***
The following Tuesday afternoon, Arty arrived at the hangars, and at first glance it appeared that he was still alone. Thinking nothing of it, he wheeled his bike into the field beyond and carefully set it on its side, loosening the handlebar and twisting until it was hidden by the golden wheat, grown to the height of Arty’s hip and ready for harvesting. Standing up straight, he rotated, scanning the vicinity to make sure no one was watching before he moved off again. He had taken no more than three steps when he felt a tightening around his ankles and was suddenly tugged to the ground.
Jim rolled Arty onto his back and kissed away his surprise, pushing his tongue into Arty’s mouth and then trailing his lips over Arty’s chin, down his neck to his collar. They hadn’t yet ventured any further than that; it was far too warm inside the hangar for one thing. For another, they would get so caught up in talking, or watching Socks and Soot’s antics, that the time passed as fast as the blink of an eye, and then they would each leave independently, ever cautious of rousing suspicion. It always seemed an absolute age to wait for the next time they could meet, though in reality it was never more than a few days.
Now here they were, out in the open, kissing under the warm summer sun, hidden by a screen of sweet-smelling wheat, while all around them, butterflies and bees went about their business. Never had a moment felt so perfect, and yet, Arty sensed a weightiness to Jim’s frivolous disregard for consequence. For the time being, he pushed it from his mind, revelling instead in the firm gentle touch of the man who had captured his heart on that very first night at the Palais Dance Hall.
How difficult it was to protest that they should refrain from doing this, for each time Arty drew breath to do so, Jim’s mouth stole it. His shirt was now unbuttoned all the way down to his waistband; Jim’s warm palms smoothed his sides, drawing him closer. Arty clung to him, returning the ever more passionate kisses, withdrawing for only as long as it took to unfasten Jim’s shirt. With the first touch of skin against skin, the desire tore through Arty’s body with a heat that, were it naked flame, could have turned the wheat to stubble in seconds.
Jim gasped breathlessly, “Gee, Arty, have you any idea what you do to me?”
Arty tried to form a response, but all that left him was a groan. Oh, what he wouldn’t give right now to remove every last piece of Jim’s clothing and feel that hard, naked body on his own.
But it was more than desire that had kept them coming back here, to the hangars, for the past five months. They had so much in common: their beliefs about the futility of war, what they wanted to do with their lives once the war was over, a love of dance, thoughts on equality for women, and God. They discussed politics and religion, philosophy and art. And they talked frankly about their feelings—how much they enjoyed each other’s company, how safe they felt in each other’s arms—and their uncertainty regarding what came after the kissing and cuddling. They talked about missing home, and the romances blossoming all around them, but they had yet to talk of whatever it was they had, almost as if it had only existed in the moments they shared in the hangar, until now.
“Arty, I know we’ve kinda not…er…what I mean is…”
“You want to go all the way?” Arty asked.
“Well, yeah.” Jim laughed and ran his hand through his hair, flustered by his yearning. He rolled to Arty’s side. “That’s a foregone conclusion, ain’t it? We both want that.”
“Well, I know I do.”
“What I was trying to say is…we’ve had so little time together, but I don’t want it to end.”
“Nor do I, and why should it?”
Jim cleared his throat, offering neither answer nor reassurance.
Arty turned on his side, leaning on his elbow and staring down into Jim’s face. Jim’s eyes flickered his way and a tear rolled from the corner, disappearing into his hair.
“Jim?”
“Yeah. I know.” Jim reached up and brushed his thumb along Arty’s cheekbone. “I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. It’s like you and I are two halves of a whole. Without you…”
More tears fell, and Arty couldn’t stand it. He tugged Jim close and held him fast, kissing each tear, the salty taste a balm that dammed his own tears, for the time being at least. He did not know what this was, did not want to know.
“There’s talk of us moving to Norfolk,” Jim said; his voice was muffled against Arty’s shoulder. “It’s not that far away, but it might as well be back in the States, for what it will do to us.”
“When?” Arty asked. “When will it happen?”
“If it happens, it’ll be soon. But I needed you to know how I feel about you. I want us to spend our lives together.”
“I don’t know how we do that, Jim.”
“Nor do I, or even if it’s possible. I just had to tell you, because we might never see each other again.”
* * * * *
When Skies Have Fallen Page 11