Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

D evon turned off the lights in the living room, and the ones in the bedroom as well. He pulled Stanley to the bed and began to carefully undress him. He let the clothes fall where they might and held up his arms so that Stanley could undress him in return. It was a good thing he'd turned up the heat, though his skin shivered as Stanley ran his hands along Devon's arms.

"You still have your underwear on," said Stanley, announcing this rather like a seven-year-old who had no restraint on saying what he thought. "And I do too, so what are we going to do about it?"

"Let's take them off," said Devon, laughing beneath his breath in a way that felt new and sweet. "I'll pull yours off if you'll pull mine."

He could see Stanley in the near dark, and traced the curve of his face with his eyes, put his hands on Stanley's hips, and tugged. With quick, jerking motions amidst a tangle of arms and wrists, they pulled each other's underwear off and then moved together in the dark. Their hips met and the long muscles of their thighs. Devon could feel the scratch of Stanley's pubic hair, the curly wiriness of it. Their hard cocks trapped between their bellies. The quick breaths that lifted Stanley's chest.

"You're not afraid of me, Stanley?" asked Devon, wanting to be sure, a tenderness rising in his throat; he would be willing to wait forever until Stanley wasn't afraid.

"I'm not afraid of you," said Stanley, kissing Devon's throat. Devon lifted his chin to let him. "But some of the fellas talked about how when they came through Paris and they went with the whores—"

"Did you ever go, Stanley?" asked Devon, though he could barely speak for the feel of Stanley's hands on his bare waist. "Did you ever go with one of those women?"

"I didn't want them," said Stanley. "What I'm trying to ask you is the fellas talked about taking a whore from behind so as not to get her, you know, in a family way. Are we going to do that, you and me?"

"Do you want to?" asked Devon. His face felt hot and his erection thumped against his belly, side by side with Stanley's erection as they stood in the quiet darkness. He knew Stanley was waiting for direction, not because he was a good soldier, but because he was practically a virgin, and a lovingly delivered hand job on the couch wasn't enough to make a difference.

"Do you want me to?" Devon asked now. "I'll be gentle with you, so gentle, Stanley."

"I know you will," said Stanley. "But I don't know what to do."

"I'll show you," said Devon. "Here, on the bed, like this."

In the dark, Devon used his hands to guide Stanley to the bed, petting the length of his hip, his thigh, to gentle him and ease him into the moment. Beneath his fingertips, Stanley was shaking, only a little, but it was enough for Devon to take a moment when Stanley was on his belly to make long strokes along Stanley's body, to kiss the back of his neck, to feel Stanley's heartbeat from the pulse of blood beneath his skin.

"I'm going to take it slow, Stanley," said Devon, his mouth whispering across Stanley's cheek. "So slow, okay?"

"Okay," said Stanley, and in his voice was a small, low quiver that pressed against Devon's heart.

"Lay like this," said Devon as he guided Stanley's leg, brushing it over and over, as though soothing a wild young thing. It was better this way, rather than having Stanley on his knees, which might feel more aggressive and certainly wasn't what was wanted now. "I'm going to pet you and push my fingers inside of you, and get you ready."

"And then we'll fuck?" asked Stanley, his voice a little shaky, but full of brightness and the sweetness that Devon always saw shining in his eyes. "Like the fellas talked about with the whores?"

Devon laughed, pressing kisses across Stanley's shoulders, running his fingers across Stanley's shorn hair.

"Yes," said Devon. "Like that, but only better because we love each other, you and I, and soldiers never love whores."

Stanley turned in a sudden motion, twisting backwards so that he was looking up at Devon in the near dark. His eyes shone in the half light, bright sparks that drew Devon to him. He bent close and kissed Stanley, sensing that Stanley wanted to tell him something important.

"Some of them did," said Stanley, and there was urgency in his voice. "Some of those soldiers loved the women they were with, even if they were whores. It was their last night on earth and they gave each other all the love they had. That's what the soldiers told me."

Devon went still, his throat tight. Thoughts of those moments filled him and the images flickered in his mind. The desperate gestures, the glad faces in the red lamp district that had hid the despair of the soldiers. The whores who serviced them, welcoming the soldiers with open arms, the moment more pure than it might have otherwise been, each knowing that it might be the last time those boys knew anything gentle or passionate or good.

"Stanley," said Devon, feeling like he was choking. "Oh, Stanley."

"But we're not like that," said Stanley quickly into that mournful moment. "We're not like that, not like those soldiers and those women. Because it's not the war anymore, not our last night on earth. Right?"

Never had Devon more wanted to bawl like a child about the dark losses that war caused. At the same time, he had his American doughboy in his arms, naked, spread out beneath him like a beautiful thing, a poem, a prayer. Stanley trusted him, was trusting him, and Devon needed to get it together and show Stanley how good it could be between two men who loved each other.

It was not the war. There was no sound of mortar shells, no whiff of mustard gas, no gurgle of mud, not even the sound of the lark to fill the deathly silence between attacks. There was only the feel of the clean sheets beneath their naked bodies, the warmth of the radiator, and the wholesome dark to protect them in the night.

"I love you, Stanley," said Devon. He bent to kiss Stanley on the mouth, brushing kisses all over his face and down his neck. He eased Stanley on his belly, tugging his knee up, and brushed Stanley's cock to make sure it was comfortable. "And I'm going to show you all the love that I have."

He reached for the lube that he kept in a drawer in his nightstand, lube he'd not used in a while, for he'd been too lonely, too distracted by his work. Which meant that the lid was a little stiff, but he managed to get the lube on his fingers and not spread it all over the place. Very gently, he stroked Stanley's bottom, petted the small pucker there, and pushed in with one finger, just a little. Then he did it again, his forehead resting between Stanley's shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of Stanley as his sweat grew in the dark. Feeling the pulse of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest.

"Like that, okay?" asked Devon.

"Okay," said Stanley. "Go on, I'm okay, go on."

Devon continued on, pushing in his finger and pulling it out in time to their slow breaths that echoed in the dark. Stanley grunted once, and Devon paused to let their bodies settle together, and then pushed a second finger in to the tightness of Stanley's body and eased him open. All the while whispering the words of endearment that only his heart knew, had known from the beginning of time, but which had waited for this moment to be spoken out loud.

In response, Stanley's body seemed to surge on the bed, as though he was opening himself up for Devon, opening up to him, and his legs spread, his limbs shaking a little, but he was ready. Very quickly, Devon slicked up his cock with the last of the lube on his fingers, and leaned forward to whisper against Stanley's skin .

"Take a breath and let it out slow, very slow."

"Okay."

When Stanley took that breath, Devon lifted up and pushed into Stanley's body, but only a little way. When Stanley let out that breath, Devon eased himself further in, pushing. Little by little, he joined them together until his chest was aligned with Stanley's back, their sweat making them slick together, a shivering eagerness joining them body and soul.

"Oh," said Stanley, though it came out as a sigh of wonder.

"Yeah," said Devon, agreeing with Stanley as the sensations ran through him, sparks of joy and the tumult in his belly of expectation. "It's like that, right? You okay?"

With a physical response that took Devon's breath, Stanley moaned and pushed back, sheathing their bodies together even more until Devon was pressed so deep inside the heat of Stanley's body that they were melting together, becoming one. Devon surged up and rocked his hips, curling them forward and back, shuddering with the intensity of it, of holding back until he could show Stanley the pleasure of it, the heat of it, how it could be when there was no war and only love to be found.

His whole body flushed with heat and desire. He wanted to make sure that Stanley could feel how good it was, so he reached around, stroking Stanley's cock in time with the movement of his hips, and was gratified that Stanley began moving with him, in time with him, as though they were one body rather than two.

Stanley half rose on his knees, drawing Devon's cock deeper inside of him. Devon pushed and trembled, his teeth gritted as he tried to draw out the moment, the ascent into the deepest vibrations along his spine. But his hand shook, tightening his grip for a fraction of a second, and Stanley spent himself on the sheets.

Devon, a moment later, pulsed into the deep heat of Stanley's body. Small cries escaped him as he came, despair for the brevity of the pleasure, and the poignant sorrow of the moment they shared. He wanted to weep, but instead drew Stanley into his arms and away from the dampness on the sheets. He hugged Stanley close, felt the life in his arms, the eager sweetness as Stanley turned to him and rested his cheek on Devon's shoulder.

Devon scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, kissed Stanley's damp forehead, and returned his hand to curve around Stanley's shoulder. Pretending all the while that he'd been doing something other than wiping tears away.

"Are you okay, Devon?" asked Stanley in a low, soft voice.

"Yes, I'm okay," said Devon, though the words came out like a frog's croak. "Being with you carried me away, and I didn't know where I was."

"You're right here," said Stanley, quickly rising up and turning so that he was holding Devon in his arms. "I was right there with you being carried away, on account of I didn't know it would be like that. Sort of sweet and sad at the same time."

"It can be fun," said Devon, looking up at Stanley, seeing the dark line of shadow around his head and, unable to discern any of his features, focused on the brightness of Stanley's eyes. "Sometimes you can laugh, you know? But being here, so close to the trenches, it's making me—" Devon stopped to swallow. "It's almost too much, so I'm going to get us out of here and back to the States as fast as I can."

"Okay," said Stanley, petting Devon's shoulder, his arm, with long, sure strokes of his warm hand. "It's going to be okay, Devon, I promise you."

Promises in the dark such as Stanley had just spoken to him were the truest kind. Devon closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into sleep with Stanley's arms around him. The warmth of the radiator filled the air, and Stanley's sturdy body was alongside his, letting him know he was no longer alone.