Page 15 of These Old Lies

Charlie rolled over on the bed so he was facing Ned’s chair. “But Pemberton and company aren’t going to bother you now. It’s only me here.” Charlie let himself be guided by the same wave of instinct as when he kissed Ned. “You should do what you want tonight. If you don’t want me to see, I’ll keep watch outside.”

Ned went quiet again. “You are an overwhelmingly decent person, aren’t you?”

“Only when forced.”

Ned put the wine glass down and started to speak, still not looking directly at Charlie. “I didn’t have anything particularly exciting planned.”

Ned leaned back in his chair, but the tension in his frame was unmistakable, the slight tremble in his hands betraying nervousness.

Charlie raised his eyebrows in question.

“A key element was drinking actual wine.” Ned gestured towards his glass. “This is a burgundy, for what it’s worth. And I wanted to have a proper wash with soap that didn’t burn off half my skin. No bath here, though, so I had to make do with the ewer, but it’s still better than I’ve had in months.”

“I knew something smelled nice,” Charlie muttered.

Ned put down his wine on the dresser and met Charlie’s eyes. “And then I was going to put on something lovely.” He moved to his bag and pulled out a Chinese silk print dressing gown. It was an explosion of bright colour—reds, greens, blues, and yellows—with blooming chrysanthemums and orchids. It was also unquestioningly a woman’s dressing gown. Charlie could see Ned’s hands slightly tremble as he put it on, and the defiance in his eyes as he looked at Charlie, as if expecting insults.

Charlie wasn’t thinking of any such thing; he was thinking that Ned looked bloody magnificent. The gas lamp in the room burned low, but it still gave Charlie the opportunity to see the body he knew so well from touch. Ned was a big man, tall and with a wide frame. Hard trench living had made him muscular, which the low light accentuated into dramatic shadows. His chest was covered in the same thick black hair as his head, which Charlie already knew would feel springy and coarse to the touch.

Charlie had grown up surrounded by fashion and knew he was more sensitive than the average man to the effect of colours and material on how a person looked. The flamboyant explosion of colour brought out a beauty in Ned; it made his black hair inkier, the defined features of his face more sculpted. And he held himself differently, too. His whole body had become lithe. Charlie was suddenly filled with a fierce desire to know what the combination of silk and skin felt like.

Meeting Ned’s eyes, Charlie let his admiration show. “The colours suit your eyes—make them five different colours at the same time.” Charlie got the impression Ned didn’t show this side of himself to many others. “Were you planning on wearing the robe with the trousers?”

“Ah, no.” Ned undid his buckle and turned around to slide his trousers down. Charlie averted his eyes and tried to not think about whether Ned had kept his drawers on or not. Charlie hadn’t thought legs to be an erotic part of the body, but Ned’s were. Lean, runner’s legs, showing that black hair did continue all the way down from his chest.

Ned gave him a shy smile as he re-angled the chair towards the vanity and mirror. “And now I’m going to give myself a proper shave.”

They all shaved in the trenches, the army having strong views on facial hair, but it was a rough experience, cold and uncomfortable. Charlie’s own face tingled watching Ned foam up his face and the slow lingering way he used his blade to scrape his cheeks. At first he tried to avoid staring, but it was a small room with not a lot to hold his attention.

“You can watch,” Ned said softly, pausing to clean off his blade.

Maybe it was the red wine mixing with the beer, but Charlie found himself completely enthralled. Ned’s elegant, long-fingered hands, grasping, lathering, pulling, and scraping, slowly revealing his face, flushed from the attention of the blade. Charlie realised that his breathing had fallen into linewith Ned’s, as if he himself was engaged in the task. Ned finished the last scrape and looked up to meet Charlie’s eyes through the mirror’s reflection.

“Christ, that feels better.”

Ned then reached into his bag and paused, glancing up to Charlie.

“Do you want me to look away?” Charlie asked between sips of his wine.

“No.” Ned’s voice was steady but soft as he pulled out a number of compacts and placed them on the vanity. Ned didn’t need to tell him what they were. Charlie had three sisters; he knew what make-up looked like.

Ned slowly began to paint his eyes. Like the robe, it should have looked wrong, should have looked bizarrely feminine on such a masculine face, but somehow it transformed into something that was neither. The colours and liner made Ned’s eyes fiercer and more vulnerable at the same time, and the tint on his lips made them achingly kissable.

Charlie was finding this mix of feminine and masculine intoxicating, like the best parts of all the things Charlie found attractive.

Ned glanced at the front of Charlie’s trousers, which were communicating his views without much subtlety. Charlie pressed the heel of his hand against himself. “Ignore it. But fuck, you do know how good you look, right?”

It was hard to tell in the light, but Charlie thought Ned was blushing. “I don’t always want to be done up like this.” Ned gestured to the make-up and the robe. “But sometimes I like it.”

“How do you feel now?”

Ned examined himself in the mirror. “I feel better.”

In some part of his brain, Charlie knew that enough time had passed that it was probably all clear for him to leave. There hadn’t been any sound outside the door in a while. Everyone was either gone or too drunk to move. His duty was done, he had drunk his wine, he could leave.

Instead, Charlie pushed himself up, so that he was back to sitting up against the headboard. “What next?”

“You’ll laugh.”