Page 35 of These Old Lies

Here Charlie was, jumping back in again, because he couldn’t not. If rebelling against authority kept Charlie’s mind connected to his body, kissing Ned kept his soul connected to his mind.

So Charlie leaned over and kissed Ned. Tenderly, softly. Not giving Ned what he wanted, but showing without words that Ned could trust Charlie to look after him. Charlie wouldn’t abuse his power either. He was going to make this good for Ned.

Charlie ran his thumb down Ned’s jaw, slowly catching on his stubble, then reached for Ned’s hands and placed them on the back of his neck. There was no force; the simplicity of movement was enough to hold Ned in place.

“Stay still,” Charlie said.

The air in the car felt heavy, like right before a thunderstorm. Even with the little that Charlie had done, Ned’s hands were already trembling slightly. Fuck, knowing Ned would give him control like this? Charlie gripped his own cock through his trousers to calm down.

Charlie grabbed Ned’s waist and shifted him around so that he faced him. Efficiently, roughly even, he undid Ned’s belt buckle and slid down his trousers. He took a moment to smirk at Ned’s hard cock. Giving it a slow stroke, he leaned in to whisper against Ned’s skin. “Going to show you who knows best, aren’t I?”

Ned failed to suppress a whimper. Charlie kept his voice low, as if they were at the risk of being caught instead of in the middle of nowhere. “Put you in your place, follow someone else’s orders for a change.” Ned's hips bucked up and Charlie chuckled.

Charlie took his time. Slowly stroking, teasing, never quite firm enough, never quite fast enough, and each time Ned tried to entice Charlie further into action, he pulled away.

“Please, Charlie,” Ned begged after Charlie stopped stroking him. Again.

“Please, what?”

Ned groaned but didn’t try to take control. “Faster, harder, anything.”

Charlie widened his legs as much as he could in the limited space and began undoing his own flies, tugging out his own very hard cock.

“Here’s an order for you, Lieutenant. Suck my cock.”

The words had barely escaped his mouth before Ned was doing exactly as asked.

Charlie thrust his hips up hard, harder than he meant to, and felt Ned choke around him, instantly causing Charlie to ease off. He and Ned might be playing around now, but Charlie didn’t have any desire to hurt him.

Charlie brought his hand to Ned’s head, gently running his hand through his hair, but his tone stayed rough. “Keep going. A good officer takes care of his men, and you like taking care of me, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

Ned nodded as much as his position would allow.

“You like making sure that I get my pleasure.” More vigorous nodding, which had other side benefits for the activity at hand. “And you are so good at putting your men above yourself, a proper English gentleman.”

Charlie felt wild at the sight of Ned with his hands still clasped behind his head. Charlie managed to gasp out the words, “You want to touch yourself?”

Charlie pushed Ned up and placed Ned’s own left hand on his cock. Of course Ned could have touched himself at any time, but they both clearly found it extra delicious that Charlie took charge of Ned’s pleasure. “Show me what you can do.”

Ned’s eyes were wide. His hand moved frantically on himself, and Charlie couldn’t stop from doing the same. The two moved in unison as the sun began to set outside the car, casting ribbons of colour across the sky.

As Charlie’s body exploded from pleasure it dawned on him that maybe this drive with Ned hadn’t been a punishment at all.

13 Francis, called Frank

Chiltern Hills, September 1923 / Ned

When Ned thought back to this day in the years to come, he would always consider the irony that it had started so spectacularly sunny.

He had convinced Charlie to take advantage of it being Sunday—thus with no shop to open—to go for a drive in the countryside. Forgoing Ned’s normal driver, Charlie took the car’s wheel while Ned navigated them to a discreet corner of the Thames, where they spread out on picnic blankets under the sun.

They had the perfect late English summer day to themselves. The skies were brilliant blue, and there was still a hint of warmth in the breeze. Ned closed his eyes to the sun, the taste of sharp cheddar and onion chutney from his sandwich lingering in his mouth, with a glass of champagne cool against his hand. Charlie, in all his intense glory, was spread out on the blanket, hair in his eyes, jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled up, lost in the book Ned had lent him. What more could a man desire in life?

The past month had been perfect. He and Charlie sought every excuse to see each other. Last week Ned had treated Charlie to dinner in a cosy French bistro in Covent Garden, and the memory of Charlie’s look of bliss after tasting the boeuf bourguignon could have inspired whole books of poetry.

Ned treasured this prosaic intimacy. Watching Charlie shave in the morning. Squeezing together on the omnibus after a night at the theatre. Walking through Hyde Park. Theirs had always been a relationship of life and death, fear and ecstasy, and these everyday moments had a modest magic all to themselves.

Smiling to himself, Ned reached out to take Charlie’s hand, feeling his rough, strong fingers against Ned’s own slim hand. Charlie’s eyes darted up, a mixture of surprise and pleasure with a hint of caution.