Page 59 of The Last Kiss

Harry agreed with that, only he felt that his place was with Ash and Ash’s place was with him. But he hadn’t protested to Boyd, just agreed that there was nothing to it but an old man’s oddities and got down to his work. Inside, though, he was reeling.

Sir Arthur might have the details wrong, but he was right about the essentials — he and Ashwerechanging each other. Radical ideas? Who they were was a radical idea, how they loved was a radical idea. And the more time he spent with Ash, the more strongly he embraced those ideas.

Creeping out of Ash’s bedroom that morning had caused him physical pain, a rending in his chest that lasted all day. Leaving Ash sleeping, warm and tousle-haired, had been a sheer act of will and only terror of being caught had prodded him out of bed. If he’d had any excuse to stay, he would have. And to be told that Sir Arthur had put spies on them, that he had his staff watching Harry for evidence of sedition, turned him dead cold.

He needed to find a way to warn Ash, although unless they went out riding again — and who knew whether Sir Arthur would permit it — the chance of speaking to him alone was slim. When he’d come down to the stables that morning, Harry hadn’t even been able to meet his eye for fear of what he, or, more likely, Ash, would give away. And that had hurt, seeing the confusion on Ash’s face and being afraid some other bastard saw it, too.

He felt sick at the thought that they might never be alone together again, that he might never hold him or be held. That Ash might wake from bad dreams without Harry to comfort him — without anyone to comfort him.

They were unbearable thoughts and they tormented him all day.

So did John fucking Pierson, watching Harry with his insolent smirk as if heknew. Perhaps he did. Maybe Sir Arthur had long ago set John Pierson to watch them. He’dalwaysbeen watching.

He ate all his meals in the kitchen that day, so as not to be seen acting in any way seditious. Bloody stupid idea, but far too close to a more dangerous truth. Retiring early, he took himself to bed with his lending library copy ofMax Carradosand tried to read himself into oblivion. But not even the adventures of Bramah’s blind detective could distract him from his circling thoughts. Perhaps tomorrow they’d be able to speak. Maybe Ash would want to ride and nobody would stop them. They could go to the hunting box again…

Thoughts chased through his head as he tried to sleep. Funny how he’d never had much trouble sleeping at the front while here, in the comfort of his own bed, with nothing but the snorting of the horses nearby to disturb him, he tossed and turned. But there, he’d had Ash with him and now he didn’t. He might never have him close again and that —

That was enough to get him sitting up in bed, raking hands through his hair in frustration. Unable to sleep, he went out for a smoke and a piss. And maybe, though he tried to deny it to himself, to walk past Ash’s window and check he was sleeping.

Bloody fool he was, but he couldn’t keep away.

That’s why he was leaning against the wall of the house, finishing his fag, when he heard Ash’s shout. He’d been waiting for it, he supposed, this excuse to see him, to touch him and save him from the demons of his own mind. And he didn’t hesitate longer than it took to check that all was dark and silent in the house, that nobody was around as he crept up to Harry’s window and, like last night, slipped inside.

This time, Ash was still in bed but sitting bolt upright and staring into the past. “I can’t get out,” he cried hoarsely. “I can’t get out! I can’t getout!”

“It’s all right,” Harry whispered, settling next to him on the bed. “I’m here.”

But Ash’s mouth opened in a low wordless cry of fury as he relived his haunted memories.

And it broke Harry’s heart to see it, brought tears to his eyes. “Just a dream, Ash.” He touched his warm, clammy face. “You’re all right, it’s over now.”

Gradually, his cry faded into ragged breaths and eventually silence. After some time, Ash blinked and then shuddered awake. “Harry?”

“Right here.” He stroked his thumb over Ash’s cheek.

“Harry.” Ash gripped his wrist, fisted fingers into Harry’s shirt. “Oh God, Harry.” He buried his face against Harry’s shoulder, strong wiry arms clinging to him as he shook, pressing wet, stifled noises of distress into Harry’s neck. “I w-was him. I w-w-was Jimmy. I c-c-couldn’t g-get out.”

Harry held him, stroked one hand over his back — his shirt was damp, the bony ridge of his spine stark beneath his palm — and murmured what comfort he could offer. In truth, there was none. At length the shaking stopped and Ash pulled out of Harry’s arms, sitting back on the bed. He didn’t drop his grip on Harry’s hands, though, or lift his gaze from the rumpled bedspread. “I was t-t-trapped. Trapped and-and-and…”

Poor bugger. Harry squeezed his hands. “Just a dream, Ash.”

“And I wanted to scream. I was s-s-so b-bloodyangry.” He lifted his gaze to Harry’s, eyes like bruises. “I still am.”

“I know.” Harry lifted Ash’s hand to his lips, kissed his fingers. “None of it’s fair.” A breeze drifted past the curtains and Ash shivered, chilled. “Come on, get that damp shirt off before you catch cold.” Carefully he unbuttoned Ash’s pyjama top and peeled it off his arms, throwing it onto the chair by the window. “Now lay down under the covers.” He encouraged him backward onto the pillows with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Try to get some sleep.”

“C-can’t.”

Harry brushed the damp hair back from Ash’s forehead. “Just rest then.”

“W-will you stay?”

After Boyd’s warning he knew it wasn’t safe. He stroked Ash’s forehead again, rested his other hand on his bare shoulder and felt the low tremors racking his body. Cold, or anger, or grief. Some combination. “I can’t — ”

“Please.” Ash gripped his wrist, fingers biting. “Harry, please. I n-need — Just for a little while. Please.”

Helpless to refuse, Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to Ash’s mouth, kissing him tenderly, then more deeply as Ash’s arms snaked around his neck and drew him closer. Urgent, emotional, tender kisses, it felt as if Ash were seeking out life after his deathly dreams. Harry couldn’t walk away, not when Ash needed him like this.

They kissed for a long time, nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the room. Eventually, Harry pulled away far enough to speak, bumping their noses together. “I can’t stay long,” he whispered, unwilling to tell Ash about his father’s spies when he was so shaken. “But I’ll stay for a few minutes. Until you’re sleeping.”

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