Timepiece

by Merinda Brayfield

  During the daylight hours, Frank still sometimes felt Wright watching him as he went about his duties, as if making sure he wasn’t stepping outside of some invisible line Frank would likely only see once he’d crossed it. For the moment, at least, he appeared to be leaving them alone, and Frank was glad for it, no matter how briefly that might last.

  A week or so after New Years, Frank and Archibald were enjoying dinner and one another’s company when a sudden nearby blast threw them out of their chairs. Their eyes met as Archibald quickly straightened the lantern and Frank nodded to show that he was all right.

  Quickly, Frank scrambled to his feet and grabbed his gun on his way to the door, unlocking and easing it open.

  Only a short distance from the bunker lay a fresh crater, with wounded, dead, and dying scattered about. “We need to help,” said Frank, looking back at Archibald.

  Archibald went to grab his first aid kit as Frank shouldered his rifle and hurried towards the carnage. He knelt by a soldier with a mangled leg. Maybe they could keep him alive until the medics arrived. Archibald crouched next to Frank with his kit, handing him a bandage. Frank got a tourniquet around the man’s thigh.

  The man was clearly in pain and struggling. Archibald grasped his hand and held it, murmuring comfort and keeping his focus on him.

  There was too much damage and too much blood. Frank could see that, even as he worked anyway. The soldier started shaking, then went limp, hand still in Archibald's grasp.

  Archibald took a breath and let go, then gathered himself, reached forward, and closed the man’s eyes. Frank squeezed Archibald’s shoulder as he got to his feet, moving towards the next wounded soldier.

  By now, the actual medics were on the scene. One of them called Frank over. “Help with these wounded,” he said, pointing at soldiers already on stretchers. Archibald said nothing as he picked up one end. The soldier was quietly sobbing as they carried him towards the medical tents. But at least he was alive.

  They carried the soldier to safety, passing him to waiting staff. As soon as he was off their hands, they hurried back to the scene, carrying three more to medical before the medics waved them off.

  With no more wounded to tend to, they went back into the bunker. Archibald started trembling as the door closed. “Here, sit,” said Frank, guiding him to a seat. “I’ll get you some tea,” he said, dropping a quick kiss to his forehead.

  Archibald nodded and reached to straighten his scattered papers.

  Frank adjusted his rifle and hurried out, skirting around the bloody ground and making it to the canteen in record time. At least there was a fresh pot and some bread he could grab.

  Wright was at the scene when Frank reached it again, but fortunately, he seemed focused on his men and didn’t even acknowledge Frank’s presence.

  Still, Frank locked the door behind him when he stepped inside, putting his rifle in its place. Archibald had his head in his hands, but he looked up and met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Frank, putting down the tea and bread. “Come and finish your dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Archibald ate mechanically, feeling numb. Frank leaned a foot against his under the table, grounding him in his presence, for which he was grateful. They’d done what they could, and they’d done well. He needed to remember that.

  There was still a bit of blood on Frank’s hands. Archibald wondered if Frank was even aware of it. He swallowed the last of his tea and got to his feet. “I’ll get us some fresh water to wash up,” he said, pulling on his coat and stepping out before Frank could respond.

  Archibald leaned against the door and took another breath. The crater still loomed in the fading light, but the bodies had been removed, and already, the blood was being churned into the mud.

  He walked quickly, head down as he moved. The blast had been close, but they were fine. They’d helped the wounded. Still, he flexed his hand, remembering the man who had died holding it. He didn’t even know the soldier’s name.

  It didn’t take long to get the water and head back. “Sir,” called a soldier as he neared the bunker.

  “Yes?” asked Archibald, stopping and shifting the water to his other arm. He peered at the stranger’s face, not recognizing him.

  “Thank you,” said the soldier quietly, glancing around as if making sure they weren’t being overheard. Likely, he was looking for Wright. “I know you and the Corporal aren’t regular soldiers like us, but you didn’t hesitate to help.”

  “We’re all doing our duty,” said Archibald.

  The soldier inclined his head. “Still, thank you. I... just wanted you to hear it.”

  “Thank you,” said Archibald, “truly.”

  The stranger nodded and stepped back, turning away. Archibald swallowed and walked to the rest of the way to the bunker.

  Frank was standing at the desk, having cleaned up dinner and now sorting Archibald’s papers. Really, he should have taken the dinner dishes with him, but he hadn’t even thought about it.

  Frank took the water from him. “Thank you,” he said, rinsing off his hands and splashing the cold water on his face.

  “You’re welcome,” said Archibald, moving towards the desk.

  “Hey, leave it for now,” said Frank gently, going to lock the door. “Let’s just go to bed.”

  Archibald hesitated, then nodded, seeing the wisdom in his words. He likely wouldn’t be able to focus well, anyway.

  They quickly got ready for bed. Frank got in first. Archibald turned down the lamp and followed him. Frank gently gathered him in his arms and held him against his chest.

  Archibald sighed and closed his eyes, still seeing the evening behind his eyes, but safe with Frank. Somehow, he fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Sometime later, Archibald jerked awake with a small gasp, seeing the face of the dead soldier a moment before he opened his eyes. He sat up and scrubbed his face in his hands.

  “It never really gets easier,” said Frank quietly in the darkness, rubbing his back.

  “How have you done this for so many years?” asked Archibald, hating the way his voice shook.

  Frank sat up and gathered him against his chest. “Sometimes I’ve cried,” he admitted. “Mostly, I just take everything one day at a time.”

  “You’re so much braver than me,” said Archibald.

  “I’m not,” Frank whispered into his hair. “I’m just some bloke who’s had the luck or misfortune to survive.”

  “Luck, I’d say, or else you wouldn’t be here with me.” Archibald raised his head and kissed Frank soundly.

  Frank held him a little closer as they broke apart. “Times like this, it’s good to remember you’re alive,” he said.

  Archibald touched Frank’s cheek. “How do you do that?”

  “There are a few ways. May I touch you?” asked Frank.

  Archibald’s heart sped in his chest. “I... I’ve never,” he said quietly.

  Frank smiled and let his hand trail down Archibald’s side. “You’d never kissed anyone before. I’d hardly have expected you to have done anything more. You’ve always been so careful. The door’s locked, and it’s only us.” Frank’s hand hovered over Archibald, not quite touching him, but full of promise.

  Archibald met Frank’s eyes and nodded. “Please.”

  “If it’s too much, tell me to stop,” said Frank, dropping his head to kiss Archibald’s throat, hand wrapping around his half-hard cock.

  Archibald groaned softly as Frank gave him a stroke, leaning into his embrace. It was so much better than touching himself. And Frank was right. He was alive in this moment, breath coming short, loved and adored.

  Frank murmured against his skin as he kissed it, something so soft that Archibald couldn’t hear it. It was almost like a dream, though his dreams had never felt this good.

  It didn’t take much time at all for Archibald to feel himself tense. Frank raised his head to his ear. “Come for me,” he ordered.
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br />   Archibald moaned and obeyed, spilling over Frank’s hand.

  “Perfect,” said Frank, smiling as he kissed Archibald’s cheek.

  “Should I...?” asked Archibald, hand straying towards Frank’s cock.

  “I’m good; I want you to rest now,” he said. “Sleep.”

  Archibald’s eyes were already drifting closed as Frank lay him back down on his side. He was vaguely aware of Frank getting out of bed and cleaning up the mess, but by then, he was already drifting off.

  In the morning, Archibald woke to the sound of Frank putting down their breakfast dishes. He blinked and sat up. “You let me sleep in very late,” he said, pulling out his watch and looking at the time.

  “You were resting,” said Frank with a shrug.

  Archibald smiled at him and got up, walking over to Frank and giving him a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

  Frank cupped his cheek as he kissed him back. “You’re welcome.”

  Archibald turned away to get dressed, gathering himself and mentally putting on the face that he showed the world.

  Later that morning, after breakfast had been cleared away and while Frank was running a message, Collins came in.

  “Morning,” he said, handing Archibald a message from Basil.

  “That it is,” answered Archibald, glancing at the message and turning to get the reports Basil would need. He felt Collins watching him. “Yes?” he asked, glancing at him.

  “Nothing,” said Collins, hiding a smile. “How is Corporal Martin doing?”

  “Fine. Out running errands,” answered Archibald, turning back to what he was doing. If it were anyone else, Archibald would be worried. But Basil relied on Collins and the man could be trusted to keep any secret. Though he’d probably tell Basil whatever he thought he knew.

  Archibald handed Collins the paperwork. “Give my regards to the General,” he said.

  “Of course,” said Collins, inclining his head. He turned to leave, then glanced back at Archibald one more time. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it again and left instead.

  Archibald scrubbed a hand through his hair and reached for another piece of paper. Always more work to do. He barely registered the sound of distant artillery starting up again as he picked up his pen.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The rest of the month passed quietly, or at least as quietly as it ever did here on the front. They did their work during the day, and in the small hours of the night, well, that was their time. Frank was certain he’d never get tired of Archibald’s kisses. They hadn’t progressed past hands, but Frank didn’t mind. A tiny bunk wasn’t the best place for anything more, though he knew it was possible. After Archibald’s lifetime of waiting for the right person and the right moment, Frank was more than willing to take his time. Archibald was getting bolder in his touches, more confident in expressing what he wanted and needed. For the first time in a very long time, Frank found himself looking forward to the nights.

  At the end of January, Frank came back from dropping off a message to find Archibald standing by his desk, tidying up his papers. “We’re needed in Paris,” he said. “Just for a few days. They want my presence at some meetings and conferences. Of course, I can’t travel without my aide.”

  “Of course,” nodded Frank, leaning his gun against the wall. “Are we headed out now?”

  “Yes. There should be a car waiting for us at the rear.”

  Frank quickly packed a small bag, then helped Archibald secure the last of his confidential papers. Archibald locked the trunk and looked at Frank. “You can leave your rifle; you won’t need it in Paris.”

  “I’d hope not,” said Frank with a smile, even if the very idea of going anywhere without it made him nervous. “But I think I’ll bring it anyway. There’s no telling what we might run into on the way.”

  “I understand,” said Archibald, leaning to give him a quick kiss as he picked up his own bag.

  Frank shouldered his rifle. “I’ll carry that,” he told Archibald, taking both bags and settling everything in his hands.

  Archibald nodded and led the way out. Frank made himself not look back. After all, it was only a few days, and surely Paris would be safer than the little bunker, wouldn’t it?

  As promised, a car was waiting for them with a bored-looking private. He took their bags and loaded them into the car while Frank settled in the front and Archibald in the back. Frank watched the countryside go by, the scars of war starting to fade as they drew closer to the city, though there was still the occasional crater or burnt-out building serving as a silent reminder.

  They entered the city in the late afternoon, winding their way through the streets. There were some people going about their days, but the place felt emptier than Frank remembered.

  Finally, they stopped in front of a hotel that looked from the outside as if it belonged to the 17th century more than the 20th. Frank took the luggage and thanked their driver as Archibald headed inside.

  By the time Frank joined him in the lobby, Archibald already had the room keys. “This way,” said Archibald, heading up the stairs. They went all the way up to the top floor and down the hallway. “This room is mine,” he said. “Yours is next door.”

  Frank traded Archibald's luggage for his room key. Unlocking the door and pushing it open, he found his room was small, no doubt intended for a servant. It had a bed, a washbasin, and most importantly, a private door to Archibald’s room.

  Archibald knocked and opened the door as Frank put his bag down on the bed. “There should be dinner for us downstairs, if you can bring it up.”

  “Of course,” said Frank, leaning his rifle against the wall before turning and heading back down the stairs.

  The man at the front desk muttered something about demanding Englishmen before disappearing through a back door. Frank looked around the pristine lobby. It seemed like the sort of place that should be bustling with upper-crust tourists, not echoing with silence. The longer Frank stood there, the more unsettling the quiet became. There were no booms of artillery, no sounds of distant gunfire. Even his dreams were no longer this devoid of noise. Frank shuffled his feet, just to break up the silence.

  The man swept back through the door with a covered tray, still muttering to himself as he lifted the lid just long enough to show Frank it was their dinner. Frank thanked him in badly accented French and turned away, smiling a little as he heard the Frenchman swear.

  Frank carefully carried the tray up the stairs and down the hall. Archibald’s door was open just a crack, clearly an invitation.

  Carefully pushing it open with his hip, he heard the sound of running water. He put the tray down on the table, then turned to close and bolt the door, then made sure the door between their rooms was locked. Finally, he followed the sound of water to the en suite.

  Archibald’s back was to Frank as he stood naked in front of the bathtub. Frank froze in place, taking in pale skin dusted with freckles, the curve of his arse, his long, elegant legs. Archibald stepped gracefully into the tub, reaching over to shut off the water, then looked up at Frank.

  “Gorgeous,” said Frank quietly, stripping out of his own clothes, never taking his eyes off Archibald. He took a step towards the tub, then stopped, aware of just how grimy he was after all the time running messages in the trenches.

  “It’s fine,” said Archibald, offering his hand. Frank accepted it and let Archibald help him into the large tub. He kissed Archibald gently as he got in.

  Archibald smiled into the kiss and turned Frank, settling him against his chest. Frank closed his eyes, nearly overwhelmed at the sensation of being skin-to-skin.

  Kissing his shoulder, Archibald reached for the soap. Frank sighed as Archibald started to wash him, feeling the warmth of the water seep into his bones. Archibald’s gentle hands on his skin lulled him into a doze, sending all his other worries far away.

  Only when the water started to turn cold did Frank stir. He moved up and turned around, kissi
ng Archibald and taking the soap from him. He cleaned him with the same care, if perhaps a little faster. Archibald’s eyes stayed open, watching him as if trying to memorize his face.

  Finally, Frank set the soap aside. Archibald pulled the plug and turned on the tap again. They helped each other rinse off, sending the last of the trenches down the drain.

  Archibald stepped out of the tub. Frank followed him, picking up one of the soft towels and wrapping it around his lover. Archibald kissed him as Frank dried him, then dried off Frank with the same soft motions he’d used with the soap.

  It was as natural as breathing to step to the bed, sipping kisses as they moved across towards it. Archibald landed on his back and Frank moved over him, kissing him deeply, making him moan as he tangled his hands in Frank’s hair.

  Frank could feel Archibald’s desire pressing against his hip and raised his head, brushing Archibald’s hair back. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

  “Please,” answered Archibald, opening his eyes, showing Frank just how badly he wanted him.

  Frank rolled his hips, making Archibald’s eyes close again as he gasped. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, kissing his throat. “I saw some oil in the bath; let me get it,” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away.

  It was a privilege to be here, to have this man and this moment. God only knew how long this would last. They would take what they both wanted with no regrets.

  Frank grabbed the oil and hurried back, stopping just short of the bed to stare. Archibald had moved towards the headboard and was lying with his thighs spread invitingly open, one hand slowly stroking his cock.

  “You’re incredibly handsome,” said Frank, leaning down to kiss him.

  Archibald blushed. “Only you would think so.”

  “You are,” insisted Frank, moving down the bed to kneel between Archibald’s legs. He leaned forward, his breath just teasing the head of his cock. “May I?”

  Archibald nodded, withdrawing his hand and letting it fall to the bed.

  Frank let Archibald’s cock rub against his lips before darting his tongue out to taste his pre-come. Archibald moaned and rocked his head back, hand twisting in the sheets.