Page 56 of The Last Kiss

“Sorry.” Harry lifted his hands. “I was passing and saw the light of your fag.”

The cigarette shook as Ash lifted it to his lips. “A l-little late f-f-for a walk, W-West.”

“A little late for a smoke.”

Ash made a poor attempt at a smile — “B-bad night, I’m afraid” — and pushed one hand through his hair. Sweat-damp, it clung to his temples despite the night’s chill. “I hope d-d-didn’t d-disturb anyone…”

“No one else is up.” Which was lucky because it would be hard to explain why Harry was chatting with Ash through his bedroom window in the middle of the night. Especially to the likes of young John Pierson.

“They d-don’t come anymore,” Ash said. “I t-told them n-not to. I can’t bear their p-pity.”

“Do you want me to leave you be, then?”

“No.” Ash seized his wrist through the window. “You’re different; you understand.”

And, he did. All too well. He took Ash’s icy hand in both his own. “You’re freezing. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“No point.” Pulling his hand free, he blew out a stream of smoke. “W-won’t sleep now.”

“Course you will. You did last night.”

Ash fixed him with a long look, put the fag back to his lips. “Last night was d-different.”

Maybe it was that look, maybe it was the gravel in Ash’s voice, but a dangerous yearning kindled in Harry’s chest. He knew he should leave, he knew he should be sensible and careful, but what he said was, “Doesn’t have to be.”

The silence between them altered, shifted from weary to charged. Ash’s breathing hitched and Harry’s heartbeat accelerated in response. This was reckless, risky. Thrilling. Their eyes locked but neither moved. Ash licked his lips, stubbed out his cigarette, and in a rough voice said, “Come inside.”

Madness! But after a swift glance around, Harry hoisted himself onto the windowsill and climbed quickly over. Ash moved out of the way and Harry stepped down onto the chair and from there to the floor. It was a large room, clearly converted from a parlour into a bedroom, and Ash perched on a narrow cot set with its head against the wall, by the window. “You should lock the door,” he said softly.

Harry nodded, went to the door and turned the key. It locked with a low click. Then he turned back to Ash, who was watching him from the bed with wide, dark eyes. A sudden breeze caught the curtains, making them billow into the room, so Harry went over and closed the window. The curtains settled over it, plunging them into deeper darkness.

Too dangerous to turn on a light, but not so dark that he couldn’t make out Ash’s colourless face and the pale shadow of his shoulders. “This is stupid,” Harry whispered as he found the bed and sat down.

“No.” Ash leaned into him, sliding his arms around his neck and pulling him close. “It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

Ash kissed him then, open-mouthed and urgent, and Harry was lost. Lost to reason, lost to danger, lost to good sense. All that mattered was sensation: Ash’s hands on the buttons of his jacket and shirt, the urgency of his mouth against his jaw, the warmth of hot breath against his lips. And, finally, Ash’s bare chest against his own. Gently, Harry pushed him down onto the narrow bed, settling himself on top to kiss him properly, his mouth, his throat, his chest — sucking a nipple into his mouth and feeling Ash gasp and fight to keep quiet. Harry kept moving down, past the cage of his ribs, his soft belly, the hard jut of his hips. He lingered there kissing along the ridge of bone, listening to Ash’s panting breaths, and smiled against his skin.

Untying the ribbon of Ash’s pyjama bottoms, he slid them down far enough to free his prick, already hard as a fire poker. Harry rubbed his cheek against it, smiled to hear Ash’s muttered curses. He’d never sucked a man’s prick, but right then, in the soft, secret darkness, Harry wanted it more than anything. He kissed the head, tasted something salty, then licked his way over it, and Ash bucked his hips with a sharp, quickly-stifled cry.

They both stilled, but there were no sounds from inside the house.

Harry’s heart fluttered. Then he closed his mouth over Ash’s prick and was overwhelmed by pleasure, as if he were giving the gift of love. Worshipping the man he loved. It didn’t take long to bring Ash off like that, his fingers knotting in Harry’s hair, and Harry only narrowly avoided getting an eyeful when Ash came with a muffled gasp. That made them both laugh as Harry crawled back up the bed to kiss Ash again, his own need unanswered until Ash closed his hand around him and between that and the deep, passionate kisses, he reached his own climax quickly, smothering his groan against Ash’s shoulder.

They lay like that for a few minutes, catching their breath, until Ash made a slight protesting sound of discomfort and Harry realised he was squashing him. He climbed off, knees shaky.

“There’s water in the basin,” Ash murmured. “And a flannel.”

Harry could just about see enough to make his way over to the stand where the basin sat, fumbled around for the flannel and dipped it in. Returning to the bed, he handed it over and listened to Ash’s little gasps at the cold as he cleaned himself up and then sucked in a sharp breath of his own as Ash did the same for him.

In silence, they dressed — Ash back into his pyjamas and Harry back into his clothes. He didn’t rush; he didn’t want to leave.

“You could stay,” Ash said. He touched Harry’s shoulder, hand warm through his shirt. “Not all night, just for a while.”

He didn’t take much persuading. They kissed again, loving now instead of urgent, and Ash curled onto his side, Harry crowding in behind. The two of them barely fitted onto Ash’s narrow bed and Harry lay with one arm pillowing his head and the other wrapped around Ash’s chest. Ash covered Harry’s hand with his own, their fingers lacing, and into the darkness he whispered, “I love you.”

Harry’s heart filled and he kissed the warm skin of Ash’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”

Enfolded in each other’s arms, they slept.

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