AFC Harrogate: Yorkshire
September 1999
He
turned seventeen a month before his arrival at Harrogate.
His mother had
begged him to withdraw his application, but, having heard all of her complaints
before, he had simply tuned her out and offered reassurances that he knew what
he was getting himself into. He had never been one easily deterred once his
mind was made up, a trait his father often scorned – damn stubborn boy; he gets it from you! This time, however, his
father had admitted to some small sense of pride in the steadfastness of his
son’s decision, even though it was clear the man did not believe he would
succeed past the first couple of weeks. He had been surprised the recruiting
officer hadn’t told the boy outright that there would be no place for him in
the Queen’s army.
It was his father
who accompanied him to the train station in White Lodge, a short drive from
their small fishing town. He had clapped him on the shoulder, not one for being
overly emotional, and told him to keep in touch, for his mother’s sake. He’d
taken the earliest train to Berwick, where he had transferred to a new line and
headed towards Leeds. He had lunch in the train station at Leeds, waiting for
his next train to take him to Harrogate Station, and from there he had walked
the nearly hour long distance, his pack on his back, to the Army Foundation
College at Harrogate.
He was placed in Waterloo,
and he spent the evening getting to know the eleven other young men in his
section. They were all there for the long course: forty-nine weeks to learn
everything they needed to know before they could move on to their regiments for
further training. His plan was to join the infantry – nothing special, no
designs on leadership as some of his fellow cadets demonstrated. There were
three other boys in his section who held the same ambitions; he hoped they
would become fast friends.
He fell asleep
that night – exhausted from the long day of travel and knowing he’d need to be
up early in the morning – to the sounds of eleven other young adolescent boys
too wired for sleep.
Infantry Training
Centre: Catterick, North Yorkshire
December 2000
The
first time he saw him was on the training field in the early morning hours.
It was another cold day – it had been cold
almost every day since his arrival in October. His battalion – the 2nd
Infantry Training Battalion – was running laps despite the sleet that was a
near-constant companion in Catterick. It was neither rain nor snow and when it
hit the ground it coalesced into slushy, slippery mounds and frigid puddles
that made running, drilling, firing weapons and pretty much everything else
they did on a day-to-day basis nearly unbearable. Uniforms that weren’t soaked
from the falling precipitation would quickly become so when cadets had to lie
prone to sight their rifles or crawl through an obstacle to safety.
He had been wet,
cold and constantly annoyed about both of those things for months.
Despite the bad
weather, the officers had refused to give them any sort of reprieve. They
drilled in any weather, in any state of illness or injury (as long as they
could stand straight, of course) and they took the abuse from the officers as
if nothing could touch them. He had been through the same shit at Harrogate and
so far nothing he had encountered at Catterick was any different. He hid all
emotion behind a stoic, blank expression; he hadn’t cried since his first weeks
at Harrogate and he wasn’t about to now.
It was raining
that morning, yet again, as he raced into his third lap on the training field.
He wasn’t the fastest runner, but he kept a steady pace and always managed to
finish the track running, despite some of the others who ran too hard at the
start and couldn’t maintain the pace until the end. Twelve laps didn’t seem
like much, he knew, but it was the equivalent of 10 miles all told; and doing
it every day was exhausting. That morning they were running with their packs
on, twenty pounds of gear stuffed inside, and their commanding officer was
shouting encouragement (or disapproval, depending on who was listening) at them
in a voice that boomed over the falling rain.
When he rounded
the field, he caught sight of the handsome young officer standing just
off-field, watching, with the Colonel. They appeared to be deep in conversation
on his first pass – not that he would ever dare to interrupt! He ran by,
panting softly, and continued on his way. On his second pass, the Colonel was
gone, walking back towards the barracks.
The newcomer did
not seem ready to follow; he was still watching the runners with interest. He didn’t
appear too much older than the cadets in training – two or three years their
senior, perhaps? He had an open face and he looked – impressed? – as he shouted
some encouragement to a cadet running about a hundred metres ahead of him.
Trying to discern his rank from his insignia, he craned his neck and squinted
as he approached. Unfortunately lifting his eyes from the ground was not the
best idea and he slipped on a fresh patch of slush and went down hard in the
wet muck.
Cursing to
himself, he ignored the laughter of the cadets who raced by him and the shouted
comment of “that was graceful, Saunders!” as he shuffled onto his knees so he
could get back on his feet without his pack pulling him back down. When he
looked up, the officer – lieutenant, he noted now that he was in such close
proximity – was standing in front of him, hand outstretched, lips quirked
faintly.
“Saunders, is
it?” he asked, hauling the cadet to his feet when he grasped his wrist. He
nodded. “Yes sir,” he responded, saluting despite the overwhelming desire to
wipe the slush from his backside. “At ease, Saunders,” the lieutenant said.
“Haven’t managed to injure yourself, hm?” he asked, trying to hide a smile.
“That really was quite a spill, private.”
Saunders couldn’t
stop the flush that coloured his cheeks, and he ducked his head in embarrassment.
“No sir, thank you for your concern, sir,” he managed to mumble. The
lieutenant’s smile broadened as he watched the private shuffle in discomfort.
“Carry on then,” he finally said after a moment longer, giving permission for
the young man to flee.
When Saunders
circled around on his fifth lap, the lieutenant was gone, a trail of footsteps
in the slush leading back towards the barracks.
…
He
had all but forgotten the encounter a couple of days later when he nearly ran
headfirst into the older officer coming out of the mess hall. Saunders let out
a gasp and then stumbled back to salute, standing at attention. “Sir, sorry
sir!” he stammered, eyes somewhere beyond the lieutenant.
“Private
Saunders,” he spoke, voice soft and low. “I thought you might have learned your
lesson from the other morning,” he teased, adding quietly: “look where you’re
going, kid,” with a faint smile and a handsome laugh that made Saunders’ cheeks
flush red. He looked as if he was about to say something else when a shout from
inside the mess hall made him lift his gaze away from the private standing at
attention before him. He hesitated, until a second shouted “McCrae!” erupted
from within. And then he was gone, striding into the mess hall, leaving Saunders
to hurry down the hall before he was late for his lessons.
He
didn’t cross paths with the lieutenant again, although he wasn’t avoiding him
outright. He caught glimpses of the older man from afar, watched him secretly
whenever he showed up during their drills and wondered about him.
One of the other
privates surmised that he was to be their battalion leader, but two weeks
passed without a sign of that happening. Another suggested he was there to redo
the infantry training course – but that was such an idiotic suggestion
considering the man was obviously a lieutenant, at least two ranks above them.
Whatever the reason, Saunders couldn’t get him
off his mind. There was no way to explain why his heart quickened when he saw
him in the distance, watching their drill practice; or why he flushed to think
of the two close encounters he had had with the man. It wasn’t as if anything
had happened! And the man knew almost all of their names by now; he wasn’t
special.
He knew things
were getting out of hand, however, when he woke one morning after a very
pleasant dream to find that his boxers were wet. Nothing had even happened; he had dreamed the lieutenant
speaking in his perfect received pronunciation, telling him a story he couldn’t
even recall the gist of now. Mortified, feeling very much like a schoolboy with
a silly crush, he gathered his washroom kit and fled in that direction despite
the early morning hour.
And what would
even give him cause to crush on the man? He had only spoken to him twice! And neither time could really be
classified as a conversation. Certainly
he was a handsome man, carved like one of the Greek statues he had seen in the
British Museum when he was in school; one could tell even under his uniform he
must have been a wall of solid muscle. And yes,
sure he’d admired his face from afar a number of times; that chiseled jaw,
always shaved without any sign of stubble; those darling blue eyes that lit up
with his smile – and to say nothing of that smile itself! Could he recall how
large his hands were? And how did that saying go again…?
Distracted, Saunders
ducked into the bathroom, glad to be alone at this ungodly hour. He stripped,
trying to shake his mind of lingering images of the lieutenant he couldn’t seem
to extricate from his every waking thought. Stepping into one of the stalls, he
turned the water to its hottest temperature and sank to a crouch on the floor
of the shower, letting the warm water wash over him.
He was so deep in
his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that another shower was running a few
stalls down the row. It was a soft moan – someone in pain? – that alerted him
that he wasn’t alone. He slowly uncoiled himself, ears trained to try and
determine what was happening. There it was again, that low moaning; and his
face heated to realize it wasn’t pain he was hearing in that soft noise. He sat
still, listening closely – and now he could hear it, the familiar sound of a
man pleasuring himself in long, rough strokes, moaning with abandon. Whoever it
was obviously was unaware that they weren’t alone, which made Saunders blush
for them; but really, who was he to interrupt?
He stood, leaning
against the stall of his shower, stroking himself to life once more under the
burning water as the sounds coming from the other stall reached him. Moaning, a
low growl, too-softly-muttered-to-hear words, a louder moan. Saunders was hard,
disgustingly so, as he closed his eyes and thought of the handsome lieutenant.
He bit his lip to keep himself from making any sounds, stroking himself in tune
to the moans that were getting steadily louder and more animalistic next door.
Imagined the older man’s hands on his cock, spread his legs and slid a finger
inside with a barely-stifled moan. He could hear a softly uttered “fuck, fuck”
from the other stall, his knees threatening to buckle as he barely whispered in
response “y-yes sir, yes, fuck me sir,” a second finger sliding inside to join
the first, seeking ever more pleasure.
It didn’t take
much longer – a few quick pulls, a twist of his fingers inside himself – and he
was spurting over his hand. Brain always foggy during orgasm, he wasn’t exactly
quiet as he came, gasping a pathetic “oh fuck, sir!” as he finished and he
watched the white swirl down the drain. It took a moment before he realized the
other man had gone silent. The water was still running, but he was very aware
that the man was no longer pleasuring himself. Had he finished? Or had he heard
Saunders?
Saunders hurried
out of the shower, grabbing his things and only stopping long enough to pull
them back on over his soaked body. Hair dripping, he rushed to leave before the
other man could emerge from his stall and find him there – despicable little
queer voyeur! As he left, he caught sight of a heavily muscled body through the
near-sheer curtain, stock still under the spray of water, before he disappeared
out the door.
He kept his eyes
on the ground for the rest of the day, and so he did not see the lieutenant
until he had cornered him in the hall. A quick glance around assured him that
nobody was present and when he looked up he met that handsome smile on the
older man’s face, blue eyes dancing with mischievous laughter.
“S-sir,” he
began, trying to straighten to salute – but the lieutenant’s arm blocked him
from moving. He flushed red, which made the older man’s smile widen.
“You know, you
could join me next time,” he said, in a low, feral tone that had Saunders’
chest clenching. It took him a moment to understand what he meant and he
dropped his gaze to their feet, a hand to his mouth in silent mortification.
The lieutenant didn’t seem fazed, leaning in until his mouth was close to his
ear. “It could be more fun that way, private,” he said, smiling wolfishly. “I
might even let you call me ‘sir’, if you wanted.”
Saunders was
struggling to find words or the strength to escape even as he longed to lean
into that chest, to feel those hard muscles for himself. He couldn’t look up,
couldn’t make eye contact for fear of betraying just how much he very much wanted to join him next time.
Lieutenant McCrae
laughed softly, a surprising sound in that moment, and he tousled the young
man’s hair, fingers lingering on his scalp momentarily. “God but you’re
adorable,” he said, letting his breath out in a sigh that ghosted over Saunders’
cheek. He stepped back, that smile back on his handsome face, no outward sign
of their encounter mussing his perfectly starched uniform or his well-combed
hair. “I hope you’re the only private who uses that bathroom at 0300; I’d hate
to show up and find someone else in your place,” he said, and he sounded so
sincere that Saunders didn’t know how to react.
And then he was
gone, striding down the hall as if nothing had happened, leaving Saunders to
collect himself before anyone else turned down the hallway.
…
He
didn’t dare return to the bathroom alone for the next few days. He rose with
the other cadets and went about his morning routine at the prescribed hour,
attended his lessons and drills, kept his head down.
But he couldn’t
get the thought of the handsome man, pleasuring himself in the shower in the
early morning hours, out of his head. He had so many questions. Why had the
lieutenant even been in their bathroom? Wasn’t there an officer’s washroom in
their barracks? The officers ate in the officer’s mess; didn’t they shower in
the officer’s washroom?
And why him? Just because he’d been there? Was
he actually interested? Who could be
interested in him? – still skinny, only leanly-muscled despite all his hard
work, freckle-covered baby face, impossible hair. Who would risk everything –
their military career, certainly, if not also public reputation should anything
become known – to even suggest that
they conduct homosexual acts together? It was illegal! Why take the risk at all? And certainly why take it with him?
But despite his
misgivings, he couldn’t stay away forever. He told himself he was just going to
confirm that the man had been teasing, had no desire for him, wouldn’t even be there. It was early – just before
0300. He grabbed his towel and his washroom kit – an excuse if he were to be
caught out of bed this early – and he silently walked the length of the hall
with a pit of anticipation in his stomach.
But the bathroom
when he entered was utterly silent, and he let out a soft, derisive laugh at
himself: had he really expected anything else? Pathetic. He leaned against the counter, glaring at himself in the
mirror before he lowered his head, eyes closed. Were those tears threatening?
What a joke. Had he really been so
gullible?
And that was how
he found him, minutes later, bent over the sink splashing cold water on his
face, telling himself to grow up and get
back to bed. Saunders gasped when the door opened, glancing up to see the
lieutenant there, a smile on his handsome face; it lit up his eyes in the
dimly-lit room and he let out a breathless “you came,” unbelieving, as he
crossed the tiles towards him.
He didn’t look as
though he was about to ravage him, but Saunders squared his shoulders at his
approach anyways, standing tall; he still only came up to the lieutenant’s
shoulder. Lieutenant McCrae hesitated, stopping a few steps in front of him,
fists clenching as if it was by sheer force of will that he hadn’t reached out
to touch him.
“I told myself if
you hadn’t come by the end of the week, I wouldn’t come back,” he said, voice
soft and low. Had it really been a week since their last encounter? “I tried to
talk myself out of coming tonight,” he admitted, laughing softly. He seemed to
hesitate a moment longer, fingers clenching and unclenching. He looked young in
the dingy bathroom light, in his military-issued pajamas. Saunders could feel
his own heart beating wildly in his chest as he looked up at him, could see the
man’s pulse thrumming at his throat, watched his adam’s apple bob as he
swallowed hard and finally, finally,
those hands reached out and touched him.
It was a
tentative touch, one hand on his waist, the other to his shoulder – only a
little more than friendly. Then the hand on his shoulder slid to his neck and
clasped the back of it, fingers tangling in the soft, short hair there. He
stepped closer, backing the younger man against the wall; there was no
resistance in Saunders as he slid his arms up, around the muscular lieutenant’s
back, grasping at the back of his shirt with a soft whimper of need. McCrae had
him pinned, his leg between Saunders’, watching his face for any signs of
distress or uncertainty.
“P-please,”
Saunders whispered, meeting his eyes. “Please sir.”
And that was
enough, that was what he had needed to hear. He closed the distance between
them, kissing the private in a way that was equal parts possessive and
permissive. Saunders opened to the kiss, body relaxing as the older man pressed
against him, hard body against hard body, his fingers gripping the back of his
shirt in a stranglehold as the lieutenant’s hands both moved up to hold his
face, seeking more.
When he suddenly stopped
kissing him, Saunders pulled back, confusion on his face. The lieutenant was
simply looking at him, a smile on his handsome face. A gentle thumb slid across
his face, under his left eye, tracing a line of freckles reverently. Saunders
tried to press forward, to reclaim those lips, but the lieutenant shook his
head faintly, holding him in place.
“W-why?” Saunders
breathed, frustration evident in the question. McCrae’s brow furrowed and he
leaned back in to kiss him, more gently this time, one arm going around his
skinny waist to hug him close once more.
“Not here,” he
murmured against his soft hair as Saunders, confused, pressed his cheek to his
broad chest and sank into the warm embrace. A firm hand roamed up and down his
back and he melted into the touches – the first human contact he had had in
over a year that wasn’t simple camaraderie. It ignited every nerve-ending in
his body and he couldn’t suppress the soft moan of desire that bubbled up in
him.
“Please sir,” he
whispered, fingers clutching at his shirt once more. He could practically feel
McCrae’s smile against his hair as he kissed him on the crown of his head. “Not
here,” he repeated. “I don’t want our first time to be in the loo,” he
admitted. His face suffused red; did that mean he hoped there would be more
than one encounter?
Heart racing, he
let out a soft whine when the lieutenant stepped back. He touched his palm to
the younger man’s pink cheek, unable to wipe that smile off his face – was it
adoration? “Come with me,” he said, half-order, half-plea. As if there was any
doubt that he wouldn’t follow!
Saunders followed
the officer down abandoned halls, silently keeping to the shadows as he trailed
him. A couple of times the older man glanced back – to smile at him, to check
that he was still there. He led him to the officer’s barracks, slipping
silently through the outer doors and inviting the young man inside. Saunders
hesitated – he could get in so much trouble for being here – but McCrae didn’t
seem concerned.
It really wasn’t
much different here; the halls were the same hideous off white, the tile floor
just as horrendously patterned. The only difference he could note was that the
young officer had his own quarters, a small room that housed a double bunk, a
desk, a wardrobe rather than a metal locker to hold his clothing. His boots were
perfectly shined at the end of his bed, his uniform hung ready for the morning.
He had a stack of books on his desk, a map held open by heavy objects at each
corner, a notebook opened with the beginnings of what looked like a letter on
its lined pages.
He turned the lamp by the bed on, leaving the
overhead light off; it diffused the small room with warm light. McCrae turned
to face him, a smile crossing his face as he took in the sight of the young man
before him. Something he saw must have satisfied him, for he strode across the
room and took him around the waist to kiss him again. Saunders offered up no
resistance, hands going around his neck as he returned the kiss with alacrity.
He wasn’t sure
how it happened, but they eventually found themselves in bed, him underneath
the lieutenant, breathing rapidly, face turned to the side to try and hide his
blush. At some point he had lost his shirt. Was there a chill in the room? Or
was it the older man’s hands roaming his body that were causing those goose
pimples?
McCrae seemed to
be taking his time, enjoying himself – eyes and hands moving over the lean body
beneath him as if he wished to devour it whole. But his touches were gentle,
caressing, and his gaze was reverent, worshipful. As if he’d never seen
something quite as lovely as the pale, freckled shoulder that Saunders had
ducked his face against, to hide his blush; as if he couldn’t quite believe
that the body under his palms was really there.
“I can’t get you
out of my head,” he confessed, voice soft and low in the dimly-lit room. “You
haunt me.” Saunders slowly lifted his gaze to the older man, bottom lip caught
in his teeth. McCrae looked flushed, chest and neck burning with it, ashamed
perhaps at his weak admission. He leaned down to press a trail of kisses to his
flat stomach, kissing his sternum, his navel, his hips. Ghosted his lips on
pale flesh as his palms smoothed their way down his sides to his hips, and
further, underneath him, lifting the slender body to meet the next kiss to his
navel.
“Please,”
Saunders breathed, gasping softly. “Please, sir. I-I need more.” Hating how
pathetic he sounded, how needy. But the lieutenant either didn’t notice or
didn’t care, simply went on kissing the flat of his stomach.
“Do you have any
idea what it’s like?” he breathed, arms tightening around the young man’s
waist, cheek pressed to his stomach. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
Saunders flushed, fingers tangling in the man’s short hair for a moment with
something like violence before they splayed, massaging his scalp instead. He
could practically hear the other man purring beneath the touch.
It was silent in
the room, their quiet breathing the only noise after a while. Saunders, who had
been so worked up just moments before, felt himself relaxing with ease
underneath the lieutenant’s embrace. Hand still moving in his short hair, he
closed his eyes and reached out to turn off the lamp, the absence of warm light
sending the room into darkness.
He thought the other man had fallen asleep
after a while, and he felt sleep chasing him as well. Drifting, fingers
stilling in the other man’s hair, he barely heard the softly murmured query
from the other man: “Please. I need to know your name.”
Saunders smiled,
something warm curling in the pit of his stomach at the neediness in the other
man’s voice. He resumed stroking his hair. “Aurick,” he finally whispered.
“Aurick Saunders.”
The man let out a
soft breath against his stomach, kissing him there. “Aurick,” he repeated, as
if it was the most delicate – most significant
– word he’d ever spoken. And he fell asleep with a certainty that he would stay
until first light, curled up with the younger man beneath him, a satisfied
smile on his face.
…
They
met up when they could in the coming weeks – in the early morning hours, two or
three a.m., so that Aurick ended up wandering about the following day in a
sleep-deprived daze; or late at night, just after lights-out. Despite the
weather, they often went outside, where the incessant rain covered the sounds
of their desperate lovemaking, Aurick pressed against the frozen red brick
building, legs spread as the lieutenant took him from behind or, once, spread
on the wet ground on top of the older man’s coat so the following day he had to
conduct drills in a sodden jacket.
It
was hard to find time during the day – and dangerous, too. They managed it
once, a quick snog behind the rifle range, before the sounds of approaching
cadets interrupted; the officer fled before they rounded the corner and laughed
at Saunders, asking if he had managed to get lost again. After that, they
settled for glances across rooms or down hallways, half-hidden smiles, the
adoration unmasked in amber eyes when he saluted the older man, a quick hand
signal, if nobody was looking – two fingers over his heart. They kept their
trysts to the darkest hours of the day.
Some
nights, too tired to do much more than kiss, he would curl up with the officer
wherever they happened to be – his bed, the gym, the mess hall – and they would
spend their time talking about everything: their pasts, their hopes and dreams,
the future. Who they wanted to be when they figured it all out. Those nights
were his favourite, secure in the older man’s arms, cheek to his chest, finger
tracing the lines of hard muscle across his stomach as he listened to his
heartbeat and the rumbling of his chest as he spoke.
Nothing could
touch them there, nobody would find them – this wasn’t bad or wrong or illegal. It was as if the other man knew
how exhausted he was, how scared – how hard he found it trying to go day by day
with this secret looming over his head, ready to drop at any moment like the
Sword of Damocles. He never asked for anything those nights, simply held him as
if he feared to let go would be the end, and they caught scant hours of sleep
pressed tightly together, until the early dawn light forced them to part and
return to their own cold, unwelcoming sheets.
…
April came
quickly, and with it the end of phase two of their training. His parents came
for his passing out ceremony, but he only had eyes for the smartly-dressed
lieutenant who held two fingers above his heart and smiled with such pride as
he walked out with his comrades.
He found him later, after the ceremony had
finished and his parents had left. He had been waiting for him when he returned
to the barracks; he dragged him into his arms and kissed him in the doorway of
a supply closet, pushed up against the door, hands on his hips. Aurick moaned
softly, clutching at his uniformed chest in a desperate sort of way.
“I’m so proud of
you,” he whispered against his jaw. “Best Recruit! I told you you’d win
something,” the lieutenant grinned, finally releasing him, stepping back to
free him from the doorway. “Come with me?” he asked, hopeful. Aurick could
never resist, of course, and he followed the man the long way to the officer’s
hall and to his private room. It was still early – only nine or so – but most
of the privates had either gone out with family or were celebrating in the mess
hall; many of the officers had joined them there. They didn’t encounter anyone,
therefore, and as they approached his room, the older man covered his eyes with
one hand before he unlocked his door and pushed him inside.
Still thus
blindfolded, Aurick stumbled into the room, listened to the door being locked
behind them and let out a characteristic whine until the other man removed his
hand. There on the desk was a plate with a little iced fairy cake alongside a
bottle of cheap wine and two glasses he had stolen from the officer’s mess. He
grinned when Aurick turned his face towards him, mouth open.
“What? When?” he
said, breaking out into a grin at the older man’s infectious smile. The
lieutenant shrugged. “Got a pass to leave while you were out with your parents.
Didn’t think this moment should pass without a celebration of our own,” he
said. Aurick laughed softly, muttering that he couldn’t believe he went out to
Tesco to buy him a fairy cake, shaking his head as he approached the desk with
something like awe. He hadn’t had store-bought
food in so long!
“Oh!” he gasped,
noting the envelope for the first time. He smiled faintly, picking it up to
admire the man’s handsome cursive rendition of his name before he opened it.
Expecting a card, he was surprised to find instead a thick handwritten letter.
He glanced back at the other man, who smiled shyly. “Read it later, alright?”
he suggested, holding a hand out to him. Aurick nodded, putting it back in its
envelope in favour of taking the man’s hand instead.
They celebrated
well into the early morning hours together, finishing the bottle of wine
somewhere between making love and discussing the future. Aurick fell asleep for
a short time, head pillowed on the man’s naked chest, his arm slung over him.
He stumbled from bed near dawn, leaning back down to kiss the older man,
grinning and giggling despite the early hour; the officer hugged him as hard as
he could, kissing all over his face. He ran a thumb under one eye, admiring his
handsome face, brow furrowed before he kissed him once more, hard and
possessive.
It was whispered
softly, almost too softly when Aurick had turned to dress and gather his
letter: “I love you, kitten.” Flushed, heart clenching – had really heard that?
– he glanced over his shoulder at the older man, lying on his back, arm folded
under his head, one leg bent. He offered him the ghost of a smile, uncertain –
a look that didn’t fit the image of the confident man Aurick had been with for
nearly the past five months.
He crossed the small space to the bed and bent to kiss him once more, hand splayed on his chest supporting his weight. “I love you, Fairfax,” he breathed, nipping his bottom lip. “Hold that thought, hm? I’ve got to get out of here before I’m caught,” he grinned. The smile that lit the other man’s face made his heart soar; that was more like it. He hurried to leave, knowing he only had a little time before the officers would be awake.
His
elation over the man’s confession mixed with the lingering effects of the cheap
wine from the night before made him just tipsy enough that he failed to notice
that all of the lieutenant’s things were packed in the corner.
And it wasn’t until
later that day, when he had a moment to read the letter he had been given, that
he realized the other man was gone.
Infantry Battle
School: Brecon, Wales
April-September
2001
He
was selected by his CO a few days after Fairfax’s departure to attend the
Infantry Battle School in Brecon to complete the Basic Sniper Course. It was an
honour to be chosen, although it didn’t come as much of a surprise – he had
always had the best rank in marksmanship and his maths grades were the highest
in his unit.
It was a
multi-week course, fast-paced and very involved; he didn’t have time to write
to the other man during his time there. When he returned to England, he spent a
further month or so covering field craft in great depth before he passed out
with his new insignia: the coveted crossed rifles design with an 'S'
between the barrels. There had been two letters awaiting him upon his return,
and he felt a surge of guilt that he hadn’t found time to send the older man
anything.
He read the letters – all three of
them – over and over again. Lieutenant McCrae had been deployed to Sierra
Leone, to aid in the evacuation of foreign nationals and to establish order in
the midst of a decades-long civil war; according to his latest letter, things
seemed to be stabilizing and his unit was helping to maintain control over the
rebel forces, pushing them back from the areas around Freetown.
He wrote as if Aurick – as if anyone outside of Sierra Leone – really
had any idea about what was going on, as if he was intimately familiar with
this silly war that required British intervention. He could practically hear
his voice, in that ridiculously delicious, posh accent that went straight to
the core of him; could imagine they were lying together, discussing this as if
it was something they’d read about in the news or in the history texts they’d
pored over for class.
It was late at night when he sat to
write his response letter, hoping the other man would accept the excuses he had
for not having written earlier. By the time he signed it, the thing was four
pages in length and told him in great detail about his time training in Wales,
how he had earned his sniper badge, how he couldn’t wait to be deployed somewhere
like him; how brave he thought he was; how much he missed the sound of his
voice and could he even remember the exact colour of his eyes anymore? It had
barely been three months, but did Fairfax really miss him as much as he did?
And so it went. Letter after letter,
sent and responded to. He kept them in a bundle with his personal effects,
reading and re-reading them again and again. Fairfax was supposed to spend six
months in Sierra Leone, to return in October – but the troops were pulled in
mid-September after the events of September 11th. The UK was sending
in a force to join the US; units were to be ready for the invasion known as
Operation Enduring Freedom on October 7th.
His unit returned in a flurry of
activity and excitement by those on the home front, who had yet to face a
deployment. This would be his third – Kosovo, Sierra Leone, now Afghanistan –
but it would be Aurick’s first, and he wanted to be there to support him as he
prepared to go overseas.
When he landed at the Heathrow airport, he
waded through the military families being reunited with their loved ones,
gathered his things and spent the following six hours on a train north to
Catterick.
It was late when he arrived, having
taken three separate trains in order to make it there. He shouldered his pack
and walked into ATC Catterick, where his arrival was greeted warmly by the
Colonel. He had to endure a debriefing and a drink with the man and some of the
other commanding officers before they finally, finally retired for the night.
He was housed in the officer’s
barracks, in a temporary accommodation for the night; he left his pack there,
unopened, and strode out into the late-summer evening to make his way to the
barracks. It was well past dinner, so he didn’t bother to check the mess hall,
but instead entered the recreation room in search of Aurick. Almost everyone’s
gaze lifted to him when he strode inside, but it was one set of brown that he
was in search of.
Aurick, forgetting for a moment
where and what he was, equal parts shocked and delighted and confused, stood
too quickly from where he’d been leaning, his pool cue in hand; it clattered
loudly to the floor. As if on cue, every soldier in the room stood to attention
and saluted him, but he waved dismissively. “At ease, please,” he grinned,
clapping the nearest soldier on the back.
A cacophony of voices erupted at
once, men hurrying to his side to ask how his deployment had gone, to talk
about their upcoming transition from training to combat. He had to endure
nearly thirty minutes of conversation, watching as Aurick slipped away at some
point; he held himself back from following the young man. But eventually, he
pleaded exhaustion and the soldiers he had helped train wrangled promises from
him to visit the next day before he was able to escape.
The halls were quiet – the men were
allowed to be up until lights out, an hour or so away. He made his way through
the familiar maze until he reached the dormitory, hesitating only a moment before
he pushed open the door. He found Aurick there, seated on his skinny bunk, and
when he held a hand out to the boy he rushed into his arms.
Had it really been almost six months
since their last embrace? Aurick was sobbing, unable to contain the well of
emotion that bubbled up inside of him and demanded to be let loose. Fairfax
clung to him, gripping him in a stranglehold that he wasn’t about to release
him from. He wasn’t sure who was making that awful keening sound, halfway
between a sob and a whimper – until it hit him that it was him.
He pulled back long enough to
examine Aurick, eyes scanning his freckled face, wiping tears from his high
cheekbones and kissing him, hard and rough, putting every emotion from the last
six months into the act. He murmured I
love you, I love you every time he pulled back, kissing him again and again
as Aurick clung to his shirtfront.
Eventually Aurick subsided against
him, rocking hard on his heels, wanting to be closer – under him, inside him. Fairfax stroked a firm hand
up and down his back, kissed the crown of his head. “Will you come with me?” he
asked, knowing they couldn’t remain much longer here – the other soldiers would
be returning from the rec hall and the dormitory offered no privacy.
Aurick didn’t take anything with
him, simply followed the other man through the halls, outside and across the
garrison grounds to the officer’s barracks. Down the familiar halls and into
the temporary accommodations he had been given, he locked the door and backed
Aurick towards the bed. The young man offered up no resistance, face still wet
with tears, arms going tight around his neck as Fax pushed him down into the
thin sheets and practically crushed him beneath his solid weight.
Aurick’s fingers clawed at the back
of his neck, tangling in his short hair there, marking him as his body wrestled
against the force holding him down. “Don’t leave me again, you arsehole, don’t
fucking leave me again without telling me!”
he shrieked into Fax’s neck.
Fax had known that leaving him like
that would hurt, but in his defense he hadn’t wanted to ruin Aurick’s
graduation evening. He had thought perhaps the passage of time would have eased
his anger, but Aurick seemed ready and willing to berate him again and again
for the cruel act. He allowed it, of course, and their violent wrestling ended
when he knocked his head against the wall at a particularly hard shove by
Aurick.
Instant regret was written plain on
the boy’s face as he lunged after him, catching his face in his hands. “Are you
okay?” he asked, looking horrified as Fax sat up and hauled him into his
embrace. “Are we finished?” he asked in response; he felt Aurick’s rapid
nodding against his chest.
“I’m sorry I left like that. I
couldn’t bear to see you upset, Aurick, not on such an important day. I know it
was cruel; I know it was cowardly,” he soothed, rocking him. How to explain
that he wanted the boy to remember that he had been so proud of him, so
delighted by him, so in love with him?
He hadn’t wanted him to recall the date as the day he told him he had been
deployed. Perhaps it had been selfish of him, when he had thought he was being
selfless.
Aurick settled against his broad
chest, his anger abated for the moment. Fairfax massaged the back of his neck
as he continued his slow rocking, and when he tipped his face up, Fax met his
lips without hesitation.
October
6th, 2001
Fairfax had
been granted leave for a week upon his return from Africa – a week he had spent
in Catterick with Aurick. But with the preparations for deployment underway, he
had to return to his unit in London for the last two weeks in order to ensure
everything was ready.
The units
from Catterick arrived on the 5th, Aurick among them. Despite having
a private room on base, Fairfax insisted on spending their last two nights
together in a hotel he had booked in central London. The colonel wasn’t exactly
pleased that he wasn’t going to be on base, but he granted him the two nights’
pass, knowing he had every right to some free time after two deployments in
quick succession.
In the
early morning hours on October 6th, after an exhausting and
reaffirming evening spent together in the oversized hotel bed, Aurick woke to
Fairfax settling his dog tags back against his chest. He blinked sleepily,
wondering if perhaps they had been pressing into the older man’s cheek or something,
bothering him. He rolled over and settled against his broad chest, smiling
faintly as Fax tucked him close and kissed the top of his head, murmuring a
soft go back to sleep, kitten. We’ve got
a few hours yet.
Later, on
the huge military plane heading swiftly overseas, something about that morning
tickled at his memory. He removed his dog tags from under his uniform, brow
furrowed, and scanned the familiar metal discs.
His heart turned over, reading the
two different tags that hung from the standard metal chain: Saunders, A, and McCrae, A.
F. He tucked them back under his shirt after he had committed all the
information to memory – O Pos, 65045398,
McCrae, A. F., ND. It was as open a sign of commitment as they could make;
and he couldn’t have loved the lieutenant more for having done it.
Kabul,
Afghanistan
November
2001
Fairfax,
I received your letter yesterday and nothing could have made
me happier than to hear from you, to know you’re still doing alright and you
haven’t come to any harm. I’m sure you’re at least partially aware of what’s
been going on in Kabul, so I won’t bore you with the details. As if things have
progressed so quickly! Who knew it could be this easy…
Kandahar,
Afghanistan
December
2001
Aurick,
I’ve heard rumours that the UK might
be pulling out of the Middle East soon. Kandahar was the last Taliban
stronghold; they’ve been overrun and are forming a new government with the help
of the U.S and the UK. Who knows how long it’ll take to pull the troops out,
but perhaps in a month or so we’ll be together.
I’ve been thinking about purchasing
a house if we ever make it out of here…
Kabul,
Afghanistan
April
2002
Fax,
I hate the heat. I hate the sun. I
hate the sand. I hate this godforsaken country. I hate these people. I hate
NATO. I never thought I could miss fishing with my father, but I’d give
anything to be out of this shithole and back home right now. This was supposed
to be over in six months…
Camp
Bastion Hospital, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
September
2002
Auri,
Forgive me for not having written
for some time. I can’t give you details, but my unit was bombed while
transporting medical equipment to Camp Bastion Hospital. It’s funny how these
things work out, I suppose – is this an example of irony? I don’t know; I was
never very good at that sort of thing…
Apparently two of my men died; one
lost his legs; nobody escaped without some sort of injury. I only just woke up
a few days ago. I hope all is well and this letter finds you. Are you still in
Kabul?
I long to hear your voice. Do you still think of me…?
Kabul,
Afghanistan
October
2002
Fax,
I thought you were dead! We heard
about the bombing – they showed it on the news! They wouldn’t tell us which
units were involved, but I just knew it was yours when I hadn’t heard from you.
Thank god you’re alive, thank god. I prayed every day… when can we go home?
London,
UK
December
2002
“I thought
we were going to Norfolk, Fax?” Aurick whined, annoyed and antsy in the
passenger seat of the rental car Fax was driving. He leaned his head against
the window, watching the unfamiliar houses pass them by.
They’d only made it back to the UK a
few days’ prior, landing at Heathrow where their public reunion had consisted
of Fax squeezing his shoulder and Aurick touching his fingers over his heart, a
faint smile creasing his face. The kid had lost weight, he was equal parts
tanned and sunburnt and he followed Fairfax with a look of immense relief
written on his face – relief at being home, at being alive, at being with him
again.
They had rented a hotel, refusing to
stay on base while they made plans to visit his parents in Norfolk for the
holidays. A car rented, bags packed (they didn’t have much by way of civilian
clothing), they headed north. “You missed the exit for the highway,” Aurick
grumbled. He’d been snappy and at times quite rude when he wasn’t clinging to
Fairfax, as if he had no idea what he was supposed to feel at any given moment.
“It’s a quick detour,” Fax soothed,
reaching out to catch the young man’s hand. He had to remind himself numerous
times that this had been his first deployment; this was his first time
returning home. He could recall his return from Kosovo – how standoffish he had
been, how easily aggravated by every little thing. He couldn’t blame Aurick for
his inability to process his emotions.
He eventually turned down a
residential street and parked in front of a large house with an immaculate yard
and a for sale sign blowing in the
wind. He glanced enquiringly at Fairfax, nose wrinkled, before he looked back
at the house. “What is this?” he asked, confusion and uncertainty mingled in
his stomach.
Fax smiled faintly. “I thought
perhaps I’d put an offer in?” he said, casually, as if he didn’t hold out too
much hope that Aurick would think it was a good idea. And perhaps the kid would
be right to think it was silly… Aurick was only twenty; he had just turned
twenty-three. They’d spent less than eight months of their two-year
relationship in each other’s presence. What did he know about owning a home?
About living with someone? And would they even have time to be together here?
Aurick looked back at him, eyes
rapidly filling with tears. “For u-us?” he asked in a whisper. When Fairfax
nodded, he scrambled to unbuckle, to climb over the console to grasp the man’s
shirtfront with one hand, the other going around his neck in a stranglehold.
“Yes, yes,” he breathed. “I want it – I want it with you.”
Fax held him close while he sobbed
against his shoulder; and he was sure it wasn’t about the house.
May
2003
“What are
those?” Aurick asked as he hopped down the back porch steps, shielding his eyes
from the sun. Fax looked up at him, grinning.
“I thought we could plant some
blueberry bushes, see if they take?” he said, stepping away from the six little
plants he had brought home from the market. He had gone to buy coffee and
breakfast, thinking to surprise Aurick with breakfast in bed; he had been
caught up in the market in Bromley High Street and had found a man selling
fruit bushes. Knowing Aurick’s love of all things blueberry, he had decided to
purchase some of the little plants in the hopes that his partner might like
them.
Aurick
found himself smiling fondly as he stepped into the man’s embrace.
Iraq
January
2004
Fax,
I miss you with every fibre of my
being. Eight months at home was hardly enough time. Are you safe? Have you
received my letters? Do you read my dog tag as often as I re-read yours? Do you
think my blueberry bushes are going to survive the winter?
Afghanistan
September
2005
Auri,
It’s hard to keep up with what’s
going on in Iraq when so much is happening here. I wish I could be with you.
Are you still in Fallujah? I’m still in Helmand; the fighting has been few and
far between here, luckily.
Let me know you’re well, please? I can’t
sleep at night thinking you might be injured…
London,
UK
November
2005
Will
you be home for Christmas? I want nothing more than to spend my six months of
leave lying in your arms. Please, please – promise me you’ll be home soon?
Afghanistan
December
2005
Auri,
I’ll be home for six in March. I’m
sorry I’ll miss the holidays with you. Ask my mum to make you her famous
Christmas pudding! All my love, forevermore…
Iraq
June
2006
Fax,
I won a medal! I’ve tried to draw what it looks like below…
Afghanistan
January
2007
Aurick,
I’ve been promoted again – I’m
Captain McCrae now. I don’t know I like the ring of that compared to
Lieutenant, though. A few more years and I’ll make Major! Fancy that, you
marrying a Major…
London,
UK
May 2007
May 2007
Fax,
The blueberries are blooming! They’re beautiful and they
smell so sweet! I’m going to make you a blueberry pie when you get home in
July. I can’t wait…
London,
UK
September
2007
“Do you
want to visit your parents for your birthday?” Fax asked as he came up behind
Aurick at the stove, arms wrapping around his middle, lips finding his bare
shoulder. The younger man was wearing nothing but his boxers as he flipped
pancakes messily out of the pan. He turned his face just enough to receive a
few kisses to his cheek and jaw, smiling adoringly at the man behind him.
“Why would
I want to go up north when I could stay here with you…?” he demanded, rolling
his hips back against Fax’s, gasping when the man pushed him closer to the
stove. “Fax! Careful! I could get burned!” he said, the characteristic whine
creeping into his tone.
Fax reached
past him, turned the burner off and then drew the boy away from the stove.
“You’ll be twenty-five this year,” he said, turning him to kiss him as his
hands roamed down his sides to his slender hips. Aurick’s arms slid around his
neck as he leaned up on his toes to deepen the kiss. Did it matter that they
had spent almost every night since his return in each other’s arms? It did
nothing to quell the visceral need in
the core of his being to be with this man every moment that he could manage it.
“I’d rather
stay home,” he breathed once Fax had pulled away. “Please? Just you and I,
alright?” Fairfax recognized the unspoken fear in his partner’s tone: that he
couldn’t bear to be with anyone else when he only had this short time left with
him.
“We’ll see
them next time then,” he agreed, nuzzling the side of his face, his embrace
rough and solid and enveloping. “Just you and I this time, kitten. Promise.”
December
2007
“Fax, I
said I didn’t want to visit your parents,” Aurick grumbled as the car turned
onto the highway heading towards Norfolk. Fairfax simply smiled, reaching
across to catch his hand. “Shh. Drink your coffee, Auri, and lose the attitude.
We’ll have a nice time, I promise.”
Still
grumbling, the other man finished his coffee and eventually dozed off, head
against the window. When he woke, he didn’t recognize the unpaved road or the wooded
area they were driving through. “Are we lost?” he asked, stifling a yawn
against his hand.
Fax shook
his head faintly, but Aurick looked concerned. “Fax, where are we?” he asked,
sitting up quickly.
“It’s
alright, Aurick; I know exactly where we are,” he promised. “We just passed
Redgrave,” he said, driving a little while longer in silence. Aurick looked
concerned, glancing at the gas metre with a furrowed brow. “What…? Why would we
be way out here?” he asked. “This is at least an hour from your parents’!” he
said, sinking into his seat with annoyance, crossing his arms. Why would Fax
add more time to their already
ridiculously-lengthy journey? This was why he never wanted to visit his own
parents!
Eventually
the older man parked the car on the edge of the gravel road, leaned over and
secured a blindfold over Aurick’s eyes. “Trust me,” he said, when the young man
stiffened. Aurick nodded, almost imperceptibly; he followed Fax out of the car
when he opened the door and helped him out. Twenty, thirty, fifty metres
perhaps – and then Fax removed the blindfold and stood grinning at him.
Behind the
tall man stood a little wooden cottage, tucked in its own little world of
overgrown bushes and trees. The roof was covered in a thin layer of snow and leaves,
although the front porch appeared to have been recently swept and an effort
made at stacking wood along the side of the cottage.
“Merry
Christmas, Aurick,” he said, still grinning broadly despite the young man’s
silence. Aurick blinked, shaking his head after a moment. “You have got to stop doing this!” he finally
said, laughing as he approached to shove hard at Fax’s chest, playfully. He
wasn’t strong enough to move the man, who simply grabbed him and hauled him
against his chest for a hug.
“I thought
we could spend the holidays here, if you’d like. My mum and dad will expect us
to make an appearance, of course, but it can be just you and I if you’d like.”
Aurick nodded against his chest, and when he pulled back, Fax handed him the
key to the front door. “Get a fire started, Auri; I’ll bring the car.” And he
sauntered back to the car he had left parked down the gravel road, leaving
Aurick to stand in awe at the ridiculous gift he’d been given.
June
2008
“Are you
sure that you have everything you need?” Fax asked, double-checking the list
against what Aurick had shoved into the back seat of the car already. He was so
engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Aurick rolling his eyes at him as
he carried his last bag down to the car, ducking under his arm to kiss him.
“I’ve got
it. This is my third deployment; I think I’ll manage,” he said, holding both of
Fax’s cheeks in his hands so the older man had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Hey. I love you. Okay? I’ll be fine. I’m going to be just fine. It’s just
Iraq,” he said, shrugging. “It won’t be any different than last time. I’ll
write as often as I can.”
They both
had cell phones now – Fairfax’s mother had purchased the latest models for them
for Christmas. But Aurick knew he wouldn’t be allowed to use it once he landed
in Iraq; and once Fax was sent back out to Afghanistan in August, he doubted he
would be able to reach him via satellite phone very often. It was easier to
write letters, for both of them.
“I’ll miss
you,” Fax confessed. An uninterrupted year together at home had been both a
blessing and a curse; parting now was so much harder.
“It’s only eight months,” Aurick
smiled. “And then I’ll be home. And you – you’ll be home a month after that.
Just make sure you stay alive,” he said, the smile on his face never leaving
although his tone was serious. Fax kissed his face – eyes, nose, cheeks, lips,
jaw. He couldn’t count the number of kisses he had graced that freckled face
with, but he knew it would never be enough; his beautiful boy deserved so much
more than he had been able to give.
“Come on; we’ve got to get to
Heathrow, Fax,” Aurick chuckled. “Before they report me MIA,” he said, laughter
ringing in Fax’s ears as he ducked around to the passenger side and slid in.
Fax couldn’t help but smile.
Iraq
October
2008
Fax,
What the hell is happening in
Russia? The higher ups have been calling it WWIII – what is going on? They’re
pulling us out of Iraq; I’ll be in Russia by November. My deployment has been
extended – I might be home in June next year rather than February; I’m sorry
I’ll miss your birthday…
Russia
February
2009
Auri,
Thank you for my early birthday
present. I have never been more surprised than when I saw you marching into
Krasnoyarsk with your battalion and I will never forget the look on your face
when you realized where you were. I long to lie beside you every night like
that, but that night will sustain me until we are together again.
Keep warm as you march north, kitten. I’ve heard that we’ll
be following soon; perhaps we’ll be able to spend the night together soon…
March
2009
Fax,
We came close to an ambush in
Vangash. What a frigid little shithole. I hope you’re safe!
April
2009
Auri,
We just passed through Vangash. There’s
nothing left of it; the rebels burned it to the ground. We’re advancing still;
hopefully we’ll meet up with your battalion soon! All my love, forever…
May
2009
[Undelivered]
Auri,
Your battalion has made good
progress! I thought we’d catch you by Sulomay but we haven’t seen any sign of
you! What’s the fighting like where you are? We’ve been in nearly daily
skirmishes on our way north…
June
2009
[Undelivered]
Aurick,
Where are you? I can’t sleep at
night worrying that your battalion has lost communication with Krasnoyarsk.
Write to me when you can, please? In sleep, I dream you’re lying in our yard at
home, safe amongst your blueberry bushes…
November
2009
Aurick,
[Undelivered]
It’s official – you’ve been declared
MIA. Where the hell are you? One word, one sign and I’ll come to you…
London,
UK
September
2010
He crumpled
the letter he had been writing in his hand and sat back with a glare at the
military psychiatrist, arms crossing over his chest. “What’s the point of this?
This is stupid,” he ground out, holding the crumpled page in his tight fist.
“He’s never going to fucking read it. He’s never going to fucking read anything ever again!” he hissed,
voice cracking. He couldn’t maintain the glare when his eyes were filling with
tears, so he looked towards the far wall instead, trying to still his features.
“I
understand that this is difficult for you, Fairfax,” the woman said softly. “He
meant a lot to you. Of course this will be hard. But I think it will help to
get your feelings out on paper. You can say the things you never got to say.
It’ll give you some closure, so you can begin to move on.”
Fairfax
refused to look at her; refused to tell her that he spent hours every day at
his gravesite, talking to a body that wasn’t there; that he had written letter
after letter in his office in their home that he had burned because he was never going to read them; that he
read and re-read their letters over the last eight years, to see if there was
something he had missed, something he could have done; that he tried to get a
flight back to Russia every day for six months when he was sent home in
February only to be told no civilian flights would come anywhere near that
country. That he had kept his dog tag – worn every day no matter what else he
wore – despite the fact that it rightfully should have been returned to
Aurick’s parents; he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing that small piece
of him.
What did she know? What did it
matter to her? This was just her job; she didn’t actually care. He clenched his jaw, barely acknowledging her as she slid
paper towards him once again, offering a small smile. “Why don’t you start by
telling him of your recent promotion? Hm? You’re a Major now; don’t you think
he’d be impressed?”
He took the pen from her, glaring at
the blank page before him, brow furrowed. This was pointless. Stupid. Nothing
would bring him back.
He was confused for a moment by the wet that
bloomed on the page as he wrote the date in the right corner, followed in his
sloping handwriting:
Auri…
The End.
