A Hidden Beauty

by Jamie Craig

  Micah pulled back, but only far enough for their eyes to meet. The clear amber irises were as surprising to see now as it had been that first day Micah had approached him. Jefferson doubted he would ever quit marveling at just how beautiful they really were. The hand he brought up to touch Jefferson’s face trembled where it connected to his brow, his cheek, his chin.

  “So you do not begrudge my fears?” he whispered. “Even now, even with Ewan in the house, all I can think of is holding you as close as I can and never letting go.”

  Jefferson had already forgotten about Ewan, but even mention of the other man wasn’t enough to make Jefferson release Micah.

  “How can I begrudge you your fears? Don’t make me let you go.” He kissed Micah’s jaw and his neck. “Don’t make me pretend that I can tolerate to be separated from you.”

  “I shall not.” The mattress groaned as Micah stretched out next to him, and he tilted his head to allow Jefferson more room to taste. “But we should be discreet. Ewan understands our passion, but it would hardly be wise to remind him of what he does not currently have.”

  “Of course,” Jefferson breathed, relieved by Micah’s concession. He would have liked to strip Micah out of his clothes, would have loved nothing more than to explore and worship each inch of his bare skin. But he knew such a request would be going too far. He was more than happy to continue kissing Micah’s throat and let his hand drift down his body. “He won’t have any idea what we are up to.”

  Micah’s soft chuckle throbbed between them. “Oh, I’m of the opinion any longer that Ewan knows exactly what we are up to.”

  His weight shifted as he picked up the edge of the blanket and spread it over him as well, the gesture bringing their lower bodies in full contact. Jefferson sighed as Micah’s arousal nudged against his own, but it was the caress of a cheek against his own that made his soul soar.

  “I’m also of the opinion that you are my very heart,” Micah murmured. “When I thought I would lose you in the fire, it felt as if I was the one caught within the flames.”

  Jefferson smoothed his hand down Micah’s back, molding their bodies together. He turned his head, seeking out any warm skin he could find with his mouth. He let himself be content to nuzzle Micah for the moment, in awe that he could do something so simple, so basic as to enjoy the close, physical contact of the one person in the world he adored. But the pressure of Micah’s erection reminded him of a more primal need. It wasn’t enough to hold him, and it likely never would be. He slid his hand over Micah’s hip and between their bodies to palm Micah’s arousal through his pants.

  A soft sigh tickled across Jefferson’s ear. “Your touch undoes me.” Micah grazed fingertips along his chest, seeking out the buttons in order to free Jefferson of his shirt. “Is this unusual? Or is this love, and I am but an innocent in these matters?”

  Each brush of Micah’s fingers against Jefferson’s skin made him shiver. He waited to respond until Micah finished his task and began to run his knuckles up and down Jefferson’s chest. “A little of both, I suppose. This is what love is like, but I’ve never experienced it to this degree.”

  When Micah bent his head to kiss along Jefferson’s neck, he drew his hand down and down, stopping only at the buttons of Jefferson’s trousers. “And consider how it will grow,” he breathed. His hot fingers slipped inside the offending pants, stroking the throbbing length of Jefferson’s shaft in delicate flutters that drove him mad for more. “My feeling for you when we first met is but a shadow of its shape now. I’m certain that a year’s time, a decade’s, will see it overwhelming even more.”

  Jefferson muffled his moan by ducking his head into Micah’s neck. He knew he needed to stay silent, knew he promised Micah they would be discreet, but he wondered how he could keep his promise if Micah kept touching him like that. He fumbled with Micah’s pants, working the buttons free with trembling fingers. He could feel the heat from Micah’s flesh before he touched him, and his stomach clenched at the first brush of his fingertips over velvety skin.

  “I am a little afraid of it growing more than this,” Jefferson confessed in a low whisper. “It has already begun to consume me.”

  The loss when Micah pulled back almost made him lend chase after his mouth, but the lift of those thick lashes stayed any such motion. “But you will have me right there with you.” He brushed his lips along Jefferson’s, a butterfly kiss in a raging summer, while his hand curled around Jefferson’s length to begin stroking. “For as long as you wish me there.”

  Another fluttering kiss and another punctuated Micah’s promise. Jefferson fisted Micah’s prick and pushed against his hand, moving against each stroke.

  “I know.” He swiped his thumb over the wet tip, smearing the fluid there before sliding his palm down Micah’s shaft. “I know. I’ll never doubt that, Micah.”

  His lips parted when Micah deepened the kiss, pressing their upper bodies together as their hands continued to move. Languid caresses of fingers and tongues, heat rising that had nothing to do with the memory of the fire. It banished the last of any fears or queries.

  “I love you more than I ever thought possible,” Micah said against his mouth. “Thank you for such bounty.”

  Micah’s gratitude swelled in Jefferson’s chest and spread through him. It was sincere and simple, and Jefferson could sense that he meant more. Jefferson chased the words in Micah’s mouth with his tongue, tracing his lips and teeth and the soft corners. He communicated his desire for more—more pressure, more friction, more everything—by squeezing Micah’s shaft gently and letting the edges of his teeth scrape across Micah’s lips.

  “You are more than welcome to it. For as long as I live.” He paused, considering the reality of Joseph and his undeniable emotions. “And beyond that.”

  Micah trembled. Their teeth clashed as he fought for more in the kiss, and their knuckles knocked against each other as he strengthened his strokes. The tip of his prick left a wet trail where it dragged along Jefferson’s stomach, but while the desire to taste prompted the urge to bend down and replace his hand with his mouth, Jefferson remained where he was, simply matching Micah’s growing ardor.

  Jefferson knew when Micah began to approach his breaking point. He heard snatches of broken poetry between each kiss, as though Micah had no control over his mouth, or the words that spilled from him. They were dark and light and covered him like Micah’s fingers. Jefferson joined the soft chorus, whispering promises of love and more. Their bodies twisted and writhed, and his trousers felt tangled around his legs. Later, he promised himself, later, they would do this properly.

  The thought of later, in conjunction with Micah’s hot lips and hotter hand, finally brought his pleasure to a crest. Micah caught his long moan as his body stiffened and warm strings of fluid shot from his pulsing body.

  When the threads of fire slowed their furious wending through his veins, Jefferson pulled back from the kiss to see Micah’s clear eyes, blazing and dark, fixed on him.

  “Perhaps my kisses are zealous…”

  Micah choked on the next as Jefferson pushed him back to the bed, half-covering his body as he rained more caresses along his lover’s face. The tight grasp at the back of Jefferson’s head preceded a swift tremor settling beneath Micah’s skin, and the strangled cry came from Micah’s throat at the same time his shaft thickened and jerked within his fingers.

  Jefferson released Micah and brought his hand up to his mouth. He watched Micah watch him as he licked their spendings from his fingers. When Micah touched his tongue to his lips, Jefferson brushed the fluid on his knuckles across his mouth.

  The sight of the small pink tongue darting to catch every drop enraptured him. The sound of Micah’s contented sigh did even more.

  “This was not the meal I intended for you,” Micah teased.

  “But you indulged me anyway.” Jefferson bent his head and caught Micah’s lower lip and sucked it between his teeth. After a gentle bite, he smiled. “I promise to be a
good patient now and eat what you will.”

  “An entire bowl.”

  “Yes, sir.” He untangled himself from Micah and allowed the other man to crawl out of the bed. He didn’t have any desire to move, but he didn’t think that would be a problem—Micah probably wouldn’t want him to get out of bed that afternoon. He would eat whatever Micah gave him, maybe take a nap, and then go to the site where the church once stood.

  No matter what Micah said, he had unfinished business there.

  Chapter 22

  Though it was a relief to see Jefferson awake and alert, Micah was not comfortable with his wishes to visit the church, or rather, the church’s remains. He understood what the church meant to him, even recognized why he would have gone to Joseph’s aid, but it was too soon for what he believed would be a fruitless endeavor. The church was gone. Joseph was gone. The citizens of Wroxham had betrayed the true natures of their character. Exploration at this point would serve no ultimate purpose, except to sap Jefferson’s strength.

  When he tried once again after lunch to sway Jefferson from his choice, though, Jefferson reasserted his desires, leaving Micah no choice but to acquiesce.

  “Promise me we’ll return the moment you begin to tire,” he said, blocking the doorway.

  Jefferson took Micah’s shoulders gently. “I promise we’ll return even before that. But I can’t leave things as they are right now.”

  He sighed, nodding in resignation. “You would not be the man I know you to be if you denied your instincts.” Closing the distance, he tilted his head back to brush a kiss across Jefferson’s mouth. He hoped it showed his trust in Jefferson, if not the people who surrounded him.

  Jefferson grinned as Micah stepped back. “I hope you’re not trying to distract me.”

  “Would it work if I was?”

  “Not this time.” He pressed a soft kiss to Micah’s forehead, then reached behind him to push the door open. “But don’t let that discourage you from future attempts.”

  The cold filtered through the opening, and though he longed to take Jefferson’s hand in his, Micah simply bent his head against the afternoon chill and exited the house. Though it had been twenty-four hours since the fire, the scent of charred wood and smoke hung heavy in the air, prompting Micah to bow his head in order to filter his breathing. He kept a fervent watch on Jefferson out of the corner of his eye, however, attentive to any signal that he might be weakened by their excursion.

  But Jefferson walked with a brisk step that belied his bedrest. He walked as a man with purpose. Micah finally understood that this was something he truly had to do.

  Jefferson’s stride didn’t falter until they reached the ashy ruins. Every piece of dry wood had submitted to the flames, and a skeleton of the building did not even exist. Jefferson came to a stop where ash met snow, his toes resting on the gray border. He touched the back of his hand to his mouth, and his grief—grief Micah hadn’t wanted to witness—was undeniable, plain on his face.

  “It is probably for the best.” He shook his head. “Not this. I mean, it is probably for the best that we leave.”

  Uncaring of who might see, Micah slipped his hand into Jefferson’s pocket, curling his fingers around the hand he found there. “I don’t wish for you to think I won’t miss this place,” he said softly. “Our meetings in the church shall always hold a treasured place in my heart.”

  “I know. And maybe it was the meetings in the church that changed everything for me. I felt I saw a side of you, and showed you a side of myself, that was not present when we met over supper.” Jefferson kicked at the snow. “But perhaps this space never truly belonged to us. Maybe we have to find our own.”

  Silently, Micah agreed. There was little in Wroxham he found welcoming any longer, but what hurt most was knowing that knowledge had been taken away from Jefferson as well.

  “I think we shall always carry a small part within us.” He squeezed Jefferson’s hand, hoping to comfort. “Regardless of everything else, this will be where we first embraced our feelings, if only for a moment. Nothing, not even a fire, can take that away.”

  “I am going to call to him now.” Jefferson paused before adding softly, “Don’t let me go, Micah. Please. Reverend Mather? Joseph? Are you still here? Can I see you?”

  The warm hand in Micah’s grasp chilled just before cold air cut through his face. He shivered and turned his head, automatically using Jefferson’s shoulder to block the wind. Jefferson, however, didn’t move. In fact, he was utterly still.

  “Micah? Do you see that?”

  More intrigued by the note of fear in Jefferson’s voice than the question, Micah lifted his head. He followed Jefferson’s line of sight, unsure, at first, of what he was looking for. But once he saw it, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

  The figure of a man lay prone in the middle of the cold ashes. He wore clothes that were long out of fashion, and Micah couldn’t quite make out the details of his face. The man had a face, but Micah found it impossible to describe it. It was obscured, like something was blocking Micah from seeing it plainly.

  “This cannot be as it seems,” he murmured. “He…” But when he glanced up at Jefferson, the look on his lover’s face made him pause, chilling him more than the sudden added coolness in the air. All the color had leeched from his face. Even his wind-chapped cheeks were pale, while his eyes burned as if from fever. “Jefferson?”

  Jefferson took a step forward, hesitated, and stepped back. After a moment, he tried again. He successfully moved a foot closer to the stranger, but then stopped again, like coming up against an invisible wall.

  “It is Joseph. He’s dying. He needs me.”

  Micah frowned, even though he recognized the veracity of Jefferson’s assertion. There was nobody else this could be. But it was the latter profession that made him pause. “What do you mean, he needs you? He can’t be dying. He’s already passed on.”

  “He hasn’t passed on. He’s trapped here. Look, there’s blood on his shirt. He’s always stuck in this moment.”

  “But the church is gone,” Micah argued. “What possible ties could he have here yet?” A disturbing suggestion proposed itself, and his cheeks blanched as he looked to Jefferson. “You. He’s tied to you.”

  “Me? What do you mean? I know he responds to me, but he’s not bound to me.”

  “He comes when you call. He acts upon your will. The church is gone, yet he remains. What other possibility could it be?”

  “Then what can I do?”

  Micah looked from Joseph, to Jefferson, back to the specter again. His first inclination was to profess ignorance. He hadn’t even truly believed in Joseph’s existence until the proof presented itself, right before his eyes. As he regarded the man wracked with pain, however, he remembered his own despair when he’d thought he might lose Jefferson. He considered the power of the emotions involved, how Joseph had manifested Jefferson’s as well when they swelled to insurmountable proportions.

  The power of the spirit was a potent weapon. Nobody wielded it as his Jefferson.

  “You give him peace,” Micah said softly. “Did you not say he died without ever telling your grandfather the truth about his feelings? Perhaps he merely needs the opportunity to finally do so.”

  “The opportunity? I don’t…” Jefferson looked down to Micah’s hand. “Please don’t let me go. I can’t do this if you release me.”

  Micah nodded and allowed Jefferson to guide him through the smoldering wood. The specter seemed to solidify as they approached, the blood on his mouth growing more vivid as he trembled. His skin was as gray as the ashes beneath his head, and his eyes were closed.

  “Nobody can help me.”

  Micah heard the words, but the spirit’s mouth didn’t move. Without releasing Micah’s hand, Jefferson dropped to his knees and wrapped his free arm around Joseph’s shoulders. He lifted him from the ground. For a moment, Micah couldn’t tell if Joseph was solid, or if Jefferson was incorporeal.

  “
Joseph,” Jefferson whispered. “Joseph, can you see me?”

  Joseph’s lashes fluttered, separating to reveal pale blue eyes, shot through with red. He blinked once, then again, and as Micah watched, the pupils tightened as they focused on Jefferson. Joseph ran his tongue over his lower lip, but though it was clearly an attempt to moisten them, he simply succeeded in smearing the scarlet already staining his mouth.

  “Simon…”

  “Take my shoulder, Micah,” Jefferson said under his breath.

  Micah obliged, holding his shoulder and freeing Jefferson’s hand. Jefferson immediately took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the white linen over Joseph’s mouth.

  “I’m here. I’m here to help you.”

  “Can’t. Can’t be helped.” He tried to shake his head, but strength failed him. “It hurts so much, Simon. I know this is my punishment, but I cannot brave this.”

  “It is not your punishment.” Jefferson’s voice was firm, but Micah heard the catch in his throat. “Joseph…Joseph. Why would God punish you?”

  The pale eyes grew moist, lashes ducking before they revealed too much. “God punishes all of His children who sin against Him,” he whispered. “I was arrogant to believe my collar absolved me.”

  “No, Joseph. You are a good and honorable man. God forgives His faithful children.” Jefferson wiped Joseph’s mouth again. “God has infinite forgiveness.”

  “You would not say so if you knew what I have done, Simon. Not even you would forgive the abomination I am.”

  “Tell me what you have done, Joseph. I refuse to believe a man such as yourself could ever be an abomination.”

  Micah held his breath as he squeezed Jefferson’s shoulder. The world had grown deathly still around them. He did not know if the ghost was aware of his presence, but he did not wish to risk exposure and stealing this moment from him.

  “I have loved one I must not,” came the soft confession. Joseph opened his eyes again. They shone now with the very emotion he denied. “I have loved you, my friend.”