Hidden Away (37 page)
“Motherfuckers, motherfuckers, motherfuckers!”
Every sense is heightened. I can smell the leaves as they begin to decay on the ground. I can feel the moisture indicative of an early snow in the air. Metal coats my tongue, but somewhere inside of me I realize it’s just my own blood as I bite down on my cheek in concentration.
They come from nowhere and everywhere. I fire a steady stream from my rifle but wish I’m the machine gunner of my unit. I feel vulnerable standing upright, so I slink down, making myself as small as I possibly can.
Jim doesn’t. He holds his height and shouts, taunting the enemy to come get him.
And come they do. I pick off those I can as I creep forward. Can’t think about Jim. Can’t worry about him and kill Germans at the same time.
Focus. Pop. Focus. Pop. Focus. Pop.
Three dead from my weapon.
Something explodes close to me, and I scream. Hot searing bits burrow into me. A hand clamps down on my mouth, strong arm across my chest. “Ain’t a dead soldier yet, Johnny-boy. Now get up and march.”
Jim is known for his intimidating mass, but also for his ability to save people. He’s not the medic, but he’s there in a pinch. He’d told stories when we first landed in Italy about his five brothers and little sister. About how they were always getting into trouble, chasing cats on rooftops, diving off of rocks into a fast moving river, picking the wallet out of the chief of police’s pocket. So he had to be at the ready. All the time. Without him, they’d be dead or in jail.
I’m awful glad he’s here with me now. The burning flesh on my chest doesn’t feel so bad, but the popping in my ears has me frazzled. “I can’t,” I say.
“You can.” Big hands curl in my shirt, arms picking me up like I’m nothing. “Fritz ain’t seen nothing like us. You reload, and we’re gonna go get Hitler, you hear me?”
I do exactly as he says: reload, stand up, fire until I have to reload again. I’m good until the river, then claustrophobia sets in, and I can’t seem to muster the strength to move anymore. It feels like the firing all around is aimed toward me. I don’t want to cower, huddle close to the ground, especially because Big Jim is beside me. If he has the balls to take the krauts head-on, I should too.
A sound rumbles from deep inside my body, starting in my chest then bellowing out of my mouth. I’m screaming. I’m cursing. I’m yelling as loud as I can in my best battle cry. I’m not going to die. Not today.
I turn, wondering why Jim is pronouncing my name like that and why he needs to talk right now in the midst of battle, especially now that I’ve found my courage. But when I blink, Jim is gone and so is the clearing by the river. Now it is just me and Kurt in my hallway.
I’m on the floor, curled. He is looking at me like he never has before. Like he’s realized just how messed up that damn war made me.
I scoot away, and he reaches out for me. “What just happened?” I ask.
I sit up and scoot back against the wall, gulping as I put my head between my knees. “It happens sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” I repeat. My heart is racing, and although I feel lightheaded and sick, I don’t actually get sick. What set this off? I hadn’t been sleeping, and I wasn’t….
I can feel his face close to mine, so I lift my head slightly just to feel his cheek against mine. “You will not hurt me. I know this, but I…. It’s been a long time since making love has been kind.”
He brushes his hand over my forehead, slick with perspiration. His cheek touches mine. “I would like to be with you, John.”
“He is dead, but I still love him. In the quiet of the night, I can hear him, and in my waking dreams, we make love unashamed on the beaches.
That
is how I can hurt you.”
There are many things I could say in this moment, but for some reason, I go with, “What about your sleeping dreams?”
“I dream of him, but not as he was before. When I sleep he is wounded and powerless. He is in pain. Has lost his sanity. I dream of the night I gave him mercy but kept none for myself. Those dreams are bad. Frozen eyes staring at me while his body grows cold. I had to lie with him all night, you see. I pressed my body to his, hoping to keep him warm.”
Kurt moves back so he is sitting against the opposite wall. A slight smile plays on his lips, though his words are horrifying. “I even kissed him. That night I wished he was made of magic. Not a man, but a fairy tale. It is something strange to know your lover is dead beside you, but not truly accept it.”
He’s said so much, and I feel the pressure to respond perfectly, but what can I say to that? Thinking of him sleeping with a dead man turns my stomach, but that’s not a thought I should share. Finally, I decide not to linger on it.
“I can’t ever compete with him, but I can be different for you. Even with your love for him, I know you have some just for me, or if you don’t now, it’ll grow. I’m tired of dealing with all of this alone.”
“I can deal with you being in love with him, as long as you can put up with irrational jealousy on occasion.” I mean it as a joke, but Kurt nods in agreement. “I want you. You can have the control, just let me love you.”
I feel more vulnerable now than I ever did in a firefight. My heart is open, ready to be pierced by a flaming bullet or cradled in loving hands. Nothing happens at first, but then his legs unfold. He moves onto his knees, and slowly crawls to me, coming to rest between my legs and in my arms.
After moving to the bed, I fall asleep wrapped around him. A nightmare wakes me, but I’m able to settle back down easily with him beside me. The next night I am dreamless, waking only when the sun tells me it’s time.
We are as intimate as we can be, each night breaking new ground until finally one night when I feel too tired to instigate anything, he slips his hand below the sheet and touches me in a way that wakes me up completely. It makes my hips buck. I use all of my control to let him do what he wishes and not intervene.
Nothing is spoken. All I can hear above my beating heart is his breathing. I’m grateful that it seems regular and wonder if he’d been planning for this the whole night.
Everything he’s doing is through the fabric of my shorts. “Hold on,” I say before kicking off the sheet, lifting my hips, and shoving down my boxers.
I fear the action has frozen him. He’s just staring at me. I reach for him, but he moves back. Almost sitting up now, I say his name, but he shakes his head. His hand moves to the bottom of his T-shirt, and he pulls it off. All through our exploration, he’s never allowed me to see much of his body, sleeping in more clothing than me. He leaves the pajama bottoms he’s borrowed from me on, but when he comes back to me, he’s lying flush with me.
I wish I could see his expression, but he’s looking down at what his hand is doing to my cock. He’s lying on one of my arms, and my other arm is only long enough to rub his shoulder, encouraging him to continue.
But what I really want to do is touch him like this. Well, not exactly like this. His approach is skillful, but a bit more timid than I would employ. If he keeps this up, I don’t think I should be held responsible for what I might do. It feels like he’s teasing me. I’m not used to that. The men I’ve been with have always given me what I’ve wanted— what I’ve needed—quickly.
While I love his touch, I grow frustrated with how he’s limited my ability to participate. I thrust up into his hand. It is his light, breathy chuckle that does me in, forces me to rise up and flip our positions.
Now with him on his back, I’m between his legs, looming over him. I take great care to study his face. I don’t want to scare him again.
He’s let go of my erection, so I take his hand and help him remember what he’d been doing. This new angle gives me more leverage to thrust, so I pump into his hand as he squeezes me. Leaning down, I lick his chest, then kiss his jaw and mouth.
I can feel his erection, so I sit back on my heels and take a hold of the waistband of the pants. “May I?”
He nods almost shyly, but it’s all I need to bring the pants and his boxers down and off his legs. I want to stare at his naked body for hours, but I don’t want to make him any more nervous than he already is, so instead of ogling his hard cock reaching for me, I take it in my hand.
He’s trying to keep up his actions—trying to continue to stroke me, but he has to reach and it’s awkward. Finally, he lets his upper body fall back against the mattress as I pump him. Kurt mumbles, but it’s incoherent, and I don’t try to make out the German words.
I’m back to leaning over him, bracing myself on one hand as I lick and nip all the flesh I come into contact with. When I reach his navel, I still my hand and look up. “Do you mind?”
It takes him a few seconds to lift his head and see that I’m asking if I can put my mouth lower, and for a moment I’m scared he’ll say no. But he doesn’t. With a slight incline of his head, he gives me permission. I waste no time and kiss the area around the base, then up the shaft, then the very tip of him.
He feels good inside my mouth. I use my hands to rub his chest, stimulating his skin and hoping to enhance the sensations and excitement.
I’m thrilled when I bring him off, his hands fisted in the sheet, but when I sit back, he looks confused, like he’s not sure what just happened or what he should do now.
“It has been a long time, John,” he reminds me. His eyes drop to my groin and he asks, “Would you like me to….” He doesn’t finish the question, just lets it hang.
I would love to be inside any part of him, but when I think of what he’s been through, I can’t bring myself to tell him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to do that for me.” I wish he would though.
Kurt scoots up the bed, then moves onto his knees, mirroring my position. He nods as a look of gratefulness settles on his features. I’m extremely hard, but start backing myself down. I can’t make this about me or I may lose him. Slowly my erection looses strength, but before it is gone, he reaches out and strokes me again.
I’m almost ashamed of how quickly I come in his hand, but he’s no longer teasing. His grip is firm, and I can’t help the intense sensations.
I want him to lie back with me, but when I lie down, he moves off the bed. He hovers over by the door, pacing back and forth a few times before glancing at me. Kurt ducks through the door and disappears into the bathroom. When he doesn’t return after long minutes, I get up and listen at the door.
I hear shuttered breathing and small whimpers. Just as I’m about to knock, I hear a choked sob, so I back away, unsure of how I would help him in this moment. I grab a pair of pants and tug them on as I head out to the porch.
Cigarettes and whiskey await me. I’m able to lose some of my concern for Kurt as soon as the whiskey is in my stomach. I don’t allow myself to get too drunk. I stop before my mind goes too far out of bounds, but my limbs are heavy as I walk back to the bedroom.
Kurt is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He is looking at me, blinking with expectation. I drop my pants and sloppily climb into bed. I don’t know what he’s feeling or what he wants, but I kiss him hard. I can’t help myself. Although he kisses me back, it’s not with the same intensity I feel, so I bring my hands up to cup his face. Finally, he opens his mouth to me, and I slip my tongue into him.
When I pull back, he licks his lips. I know he can taste the alcohol, and I hope he doesn’t judge me for it, just like I try to push the sob he let out in the bathroom from my mind. He looks like he wants to say something, so I ask, “What is it?”
He says nothing as he turns his eyes up to the ceiling. I run my hand over his abdomen, then curl it around his side, pulling him close. The whiskey has made me warm, and I get hard against his hip. I kiss him again and hope he’ll enjoy it when I grab his dick and start to pump him.
I want to be inside of him, to push our very hesitant relationship to the next checkpoint. The intimacy of that next stage will wash away the tentative residue, and we can move through the days with the quiet comfort of knowing each other well.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bring his knees up under his chin and wrap his arms around his legs. “I know,” he whispers back.
It takes him time to answer. “I do, but it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anything. It’s become unnatural.”
When I settle back down beside him, we sleep; then we wake and go about our day apart. At night we have dinner, listen to music that I can tell makes him nervous, then retire to my bed. I don’t try to make sexual advances, even though the alcohol buzzing in my body tells me to. We sleep, then wake, then start all of the actions that are now our new routine. After coming back together from our separate days, he kisses me.
