A Hidden Beauty

by Jamie Craig

  “Yes, it does have meaning. This is where he…” He gasped as his stomach clenched, unexpected pain piercing his gut.

  “Jeff?”

  As quickly as the pain arrived, it disappeared. “I’m fine. This is where he was standing when he collapsed. According to my grandfather.”

  “Was anybody else here when it happened?”

  “I don’t think so…Grandfather never mentioned anybody else and…” The pain again. Jefferson reached for Micah without thought, his other hand going to his stomach. He clutched his midsection, and distantly, he heard Micah say his name. Was it Micah? Jefferson couldn’t think of who else it could be, but the voice was so far away. And the pain…

  “Do you see that?” he murmured, squeezing Micah’s fingers tighter.

  “What?”

  Joseph in his shirtsleeves, his chest and mouth stained a bright scarlet, brighter still against his bone-white skin. Simon Dering shaking, his breath coming in sharp, shocked gasps. Simon is holding his friend, trying to elevate his head, trying to support his weight, trying to wash the blood from his lips. Crying. Pain, exquisite and immediate, throbbing under his skin, radiating outwards further and further, until it consumes the world. Sawdust and shavings sticking to his skin, tickling his nose. Sneezes. Blood dots Simon’s face. Tiny little dots.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Joseph. Don’t…just…wait. The doctor is coming.”

  “Nobody’s coming. Nobody’s coming to help me. Nobody can help me.”

  “Don’t say that. The doctor will help you.” Simon wipes his face and his hand is red. Dark red. Purple.

  “Don’t make me leave. Don’t let me go. Please.”

  “I’m not going to let you go. You never have to go.”

  Copper drips down the back of his throat. His chest wretches. Simon’s face is swimming out of focus, the red dots blurring, running into lines.

  “Please help me. I don’t want to…I don’t want to leave you.”

  It reeks of purple. Flowers. Everywhere.

  Someone spoke to him. Not Simon. Not Joseph. But Jefferson couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was like being called from above the clouds, the words echoing like hollow trees in a dead wood, and even though his heart sang at the owner’s voice, he was torn. He simply wanted to rest. There was no more strength to fight. He was even willing to face the damnation he’d already earned.

  “Jefferson!”

  The shout cut through the stupor, but it wasn’t the honed force that cut through him. It was the fear. The desperation.

  Micah.

  Micah needed him.

  Though the struggle ached, Jefferson forced his eyes open to find himself staring into pitch. Micah’s features blurred at the corner of his eye, then filled his vision, his clear irises now dark with terror. A loose curl hung over his brow, and Jefferson had the odd urge to reach up and push it out of the way, but his arm refused to obey the command.

  “There you are,” Micah breathed. “I thought—”

  A paroxysm of coughing seized Jefferson’s chest. The sound gurgled, and blood gagged his throat. Micah’s eyes widened. Immediately, he slid an arm under Jefferson and sat him up, forcing his head forward, but while he fully expected to spit blood all over the floor, only a few droplets sprayed.

  “What happened?” Micah demanded. “You’re like ice.”

  “I…I don’t know. I wasn’t here anymore.” Jefferson wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Or he tried to. His limbs were still not cooperating fully.

  With his free hand, Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, wiping Jefferson’s mouth for him. The elegant white cotton came away speckled in red.

  “You’re ill.” His grip tightened as he prepared to help Jefferson to his feet. “I’m taking you home and I’m fetching the doctor.”

  “No, no. I don’t need the doctor.” He tested each knee, bending them to make sure he had control of his legs. “I’ll be fine in a minute. I’m just…are you cold?”

  “No, no, that’s you.”

  As if to prove his point, Micah peeled off his glove and laid his hand to Jefferson’s cheek. Jefferson jerked. His skin wasn’t just warm; it scalded.

  “You were unconscious,” Micah continued. “For nearly three minutes. I couldn’t wake you up.”

  “I heard you…I heard you trying, I think. But I wasn’t myself.” Jefferson grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not explaining it properly. I don’t know if there is a proper explanation. Help me up, please.”

  Micah stood, but somehow managed not to break contact with Jefferson. The first attempt failed. Jefferson barely managed to sit up on the second attempt. But the third time he tried, he managed to get his feet under him, properly supporting his weight.

  “Micah…” His voice was obstructed by his chattering teeth as chills raced down his spine.

  “That’s it.” He’d never heard Micah sound so assertive before. “We’re going home and the first thing I’m doing is drawing you a warm bath. If you won’t let me call the doctor, the least you can do is let me do this.”

  Jefferson nodded. He wanted to tell Micah that a bath was good, but his lips and tongue refused to form words. He gripped Micah tightly, afraid to let him go. Afraid of the church for the first time in his life.

  It felt like a betrayal. He had been betrayed by a dead man, somehow.

  The chills stopped once they stepped out of the church, but the winter night sliced through him. He huddled closer to Micah, convinced he would never be warm again.

  The cottage was mildly warmer, but Micah took him straight into the sitting room, easing him onto the chaise before stripping out of his coat. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said, tucking it around Jefferson. Once he was certain he couldn’t add any more layers, he went to the hearth and stoked the fire, adding fresh logs to get more flames. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  “I won’t,” Jefferson managed. He followed Micah with his eyes until the other man left the room, and then he couldn’t help but watch the door where he disappeared. He heard Micah go out the kitchen door to gather snow in the pails Jefferson kept for that purpose, then the familiar clink of the tin against the cast-iron stove. He knew it would take some time to fill the tub with hot water, and he would have plenty of opportunity to go to sleep, but Jefferson didn’t want to close his eyes. If he did, he would see blood on his grandfather’s face. A younger version of the face he had known so well. If he closed his eyes, he was quite certain he would smell the purple flowers. If he closed his eyes, he might be taken from Micah again.

  His lids were growing heavy by the time Micah returned, but the sight of him brought Jefferson instantly back to life. He had never seen the young man look like this. Sweat beaded his brow, and his cheeks were pinked from the heat of the kitchen. With his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked broader, the hair somehow darker that dusted his muscled forearms. Perspiration also dampened the fabric to his back, a detail Jefferson caught when Micah went to stoke the fire once again.

  “Everything’s ready,” he said when he came back to the chaise. “How are your legs?”

  “Suitable for walking, I think.” Jefferson would have crawled to the kitchen before he let all of Micah’s work be for naught. With Micah’s help, he stood once again. Before he had felt weak. Now it seemed like his only problem was his frozen joints, his numb feet. He shuffled his way into the kitchen before trying to unbutton his shirt, but he couldn’t seem to grip the buttons. “But that might be all I’m suitable for.”

  “Do not worry.” Micah’s soft voice was a balm, almost as much as the wave of heat coming from the waiting water. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

  Gently, he pushed Jefferson’s hands out of the way. He worked quickly, quietly, his dark head bowed as he opened the collar and pulled it over Jefferson’s head. Next came boots, socks, his strong grip holding Jefferson steady as he lifted one foot and then the other. Only when
he straightened and went to the waistband of his trousers did Micah look up to meet Jefferson’s gaze.

  “Can you tell me what happened yet?”

  “I would love to tell you what happened. But I don’t know…I’m not even sure what happened. First, I felt pain in my stomach. And then I couldn’t hear you anymore. I knew you were there but…” Jefferson swallowed hard. “Then I saw how he died. But…that’s not right. I didn’t see it. I was there. I was him. He was so…scared. He didn’t want to go.”

  He barely felt his trousers sliding down his legs. He did, however, feel Micah’s strong arms lift him up and settle him into the steaming bath.

  “Him. You mean Joseph.”

  “Yes, it was Joseph.” Jefferson settled in the water, and his feet and hands immediately began to tingle as the blood rushed through him. “It was Joseph. He was with my grandfather…and I…He…” Jefferson reached out and took Micah’s hand. “Why would he make me experience that?”

  Micah shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never been so terrified as I was, trying to rouse you.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have…maybe you were right about the church.”

  He was startled when Micah leaned over the edge of the tub, heedless of the way his shirt soaked to his skin as he gripped Jefferson’s shoulders.

  “I don’t care about that damn church.” There was a fire in his eyes that had nothing to do with the lamp burning nearby. He slid his hands up to cup Jefferson’s face, his grip almost painful. “I have known for a long time just what you mean to me. I did not know until tonight how it would truly devastate me should anything happen to you.”

  Jefferson blinked at the surprising tone and even more shocking strength. For the first time since he came to in the church, he didn’t feel as though half of his brain was somewhere else. He covered Micah’s hand with his own. “But nothing did happen to me,” he said gently. “I am well. I’m going to be well.”

  Disbelief shone in his face. “You coughed up blood.”

  “But I am not coughing up blood now. And the pain is completely gone. It wasn’t my pain, after all.” He brought Micah’s palm to his lips. “Please don’t be upset anymore.”

  He kept his mouth to Micah’s skin until the line between the young man’s brows began to ease. “Tell me you’re at least getting warm. Grant me that much.”

  “I’m getting very warm now. Thank you for the bath. I can feel my fingers and toes now.” He studied Micah’s dear face, and a different sort of warmth flooded him. “But I know how you feel. I’m scared to close my eyes. I don’t want to be unable to see you or hear you.”

  Micah’s fingertips trailed across his shoulder as he pulled away. Water splashed over the edge of the tub, but if Micah noticed, he paid no mind.

  “I find it most curious,” he mused, grabbing the hem of his shirt. Peeling it away, he tossed it to the floor to join where he’d already tossed Jefferson’s. “I have gone my entire life without feeling anything more than slight affection for anyone, and yet, here I am, after having known of your existence for a mere four months, and I fear the day I might have to wake up and find you not there.” His hands dropped to his pants. “How can that be?”

  Jefferson watched, unable to look away, as Micah unfastened his pants. He was quite certain he would never get tired of the view of Micah’s body. His form was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. Jefferson wanted nothing more than to feast his eyes on Micah.

  “It took you four months to fall in love with me,” Jefferson said, his mouth dry. “But I fell much sooner than that.”

  Surprise gleamed in Micah’s eyes. “It would probably be uncouth of me to ask when that happened, I suppose.” He bent to step out of his trousers, his cock, thick and hardening before Jefferson’s eyes, heavy against Micah’s thigh. “Though I must admit to being eager to know the answer.”

  Jefferson licked his lips. “I think it was the moment before I kissed you. Right before my lips touched yours, my heart was gone.”

  “It’s not gone.” Micah climbed into the tub, awkwardly placing his legs outside Jefferson’s in order to fit. He lay forward, aligning their bodies, and gripped the rim on either side of Jefferson’s shoulders, gently rocking so that their pricks rubbed along each other beneath the water. “I have it. And I shall treasure it with everything that I have.”

  Jefferson wrapped his arms around Micah with a soft sigh. “I know you shall. I trust you with it. As you trust me, I hope.”

  Thick lashes ducked as he glanced at Jefferson’s mouth. “You have turned my entire world upside down,” he whispered. “North became south. East, west. I find myself believing in spirits when before they existed only in my verse. You are a remarkable man, Mr. Dering.”

  “No more than you are.” As they spoke, their mouths moved closer and closer. Jefferson was drawn to Micah’s lips, some sort of natural attraction he couldn’t deny. “I just hope I am remarkable enough to remain worthy of you.” Their lips touched, and Jefferson almost whimpered. The contact chased the remaining chill away, and he could feel Micah all the way to his bones.

  “Will you guide me?” Each word caressed his lips, each kiss succulent and ready to burst. Something tickled across Jefferson’s hip, and he realized that Micah had loosed his hold on the edge of the tub, slipping a hand beneath the surface to seek out Jefferson’s prick. “Show me what I must do to ensure neither of us ever composes a letter like those of Joseph’s.”

  Sometimes, Jefferson forgot completely about Micah’s young age, his inexperience, his innocence. Other times, like now, he couldn’t forget those facts at all. But even when he remembered, they were meaningless. Micah was so willing, so enthusiastic, so clever.

  “I will. Or, at least, you have my word to do the best I can. Always. But you have to guide me too. I’ve been…living alone for a very long time.”

  “Evidence of a balanced union.” Micah rubbed his palm across Jefferson’s crown, exactly as Jefferson had shown him their first night together. “Each becomes both teacher and student, imparting what the other requires, taking for his own sustenance.” His mouth moved away, though the contact remained spectral upon Jefferson’s jaw as it had been upon his lips. “I find I could dine on the taste of your skin for hours. Is that as it should be, Master Dering?”

  Jefferson’s groin tightened and a pleasant ache settled in his lower stomach. How could he ever become accustomed to this unbelievable hunger? And as Micah continued to demonstrate his need to taste Jefferson’s body, he couldn’t help but recall their earlier conversation. Desire marched up his spine, and his skin tingled anew.

  “Yes. Yes, I believe that is as it should be.” Micah’s mouth moved lower to the hollow of his throat, and Jefferson ran his wet fingers through Micah’s hair. “Exactly as it should be.”

  “Are you warm yet?”

  “If I say yes, are you going to abandon me?”

  He felt the smile rather than witnessed it. “If you say yes, I shall not have any qualms about exposing more of you to the cooler air. But if you still need the sanctuary of the water…”

  “Well, I’ll not lie to you then. I am feeling warmer. Much warmer. But I think that has to do more with you than it does the water.”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  The touch on his now aching erection floated away, and moved to the small stool upon which Jefferson sat in the tub. Supporting his weight, Micah eased Jefferson upward, so that his new seat became Micah’s thighs, and it made his prick break the surface of the water.

  Micah sat back, smoothing his hands over Jefferson’s chest. “Perhaps next time I will be on my knees. You said in one of your letters to me that my mouth fit against yours perfectly for kissing. Do you think that’s all it might be perfect for?”

  Jefferson ran his fingers over Micah’s face, touching his brow and cheek, following the line of his jaw. He very much appreciated Micah’s willingness, but he couldn’t help but wonder what
that young prostitute had done to him to prompt such enthusiasm. It must have been the first sort of truly sexual contact he had ever experienced, and it had certainly left an impression.

  “I think your mouth is perfect for anything.” Jefferson’s hand went to the base of his erection and he stroked the shaft once, letting the tip drag against Micah’s chest.

  Micah’s gaze dropped, following the wet path left behind along his skin. When he lifted a hand to fold over Jefferson’s, Jefferson saw that it was shaking.

  Micah licked his lips. “That is a theory that requires testing.” Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he leaned down, his tongue darting out to flick across the seeping slit of Jefferson’s prick.

  “Oh my…” Jefferson tried to take a breath, but his lungs refused to work. Just the short, brief contact was enough to make his head spin. He almost thought he could just be happy with that, but then Micah slid his tongue over the slit again and again. His free hand gripped the edge of the tub, and he held himself still, resisting the impulse to push for more, to bury himself completely in Micah’s mouth, the way he had buried himself in Micah’s ass before.

  Micah slid his hand up, grasping it beneath the crown before stroking back down. It served a dual purpose, both pushing Jefferson’s out of the way and pulling back the foreskin to bare the head. Tilting his head, he gazed at it for long seconds as if he were contemplating a problem. Just as the plea for more formed on Jefferson’s tongue, however, Micah angled the length closer to his mouth, leaning back to suck the tip hard past his lips.

  “God in Heaven…” And then his capability of speech was completely gone. Jefferson stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as Micah moved his mouth down Jefferson’s shaft an inch and another inch. He could not look away, and he couldn’t help but note every single detail of those long, elastic moments. Micah’s sooty lashes against his flushed skin, the damp curls stuck to his brow, the hollow of his cheeks, the color of his lips as they stretched over Jefferson’s arousal. He stared until Micah began sliding his tongue up and down his shaft, then his eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttering shut.