me, slowly grinding his dick against mine. "I don't think this is going to take very long." His voice was a ragged gasp in my ear. "I've been wanting this… wanting you for so bloody long."
I swept my tongue between his lips, unable to string enough words together to answer him. It was just enough to feel him, that there was nothing between us and no sound except our sighs and the muted rustle of bedclothes. It was a dance without music. None was needed, just his touch, his heat, his whispers and moans. We quickened together, suddenly desperate. Connor's hands swept over my skin, reigniting long dormant fires. The world could've ended at that moment and I wouldn't have cared. I was where I wanted to be.
"Oh…" Connor lifted beneath me, fingers sliding over my shoulders. He pushed his head back into the pillow and groaned, spilling between us.
It was enough to set me off. I hid my face in his neck and came.
We rested in the silence, breathless and warm. Connor stroked my back and covered my face with kisses. I didn't want to move.
"I love you." He moved his lips over my cheek.
"I love you too." I rolled off him and grabbed a handful of tissues. I wiped us both down and returned to lying on top of him, loving the warmth and the way we fit together as if he'd never bee
n away.
Connor twined his fingers through my hair. "I'm glad you were there to meet me. That's when I knew I was really home."
I lifted my head to look at him. "You can thank your mum for that. I wasn't going to come. I didn't want to give anything away but she talked me into it."
"I'm glad she did. You didn't give anything away. I told them all."
"You did?" I touched his bottom lip.
"After that fucking ambush. None of us could sleep much that night. We sat in the mess tent and stayed up half the night just talking. Naturally, talk drifted to wives and girlfriends and someone just asked outright if I had a girlfriend." Connor followed the line of my jaw with his forefinger. "It seemed as good a time as any to tell them I had a boyfriend."
"How did they take it?"
He laughed. "No one seemed to be surprised. So, I took that photograph out that I carry with me and showed them."
"You still have that photograph?"
Connor edged out from beneath me and reached for his discarded jacket. He fumbled around in an inside pocket. "It's a bit tattered now." He pressed it into my hand.
Me on the beach on a windy day, all windblown and cold. The photo was crinkled and crumpled around the edges.
"It went everywhere with me. It was the last thing I looked at every night before I fell asleep holding your T-shirt. So when I showed them the photograph, I was bloody proud and happy that I could finally share you and show them what a lucky man I am."
"Are you trying to make me cry?" My throat tightened.
"I'm trying to tell you how much I love you." Connor gathered me up. I rested my hand on his chest and felt the familiar, steady thud of his heart. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm going to phone the owners of that cottage and make them an offer they'd be foolish to refuse. Then we're going to spend the rest of our lives looking at that beach on stormy days. What do you reckon to that?"
