Warren raised the axe over his shoulder, taking a deep exhale as he swung, cracking the piece of wood clean through with a loud thunk. It was snowing, the forest around his cabin hazy white as the thick flakes fell. This storm was going to be brutal; he could already smell it thick on the air. It felt like a blanket was hanging low and heavy, quieting the forest to the sound of his breathing and the dull chopping of his blade.
He readied the next piece of wood on the stump, shifting the axe to one hand. Then he took up his position, swinging back with the axe. He brought it down with a thwack, splitting the wood in two.
Bang, bang, bang.
He jerked upright, clutching tighter to his axe handle. Someone was pounding on the front door of his cabin. “Back here!” he called.
He waited, swinging the axe into the stump.
Charles stumbled around the corner of the cabin, clutching to the wall with one hand as he shuffled forward. Christ, was the man drunk? It was barely mid-afternoon. Was that…
Warren narrowed his eyes. Charles was clutching a bottle of what looked like brandy in his ungloved hand, his knuckles red with cold. Charles raised his red-rimmed eyes, stumbling to a halt in the snow, the bottle slipping from his fingers and dropping at his feet. Warren knew what was wrong without him saying a word.
“John…”
And then Warren was on the move, crossing the clearing to wrap Charles in his arms. “I’m sorry, Charles. I’m so sorry.”
Charles sank against him with a sob. “He’s dead.”
“I know,” Warren murmured, rubbing his back with a gloved hand. “Come inside.”
“I wasn’t there,” he cried, his face pressed into Warren’s fur-lined leather vest. “He sent me away. One minute he was talking to me and the next…the next—”
“I know,” he soothed, tucking him under his arm and leading him to the cabin. He left the bottle of brandy in the snow.
Warren rattled his door open, pulling Charles inside with him. The cabin was warm and smelled of the duck he had sizzling on a spit over the fire. A pot of potatoes and carrots boiled on the chain.
He helped Charles out of his scarf and jacket. The poor man swayed on his feet, drunk on brandy and grief. “Come,” he murmured, pulling Charles forward and sitting him on the bed. “Are you hungry? Let’s get some food in your stomach. Soak up some of the brandy.”
He got to work, removing the duck from the fire, and serving up two bowls of the potato and carrot mash. He took Charles by the shoulders, leading him over to the table. Charles sank down, snatching for the wooden spoon, but he didn’t eat. Warren was hungry enough for the both of them, digging into the food as Charles sat quietly, staring down at the steaming plate of food.
“Was it peaceful?” Warren asked, not knowing what else to say.
Charles nodded. “Grasby’s already came,” he muttered, moving the boiled potatoes around on his plate. “They’re so efficient. I blinked and he was gone. He’s just…gone.”
“Well…at least he had time to ready his affairs,” Warren said with a shrug. He stilled, eyes wide as he stared across the table.
Charles was laughing. It started small, a low chuckle. But it grew. In moments, he was wheezing, one hand on his side.
Warren set his fork aside. “Charles, what—”
“Affairs,” Charles repeated, his mirth dying as he wiped at his eyes. Then he was reaching inside his waistcoat, pulling out a stack of letters wrapped in a red ribbon. He set them on the table between them and leaned back, as if the letters were a venomous snake that may strike. “Do you know what those are?”
Warren said nothing, waiting for Charles to get to his point.
“They’re love letters. My uncle’s love letters.”
Warren wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he wasn’t expecting that. He’d always assumed Mr. Selby was a lifelong bachelor by choice. A lot of men of the cloth chose that path. It was odd to think of the man having a love affair with some seamstress or married lady.
“In his dying moments, he bade me go to his study and find them…burn them,” Charles muttered, his eyes still fixed on the offensive stack. “He wanted this evidence destroyed. I missed his passing because I could not help myself, Warren. I read them. He told me not to, but it couldn’t be helped. He died while I read them…while I broke the last request he ever gave me.”
“Charles—”
“I’m glad I read them,” he growled, raising his eyes to hold Warren’s gaze. His energy was impossible to read—angry, sad, confused. “They’re all from the same person,” he went on.
Warren reached across the table for his hand. “Charles—”
“A Reverend Martin Fields of Devonshire.”
He stilled. “A reverend wrote him love letters? A reverend as in a man?”
Charles nodded. “They were in love. They wrote a single letter a year, pouring out all their loving sentiments. Reverend Fields is quite the poet” he spat.
Warren closed his hand around Charles’s, but Charles jerked away. “And now you are angry—”
Charles launched from his chair, the spoon clattering to the table. “Of course, I’m bloody fucking angry! He lied to me, John. All my life, he’s been lying.”
Warren sighed, leaning back in his chair. “He was afraid.”
Charles shook his head. “He warned me away from you so many times. He bade me leave, John. I came to be at his dying bed, and he told me to go, too afraid I would see you again, that I would be lured into your depravity.” He groaned, dragging both hands through his hair. “All the while…”
Warren got to his feet, moving around the table. He placed two firm hands on Charles’s shoulders. “He loved you, Charles. He was protecting you—”
“He was protecting himself,” he spat, shrugging away. “And he was hiding the truth. He loved this M. Fields. He loved him in the shadows for over twenty years. He loved him the way I love you!”
“And he does not want the same fate for you,” Warren reasoned. “He knows the reality of loving another man, of hiding all that this is,” he added, gesturing between them. “Do not let this truth sully your memories of him, Charles—”
“He should have told me,” Charles spat.
Warren sighed again. Never in his life did he imagine himself taking the part of Thomas Selby. But Charles needed a good dose of reason. “How could he tell you?” he replied. “How would a young Charles have responded knowing his uncle also had a great, secret love? You’re too romantic for your own good. His admission would have driven you further into my arms, not away.”
Charles shook his head, crossing his arms tight around himself. He looked so tender, so perfectly broken.
Warren reached out a hand again, brushing the back of his knuckles down his arm. “I hate that this revelation has come at this time. You deserve the chance to mourn him for the man he was. He was your father—”
“He was my guilty conscience. He made me believe—” He spun away with a groan.
“Believe what?”
Charles stilled, his hands clasped behind his neck as he took a shaking breath. “I never believed what we shared is a sin, John. Love is…love cannot ever be a sin.” He turned slowly, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. “But shame is real…shame and disloyalty. Uncle Selby made me believe I should be ashamed of what we share. He told me again and again it was wrong. I was not afraid of you for the sin of it…I was afraid for the disloyalty to my uncle.”
“Why?”
Charles shrugged. “The man gave me everything, John. He took us in. He cared for me when no one else…” He fell into silence with another pained groan, turning away.
Warren gave him a moment to collect himself. “What do you need?”
Charles turned, eyes still shut tight. Slowly, he let out a shaking breath through pursed lips and opened his eyes. He settled his amber gaze on Warren, a pleading question reaching out through their bond. “John…please.”
Warren stayed still. “You’re drunk.”
“Not so very,” he replied, closing the space between them, his hands going to the buttons of Warren’s vest.
Warren closed his large hands around Charles’s wrists. “You’re grieving.”
Charles stilled, his shoulders suppressing a sob. “John, please,” he murmured, tipping up on his toes to kiss Warren’s jaw. “Please, Johnnie. Just…just hold me. Make it go away. Make it stop. Just for a moment. Please—”
Warren wrapped him in his arms, pressing his face to Charles’s neck and breathing him in. Charles’s hands moved, stripping him out of his vest and immediately working on his cravat. Warren couldn’t help but respond, having Charles in his arms. He stood still, letting Charles have his way at first, stripping Warren down to his shirtsleeves and kissing all across his broad chest, his hands slipping inside the top of Warren’s breeches.
“Please,” Charles begged again, his face nuzzled in at Warren’s neck. “Please, hold me.”
Setting his reserve aside, Warren got to work, stripping Charles out of his clothes until they were both standing shirtless, breeches open, hands seeking for their hard lengths. Warren went slowly, peppering Charles with kisses, teasing him and bringing him to the edge, his hand stroking along his shaft and cupping his balls.
Charles groaned, leaning into his every touch. “More,” he pleaded, his own hand stroking Warren from root to tip. “I need you, Johnnie. Been so long. Please god, make me yours.”
Warren groaned, letting himself sink fully into character. He turned Charles around in his embrace, pulling him by the hips until Charles was nestled against his hard cock. Charles whimpered, tipping his head back to expose his neck. Warren obliged him, lavishing his neck with hot kisses.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against Charles’s ear, nipping the lobe. “Do you want it rough? Want me to make it hurt? You’ve always liked a little pain with your pleasure.”
Charles sighed, his cock twitching in Warren’s firm grip.
“Do you want to be my good little pet?” he teased, fighting his own discomfort. He didn’t want to play this game anymore, but in this moment, he’d do whatever Charles needed. “Do you need to get on your knees and suck me before I fuck your tight hole? I’ll make you beg for it. Make you crawl.”
Charles shifted in his grip, his cock achingly hard, but he turned, his arms going up to wrap around Warren’s shoulders. “No games, Johnnie. We don’t need them. You’re more than just a quick fuck to me. Don’t always sell yourself so short. Please, just—” He swallowed his words and Warren soothed a hand on his cheek.
“Tell me.”
Charles tipped up his chin, holding his gaze. “Will you just…love me?”
The question settled between them, stealing all their air.
“Because I love you so much. It’s always been you, John. And I’m so—” His breath caught. “I’m sorry. I left you without a word, and I’m so sorry. It broke my heart to do it. Selby bade me go and I—I wanted back the moment I’d gone. Please believe me, John. There wasn’t a day I didn’t long for you. Three years of misery—” Charles buried his face against his chest, letting out a soft sob as he clung to him. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he said against his shoulder. “I can’t breathe without your air in my lungs. Can’t smile but that I see you smiling too. And I can’t give Madeline an answer when I feel how you still hate me.”
Warren stiffened, heart racing. “I could never hate you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Charles.
Charles tipped his face back to gaze up at him. “But you’ve not forgiven me either. How could you when I’ve done nothing to earn it? I was selfish and scared and stupid. I let myself be lead away from you. But how can you understand? You’re so strong, John. You’ve always been so strong. You would never be persuaded to walk away from someone you loved.”
“And I never did,” he said softly, cupping Charles’s face, his heart overflowing with need.
Charles blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I followed you,” he admitted.
Charles sucked in a breath. “What?”
Warren shrugged. “Each time I caught wind of you, I went to where you were. London, Manchester. I had to know you were safe. Protected. I couldn’t live with the not knowing.”
Fresh tears filled his eyes. “You came for me?”
“Three times,” he replied, his memory flooding with the image of Charles crossing a busy street, a bundle of books under his arm. “I saw you once. In London. I was sure you saw me too. But then you turned away—”
“I didn’t,” Charles panted, clinging to his shoulders. “Oh John, I didn’t see you. If you would have made yourself known, I would have fallen at your feet. I would have begged you never to leave me again. I will do so now. I will beg you to forgive me. For I am a broken man, and it is only fitting that I atone.”
He slipped from Warren’s grip dropping to his knees, his hands on Warren’s hips.
“Stand up, Charles,” he muttered, pulling on his arms.
“No—I must fix this between us,” he panted, jerking himself loose. “I broke your heart, John. Worse, I left you in the same way everyone else has. Believe me, no one hates me more than myself for playing into your worst fears the way that I did.”
Warren groaned, trying to keep the pieces of his wounded heart from breaking open again.
“But I didn’t leave for a lack of loving you,” Charles said ardently. “I loved you too much. I always have. It consumes me, it blinds me to reason. Selby was afraid and he made me afraid too. But I’m not afraid anymore.”
Warren narrowed his eyes at him. “And why not?”
“Madeline,” he said on a breath.
Warren stilled.
“Seeing you together opened my eyes to what a fool I’d been, what a coward. She thinks she’s meek, a drab little wallflower, but she’s not.”
“No,” Warren replied, unable to suppress his smile at the thought of her. “She’s not.”
“She is the viola that blooms brightest in winter,” Charles went on. “She is fierce and bold, claiming what she wants, withstanding the frost of a life lived in the cold. And she loves you, John. Like you, she is stalwart. She will not shift. God—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I think I’m falling more in love with her every day, but I envy her too. I envy the way she loves you so innocently so freely. You both say I am in a cage, so help me.” He gripped him by the hips again, gazing up at him from the floor. “Tear down these bars and let me love you the way I’ve always wanted to, the way she does. Without condition or reservation or fear.”
Warren pursed his lips, thinking of the pink in her cheeks, the gold of her hair. “You cannot cross this line with us again unless you mean it, Charles. She is determined to have us both, to heal us and plant herself between us.”
“But we cannot make space for her in our hearts while this rot festers,” Charles urged. “So, tell me what to do, John. Tell me how I may atone. What must I do to earn back your love and your trust?”
Warren sighed, running a hand over Charles’s curls.
Charles leaned into his hand, chasing his touch with a soft whimper.
“Stand up,” he ordered, tugging on his arms again.
Charles stood, his legs a little wobbly from too much drink and emotional exhaustion. “Please,” he murmured, pouring all his hope and need into the word.
Warren felt it through his whole body. He cupped Charles’s face with both hands, brushing his thumb over his parted lips. “Do you love me?”
Charles exhaled against his thumb, leaning into him. “So much. John, I cannot bear this distance a moment longer. I need to be with you, claimed by you. Please, my love—”
Warren sighed with relief before kissing him deep and slow. Charles sank into his kiss, lowering all his walls to the floor. He clung to him, giving him everything.
“Please,” Charles murmured.
Warren worked Charles’s breeches down his hips and did the same to himself. Bending his knees, he wrapped a large hand around both their cocks, stroking them together.
Both men shivered with need.
“I want you so badly,” Charles begged, his arms around his neck as he pressed closer with his hips, grinding their cocks together with perfect pressure. “Need you inside me.”
With a groan, Warren walked him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders to sit him down. At that new angle, Charles was at the perfect height to—
“Fuck—” Warren dug his fingers into Charles’s hair as Charles sank his mouth around his length, dragging his soft tongue over the tip with a little sucking sound. Warren moved his hips with the motion of Charles’s mouth, feeling that exquisite coiling low in his back. The heat spread outward, hardening his cock, as Charles hummed with pleasure. “So good,” he muttered, giving Charles a loving stroke with his hand.
Charles looked up at him, gaze soft, his mouth wrapped around him. Warren had to have him. He needed more. It had been too goddamn long. He cupped Charles’s face with both hands, gently pulling him off his cock. “Lie down.”
Charles whimpered with relief, slipping his breeches the rest of the way off his legs, his stockings too, until he was fully naked. As Warren did the same, he also reached for the small bottle of oil.
“Hands and knees,” he directed. “Relax for me.”
Charles was already obliging him, rolling onto his knees, spreading them slightly to expose himself. Warren climbed onto the bed behind him, reaching between Charles’s legs to stroke his cock as he lowered his mouth. He spit on Charles’s hole, watching it clench tight, before he teased it with his tongue.
“Oh god,” Charles groaned, his face dropping to his folded arms as he pressed his arse against Warren’s hot mouth. Warren traced from his balls and back up, working him until he was writhing. “Do it, John. I can’t stand it—”
Pausing a moment, Warren poured a measure of the oil into his hand, working his first finger slowly inside Charles. He loved the feel of him clenching tight around him. “If you expect to take my cock, you need to relax.”
Charles squirmed, his hips wriggling as he pushed himself harder onto Warren’s fingers.
“So eager,” Warren teased. “Are you desperate to be filled? Do you want this cock so deep you feel it in your chest?”
“Yes,” Charles breathed. “Need you.”
Warren added more oil to his fingers, working a third one in, slowly stretching Charles out.
“Do it,” Charles begged. “I’m ready, John. Take me.”
Warren pulled his fingers free, positioning himself between Charles’s legs. He slathered his cock with oil, taking the tip in his hand and lining it up with Charles’s hole. “Deep breaths. Get ready to push.”
Charles groaned, his body relaxing the moment Warren worked the tip of his cock inside him. “More.”
“Breathe. Take me, Charles. All of me…that’s it,” he coaxed, feeling the pressure of that inner ring of muscle like a vice as he pushed past, burying himself inside his dearest friend.
“Oh, god…so good,” Charles moaned, already trying to move his hips.
“Nearly there.” Warren worked his hips, pressing himself deeper, so deep he sank in to the hilt.
Both men shivered again, feeling that perfect moment of blessed union as their bodies connected.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking his hands over Charles’s bare hips, loving the way he looked from this angle, speared on his cock, so sweet and vulnerable. Warren shifted his hips, holding Charles still as he rocked into him.
They didn’t typically take things so slow. Charles liked a little pain and Warren usually got off on degrading him, making him crawl, making him beg. This was different. It was tender and loving. Warren liked this too. It surprised him to admit it, but in this moment, he couldn’t imagine having Charles any other way.
He rocked deeper into him, loving the way Charles clamped tight around him, groaning out his pleasure.
“Johnnie, please. I need—”
“What do you need?” He replied, folding himself around him to kiss his shoulder, his neck, all the while pumping his hips in a slow and steady rhythm.
Before Charles could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Two loud raps. And then the door was swinging open.
