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The chateau bedroom was dark, lit only by a sliver of moonlight that shone through a gap in the curtains.
“What are you waiting for?” Gaunt asked, his determined gaze pinned on Ellwood’s bare shoulder.
Ellwood took a breath and lowered his lips to Gaunt’s chest.
The bombardment of the German defenses had begun. Such a simple sentence, delivered so starkly by the Colonel that morning. The bombardment of the German defenses has begun, and you will be marching to Loos in three days time .
Just like that, the storybook quality that had surrounded their three weeks of Divisional Rest disappeared. Ellwood’s temper developed a hair trigger and Gaunt retreated someplace far away, a place Ellwood prodded with stinging remarks and increasingly rude behavior. Gaunt, who knew him too well, alternated between ignoring him entirely and returning withering remarks that made a thick churning shame well up in his stomach.
Despite all that, and likely because of it, they had wasted no time in finding each other in the chateau bedroom following the evening roll call. Their bedroom, as Ellwood had come to think of it, as if this was their house. Gaunt had immediately pushed him up against the armoire, bit kisses across his shoulders, and brought himself off by rutting furiously against his thigh while Ellwood rolled his hips in encouragement. Ellwood had clawed their shirts off their bodies, pushed down their ridiculous uniform trousers, and kicked them under the bed where he wouldn’t have to look at them. Now, finally, Gaunt was laid out next to him, naked on the inexplicable four-poster bed.
Looking down at Gaunt’s tense, expectant face, Ellwood felt a powerful desire to push the war far away from both of them. To fill the room with enough warmth and lightness that he could block everything and everyone out. Pepper Gaunt with enough kisses, with enough pleasure and devotion that maybe, if he was lucky, they could both forget everything else.
Ellwood propped himself up on one forearm, his slender chest leaning against Gaunt’s strong one, and dragged his lips along the column of Gaunt’s throat. Gaunt shivered. His fingers were clenched on the bedding but Ellwood knew, could tell from the rigid line of his neck and the tense hold of his shoulders, that it wasn’t in anticipation of pleasure.
He had asked Gaunt about this the previous night, when he could tell that he was sore and spent but so damnably uncreative where sex was concerned. Gaunt had snapped that he talked too much so Ellwood had tried to be gentle, tried not to lose himself completely. But that sort of restraint wouldn’t do for tonight, not when three nights from now they would either be dead or sleeping in a dugout.
Not when there were still so many things they hadn’t tried.
He pressed a kiss to the dip of Gaunt’s collarbone, then to the spot below his ear when he turned his face away. Ellwood could feel his pulse skitter underneath his skin, could feel his heart hammering away, so he kissed the spot again and licked over it with his tongue.
Gaunt’s throat bobbed and Ellwood chased the movement with his lips before reaching a hand lower. Gaunt lifted his hips as if on command, and Ellwood took his time drawing circles on his skin until, finally, his fingers ghosted over his entrance. Gaunt grunted, his face still turned away, his jaw clenched tight.
“Go on,” Gaunt urged, terse and breathless.
“Henry,” Ellwood said, letting his voice pitch lower and dance over the syllables in a way that he now knew made Gaunt’s cock twitch delightfully. If he ever wrote of the things he had learned from the war one day, he would have to write of this too. “You’re sore.”
“This again?” Gaunt looked at him sharply, exasperation furrowing his brow, but Ellwood felt his cock jump to attention. He bit down on his lip to keep from grinning. “I’ve told you I don’t care, just—”
“Get on with it, yes, you’ve said.” Ellwood clicked his tongue. “And as terribly lovely as it is to watch you lay yourself on this particular cross….” He trailed off, flashing Gaunt his most insouciant smile. “Perhaps we can try something else.”
“I like it like this,” Gaunt replied, his words so hoarse and so honest that Ellwood was certain he hadn’t meant to say them.
God, how Ellwood loved him.
Ellwood looked down at him incredulously. “Henry,” he said again, his voice wryly authoritative. “We could both be dead in three days —”
“Don’t.” Gaunt fired up at once, jerking his head back to fix Ellwood with a horrible glare. It would have made his blood run cold just months ago, but by now he had seen worse things than that.
He merely held up a hand and continued, his voice rising over Gaunt’s. “We could both be dead in three days, and I absolutely forbid you to meet your maker having only had me one way.”
At that, Gaunt abruptly stilled. His mouth fell open in a silent “oh.” Ellwood, who had been hard since the moment Gaunt pushed him against the armoire, felt all of his senses dull, leaving nothing but a deep, pulsing desire.
It had never been like this, not with anyone. He’d always known Gaunt would be different.
“Look at me,” he murmured. Gaunt met his eyes, and the very air around them seemed to thicken. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Gaunt answered immediately. Unthinkingly. As if it wasn’t something fundamental and precious that he was laying down at Ellwood’s feet.
Would you have trusted me if I had wrestled you to the ground at Cemetery House, he wanted to ask. If I had touched your face in Munich underneath that endless blue sky? Would you have let me keep you?
“Good,” was all he said instead, and rising up onto his knees, he spit into his palm and began working a hand over his own cock.
“Christ, Elly,” Gaunt groaned, his eyes blown wide as he took him in. Gaunt had always looked at him like he was something important to see, the way that a person looks at favorite words written across a page, and Ellwood felt the force of it down to his toes.
“Do you know how many times I’ve done this while thinking of you?” he asked. Reckless, so reckless, but there was only so much pretending that he wasn’t desperately in love that he could manage.
Gaunt’s gaze burned across Ellwood’s skin. “Tell me.”
“Hundreds. Too many to count.” Ellwood’s strokes were slow, indulgent, because he was already close just from talking to Gaunt like this, from laying bare this truth he’d held so tightly. “You would roll your shoulders in the boxing ring, or turn a phrase a certain way, or just look at me, like you’re doing now and I—” He twisted his wrist and a moan ripped its way out of his throat. “It was hell sharing a room with you.”
Gaunt laughed, a bit madly. “We could have been doing this.”
“Yes,” Ellwood said, dizzy at the insinuation. Would you have wanted it, Henry, did you think about me too?
“You kissed me on the bridge.” Gaunt’s voice caught over his words, a question wrapped in an accusation.
“And it drove you into the trenches,” Ellwood replied, with a breathless laugh of his own to cover the despair that surfaced at the thought. They had never talked about it, not really, and now they were talking too much. He braced his hands on Gaunt’s chest and moved, swinging his leg so that he was straddling Gaunt’s hips. “Touch me,” he ordered, and Gaunt hurried to comply. His large hand replaced Ellwood’s, with its broad and calloused palm and veins that stuck out when he adjusted his grip, and Ellwood wanted him like breathing.
“Idiot,” Gaunt said, his hand working over Ellwood too quickly, too roughly, and Ellwood would have to stop him soon. “If you couldn’t see—” Gaunt cut himself off, the end of the sentence lost to the ether, but it was enough for something bright and desperately hot to rise up in Ellwood’s chest.
“Christ,” he gasped, and came all over Gaunt’s stomach. For a long, drawn-out moment, the only sound was Gaunt’s sharp inhale. Then—
“Elly,” Gaunt said, his voice lush like he had just seen something wonderful. Gaunt’s fingers trailed through Ellwood’s curls as he stayed perched above him, head hanging low and breathing hard. Gaunt liked to do this, Ellwood had realized over the last three weeks. He liked to watch him as he came back to himself, liked to touch him gently and almost reverently with a curious expression on his face. Ellwood always let him, always savored every moment with this secret Gaunt who was tender and free with his touches.
Ellwood let several long moments pass before he grabbed the hand raking through his hair and lowered it to his lips. He placed a kiss against the bone that jutted out in Gaunt’s wrist and watched, marveling, as Gaunt’s free hand slid across his stomach to trail his fingers through the mess of Ellwood’s cum that had landed there. Ellwood tore his gaze away to look at him, needing to see his face, and there was nothing in his expression except undisguised desire.
Just like that, a floodgate opened. The bombardment could blow the grounds around them to bits for all he cared, as long as he had Gaunt’s mouth on his that very second. He grabbed Gaunt’s face in an effort to get closer and Gaunt reacted instantly, wrestling his arms free so that he could wrap them around Ellwood’s back, slide his palm to the dip between his hips and press Ellwood against his sticky stomach. Gaunt kissed like he was trying to drink him in, with that same focused intensity and brute strength that he lent to everything else, and it was every bit as addictive as he had always imagined it would be.
So Ellwood let Gaunt keep kissing him, let Gaunt crush them closer until he was hard again and aching, until he was certain that Gaunt must be desperate for his own release. He dug his knees into the mattress and flipped them, pulling Gaunt down until Ellwood was on his back and Gaunt lay at his side, staring at him as if confused about why he had pulled away.
Carefully, deliberately, Ellwood spread his legs and watched, in a dazed sort of fascination, as Gaunt’s expression became hungry. “Do you still trust me?” Ellwood asked. The moonlight danced over his hair as Gaunt nodded.
I would die for this , he thought as he scrambled for the small jar of Vaseline on the ornate bedside table. I wouldn’t know how to exist without him, as he coated his fingers and began to work himself open, and he felt fond, so fond when Gaunt’s breath caught and his face and neck began to flush all over. When Ellwood worked in a second finger with a wanton moan, Gaunt’s hands spasmed, like he wanted to reach out and touch but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
Got you , Ellwood thought, satisfaction and anticipation causing his heart to beat savagely, and he surveyed Gaunt through eyes that he knew were heavy-lidded. He had been told how good he looked like this by men who were not Gaunt, by men who he had tried to substitute for Gaunt’s large and rough fingers and Gaunt’s smell and shape and size, but those were Gaunt’s eyes on him now. “It’s your turn, I think,” he said, unable to keep the tremor from his voice, the nerves that came from being so close to something he wanted so dearly.
Gaunt swallowed thickly. Ellwood wanted to say something else, something like ‘It’s alright, I’ll take care of you’, but then his fingers hit just the right spot and he let out a long, lingering groan. The careful hesitation in Gaunt’s eyes melted to something else.
“Is that— You really want it like that?” Gaunt asked, but his fingers were trailing along the inside of Ellwood’s thigh now.
“ God , yes,” Ellwood said, with enough enthusiasm that it startled a surprised huff of laughter out of Gaunt. “I want to feel you.”
Gaunt made a desperate sound––there it was, the sound of his wall shattering––and trapped his lips in a bruising kiss. Ellwood struggled to breathe as Gaunt began to place open-mouthed kisses on the insides of his thighs, and his golden hair tickled his skin when he rested his chin to look up at Ellwood. Considering. Almost sweet.
“Are you waiting for instructions on how to fuck me?” Ellwood asked wryly, playfully, and when Gaunt grinned in response Ellwood knew that he was swept up in it too.
“I believe I can take it from here, actually,” he murmured, his mouth hovering so close to Ellwood’s cock that it made him strain upwards, begging for attention. “I’ve recently had the benefit of several very diligent demonstrations, you see.”
“Have you?” Ellwood asked, delighted, and then Gaunt was pressing into him with strong fingers.
Ellwood wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, to cover whatever expression must be on his face, to try very hard not to dissolve into a state of euphoric bliss, but then Gaunt twisted his fingers to brush against his prostate and Ellwood stopped thinking at all.
“There?” Gaunt asked, his expression studious like he was watching Ellwood to figure out what he liked, like they had time . He rubbed against that spot, over and over again, as Ellwood shook underneath him.
“Christ,” Ellwood choked when he was able to form words. “ This from the man who told me to ‘just get on with it’.”
Gaunt dropped his forehead to Ellwood’s stomach and buried a grin into his sweaty skin. “I thought this was what you wanted,” he said innocently, sheer cheek laced through every syllable.
“I wanted you ,” he said plainly, too far gone now to worry about censoring himself.
All of a sudden, Gaunt stopped moving. There was fire in his gaze when Ellwood met his eyes. “Say that again, Elly.”
Ellwood licked his lips. “I wanted you,” he said, quieter now and shy, unbearably shy. “Listen, I’m— I’m ready now.”
Gaunt groaned and climbed back up Ellwood’s body, mapping his fingers over his collarbone and chest before placing his hands between Ellwood’s bent knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he warned as he pulled Ellwood closer, as he lined himself up. “I haven’t done it like this.”
“Ever?” Ellwood asked, greedy. He had guessed he hadn’t, but wanted to hear him say it anyway.
“Ever.” There was a tremor in the hand that had moved to grip Ellwood’s hip.
“Oh, you’re good at everything on the first try, Gaunt, it’s what I hate most about you,” Ellwood said, just a bit too high-pitched as his heart soared. Gaunt gave him a small grateful smile and pushed forward slowly, inhaling sharply as the tip of his cock stretched Ellwood’s rim. Gaunt paused there, chest heaving in the moonlight, and both hands came down to grip his sides.
“Christ,” Gaunt said, a bitten-off sound.
“Yes,” Ellwood whispered, “yes,” and then Gaunt was moving again. He really should have told him to use more Vaseline because there was something just a bit too hot, just a bit too harsh, about the feeling of Gaunt moving inside him. It was perfect, and he might have said that out loud because Gaunt was nodding. When Gaunt was fully seated inside him, their bodies flush and slippery with sweat, Gaunt met his eyes. He had an expression on his face that Ellwood couldn’t quite fathom, and he let the look linger for one second, for two, cataloging every detail.
“Alright?” Gaunt asked, his voice strained.
“Please,” was the only response Ellwood was capable of giving. With a curse, Gaunt began to move in earnest, pulling out nearly completely before thrusting back inside, movements that were slow, and filthy, and absolutely ruinous.
“God, Henry,” he groaned, clutching onto Gaunt’s shoulders, his back, as he rocked into him. It was only now, with Gaunt all around him, looming over him and inside him, that Ellwood fully realized what a mistake he had made thinking he could spend a single day without this. Ellwood lifted his hips, wordlessly asking him to go deeper, and Gaunt responded by moaning loudly, by pulling Ellwood closer and pressing his knees up higher. Ellwood cried out in sheer desperation, the angle taking Gaunt further into his body like he was being claimed, like he was being subsumed, a sacrifice on an altar to be devoured.
Gaunt’s lips chased his again, kisses that were mostly tongue and teeth and hot, wet breaths against his cheek. Ellwood wound his fingers into his hair and Gaunt swore, shifting somehow closer to allow him better access, to allow him to press his face against his neck. Ellwood thrust his hips up on instinct now, eager for the slide of his cock against Gaunt’s stomach, and Gaunt’s movements became erratic and uneven. Inelegant and devastatingly alluring just like the rest of him.
“Is— Is this—” Ellwood choked out, needing to hear his voice suddenly, needing to know if this was good, if this was alright, because he knew when it was over Gaunt might not tell him.
“It’s— God —” Gaunt broke off with a moan, and Ellwood could feel it, how Gaunt couldn’t choose which words to say. Neither of them was going to last much longer, he was certain. Ellwood’s fingers dug into Gaunt’s back, holding on so tightly that he wasn’t prepared for it when he spoke again, a raw and quiet whisper. “It’s so good, sweetheart.”
It was on that word, that sweetheart , that Ellwood came, his release shuddering violently through him and coating both of their stomachs. Gaunt buried his face in his neck and on his next thrust came inside of him, his breath damp on Ellwood’s fevered skin.
The sounds of the room came back to him slowly, the owls hooting in the distance, the enlisted men playing cards and laughing loudly in their encampment on the grounds. Gaunt showed no sign of wanting to move from where he collapsed on Ellwood’s chest, both of them panting like they had run a race. Gaunt’s hand came to rest against his cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing his hair. Ellwood’s heart felt too big for his chest.
Nothing had changed, really, except now he knew that Gaunt was capable of calling him ‘sweetheart’.
I should tell him , he thought. I should tell him, I should get on my knees and beg. I should go to town and buy him a ring . He closed his eyes against the thought.
Eventually, Gaunt rolled onto his back and fumbled on the nightstand for matches and the box of cigarettes. Ellwood nodded jerkily when Gaunt held out the pack in his direction. Gaunt lit one for each of them and then lay back down, his shoulder knocking into Ellwood’s on the way.
He tilted his head to grin devastatingly at Ellwood. “Verdict?” He asked.
“Mmmm,” Ellwood pressed his lips together, trying and undoubtedly failing to look unimpressed. Gaunt laughed and he turned his head so their foreheads fell together. “I regret to inform you that I’ve found another thing at which you excel. It’s a good thing that you have me to keep that monstrous ego in check.”
“A good thing,” Gaunt repeated softly.
They lay like that, smoke curling around their heads, Ellwood unwilling to move until he had to. Gaunt finished his cigarette and grabbed another.
“What do you suppose Loos is like?” Gaunt asked. The strike of the match illuminated the thoughtfulness, the trepidation, on his face.
“We’ll never know, will we?” Ellwood remarked. His body was still too full of pleasant warmth to think about it seriously. “Soon it will be just another Alma, or Austerlitz, or Koniggratz. It can never go back to being what it was.”
Gaunt made a sound of assent. “Well,” he said, resting his head on Ellwood’s shoulder. “Let’s hope it isn’t as serious as all that.”
“Or maybe it will be,” Ellwood said quietly, only realizing as he said the words how much he wished they could be true. He pressed his lips against Gaunt’s hair. “The decisive push, and we’ll be home by half term.”
“Elly,” was all Gaunt said in response, not so much a word as a wistful sigh of breath.
Two days later.
At dawn, the order came to pack up. They would be marching in twenty minutes. Gaunt stood by their bedroom window, tightening the straps of his kit bag with shaking fingers. There were so many things Ellwood wanted to ask him.
“I’ve felt a bit like we were on holiday,” Gaunt said quietly. He hadn’t put his trench voice back on.
They had argued the night before, and Ellwood had fallen into a twisted sort of half-sleep alone on the bed while Gaunt sat chain-smoking at the window seat. The moon was high in the sky when he was awoken by Gaunt crawling into bed and shaking. Ellwood sat up against the headboard and placed fevered kisses against his skin, and Gaunt had shoved their clothes away and sank down onto Ellwood with a deep and rasping sigh. They clung to each other, a manic sort of desperation, and when it was over Gaunt kissed his forehead and said “Thank you.”
Ellwood looked at Gaunt now, back in his handsome uniform, all clean and freshly tailored, and he was struck by the horrifying urge to cry. He cleared his throat. “So have I,” he admitted. I’ve been pretending this is our home, that we picked out this ridiculous furniture, that we’re somewhere far away and somehow you’ve still decided that you want me. “Maybe we’ll come back one day,” he joked, forcing an off-hand tone, a small grin. “A proper holiday.”
Gaunt closed his eyes. Ellwood watched as he gathered himself, as he straightened his shoulders and crossed the room to where Ellwood stood. Gaunt brought his hand to Ellwood’s neck, his fingers brushing into the ends of his hair. “Maybe,” he said. He stepped back and headed for the door, and Ellwood followed.
I’ll tell him, soon, he told himself. Soon.