Title: Brothers In Arms
Pairing: Jasper/Peter
Rating: M
Genre: Romance / Drama
Wordcount: 9,062
Summary: Desperate to stay with his love, Jasper followed Peter to war. Now when the call for battle is sounded, will Peter follow Jasper, or remain behind? AH/Slash
Disclaimer: Recognisable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Song lyrics belong to Dire Straits 'Brothers In Arms'. No copyright infringement intended.
Brothers In Arms
These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be.
Someday you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn to be
Brothers in arms.
The sun begins risin' roughly in the east, lightin' the sky with pale blue hues. It looks as though we are in for another swelteringly hot day. That's far in the distance though, and just now I rely on the soft cracklin' fire to warm my chilled body. It's been a long night and I, along with two others, drew the short strands of straw to have the second watch. When the sun fully rises on the horizon, we'll draw a second set of straws to decide who gets the dreaded task of wakin' our officer in command - Major Warren.
It's not that he's a horrible person, not in the slightest, but mornin's aren't really his specialty and none of us younger recruits want the honours of that task. I content myself in the fact that it's still very early, and there's at least half an hour before we will have to pick the dry grass, to see who has to rouse Major Warren at dawn.
Glancin' around the camp, I watch the soft swishin' of tails, of the horses that are tethered in a line. They're gatherin' their rest like my fellow soldiers, and I wish I am amongst the snoozin', as it's been a long night and I'm exhausted. I know that come dawn, our small camp will become a flourish of activity, and there's no rest for the wicked. I'm not wicked, well not completely, but no rest all the same.
Nearby, a soldier stirs on his bedroll and lifts a hand to brush a fly from his nose. He settles soon after and then the only sound around me is the spittin' of the fire. The fire has softened in the last few minutes and I make quick work of addin' some more dry wood, usin' a long stick to prod at the embers, so the new additions will catch. It does so quickly, a dancin' array of orange reaches towards the sky, castin' shadows on the faces of those sleepin' around me.
With nothin' more to do for a while, I turn my attention back to the letter in my lap. I pick it up and tilt it towards the firelight to make it easier to read. A mist has settled over our mountain camp durin' the night and it won't lift for a few hours at least, until the sun can burn through it. I console myself in re-readin' a letter that is so crinkled, I'm surprised it's still in one piece. I've folded and unfolded it a great many times, but I can't help myself.
Our dearest Jasper,
I hope that this letter finds you well, purely so that you may read this and know how terribly grieved you have left us. What in the Lord's name made you disappear in the middle of the night? Have you no idea how worried we all are for your safety? I want you to get on the nearest horse and come home this very moment, young man! I don't know what in the Lord's name possessed you to enter into these unGodly wars, but you darn well had better get yourself out of them right this minute! Your papa is furious that you lied about your age to the recruitment officers. Perhaps you considered this to be a brave act, wanting to show yourself as a man, but you can put every last cent of your money on the fact that when you return home, you will be straight in the woodshed feeling the bite of your papa's strap! When he's done with you, I'll then have you cut a switch for my turn, because I sure have a great many things to say to you too! You may think you are a man, Jasper, but you are our child and not yet of age. Your sisters are beside themselves with worry, as are we, your caring parents. You had better do what is right in the eyes of us and the Lord and come home right now!
Your tearful mama,
Mary.
I received this letter over a year ago, and more have passed between us in the meantime, but this first to arrive from home will always be my favourite. Though it is threatenin', and though I am now eighteen, I know that when these wars end and I do return home, I will indeed not be sittin' well for at the very least a week. Honestly, I will gladly endure it, because I will know with each searin' strike, my parents mean well and love me dearly.
My replyin' letter had been an attempt to explain my actions to them, pleadin' for their forgiveness for what I have done, and askin' if they still love me regardless. Of course, the response had been that they do love me, but fear greatly for my safety. I know that to be the case, but out here, you want to hear it anyway.
It's true that I lied to the recruitment officers about my age. I told them I was twenty, when really I had only just turned seventeen. My height had helped a lot, as did the charm I seem to carry, that Papa on many occasions has referred to as charisma.
However, in the letter home, I had lied about my reasons for joinin' the Confederate army. I'd told them that it is indeed a matter of pride, and desire to do my bit for Texas in these God awful wars. If I had stated the truth, I will not only have a sore rump when I go home, but will likely be beneath the ground also. How can I possibly tell my parents, my younger twin sisters, that the real reason for my runnin' away to the army, was to follow my heart?
As if answerin' my thoughts, said heart approaches through the darkness, and takes his place across the firelight from me. He's older than me, was actually of the legal age when the soldiers requested his joinin' of the army. Though our ages differ by a few years, he has been my best friend since I can remember.
Peter.
From bein' childhood friends, neighbours with our family farms so close, it seems that we've always been together like two peas in a pod. As young children we had played together in the corn fields, and aged together, gainin' wisdom in the process. We learned to swim together, learned that females were 'yucky' together, and at the same time, learned that we have love for each other. When Peter had arrived on my back porch in his new army uniform, a picture of splendour decked in grey and yellow, my heart had frozen in my chest.
I vowed that same night that I will follow him to the ends of the earth to stay by his side.
"Long night, huh?" He asks, removin' the grey cap from his head, to run his fingers through his light brown hair.
I really mean it when I say that we do everythin' together. He also drew one of the short straws, and considerin' there had only been two of those in the offered cap, I'm certain that he snapped his straw in half to sit the watch with me.
"Very." I sigh, foldin' the letter carefully and tuckin' it away in my pocket.
He raises an eyebrow as he watches me, then smiles and shakes his head. "When we go home, you'll have to ask your mama to re-write that letter for you, because there won't be much left of that one with the way you keep readin' it. I'm surprised the pencil hasn't all rubbed off."
Peter knows of what the letter contains, he'd been the one to comfort me when tears had stung my eyes upon first readin' it. It hadn't been from the content, or the worry of a thrashed hide upon returnin' home, but the emotion behind the words and knowin' how much my actions have grieved my family. He had sat beside me late one night and we'd written our letters home together. Where mine had asked for forgiveness and love, he had written a second letter to be put in with mine, promisin' to deliver me safely home to them.
"You look as exhausted as I feel, Jasper. There's time if you want to get your head down for a quick nap. I'll wake you before dawn." Peter offers, ever the considerate friend. He gives a small shrug. "It'll only be a few minutes, but it's better than nothin'."
I think about it for a few seconds, knowin' that it is a very temptin' offer, but that if I'm caught doin' it there will be a reprimand. I sigh and shake my head, rubbin' my eyes instead. "No, I'll be okay. I just need to make sure that I don't get the short straw tonight as well."
It helps that we'll be remainin' in the camp for the entire day, since no news has yet arrived by messenger about what we, the cavalry, need to be doin'. We expect a rider any day, but many believe it's doubtful and that our time is bein' wasted. I feel the same way. As much as I like the safety of camp and that I've yet to see any real battle, I'd also like to be more active than cleanin' up after the horses and sittin' watch durin' the bitterly cold nights.
"Well, if you get the short straw tonight, trade with me and I'll take watch again. You really need to rest, it'll do no good if you get sick or are caught sleepin' in the day." Peter lightly scolds me, even playfully waggin' his finger.
I roll my eyes and give a shrug. "It's not like there's anythin' to do durin' the day anyways."
He smiles and scratches a hand through his hair again, and I long to be over on that side of the fire to do it for him, but it's been over a year since we last touched each other so freely; we no longer have my papa's barn to sneak away to.
As we wait for the sun to rise, I let my mind drift to those stolen moments in the hayloft of the barn. I wish so much that we'd had longer to thoroughly show our love to each other, to enjoy one another like we want to, but that was always too risky and other than mutual touchin' and kissin', we'd never gone any further.
It's even more difficult now, bein' surrounded by so many soldiers, so many eyes and ears that can betray us if we are ever caught. I long to lean over the fire and place a kiss to my Peter's lips, but even with almost everyone asleep, I know that I can't risk that.
He'd been idly drawin' patterns in the dust in front of his crossed legs. He somehow seems to sense where my thoughts have taken me and raises his eyes to meet mine. The firelight dances, reflectin' in his blue gaze, before a smile spreads on his lips. A smile that sends jolts directly into the front of my pants. I return it, knowin' that I have the same effect on him.
As the sun peeks over the horizon, difficult to see through the mist surroundin' the mountain and our camp, the other night watchman approaches the fire. His name is Gerald and he is the same age as Peter, but he is from Denton, Texas - not Houston like us. He has a gruffer manner, one I don't think I'll ever become accustomed to, and he lands on his knees in the dust between us.
"Okay, let's get this over with shall we?" He mutters, holdin' out a fist that has three blades of dry straw stickin' out of the top.
Peter and I exchange a glance, before bein' the braver of us both, he leans nearer to Gerald and plucks one of the strands from his fist. It comes away long and I know that I now have a fifty-fifty chance of drawin' the short one. It's not my first time sittin' watch with Gerald either. Last time, he drew the short straw and since I was the only other, I received a punch for the trouble.
With a nervous swallow, I take a deep breath and pluck the nearest straw strand to me - it's short.
Gerald grins triumphantly and half heartedly slaps his hand to my shoulder. "Good luck, Whitlock."
With that, he stands and disappears into the retreatin' darkness to close his eyes for about an hour before breakfast. I stare at the short strand for a few seconds more, then toss it into the flames and glance nervously to Peter. He has a sympathetic look on his face, and after discardin' his own bit of straw, he begins to stand.
"Start wakin' the cooks to make breakfast and I'll go and wake the Major."
I shake my head and make it to my feet quicker than he does. "No, it's okay. I'll face my responsibilities. You go ahead and wake the cooks and see if they've anythin' more than grits for breakfast - I'm sick of grits."
I pull a face that gets Peter chucklin', and with a concealed caress of my arm - aimed to look like a squeeze to offer confidence - he turns and makes his way across the camp. I walk in the opposite direction, to the only tent that our camp has, reserved for the officer.
His snores are loud through the canvas as I stop outside. I know that he is as tiresome of our non-action as the rest of the men, and this makes his wakin' routine more difficult and venomous with each passin' day. An older soldier, Toby Compton, returned from the officer tent with a black eye yesterday mornin'.
I take a calmin' breath, sendin' a silent prayer to the Lord that I won't come out in the same condition, and begin to peel back the canvas flap of the tent.
Before it's even half way open, a sudden blast of a horn echoes through the mist from somewhere along the mountain path, growin' louder as it approaches the camp. One by one, the soldiers jolt awake to the noise, or maybe the thunderin' of hooves that vibrates through the ground they lay on.
I'm saved.
In the next second, I'm within the tent and shakin' Major Warren's shoulder to rouse him. "Major...Major, wake up, sir. It's the messenger, he's arrived!"
He snorts as the mixture of shakin' and my voice wakes him. He grumbles and sits up on his cot, wipin' a hand over his eyes, before it balls into a fist. I prepare to run for my life, but am saved again as the horn blast sounds more nearer to camp. His arm stills and he looks around disorientated. "What? What's that?"
"T..the messenger, Major, he's arrived. He's comin' into camp now, sir." I stammer at first, but manage to say the rest rather smoothly.
He rises from his cot and reaches for his jacket and hat. I take it as a sign to leave and hastily duck out of the tent, silently thankin' the Lord for answerin' my prayer. For all I know, God may well look down at me with a frown for where my heart lies with Peter's, but I will keep the faith to my dyin' day nethertheless.
Outside of the tent, the men are stumblin' from their bedrolls and gainin' their feet, when the exhausted messenger breaches the mist and comes into sight. His horse is breathin' heavily and a white froth covers its legs from sweatin'. He stops right by the tent and dismounts instantly. Bein' the nearest, I catch the reins and watch as he steps through the gap in the canvas, to deliver his message directly to the Major.
The other men begin to surge forward to try and overhear, wantin' to know if this is the news that everyone has been waitin' anxiously to receive. I quickly steer the gaspin' horse aside and lead it through the crowdin' soldiers to get it amongst the other steeds. It's badly in need of water and a rest. Myself and the animal are ignored as the men have only one thing on their mind right now.
I manage to get the stallion almost to the line with the others, before it digs its hooves in and refuses to take another step. I pull on the reins, but it backs up. I slap the reins to its side, but it doesn't even flinch. I try everythin' from clickin' my tongue, to wavin' my arms, but it holds still for a few seconds longer, then suddenly collapses. I move just in time to keep from bein' crushed by its weight, as it falls dead at my feet.
Peter saw me strugglin', he doesn't care for the news like the other men and comes to help me with the steed. He reaches my side shortly after it expires and knowin' my affinity for animals, for horses in particular, he takes the advantage of the mens distractions to place a hasty kiss to my temple, makin' it seem as though he is whisperin' to me.
In the next moment, he is. "It was beyond exhausted, Jasper. Even if you'd gotten it to water, you couldn't have made it drink."
He gives a gentle pat to my shoulder and eases the limp reins from my hand. I don't know how long we stand there, but he digs me in the ribs a second before a voice travels on the early mornin' air to me.
"Whitlock, what's goin' on here?" It's the Major, and as I turn my attention to his approachin' form, the messenger is with him, along with the sea of soldiers followin' and awaitin' news.
"My apologies, Major." I glance to the messenger and give a small dip of my head to address him. "Sir. The horse died before I could tend to it."
Annoyingly, to me, neither seem to care and Major Warren points to the nearest healthy bronco in the long, tethered line. "Well, saddle that one quickly, he's to leave again immediately to pass news to other companies."
"Yes, Major." I quickly bow and hurry to the mare he had pointed out. Riskin' a peek as I work, I watch as Peter is ordered to remove the saddle and bridle from the fallen stallion, as they can be reused for another one.
"What are we to do with the horse, Major?" Peter asks, as he sets about the task he's been given.
Major Warren doesn't miss a beat. "I'm tired of grits, we need meat."
He doesn't bother to elaborate further, but Peter and I know instantly what he means. The mount will not be wasted, nor buried. That thought saddens me and I turn my full focus on my given task, to keep my emotions in check.
Once the mare is saddled and ready to go, I lead it from the line and over to the messenger. He takes it without a word, mountin' the animal that will likely be ridden to death by him also, and rides away back into the mist.
I slink away to the fire as the cooks move in to deal with the dead horse. I don't want to see any of it, and despite my hunger, I'll not eat any of it either. Deer and rabbit are fine enough when hunted and cut for food, I won't hesitate to eat that, but the steed was as much human as us, workin' hard for the same cause, the war. I can't eat with that in mind.
With keepin' myself away, I miss what the Major is now tellin' the men, but the loud cheers that echo off the mountain face pretty much tells me anyway.
We've been summoned to battle.
We're goin' to be seein' action.
We're goin' to be the soldiers that we signed up to be.
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed your suffering
As the battle raged higher.
And though it did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms.
It's hard to avoid the enthusiasm around the camp. Everywhere I look, there are smiles on the faces of men that just last night were depressed. We all miss home, but mostly we all dislike the feelin' of uselessness. We entered the war to fight, to do our part for Texas, and so far have done little for the cause due to not bein' needed.
I feel the excitement from every direction, though there is also an underlyin' tension from every man. We know that not all of us are needed, some will be made to stay behind with half of the horses and provisions, to keep the camp ready for the others return. After months of inaction, men are jostlin' to be noticed, so that they can be on the list of those goin'.
Peter and I keep ourselves busy. We both wish to go, to be the active soldiers that we know we can be, and so try to catch the Major's eye by provin' ourselves hard workin' and eager. We don't resort to followin' him around like puppy dogs, like a handful of the men are already doin'.
Even though I stayed clear of the message that was brought to camp, the news spreads like wildfire and I inadvertently hear it anyway. The report is that there's a potential threat on the city of Galveston, and we are to get there quickly and evacuate the women and children, before returnin' to fight the Union soldiers who will invade.
I'm excited for the action also, though a naggin' fear dwells inside me and I hide it the best that I can.
With most men workin' for the Major's attention, the horses are neglected and I make the first move to tend to them. Once Peter's task of aidin' the cooks with the deceased horse is done, he steps to my side and begins to help, without my request. I wonder if he feels what I do just now.
As I groom and saddle a bay mare, he stands with a black geldin' next to me. I watch him from the corner of my eye and after a minute or two, a small smile graces his face. He's watchin' me also and can likely see the concern upon my features.
I'm not scared to ride to the city, to help evacuate. If the Lord had intended women and children to be a part of war, he'd have sent them into the world with swords at their sides and pistols in their hands. It's my duty to the Lord and to the innocent people to aid them, and so I will. I'm not even afraid of the prospect of a fight, should the Union soldiers strike while we are there.
No, what I'm afraid of the most, is Peter bein' there also.
I've never been amongst gunfire in my short life, but I know that when it comes to it, I'll be more focused on Peter's survival than my own. As he turns his head and meets my eyes, I see the same feelin's reflectin' back at me. Oh, what I wish to be able to step away from this horse and pull him into my arms, to kiss him and tell him verbally that I love him, but that won't go down well at all with anyone who sees. We must restrain ourselves, and rely on the looks that we give each other.
As I tighten the girth of the saddle, securin' it firmly to the mare's body, I hear voices driftin' nearer to us. Peter's head lifts to glance over my shoulder, before he drops the brush he'd been groomin' with and stands at attention. Knowin' what that must mean, I quickly turn to face the approachin' Major and stand to attention also.
He's dressed and ready to go, his weapons in place on his body and a wild, excited gleam in his eyes. I know that this is the moment of truth and I think Peter does also. He's about to tell us if we are to remain behind, or be amongst those goin' to Galveston.
He stops between us, castin' an inspectin' glance over us both, then nods. "At ease."
In the same second, perfectly synchronised, Peter and I shift to stand with our feet shoulder length apart and our hands restin' in the dip of our backs. We stand to our full height, straight and unmovin', eyes directly ahead as Major Warren looks us both over.
"I suppose you two have heard the news?" He asks.
"Yes, Major." Our replies are as coordinated as our movements.
He gives a nod and looks between us. "We leave in ten minutes to ride to Galveston. Whitlock, you'll be ridin' with us." A sudden wave of nausea hits my stomach, not because I've been picked, but because of the hesitance in his tone. He turns his eyes to Peter. "You'll remain at camp and continue to tend the horses. Have fifteen in total saddled and ready to go in ten minutes." His eyes return to me. "Prepare to leave."
As he turns and strides away, our chorus of 'yes, Major' is far more sombre than the first. For several seconds, we stand silently as we come to terms with what we have just been ordered. I'm to go to war and Peter is to remain behind. I'm nervous to go, but relieved that Peter will be here, safe, in camp.
I make the first move and release my at ease stance, turnin' to make my way towards my bedroll across the camp grounds. Amongst my belongin's are my weapons and my letters from home. Weapons are mandatory if I wish to survive, but the letters are choice and I load them into the pockets of my vest and jacket. There are so many, that perhaps if I am to be shot, they will cushion the blow and save my life.
As I attach my gun and sword to my belt, I peek over to the line of horses and watch Peter as he hastily works alone. Even with so many of us in the camp, no one has joined to offer him help in his task. He stands facin' away from me, as he secures a saddle to the back of a chestnut stallion. I can tell from the slump of his shoulders that he's grieved, likely from the order that I part from him. I feel the exact same, but cannot defy orders from my commandin' officer.
Within a couple of minutes, I have all of my belongin's on my person and my bedroll tied up and ready to be strapped to the saddle of whichever horse is assigned to me. All around me, the other men are in similar positions and awaitin' further instruction from the Major, but he is nowhere in sight and most likely in his tent gatherin' his own items of sentimental value.
There's just enough time to relieve myself and I hurry to the edge of the camp. The mist causes eerie echoes of the voices of the men, as it bounces from the mountain face and sends a chill down my spine, the fine moisture of the mist saturatin' my uniform. I stand against the rock face to urinate and listen to the excited chatter around me. It's the first time that the camp has been this high spirited in a few months, the atmosphere is almost nice, if not for the misery twistin' in my core. I'll be parted from Peter, the love of my life, but console myself in the knowledge that he will be safe here at camp and God willin', we'll be reunited upon my return.
I turn towards the mountain path out of camp as I re-button my slacks, peerin' towards the risin' sun just visible in the distance through the smog of weather around me. The mist is a welcome coolant after the lengthy hot days, I may even miss it when we ride south soon.
I think of my home in the lowlands, of my ma and pa, my twin sisters and wonder what they're doin' right now. It's early, my sisters will still be in bed. My pa will be tendin' the animals before a long day in the field - a long day that I should be there helpin' him work through - and my ma'll likely be bakin' bread in the kitchen. Fresh bread. My stomach tightens with hunger at the thought of that, my mind tryin' to recreate what it smells like; it's been too long.
Before I can turn to re-enter the camp, a thunderin' of hooves draws my attention. I begin to panic in case I've lost track of time and the riders are leavin', but it sounds like only one horse. Perhaps it has escaped the line and is makin' a bid for freedom; with the prospect of war and potential death, I can't blame the poor beast.
I begin to turn, to look back and see the approachin' steed, maybe even make an attempt to catch hold of it somehow, but it's nearer than I anticipated and as it begins to pass me, somethin' snags the back of my jacket and hauls me up at speed.
In the next second, I'm pinned on my stomach and facin' down to the ground, a fearful sight of the animal's muscular legs and poundin' hooves strikin' the dry earth. I'm momentarily reminded of many past trips over my pa's knees, starin' at the floor in such a position, but this is far more terrifyin' than those times.
I cry out in fright, even struggle, but the weight holdin' me down becomes stronger and a voice hisses near my ear. "Quiet, Jasper!"
Peter.
Even through the tension in his tone and the desperation behind his words, I would recognise his voice anywhere.
Behind us, a yell of uproar echoes from the mountains, but I can't make out anythin' that's shouted after us, as Peter flees with me held captive. My focus is fully on the sight of the ground rushin' past quickly below, the thump of the metal shoes on the horse strikin' the soil and stones, and the frantic bouncin' my body endures as Peter holds me securely between the front of the saddle and the steed's neck. Each motion of the horse slams me repeatedly and I know that I'll be left bruised by this ordeal.
I hold my tongue from the sinful curses that flow through my mind, not wishin' to cry them out and go against Peter's demand that I stay quiet. I could be tied down and have hundreds of sharp blades twistin' through every inch of my body, but I would not make a sound if Peter asked it of me.
I don't know how long the terrifyin' ride lasts, I just hold on for dear life, one hand grippin' the girth of the saddle and the other clingin' to Peter's lower leg, where it rests in the stirrup at my side. Despite all the jostlin', his own grip on my bent waist prevents me from slippin' more than an inch through the whole ordeal.
When we finally begin to slow, it's only to stop long enough so that he can lower me safely to my feet on solid ground, then help me back upon the horse so that I'm sittin' behind him with both arms around his waist to hang on for my life. I bury my face between his shoulder blades, inhalin' his scent from the fabric of his uniform and realise that I am huggin' myself to him so closely for the first time since followin' him into the army.
I lift my head enough for my voice to travel to his ear. "Peter, what's goin' on?"
"There's no way that I'm lettin' you ride away to battle alone, Jasper. I promised your mama that I'd take care of you, and I promised you too." His voice returns to me over his shoulder, his head turnin' just enough to make sure that I hear him. "I'm not lettin' you go without me."
"But Major Warren said you're to stay behind at camp, you're not amongst those goin' to the city." I repeat the order that was given to use both mere minutes ago.
I see his lips twitch, before his face turns away to keep watch on the direction we're goin'. "Neither of us are goin' to the city. We're gettin' out of these wars. You were foolish to follow me here, Jasper, and I'll be damned if you're goin' to get killed without me there to protect you."
I gasp in shock at his words. "You mean we're...Peter! We can't desert the army! Our families will be ashamed of us, not to mention what'll happen if we're caught by our own side or God forbid, the Unions!"
"Then we try not to get caught, it's as simple as that." He releases the reins from one hand so that he can place it over where mine are clasped around his waist. Despite my shock, my hands move automatically to trap his between both of mine and entwine our fingers. "Besides, our families as much as they love us, will never allow us to love each other, Jasper. No matter what we do, we either shame them or shame ourselves. As much as I love my parents and siblin's, I love you more and will face hell when the time comes, so long as I face life with you."
My arms tighten around his waist as I swallow the lump formed in my throat from his words. "I love you too, Peter, so very much."
With those words spoken from my lips, I know that he's right and I feel the same way. I love my parents and my younger sisters dearly and I know they'll all be grieved and ashamed when word reaches them of our desertion - but I love Peter with every fibre of my bein' and will gladly face the rest of our lives in exile to be with him. I'll never see my family again, and he'll never see his, but we'll have each other.
I'm not sure how long we ride for, or even where we are for much of the way. I keep my arms wound around his waist, my hand holdin' his between both of mine and when the initial shock of the 'kidnappin'' and unnatural way to ride a horse passes, I shuffle closer to his back and rest my chin to his shoulder, pressin' my chest to his back as comfort for us both; we know what we've done, and what we're leavin' behind.
After the night of sittin' watch and the fadin' adrenaline rush, my eyes close of their own accord and I just listen to the thunderin' hooves and the harsh breathin' of the animal we ride. It's laboured from the heat, now that we're in direct sunlight in our distance from the mountains. I know that we'll need to stop sometime soon, we can't ride the poor creature into an early grave, like the one back at camp.
I tell Peter as much and he wholeheartedly agrees. "I know, Jasper. We can't stop until we find somewhere to hide and shelter in." His hand squirms out from under mine and pins both of mine to his waist. "You're exhausted, you wouldn't have lasted the ride to Galveston anyway. Sleep, darlin', I've got you."
I try to fight it, to murmur that I'm okay, but his words are a soothin' lilt and the sensation of snugglin' myself to his chest is too much of a temptation.
The next thing that I'm aware of is Peter's voice wakin' me, his elbow givin' the slightest of digs into my ribs to rouse me from my sleep. As I straighten up further, liftin' my head from his shoulder that had been my pillow, I realise that we're no longer movin' except for the rough breathin' of the horse. I quickly rub my eyes and slide down from the back of the saddle, almost landin' on my rear in the process, due to my weary un-coordination.
Peter lands beside me and his hand steadies my shoulder until he's sure that I'll be okay. Once released, I loosen the saddle completely from the horse to aid in its breathin', pullin' the saddle from its back and restin' it on the ground.
"We can shelter here, it looks long since abandoned and we can both sleep. There might be some hay or somethin' inside for the horse, but I don't know about water." Peter says, directin' my attention to behind me.
Towerin' over us is a windmill, and like Peter had said, it looks long since out of use. The surroundin' grass is overgrown and the fabric sail on two of the windmill's arms is torn from weather agein'; the roof is in need of repair too, but it'll be a good place for us to rest and for the horse to recover. The sun's blazin' and we need to shelter, especially with no water to keep us hydrated.
I gather up the saddle as Peter leads the stallion by the reins towards the buildin'. I follow behind, castin' wary glances all around to check where we are, but it's typical Texan wilderness and there doesn't seem to be a house to accompany the mill, which strikes me as strange. It's a good thing though, as it means no witnesses to two lone Confederate soldiers that, with sharin' one horse, can only be nothin' more than deserters.
The inside of the mill is stiflingly dry, but cool compared to the blazin' sun outside. I deposit the saddle just inside the doorway and push them closed, to hide the fact that we're inside. With the doors closed, the interior of the buildin' is darker and that helps with the temperature. I throw off my jacket onto the nearest piece of machinery and loosen my collar, rollin' up my shirt sleeves.
Peter is luckily right, there're old bales of hay scattered around and though they're dusty, the horse doesn't mind and begins to eat his fill. We search around, but there's no water source and we scatter hay to make a flatter, more comfortable place for us to sleep, then slump down wearily upon it.
"We'll be okay, won't we, Peter?" I break the almost silence after a couple of minutes, not even sure if he's asleep, or lyin' awake listenin' to the chompin' of the horse like I am.
There's a small movement beside me and his arm lands around my middle as he shuffles himself closer. "We'll be fine, darlin'. We'll sleep here through the day and carry on durin' the night. I don't know where to yet, but when we can get civilian clothes, we'll be able to settle in a town somewhere when we no longer look like soldiers."
He kisses my temple to enforce his encouragin' words, and I frown a little. I'm tired, but I've managed some sleep and I want to hear more. "Then what will we do?"
"Whatever you want to do. We'll need to work and find lodgin's somewhere, but maybe one day we'll have a place of our own in the countryside." His tone takes on a dreamy edge and I realise that I'm not the only one to have spent time thinkin' about our future after the war.
"Would you like that, Peter? To live somewhere with me?"
"Of course I'll like that, Jasper. I've thought about us havin' a farm together somewhere, though it'll be difficult in the public eye and we'll need to be careful."
This had been on my mind a lot also. I turn my head to peer at him, my eyes havin' adjusted to the gloom within the mill. Liftin' a hand, I lightly stroke it through his hair, that is shorter than my own. "If we have a ranch instead of a farm, we'll be less obvious. There's nothin' odd about two men ownin' a horse ranch together, since it's mens work after all."
He smiles and lifts his eyes to meet mine. "I guess no matter where we go or what we do, there will always be horses if you have anythin' to say about it." He chuckles and leans in to kiss my lips, a kiss that we have both wanted to share for so long, but couldn't with so many eyes around to spot us. Now the only one watchin' is the horse, who is as much of a deserter as we are.
"At some point, people'll expect us to take wives and raise fat babies. I can't do that, Peter. I won't do that."
His lips had gone to my throat as I'd spoken, but he falters and leans up to meet my eyes. "I won't either. I love you and can never love another in such a way."
He knows that I don't speak out of fear or jealousy that he might someday have a lady on his arm and children behind him, and I know that he doesn't feel the need to enforce his own promise of that not happenin'. I watch his eyes for a few seconds, then move my hand through his hair to the back of his head and pull him closer.
His lips meet mine again, but it's not enough and my free arm catches a hold of his waist and rolls us until he is lyin' on top of me. This isn't a new position to us, though bein' the lighter of us, I'm usually the one lyin' over him.
Worryin' about crushin' me, he begins to pull his body away, but I lift my legs to clamp my ankles over his and hold him closer to me. I slip a moan into our kiss to let him know I want this, that I need to feel him close like this after so long. The last time we had been so close and intimate in any way had been in the hayloft of my pa's barn back home. We're in a mill now, but there is hay and what's more, there is no one here to discover us together.
We have the solitude that I've wanted with him for years now.
I want him.
As he settles enough to give me the closeness that we both crave, I release his head and lower both of my hands around his body to the front of his slacks. Our crotches are pressed together with our proximity to each other, but there's just enough room for me to pop open the first button, makin' him aware of my intentions.
With my hand no longer securin' his head, he pulls out of the kiss easily and gazes down at me. "Jasper..."
His voice is a mere whisper and I silence him with a shake of my head. "Please, Peter. We're both tired, but I need you right now. I need to be loved now more than ever...I want you to take me."
His eyes widen impossibly further, lookin' as though they might fall out of his head. We've been together intimately before, but never far enough to destroy our virtues. We may be sinners for our forbidden love, and now for desertin' the army, but our bodies are still pure.
"Jasper...we can't." His voice is strained, like the hardened part of his body that's pressin' to my own with equal want and need, but his mind is more alert than my own just now.
"Please, Peter...please." I beg unashamedly, liftin' my hips enough to draw a moan from his throat as he feels my desire for him.
"Jasper...I love you, but...my love, I don't want to hurt you. I want this too, but I never want to hurt you." He enforces his words with another kiss, that he withdraws from before I can deepen it further.
"Don't think about that." I manage to pop open another button on his slacks, then move my hands to begin on my own.
He nips his lip and I can see that he's warrin' within his mind, a battle far greater than that between the Northern and Southern armies. I plead with my eyes and he knows that I'll endure anythin' for him, I've told him as much in the past.
He finally surrenders with a small nod. "Okay, we can try. I really don't want to hu..."
I cut him off by crushin' my lips to his, not allowin' him to say such words again. I know that it'll hurt, but I love him and trust him with my life - I can take pain for his love.
With the agreement between us, he lifts his hips so that I can open the rest of his buttons, pushin' the fabric as far down as I can, finishin' it off with the use of my ankles until his slacks are at his feet. I manage to kick off my boots as he works on my slacks, helpin' me to push them fully off. The dry hay beneath me pokes in sensitive places, but I ignore it.
Once I'm undressed from the waist down, I draw my knees to my chest and hold them securely in place. Peter settles back on his knees and stares down at me, the length between his legs already standin' as tall and proud as any soldier, in full salute. I've seen him before, I know that he's big and that this'll be uncomfortable, but I love him so much and I want to be his in every way.
His eyes are still uncertain as he glances to the entrance on display for him. His hand reaches out to lightly touch my hole with a single finger. It quivers at even the softest touch from him, but his finger is dry against my skin and he withdraws again. He gathers some spit in his mouth, depositin' it onto his fingers and directin' it back to my hole. It feels warm and slick and I try not to tense up as he begins to insert a finger into me.
Either my body or my expression is more tellin' than I realised, and he stills his finger and tells me again that we don't need to do this. I tell him simply that I need him and he adds more spit, along with a carefully worked in second finger. It burns and stings all at once and I bite my lip against the pain, but urge him to continue his gentle onslaught.
By the time he makes it to a third finger, the pain is stronger, but my length is hard and leakin' against my stomach and I won't tell him to stop. With the last of the spit that he can produce from his mouth, he strokes it over his length to coat it, then guides himself closer as he pulls his fingers out.
"I'm sorry, Jasper..." His voice is tinged with grief at the pain he has caused me so far, and is about to cause next.
"Wait..."
At this single word, an almost relieved look passes his eyes, but I stop him from completely pullin' away. I can feel the tip of his length against my hole, in position. Reachin' one hand up, I find the back of his head again and bury my fingers within the locks as I guide him down to lean over me. He follows my movement until I crash my lips to his, to both strangle any sound I might make, as well as actin' as a needed distraction for what I am about to feel.
He kisses me deeply for about a minute, his tongue delvin' into my mouth and strokin' against my own. When I relax just enough, he finally begins to push in. The motion is quick, breachin' the tight muscle so that the worst part is over quickly. I almost scream in pain, but it's muffled by his tongue and lips, as his slightest movements come across as apologetic. He keeps himself still for a little longer, then eases himself fully into me, vanishin' both of our virginities.
My muscles clamp around him, reactin' to the intrusion and the pain as they try to expel him from my body. He moans around my tongue from the pleasure it is givin' to his body. When my whimpers ease to almost silence, he pulls back and gazes down to me, his eyes sad with the hurt he's caused me.
"M'so sorry, my love." He lifts a hand from the ground to stroke my cheek delicately, as if I might break at any second. I shake my head to let him know that he's not to blame, I asked for this and will do so again a million times over. He sighs and kisses my forehead. "I don't think I'll last, Jasper. It's difficult and I don't want to hurt you any further. I'll try not to move much."
As he verbally makes that decision, his hand moves from my cheek to between my stomach and legs, grippin' my hardened length with a gentle firmness and gives a slight stroke. It feels amazin' to be touched by him there after so long and it pulls a moan from my throat, replacin' the whimpers from moments ago. The smallest pleasure causes me to tense around him again and he moans as his mouth finds mine.
He begins to gently withdraw, the full feelin' of him in my body fadin' with each inch that he removes, until only the bulbous head remains sheathed by my skin. As he continues to pull and stroke my length, he carefully pushes his own back into me, fillin' me again. The pain has settled to a steady burn, but as he withdraws and thrusts a second time, the pleasure begins to overtake the discomfort.
Our moans are as synchronised as our bodies as we become one, with him strokin' me at a faster rhythm than his gentle thrusts. I can feel the heat buildin' in me already and as we swallow each others moans, I grip his hair tighter to alert him that I'm close.
With just two more tugs on my length, I come undone as streams of warm, white fluid pulses out of my body and onto the bottom of my shirt, causin' me to cry out into his mouth. It's mirrored by his own as my muscles clench around him so tightly, pullin' him over the edge with me. The spasms runnin' through his body are the quickest he's been with me durin' this whole experience, the tip of him bumpin' against somethin' inside me, prolongin' my pleasure and release as he empties himself into my body.
When he's calm enough to move, he pulls slowly from me and slips out of my body completely, breakin' the kiss as he sits back on his knees and looks down to me. My own body is exhausted and his hands keep my legs held up for me when I can't do so by myself. He peers through the dim light to check if I'm okay, then meets my eyes with a concerned look.
"Jasper, you're bleedin'...M'so very sorry." He looks as though he might cry for having hurt me.
I shake my head and apply pressure with my legs until he allows them to sink to the hay strewn floor. "I'm okay, Peter. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'll be fine."
In truth, I'm in a lot of pain now that the pleasure has subsided, but he doesn't need to know that. I don't want him to regret the love we have just shared, because I certainly don't. He gives a reluctant nod and removes the yellow neckerchief from around his neck, waddin it up and wipes at my body with such tenderness to dab away the blood. He folds the fabric and passes it to me to wipe the release from my shirt, as he gathers my slacks and helps me to put them back on. Once they're buttoned in place, he adjusts his own and sinks to the hay at my side.
He lays on his back, starin' through the dust particles to the ceilin' and the only sound within the mill is our quickened breathin' and the munchin' sounds of the stallion eatin' hay. I roll onto my side, leanin' my head up to kiss his stubbled jaw, before restin' my ear over his heart and closin' my eyes.
"I love you, Peter. I don't regret what we just did and I never will."
His breathin' and silence betrays that he's already succumbed to the exhausted sleep, and I follow quickly, the ache in my rear subsidin' to a dull throb.
I wake with a start as Peter shakes me, hurriedly whisperin' my name. As I open my eyes and sit up, the burn in my rear acts as a reminder to our activities, but I ignore it as I realise that it's very dark in the mill. We've slept a long time and night has come, but it's the light beyond the windows and the cracks under the door that worries me most. Peter sits also and I can hear his breathin' is quick, but I'm not sure why. He must have heard somethin' I didn't.
Just then, a voice calls out from beyond the door and confirms my suspicions. "I said get out here! We know that you're in there! There's no escape!"
It's a voice that I've become accustomed to over the past year of servin' in the army. A voice that now sends fear to my very soul, mirrored by the gasps escapin' Peter's throat.
Major Warren.
Peter reluctantly rises to his feet, my hand findin' his before he can take a step, so he won't leave me behind. I understand now, so suddenly awake, that we've been discovered and I also know the penalty for desertin' the army. I won't let Peter step outside alone. We left together, so we'll face Major Warren together.
As we walk through the doors, I squint against the light of the lanterns bein' held aloft. I quickly count, seein' only three and the Major is holdin' one of them. Despite knowin' I should, I feel no shame for what Peter and I did in leavin', and I'm consoled by the fact that only three men are here to witness.
When Peter stops a distance from the men, I step bravely to his side, my hand still holdin' his. His voice trembles as he whispers to me. "M'so sorry, Jasper, this is all my fault."
I squeeze his hand and whisper back without any quiver or hesitance to my words. "I'd do it over again, my love."
"How dare you both desert us in our time of need!" Major Warren's voice barks towards us through the darkness. I stand tall and hold steady, refusin' to be intimidated by him. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" When neither of us speak, he laughs almost coldly. "Nothin', huh? Cowards!"
I bristle at his accusation, but hold my tongue the same as Peter as he trembles beside me. I entwine my fingers with his as extra comfort to him. We both know the drill, what is about to happen.
"Stand at attention when I talk to you!" The Major snaps, but neither of us move a muscle to do as he orders. "You're scum, the both of you! Your families will hear of your cowardice, but they will be lucky if there's anythin' left of you both to spit on!"
He half turns and mutters somethin' to the two soldiers he has with him. They set the lanterns on the ground and I can't still my trembles any longer as I watch them unholster their pistols and prepare them for use.
"You're a disgrace to them, to me, to the cavalry and to all of Texas!" Major Warren continues, but I block his words out and glance to Peter from the corner of my eye.
"I don't regret any of this, Peter. I love you, and we will be together wherever we end up after this." I hold dear to the thought of always bein' with him, whether that be Heaven or Hell.
"I...love you...too, Jasper." He whispers through his shudders.
Ahead of us, there are two clicks in the darkness as the pistols rise and aim towards us, ready for the order from the Major.
"Fire!"
Now the sun's gone to hell and
The moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line in your palm
We are fools to make war
On our brothers in arms.