Chapter 14 All’s Quiet on The Western Front #2
A light blanket of snow now covered all of No Man’s Land.
It would be gone by tomorrow morning, melted in the morning light, and then trampled and blood-soaked.
Right now the landscape looked like a field dormant for the winter.
Charlie was struck by the urge to have a snowball fight.
He wondered if the Germans thought the same thing.
“I’ve always known who I was, what I was.
” Ned didn’t look at Charlie this time as he spoke, but kept staring out at the snow.
“Even as a child, before I knew what my cock was for, I still knew that I was drawn to a different beauty than others. It was, in its own way, oddly straightforward. Even knowing others considered my desires an abomination, I still had that foundation.” He paused.
“I’ve been told that it’s not that simple for others. ”
“I go with a lot of different people. Women and men,” Charlie said quickly.
Part of him wanted to try to match Ned’s vulnerability, to share how what was between them felt complicated and confusing and perfect all at the same time.
To explain why Charlie hadn’t gone with the blond private, but if Charlie couldn’t even understand it himself, how was he going to explain it to Ned?
“You are not a subtle man, Charles Villiers, especially when drunk. I am well aware of your fondness for amply endowed ladies of the night, and pretty young boys. I’ve never given you an indication that who else you go with bothers me.
The question I might have for you is, why do you care that I don’t? ”
Seeing his own phoniness exposed made Charlie want to shrivel up. “Because I’m an arse.” Charlie glanced over to Ned. “That’s my apology, by the way.”
“Spoken with your typical elegance.”
With the snow gently falling on Ned’s eyelashes, he looked like an angel.
Not the kind one sees in Christmas cards, but like the old church paintings at the National Gallery.
All strength and control, elegance and grace.
Ned was the only one who laughed at all of Charlie’s jokes, who gave Charlie everything of himself when they touched.
Ned wasn’t nothing to Charlie. He didn’t have any chocolate, but he could offer Ned this.
“You should know, there hasn’t been anyone else. Only you since St. Riquier. So don’t feel like you need to take another to bed just to prove something to me.”
Ned’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t betray anything more. He passed Charlie the last piece of chocolate. They ate the squares in silence, the snow still falling gently around them.
???
Charlie didn’t really have vivid memories of the spring of 1917. He knew he marched places, fought in the attempts to seize yards away from the enemy. Managed to stay alive. Failed to sleep. Still kept drinking, but at least didn’t get caught again.
One memory he would always keep, however, was the First Battle of the Scarpe in April. Or rather the late afternoon of the battle.
The first days of the battle had gone well, they had managed to actually pry some land out of the hands of the Germans—the village of Feuchy, a stretch of the Hindenburg trench line.
In one daring morning, the London Scottish and the Kensington Rifles managed to overrun a hundred German troops, capturing a machine gun and a thousand yards.
Then it went to shit.
The enemy regrouped, or the plans didn’t reflect the land in front of them, or mistakes were made. Perhaps all of it. In any case, waves of men went down in a hail of machine gun fire and the Germans surrounded them from all sides.
Death hung in the air. There were none of the normal jovial heroics from those about to go over the top.
The never-ending rhythm of shelling and guns shattered any sense of safety the trench provided.
Orders had gone out to be ready for an attack at any time.
Rumours flew that the line had been broken, that the Germans were minutes away, that another mustard gas attack was imminent.
For the first time in over a year, Charlie found himself hurling into a corner. In a detached way, he was surprised. He had thought he was past fear. Apparently not.
Ned was nowhere to be found.
Where the bugger was he? Charlie knew that Ned’s section was back from No Man’s Land; he had heard the ambulances pull out and seen a few shivering figures by the fire that he recognized. So why hadn’t Ned found him yet?
He knew better to believe in prayer, but Charlie still sent up a few wishes that the tall man with the laughing hazel eyes might still be alive.
Fuck it. If Ned wasn’t going to find him, Charlie would go find Ned.
He started into the dressing station. The station was a chaos of moans, screams, and blood—the reality of the rumours that the Germans were encroaching.
With a deep breath, Charlie started the process of looking at each bandaged figure until, finally, he saw a black-haired officer leaning over a stretcher.
Thank bloody Christ.
Then he was nearly shaking with rage. What was Ned playing at, coming back from some of the worst action in the last month and not telling Charlie he was alright? Charlie had a right, didn’t he? That was what that conversation on night duty had been all about, wasn’t it?
He had half a mind to walk up to Ned and tell him to fuck right off, making Charlie scared like that. Then Ned looked up from the stretcher.
He was covered in mud, uniform ripped and torn in too many places to count, cuts on his hands and face.
His face was gaunt with exhaustion. But his eyes shook Charlie the most. Even when issuing orders, Ned’s eyes sparkled with something that let you know he thought the whole situation was ridiculous.
Today, there was only stillness, barely a flicker of recognition when his gaze rested on Charlie.
Ned gently put down the hand he had been holding and walked over to Charlie. “Walk with me?” Ned’s voice was flat and quiet.
Charlie expected them to go to one of their normal hideaways, a storage shed, or a darkened corner, but Ned led him through a whole different set of trenches to the officers’ quarters. Ned pushed open a door and indicated that Charlie should follow him inside.
Charlie had never been inside an officer’s dugout before. It was nicer than the infantry’s with only two beds. But still a room dug out of Flemish mud. It was damp, dark, and smelled.
Charlie felt incredibly aware of his own presence, his own breathing. He wasn’t sure why Ned had brought him here, what he was supposed to do or say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be here.
Then Ned’s lips were against his, kissing hard and urgently, daring Charlie to match his aggression.
Charlie’s nerves vanished, replaced with a physical need that was so strong he felt it down to the soles of his feet.
Together they bit and devoured, challenging each other to feel.
Thighs, hips, chests, and shoulders all pressing together, so that Charlie could feel each of Ned’s shuddering breaths.
Some small part of Charlie’s brain reminded him that this was dangerous, that they needed to be careful, but it was quickly silenced by the much, much larger part that needed to feel as much of Ned as possible.
Charlie kissed down Ned’s jaw to his neck, Ned’s stubble prickling against his lips.
Charlie wanted more, more sensation, more Ned, more life.
His hands were on Ned’s uniform, undoing buttons, grabbing for his belt.
He stopped only because his arms were getting tangled in Ned’s as he also frantically tried to divest Charlie of his clothes.
Ned pulled Charlie towards one of the tiny camp beds and they managed to get off their shirts and trousers without actually ripping anything.
In the dark, they could have been anywhere, London, Cairo, Shanghai, the moon.
The only anchor Charlie had to the world was the feeling of Ned’s hands on his back, his own across Ned’s chest, exploring every muscle, tendon, and crevice.
Ned gasped and arched against Charlie as he ran a finger around his nipple.
“Fuck me, Charlie.”
The need vibrated through Charlie and straight to his cock with a force that made him groan.
Fucking wasn’t something they had ever done before, but Charlie would be lying if he said that he hadn’t gotten himself off a fair few times imagining Ned on all fours.
But he had always assumed it would be an act where one took pleasure from the other.
He hadn’t thought it would be an act a man would actually want done to him.
Yet Ned was offering. Charlie grabbed the other man’s shoulders and rolled on top of him. “You know what to do?” He tried to sound sure of himself.
Ned leaned up and pulled Charlie back down towards his lips. “It’s not that technical. Hole. Cock. In and out. I assume you’ve fucked women before.”
Charlie kissed him again. “Think you’re funny, do you?”
Ned reached out of the bed, Charlie would see a small tub of Vaseline in his hands. “I need to get something slippery first, to help.”
Charlie was operating on pure instinct now, informed by over a year of learning Ned’s body, learning about Ned. He put his hands on Ned’s, holding them in place, and whispered into his ear, “Tell me what to do.”
Ned froze for a moment and then slowly moved onto his side so that Charlie was curved round his back.
“You need to make me ready.” Ned’s voice was shy, but he had moved his hips so that he was completely open to Charlie’s hands.
Charlie started to move his hands further and further back with what felt like incredible boldness.
Ned’s arse was like everything else about him, a perfect example of the form.
When they were kissing, Charlie liked to dig his fingers into the muscle there, but tonight Charlie palmed the soft skin.
Charlie's fingers shook a little as he entered Ned, but then Ned moaned in a way that left no doubt that he was enjoying what Charlie was doing.
Charlie continued, sliding in and out, doing as Ned had asked.
At one point he caressed a hard knot and Ned clearly had to fight everything he had not to scream.
“Oh God, sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Ned spit out the words as if it were all he could do to talk. “Do it again”.
Charlie had offered to get Ned ready, but he hadn’t expected to find this bit exciting.
Feeling Ned writhe and whimper with pleasure around his fingers was making him harder than he had ever been.
He wanted to expel every thought out of Ned’s mind that wasn’t Charlie’s hands, his lips, his cock.
He wanted to make the laughter come back to Ned’s eyes.
“Please, Charlie.” Ned’s voice came out as a slightly desperate moan.
Charlie ached with need. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck someone so badly.”
Fucking was in fact as straightforward as Ned had said.
It felt odd at first, to be pushing in where there was so much resistance.
Charlie could feel Ned’s back tense and tried to go slowly, but the heat and tightness made his vision swirl.
Cautiously, he started to move, fighting the urge to slam his hips.
Had anything in his life ever felt this good?
The tension started to go out of Ned’s shoulders and he leaned into the thrusts.
Ned wasn’t lying that this was what he wanted, but Charlie found that he wanted even more pleasure for Ned.
“Ned!” Was it his voice that sounded this broken? “How do I make you come?” Ned moaned as Charlie thrust again. “Should I touch your cock?” That got a vigorous head nod. Charlie reached around and was surprised to find a cock as hard as his own. “Holy mother of God. Being fucked does this to you?”
Getting Ned to come became Charlie’s singular goal in life.
He wanted to make sure Ned not only knew he was alive but relished it.
Charlie stroked and thrusted, all the while telling Ned he had never been this hard, it had never felt this way before, asking whether it was good for him.
Ned, for his part, seemed beyond anything but saying Charlie's name over and over again, arching against him and leaning into everything Charlie had to give.
Then Ned came. Body arching, burying his face in the bedding to mask his groan, shaking in Charlie’s arms.
Charlie fought the urge to keep going, to slam into Ned until he came himself; he could immediately sense the rawness in Ned’s body.
Charlie had become an intrusion. Biting his lip to get control of himself, he slowly withdrew.
Charlie let himself lay on top of Ned, just breathing, fighting the urge to finish himself off quickly.
Ned reached towards Charlie, groping in the dark for something, for his cock? “You’re not done.” His voice was hoarse. “You could keep going?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Then he kissed Ned before the other man could protest. For all that he was still hard, Charlie’s own release was unimportant. When they pulled away to breathe, he felt Ned shift and there was a flask in Charlie’s hand.
“Contraband drink on the perfect Lieutenant Pinsent? I’m shocked.”
“Fuck off and drink it.” Ned sounded like his normal posh bastard self again. Charlie smiled to himself as he shifted to lie beside the figure he could feel but not see. He was right chuffed with himself that he had helped bring Ned back.
The gin wasn’t bad. He was going to need it to get out of this dugout soon, though. Charlie had already been missing for too long; his own officers would be looking for him.
Then there was the fact that Charlie and his section were to go over the top before nightfall.
Charlie fought the bile bubbling in his throat, catching him by surprise again for the second time today. He didn’t understand it. The fear of death normally made him want to fuck or fight. Prove he was alive.
But how could he take any joy in survival when the only thing that waited on the other side of the battle was more nightmares and another order to kill?
Orders upon orders to slaughter and maim.
No one ever had the time for a good clean shot to the head.
After all, why waste a bullet when there were so many other ways to kill a man?
Beside Charlie, Ned shifted and gently took Charlie’s free hand, an almost overwhelming intimacy, his elegant long fingers intertwining with Charlie’s own. “We held the line. The Jerrys fared worse than us, they will ease off to lick their wounds. I think it won’t be that bad.”
Charlie couldn’t say anything. He squeezed the hand a bit tighter in the dark.