Page 32 of The Last Kiss

Standing up, Harry forgot the chill of his sodden clothes and took a step closer. “You got me out,” he said, treading carefully because he knew full well where Ash’s mind had gone. It was an effort to keep the memory at bay himself, but Ash had always felt this worse. Jimmy had been one of his men, after all. His responsibility.

Ash nodded, blinking rapidly. “Yes. Yes, that’s right. I, uh… I — ” He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. “S-s-sorry — ” He made a choking noise and it took Harry a moment to realise it was a sob. “Oh G-God.”

He hesitated for half a heartbeat, wrestling with what was proper, before deciding to hell with proper and pulling Ash into his arms. “I know,” he said, holding him close. “It’s alright, I know.”

After a slight resistance, Ash sagged against him, his head dropping heavily onto Harry’s shoulder. “I c-c-c-couldn’t reach him.”

“There was no way to.” Harry cupped the back of his head, stroking his hair, trying to soothe him. “We were under fire. You did all you could.”

“It w-wasn’t enough.”

“No.” He flinched from the memory. “But nobody could’ve done more.”

“I d-dream about him all the time. He st-st-stares at m-me and I c-c-c-can’t reach him.”

“Ah, Ash, you poor sod.” Harry held him tighter and it was so natural in that moment to press his lips against his hair that Harry barely knew he’d kissed him until Ash stilled. Harry’s heart thundered into life, pounding hard enough Ash must feel it hammering against his chest. Even so, Ash didn’t draw back and Harry didn’t let go; he couldn’t bear to. He just breathed in the woodsy scent of Ash’s hair and, with terrifying tenderness, let his lips brush the shell of his ear. A soft noise escaped Ash’s throat, breath shuddering hot against Harry’s neck, lips moving tentatively against his skin. Harry’s stomach contracted so hard it hurt.

Airless with anticipation, he turned his head to nuzzle Ash’s jaw, let their noses bump, breath mingling. Into the vanishing space between them Ash whispered “Harry” and then their lips touched with a soft, generous heat. Harry trembled from head to toe, hair rising on the back of his neck, running in shivers along his arms. In that moment, there was nothing in the world beyond Ash’s lips moving against his own, his fingers curling into Harry’s lapel, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss into something infinitely tender and utterly overwhelming.

It was the most perfect moment of Harry’s life. He wanted to inhabit it forever.

But then one of the horses snorted and Ash jerked around, looking over his shoulder in alarm. There was nobody there but when Ash turned back toward him his tear-streaked face was flushed with concern, eyes dazed beneath his dark lashes. Harry suspected he looked the same. For a while, they just watched each other, the sun skipping in and out from behind the clouds and the birds swooping over the water. Ash gave a nervy laugh and said, “Christ, I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time.”

“Me too.” Harry lifted a hand to Ash’s hair, sweeping it away from his forehead, just as thick and silken as he’d imagined. He loved how it felt slipping through his fingers. “That too,” he said with a smile.

“You did that once before.” Ash’s gaze darted backward and forward over Harry’s face as if he was trying to see beneath his skin. “When I was injured.”

“You remember that.” He’d hoped Ash had been too far gone to remember anything about those hellish hours.

Ash reached out and touched his face, fingertips brushing his lips. “I remember you kissing me.”

“A last kiss, for the dying.” Harry’s voice caught at the memory, turning husky. “Worst bloody days of my life, those were. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You’ll never lose — ” But he was making promises he couldn’t keep and they both knew it. Ash’s expression crumpled. “Harry, what are we going to do?”

He had no answer, not one worth a farthing beyond this moment. He didn’t want to think about a future without Ash, but he couldn’t imagine one where they were together. It was impossible, he knew it was impossible. So he gathered Ash closer, threading his fingers into his hair, and kissed him again. Ash pressed in hungrily, the taut lines of his body softening in Harry’s arms, his breath a wash of heat against Harry’s lips. It was urgent and desperate and when Ash staggered a little, Harry barely managed to keep them both from toppling over. Ash looked as wild as Harry had ever seen him, his hair dishevelled, chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

Harry set his hands on his shoulders and held him at bay. “What we’re going to do,” he decided, “is get ourselves home and out of these filthy clothes. This bloody mud stinks worse than a latrine. And then…”

“And then?”

He smiled, squeezing Ash’s shoulders. “Then we’ll work out how we can do this again. And again. For as long as we bloody well can.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

Ash sank beneath the surface of his hot bath, blinking up at the blurred ceiling through the water. Wavering morning sunlight cast the room pale gold, making patterns on Ash’s stomach. Slowly, he surfaced into the steam, leaning back and letting the water lap about his ribs. Outside, the sky was the cool blue of spring and somewhere beneath it was Harry West.

Harry, who’d kissed him yesterday and brought him home shivering from the cold mud and memories, who’d handed him over with a long look into the languid care of his mother. Harry, who meant the world to him, and who the world would deny him. Harry, whom he loved.

He traced a fingertip over his bottom lip, as if that might recapture the sensations of their kiss. But nothing could match the heat and softness of Harry’s mouth, the gentle nip of his teeth, the sensuous slide of his tongue. He remembered everything, from the cold, dream-terror clawing out of the mire to snatch at his ankles, to the astonishing comfort of Harry’s arms around him, of his lips caressing his ear, of their hot, incendiary kiss that had jolted him back to life. Until that moment, Ash had had no idea his body could ignite in such a way, every inch of skin blazing, desire running through his veins in place of blood. Heart aflame.

He’d loved Harry for a long time — known him to be his closest companion, his dearest friend — but this acute physical desire was new. Or, rather, not new but newly uncovered like coals with the ashes knocked off. Dreaming of kissing Harry in an abstract way was as nothing to the reality, and now he’d tasted it for real it was all he could think about. He wanted more, he wanted to go further. Could they go out riding again today? Would it look strange? He didn’t think he could wait any longer.

As if to confirm his pressing need, he had a roaring jack for the first time since he’d been wounded. He gazed down at himself and trailed a finger across the swollen head of his prick, marvelling at the indisputable fact that he could still muster a rise. It had been a long time and he’d wondered whether it had been knocked out of him along with everything else, but one kiss from Harry and… Christ, just the thought of him had Ash twitching. He daren’t take himself in hand, however; the bathroom door wasn’t locked because, of course, he needed help getting in and out of the bath. He cursed the fact, tried to will himself under control, and, when that didn’t work, stared deliberately at the raw, truncated end of his leg. That was enough to sober him.

After Culham had helped him out of the bath and left so that Ash could dress with some modicum of dignity, he sat for a while staring out over the gardens below. There was no possible future for this love he felt for Harry, he knew that. Queerness aside, their difference in social rank made even friendship impossible. He knew it with the same certainty he knew that one day he would die.

But he was familiar with death, had seen it drop out of a blue sky with a thud and turn a smiling face into bully beef. And it occurred to him, sitting in his birthday suit in the bathroom, that he was familiar too with living under death’s shadow and taking every moment left, every ounce of time allotted, not giving a damn for the dark wings above. In a similar way, the knowledge that he and Harry must one day part didn’t stop him from wanting to pursue what was blossoming between them. Quite the contrary: it made Ash want to savour every illicit moment, not to waste another second. He wanted everything they could have and he wanted it right now because, for them, there could be no tomorrow. There was only today.

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