Page 45 of Pages of My Heart

“Charlie, my darling,” he sighs, taking his husband’s face in his hands and firmly pressing their lips together.

Tears fall freely as relief floods his body like a rainstorm after a two-month drought.

Charlie’s arms circle around his waist and the warmth allows Thomas to relax for the first time in nine weeks, his frown falling away as he opens his mouth and welcomes the soft slide of Charlie’s tongue against his own.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie murmurs against his lips. “Let me look at you.”

Thomas pulls back but continues to cradle Charlie’s face.

His own eyes greedily roam over all of Charlie’s familiar features—the sharp slope of his nose, the fullness of his pink lips, the softness in the depths of this stunning blue eyes.

He also takes in the neat cut of his hair, shaved short at the sides, and the way his shirt pulls tight against his chest, fuller than it was before he left. He’s breathtaking.

“You look so handsome in your uniform. Christ, I missed you so much. I don’t know how I’ll survive when you ship out.”

Charlie takes Thomas’s hands, kissing each palm, then threading their fingers together. “You will because you’ve got no choice. Now no more tears. We need to enjoy every minute we got.” Charlie brushes the tears from Thomas’s cheeks. “Jesus, I missed this sweet face.”

Thomas pulls Charlie back in and kisses him, gently at first, then more insistently as the heat builds between them. He backs Charlie up against the wall, pressing his thigh between his legs and kissing down the column of his throat. “I want to take you to bed.”

With more and more urgency, they discard their clothes, items dropping to the floor as they shuffle toward the double bed in the center of the room.

Thomas’s hands roam over Charlie’s heated skin, his mouth exploring the familiar dips and curves with brutal yearning.

Under his touch, Charlie sheds the tough exterior he projects to the outside world, revealing the softness underneath reserved only for him.

Tangled naked on the bed, Charlie sighs in response to Thomas’s ministrations, his body so open and ready to receive. Every touch between them is transcendent. Every kiss sets Thomas’s skin ablaze.

He rocks slowly in and out. Charlie is tighter than usual, and his pale blue eyes turn dark with need—a need only he can satisfy.

He pins Charlie’s hands to the bed and holds still, buried deep inside, fighting for a sliver of self-control.

Their thirst for each other is infinite, and Thomas knows he will take Charlie over and over again in a futile attempt to ease the never-ending hunger.

Charlie pulls him down so they’re chest to chest and clings to him desperately, almost painfully, screaming out his name as his body climaxes.

Thomas gasps, the scent of their sex filling his lungs, his own climax savage and untamable.

When the waves of pleasure ebb away, he kisses every inch of Charlie’s face with loving devotion, remaining inside him, unwilling to separate.

“Charlie, I love you with all my heart.” He’s on the verge of tears once again, and he berates himself for being so weak.

“Relax and just let me hold you.”

Thomas collapses his weight onto Charlie’s chest, face burrowing into the curve of his neck.

Charlie strokes up and down his back and then into his hair, calming him almost immediately.

This is what he’s missed most—the intimate moments.

Holding each other in bed, eating together, laughing, their playful roughhousing, or just sitting together listening to the radio. The simple things.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really. But I bet you are.” He nuzzles further into Charlie’s neck.

Charlie chuckles and squeezes Thomas’s ass affectionately. “Let’s get cleaned up and find a diner. We’ll need energy to get through the night. I’m almost certain you ain’t finished with me yet.”

Thomas finally lifts his head and smiles down at him. “No, I certainly haven’t finished with you. Come on, then. I’ve missed bathing with you.”

The motel room is clean, but basic. It doesn’t have a shower over the bath like they have at home—a luxury he knows they’re lucky to have—but Thomas thinks bathing together is far more romantic anyway.

He starts to fill the tub, which is adequately deep but lacks in length.

While they wait, they unpack their toiletries, keeping connected with soothing touches and sweet kisses.

They still haven’t spoken much. Thomas isn’t sure why, but he’s not concerned.

The love emanating from Charlie is loud and incontestable.

Turning off the taps, he steps into the warm water and holds his hand out for his husband. “Come on, while it’s nice and hot.”

Charlie takes his hand and joins him. “You sit in front of me this time.”

Thomas tilts his head to the side and frowns at him in question.

“Please? I want to.”

They shuffle around to change places, then he waits for Charlie to sit down before squeezing in between his legs.

His feet end up hanging over the edge and they laugh at the absurdity of them both trying to fit in the tiny tub.

It feels so good to laugh, and it breaks some of the tension between them.

Thomas relaxes back against Charlie’s chest. It feels a bit odd to be in this position, but he cannot deny he enjoys how Charlie’s arms feel wrapped around his body.

Nor does he mind the nurturing kisses Charlie slowly peppers from his temple down to his jaw.

“What did you tell the other boys in your company?”

“Told ’em I had an old friend who lived here in Bloomington who was puttin’ me up for the weekend. So if we bump into any of ’em tomorrow, just say you used to live in Chicago and we were buddies back in middle school.”

“Okay. That’s a good story. What time is your bus on Sunday?”

“1400 hours.” Charlie gives Thomas’s hair a light tug. “Don’t be fuckin’ counting how many hours we got left.”

“I wasn’t.” But he was.

“Red, you were, are, and will always be a hopeless liar.”

“Am not!”

Charlie nips at his neck, and Thomas hears the smirk in his voice when he says, “You are when it comes to me.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he has a big grin on his face.

Sitting up a little, he reaches for the soap and passes it to Charlie, who cleans him with tender hands until Thomas insists on turning around and returning the favor.

There really isn’t any room for them to move about, and they laugh hysterically as their bodies slip and slide against each other, the water spilling over the edge of the tub and pooling on the floor.

They can’t be fussed walking back into the heart of town, so they eat a simple meal at the motel diner and then head straight back to the privacy of their room.

Over dinner Charlie told Thomas stories about the men at boot camp, and he’s satisfied Charlie isn’t attracted to any of them.

He knows he shouldn’t be jealous or feel threatened, but often he can’t help it.

Charlie loves sex and wants it almost every day, in some form or another.

They said vows to each other and privately refer to each other as husband, but he still feels insecure about not being able to satisfy Charlie’s needs when they are apart.

That is why he so desperately wants to make this a memorable weekend.

The room has a small radio, so they slow dance together for a few songs.

It’s something they’ve done so often at home that when Thomas closes his eyes and rests his chin atop Charlie’s head, he’s almost fooled into believing everything is normal.

Afterwards, they curl up on the bed in each other’s arms and listen to Bob Hope.

It’s the first time in nine weeks Thomas has felt relaxed and content, and he refuses to allow another goodbye to cast a dark shadow over his mood.

Pulling Charlie closer, he connects their mouths, reminding himself to take things slow.

To savor every moment. For the longest time, they just kiss, and the world falls completely away like leaves on an autumn tree.

“Take off your uniform.” Thomas’s hands reach for Charlie’s buttons.

“Let’s get into bed,” Charlie says, a little breathless.

They both stand and shed their clothes, watching each other with the intensity of new lovers.

They slip under the blankets and press their bodies back together, soothed by the warmth of belonging.

Charlie still has his dog tags around his neck, and Thomas lifts them, reading them for the first time.

It hurts to see Charlie’s next of kin—the person to notify if he is wounded or killed—listed as Loretta Miller.

The next of kin must be a family member or spouse, and Thomas knows that he doesn’t qualify in the eyes of the army, the government, or anyone for that matter.

But knowing doesn’t take the sting out of it.

“What is it?” Charlie asks, sensing Thomas’s sudden mood change.

He drops the tags and raises his eyes to Charlie’s face. “It's just . . .” He sighs, unable to continue. He shouldn’t continue.

“You can tell me,” Charlie encourages.

“But I shouldn’t. Talking about it doesn’t change it. And it’s just me being morose again.”

Charlie brushes Thomas’s cheek. “You know what happens if you bottle things up.”

“It just . . . it makes me . . . angry and . . . and fucking sad”—the words are coming out in stops and starts—“that I’m not listed as your next of kin. That I can’t be listed, even if you wanted it.”

“Why does it feel like part of you believes I wouldn’t, even if I could?”

Thomas rolls onto his back, staring up at the speckled ceiling. “Would you?”

“Tommy . . .” Charlie shuffles over and leans against Thomas’s chest, looking down at him. “You know me better than that. I hate that it ain’t your name that I carry around with me.”