CHAPTER 7

It was dark, still pitch dark, it could have been almost morning, the dark morning of mid-winter, but Aaron didn't think so; it was still the middle of the night and he didn't know what wakened him. Could a thought wake him? The intangible idea that had been just out of his reach all evening was clear now with a certainty he couldn't fault. He lay in the darkness, letting the knowledge take root. He thought about waking Jackson, telling him; but what could he tell him? He knew yes, without a shadow of a doubt, but no details. It was Noah he needed to speak to, it was Noah who was keeping secrets. Eventually he fell asleep, still wondering.

...

Finn was wolfing a large bowl of cereal when Aaron wandered into the kitchen the following morning. He raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

"I didn't sleep very well," Aaron shrugged, running his hand over his hair, rubbing it. "My head was buzzing," he continued by way of explanation as he slid onto a stool opposite Finn.

"It was some evening," agreed Finn, "Jackson still asleep?"

"Yeah," laughed Aaron. "Since he's been off work he's getting very good at the long lies. It'll be a shock to his system when he's back to work after New Year. D'you want coffee?"

"No thanks, gotta run; Mrs Atkinson will be champing at the bit!" He jumped up, dumping his now empty bowl in the sink.

For the first time Aaron noticed that he wasn't just wearing his usual work clothes, his black shirt and bright white dog collar but a full length black gown that flowed and swirled around him as he moved about the kitchen.

"Back at lunch time," he said, moving behind Aaron, putting his hands on his shoulders, giving him a brief hug as he dropped a light kiss onto the top of his head.

Second later he was gone, a whirlwind leaving; for a few moments more Aaron just sat, lost in thought. Then almost automatically he moved to the kettle, filling, switching it on then spooning coffee into a mug as he waited for it to boil. He took his coffee into the den, the small cosy nest of a room down a few steps off the kitchen and curled up on the sofa. He picked up a magazine and flicked through it but hardly saw the words, the glossy pictures in front of him. He finished his coffee and went back to the kettle, making another for himself and taking another mug from the cupboard, a second.

There was no sound from any of the bedrooms he passed on the first floor; it seemed not only Jackson who was enjoying a long lie. He climbed the stairs to the top floor of the Vicarage. Without giving himself time to think, to stop, he knocked gently at the bedroom door, softly in case he was still asleep. But no! There was a quiet voice, biding him enter.

Aaron pushed open the door.

"Coffee," he said, holding out the mug, waiting as Noah struggled a little higher in the bed, as he hauled the quilt higher up his chest, almost to his chin, before reaching out to take the offering.

"Thanks," he said, a sudden wariness in his voice, his eyes.

Aaron perched on the end of the small bed. "Feet," he said, waiting as Noah pulled his feet up towards himself and he had more room to sit across the bed, his back against the wall.

"France," said Aaron quietly. He paused, waiting to see if Noah would say anything. He didn't; he looked in to the depths of his coffee, at his fingers gripping the mug, anywhere but at Aaron.

"France," repeated Aaron. "You were in France. Tiny, Fetch and the Boss were in France. Were you with them?"

"Leave it Aaron, please," he whispered, his voice stricken, his face suddenly pale, his eyes filling with sharp tears. "They're dead."

"Are they?" asked Aaron harshly

"Yes! Oh God yes!" breathed Noah; more than memories flooded over him; he could hear the noise, the shouting; feel the bodies, the blood; their blood, his blood. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the visions. He could feel his heart pounding suddenly, threatening to burst through his chest wall. He felt sick! Oh God he was going to be sick!

Urgently he thrust his mug towards Aaron; as soon as it left his hands he reached over the side of the bed, catching up the jumper he had dropped to the floor last night and held it to his mouth, letting the gagging bile flow.

Jumping, Aaron dropped the two mugs, clattering, spilling, onto the small dressing table close to the end of the bed. Twisting one leg, pushing off from the floor, he sprung forward on the bed towards Noah, sliding one hand under his, holding the ruined jumper for him, his other hand slipping round his shoulders, supporting him.

"I did see them in France," he confirmed as he laid back on the pillow, exhausted, his face ashen.

"The police? Did they know?" asked Aaron, not quite sure what to make of Noah's reaction.

Noah had his eyes closed; he was breathing deeply but shrugged his shoulders, a slight, resigned yet almost insolent movement. "It was a family thing," he said quietly.

Aaron looked at him for a moment; there was more to this, more than he was saying. Carefully Aaron took the jumper from where he had let it come to rest on his lap; wrapping it in on itself he dropped it into the rubbish bin then lifted the plastic bag from the bin and tied a knot in the neck of it.

"Noah, I..." began Aaron, leaning forward a little.

"Don't Aaron!" breathed Noah wearily. "I'm sorry I dragged it all up again for you, I just needed to know about Archie. The others—they're dead; they got what they deserved, try and forget about them and get on with your life, with Jackson, with your friends. But just leave it now, please." He stopped, biting his lower lip with his teeth; there was almost a sob in his voice, catching, stopping his words.

Aaron looked at the other man lying in the bed; he looked pale and drawn under the last remnants of his tan. He lay with his eyes closed, as if the effort of speaking had been too much for him.

"I'm sorry," whispered Aaron, sitting back further down the bed, moving away from the other man's pain.

"Don't", breathed Noah, "none of this is your fault. I'll be away in a couple of hours... forget I was ever here..."

"Where will you go?" asked Aaron, interrupting Noah in his turn. "Who are you spending Christmas with? Stay here; Finn will ask you to stay, you know, if you've not got any other plans."

Noah opened his eyes then and looked at the younger man, perched now rather than sitting at the end of his bed. He shook his head slightly; he felt as though he had entered some kind of parallel universe to his own life. As though it wasn't strange enough that there was someone sitting at the end of his bed, but it was someone who didn't want a piece of him, someone who now, for goodness sake, was suggesting he should stay in a house full of people he didn't know for Christmas!

"I've got plans; places to go, people to see," he said. Places to get away from, people to avoid, he thought.

"Liar," replied Aaron calmly, trying to hold the other man's gaze.

Noah closed his eyes. Shit! He used to be so good at lying, what was happening to him? First Finn, now Aaron.

"Aaron... I can't..." he paused, "...you don't know anything about me... if you did..." he stopped. No, he'd said enough. Instead he just shook his head.

Aaron said nothing; instead he bent to pick up the discarded bag holding the jumper. "Shall I throw this into the machine for you?" he asked

"Just bin it, I can buy another anytime," replied Noah. What with, he thought; he had spent so much over the last few months, it was worth it, every penny; but now... how could he earn now? Who would want him now, doing the only thing he knew how?

Saying nothing more, Aaron handed his mug of coffee back to Noah. He picked up his own in his free hand. "Nobody else is up yet," he said, "well except Finn, but he's away out to the Abbey, so there's no rush."

Noah watched Aaron leave the room; as the door closed, he felt his whole body relax, the tension that had held his emotions in check seeping from him. Curling in on himself, he hugged his arms close round his slender body, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

...

On the floor below Aaron slipped back into the room he was sharing with Jackson.

"It's a bit cold now, I'm sorry, I didn't make you one," he said, offering the remains of his coffee to Jackson.

"Where were you?" asked Jackson, stretching.

"Upstairs, speaking to Noah," said Aaron quietly. "He was in France; I think he was there when they died."

"What did he say!" exclaimed Jackson, alert now and quickly pushing himself up in the bed.

Aaron shrugged. "Not much; he didn't want to talk about it, just that he knew they were dead."

"Shit Aaron," breathed Jackson, digesting this new information.

"There's more though," continued Aaron, "I know it; there's stuff he's not saying."

"Can't really blame him," said Jackson reasonably, "I mean, it's not like he knows any of us."

"I know," groaned Aaron, snuggling under Jackson's arm and resting his head on his chest, relaxing as his fingers stroked through his short hair.

"Besides," continued Jackson, "he'll maybe tell us more over the next few days."

"You think Finn and Greg will invite him to stay then?" asked Aaron. "You okay with that?"

"I'm fine," Jackson reassured him. "But what about you, he's your ghost?"

"It was a shock last night, they are so alike" admitted Aaron, "but actually it was nice to have someone to talk about Archie to... someone who actually knew him."

Jackson nodded, understanding; a few months ago Aaron's words would have haunted him, tormented him, now he had more insight, more acceptance, into both their needs; more tools to cope.

"D'you think he'll stay?" asked Aaron. "I did kinda say I thought Finn and Greg would ask him."

"What did he say?"

"That he had somewhere to go," replied Aaron. "He was lying though, I'm sure."

Jackson nodded. "There is something about him... I don't quite know what..."

"It's the secrets," said Aaron quietly, "his past... the last few months... I don't know what, but he's hurting on the inside."

"You're getting very deep for a Sunday morning," said Jackson, a teasing edge in his tone, lightening the mood.

"I am," agreed Aaron, moving his leg over Jackson's body. He caught his hand and moved it till it slid over his buttocks, the suggestion, the invitation obvious in his movements. "Perhaps you should find out just how deep I am?" He moved again, pushing his hips against Jackson's, feeling a response.

"I know how deep you are," growled Jackson aroused. "Every time I bury my cock in your arse, every time I fuck you and you take every inch of me into you..." He could feel Aaron begin to move against him, entice him; he knew he wanted him.

Moving quickly, he flipped Aaron onto his back, kneeling over him, he tugged at his boxers, losing them easily as Aaron lifted his hips then each of his legs in turn. Leaning forward, Aaron pulled his tee shirt off even as Jackson copied his movements, discarding his own clothes.

Kneeling across Aaron's hips, he caught his hands above his head. "Don't touch me yet, don't move," he whispered, letting go of Aaron's wrists. Lightly, oh so lightly, he trailed his fingers down the sensitive skin of the inside of his arms, reaching his chest, down his flanks, feeling, hearing the sharp intake of breath, the increasing anticipation, excitement.

Jackson knew Aaron was watching him; he flicked his tongue across his lips, teasing him as his fingers found his nipples. He rubbed his thumb over the small buds, smiling at their instant response to his touch. He bent forward, bringing his lips to them, his tongue swirling across, around them, his teeth gently nipping. His hand moved downward, avoiding his hard, jutting cock, his fingers skimmed over the underside of Aaron's parted legs.

Sliding lower, he trailed soft kisses downwards, kissing and biting, softly, gently, then suddenly harder. Aaron groaned, pushed downwards, wanting more.

Jackson put his hands to the inside of Aaron's thighs, pushing them wider, knowing the gentle force would turn him on even more. He could see it now, Aaron's puckering entrance, wanting him. He blew slowly, watching it tense, relax as Aaron groaned again. He nipped the inside of Aaron's thighs, all the time getting closer, feeling Aaron's excitement growing, knowing he wanted to move, to push himself into Jackson's face.

He blew again, then quickly flicked his tongue around one side of that pink flower, then again, feeling it tense then relax, inviting him in, desperate to be filled. He swirled his tongue around it again, over it, slower, round and round, teasing ever closer to the centre of the flower. At last he pushed the tip of his tongue against the centre, feeling it relax once more and welcome him. He pushed once, twice, then quickly turned his head, sucking his finger, wetting it with his own saliva. Watching Aaron's face, he touched it to that puckering flower feeling it spread its petals, pull him in. Quickly he slid the full length of his finger into Aaron's arse, watching the satisfaction spread across his face, watching the need for more flood across his face. He withdrew a little, then thrust again, again, until he heard Aaron groan. He pulled back once more, pausing briefly before pushing two fingers deep inside his lover.

Holding his breath, heightening the sensation Aaron pushed his hips hard against Jackson's hand.

Not moving now, Jackson held his fingers hard in Aaron's arse, letting him stretch, get used to the sensation. Carefully he felt around for the lube, flipping the lid off with one hand.

"This'll be cold," he whispered, his voice a throaty growl, his own body throbbing with anticipation. He squeezed the lube onto the palm of his hand, pushing it forward with his thumb, then smearing it over the taut skin around Aaron's arse. He moved his fingers slightly, in and out, hearing the hiss of Aaron's indrawn breath as the cold lube entered him.

"Lift your legs," Jackson whispered, moving to accommodate him.

Aaron moved, draping his legs over Jackson's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Ready?" breathed Jackson, slipping his fingers from Aaron's arse. He nuzzled his cockhead against Aaron's hole, holding his breath for a second, balancing on the precipice before he plunged in, burying his full length in his lover in one swift stroke.

Beneath him, Aaron gasped, the sudden burning pleasure, the sensation of fullness took his body, his mind. He began to move, responding to every thrust, every plunging thrust. He caught hold of Jackson's shoulders, gripping, his nails digging into flesh, arching his back to pull him in deeper. He was nothing but sensation, building sensation, every nerve a pathway of fire from a knot deep in his being, radiating outwards, taking him beyond thought to pure feeling exploding, engulfing them.

They lay unmoving afterwards, their breathing deep agonising gasps as it slowly returned to normal, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum, stuck together, content. Sated.