Kid Gloves Read online

  Not realizing he was biting his own lip, Dalton felt it being tugged from between his teeth by Finn’s lips and smiled into the gentle brush of their mouths. He welcomed Finn’s tongue as it swept against his own, relishing in the flavor even as heat pooled and throbbed in his belly.

  “Do you like this?” Finn whispered as he rocked his hips forward.

  “Yes,” Dalton whispered back. “It’s incredible, Finn.”

  Dalton traced his foot up and down Finn’s back, silently thrilled at the way it felt, the sound the silk made as it brushed against bare skin. To his surprise, Finn’s lips stretched into a smile while being pressed to the side of his neck, and his slow, easy rhythm faltered.

  “You can… more,” Dalton said, his breath catching. “Deeper. Or harder.”

  “Or both?” Finn asked. He pulled away and looked down into Dalton’s eyes, still smiling.

  “Or both,” Dalton repeated.

  He was far from confident, but Finn felt a little whisper of validation at Dalton’s words and obligingly pushed harder into the next thrust. The reaction this elicited was enough for Finn to grow bolder, and rougher, instinctively trying to find more ways to draw those sounds from his lover’s mouth.

  “Like that?” Finn asked. Dalton managed a nod, his fingers squeezing around Finn’s arms. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “No,” Dalton said. He whimpered a little and let his head drop back, content to rock his hips back against Finn and just feel.

  It was only when he felt the familiar tightening in his balls, the warning from his body that he was about to shoot, that Dalton remembered that he was still wrapped in his corset.

  “Wait,” he said, his hand closing around Finn’s.

  “Wait?”

  “Yes. We need to switch.”

  “I don’t…,” Finn said, his sentence cut off as Dalton nudged him over and onto his back.

  “Look,” Dalton said by way of an explanation. Finn’s eyes readjusted in the dark, immediately noticing how Dalton’s cock stood up almost vertical, it was so hard.

  After pouring a little more oil on Finn’s cock, Dalton threw his leg over Finn’s waist and leaned back, holding the base of Finn’s cock so he could slowly impale himself on it. As he looked down, Finn’s mouth opened in shock and pleasure, and Dalton arched his back, filling himself completely.

  Their bodies started to move together in this new way, and Dalton couldn’t help but add his own hand to the mix, pulling and tugging at his own cock as he rode Finn’s, knowing it would take so little now to make him spill.

  When Finn arched underneath him, fingers and toes curling as he climaxed, Dalton dropped his head back and let the waves of pleasure pulse through his body. While still gasping for breath Dalton looked down at his lover where Finn was sprawled, chest flushed and painted with stripes of Dalton’s semen.

  He leaned in and captured Finn’s swollen lips in a breathless, laughing kiss before rolling onto his side, then his back. After a few moments Finn’s mechanical hand slid into his own, the fingers carefully tangling and stroking back and forth in the space between his thumb and forefinger.

  The sensation was glorious, but he needed to move. Dalton wiped Finn’s chest clean, then rose from the bed where his lover was now sprawled on his clean belly, clearly exhausted. He smiled to himself as he padded around his small home, removing the stockings and corset and storing both safely, then quickly washing his body.

  He returned to be the bed naked and settled himself down next to Finn, hoping not to wake him.

  The sight of Finn’s strong back, still glistening with a sheen of sweat, was both beautiful and quietly arousing. His back rose and fell with his steady, deep breaths, and Dalton longed to touch him.

  “Come on,” he murmured, pulling his blankets from the bottom of the bed and nudging Finn onto his side. Finn mumbled something unintelligible and sleepily complied with Dalton’s careful rearranging.

  Their movements concluded with Dalton holding Finn in his arms, Finn’s back pressed tightly to Dalton’s chest. The blankets bunched around their middles and legs and feet wound together in a position that was completely inimitable.

  “Have you ever been in love before?” Finn whispered, the darkness making him bold.

  “Maybe,” Dalton whispered back, afraid to make his words louder for fear of their permanence. “I think so.”

  Finn swallowed hard and forced himself to look over his shoulder and into Dalton’s eyes—eyes that he’d thought to be inexpressive once, but had since learned the tiny nuances of emotion that flickered through them.

  “I think maybe I have too.”

  Dalton pressed the softest kiss into the curve of Finn’s shoulder. When Finn settled back to sleep, he pulled one of Dalton’s thick locks of hair with him, playing with the end of it to comfort himself. The slight tugging in his scalp was oddly comforting to him too, and with his lover in his arms, he settled down to sleep.

  THE next morning, Finn woke still wrapped in Dalton’s arms. He smiled to himself, yawning and stretching before he could help himself, then settled back with locks of Dalton’s hair to play with again. It didn’t take long for Dalton to wake too, probably disturbed by Finn’s fidgeting.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled.

  “Good morning,” Finn repeated, turning in Dalton’s arms and carefully rearranging his hair so it didn’t fall in his face. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” He shifted on the bed. “A little sore,” he said with a knowing smile.

  Finn blushed and leaned in to kiss Dalton’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I enjoyed it. Do you want something to drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Dalton rose, stretching again, and shook his hair back. After propping himself up in bed, Finn admired how the other man’s lithe muscles moved, the blond hair on his chest and legs, and the patches under his arms. He was exceptionally masculine, and Finn wondered how he’d never noticed his attraction to this before.

  Cautiously, in his mind, Finn ran through a list of men who fitted the same physical description as Dalton. Not Tennessee, he wasn’t attracted to the older man. Or any of the men in his unit. Not any of his friends when he was younger. It seemed, on inspection, that Dalton was the first man for whom he’d had these feelings.

  Then again, he hadn’t had these feelings for a woman before either.

  “Finn,” Dalton called. “I have tea, if you would like some.”

  Finn nodded. “I would, please.”

  “I’ll set some on. Would you like a wash too? I can fill up the tank. Or the bath.”

  “The tank?” Finn asked, standing and walking naked to the fireplace. Sure enough, next to the chimney was a metal tank that connected to a series of pipes.

  “I call it a rain-shower,” Dalton said, the pride in his voice evident. “It’s my own invention.”

  “How… what…. How does it work?” Finn said, walking slowly around the bizarre contraption.

  “You add the cold water from the street into the tank and let the fire warm it, and then when you’re ready to wash you pull this lever—” he gestured to the relevant mechanism, “and the water comes out through the pipes and the sprinkler.”

  “And caught in the bath, which you then empty like you would normally,” Finn finished. “How extraordinary.”

  “Would you like to try it?”

  Finn nodded, his face alight with youthful enthusiasm. Dalton quirked a smile and stoked the fire. “You need to let it warm up a little first. It’s quite refreshing when cold.”

  “Okay. While we wait….” Finn smiled and wrapped his arms around Dalton’s neck, pressing their naked chests together and demanding kisses.

  “I thought you so shy when we first met,” Dalton said once they pulled apart. “You barely said a word to me, outside of what was necessary.”

  “I know. I was scared of you.”

  “Of me? Really?”

  “Yes. You can be very intimi
dating you know.”

  “I didn’t know. Not anymore though, surely?”

  Finn wrapped his hand around Dalton’s thick locks of hair, tying them back with one of the longest like he’d seen Dalton do so many times before.

  “No,” he said. “Not anymore.” He rubbed his own jaw. “I need to shave.”

  Dalton laughed. “You do.”

  “I’ll go to a barber later.”

  After they’d breakfasted on tea and toasted bread, Dalton set up his rain-shower contraption and watched with unrestrained glee as Finn washed himself down, scrubbing his body with a rough cloth and tipping his face up into the flow of water. His face fell as the water ran out, and then he looked over at Dalton guiltily.

  “I didn’t leave any for you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine, I’ll wash later.”

  He dressed and looked around the small room, taking stock of how his possessions seemed to have spread around and found new homes in the short time he had been living there. His clothes were neatly folded and kept in the drawers next to Dalton’s. His bow and quiver had a place in the cupboard with their outer layers and boots. The small personal items that he always carried with him were kept on the small stand next to the bed.

  Returning to his unit was going to be more difficult than anything else he had ever faced.

  While Dalton opened up the shop downstairs, Finn went about carefully returning all of his things to his pack. He had not planned to leave this day in particular, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. His hand was strong, his mind was clear, and his heart was full of memories of someone to take with him.

  While lacing his boots and soft leather jacket, Finn tried to return his mind to that of a marksman, finding that it was not as difficult as he had anticipated. Before leaving the room, he cast his eyes around it once more, committing it to memory, and neatly folded the blankets back on the bed.

  He shouldered his bow and his pack and made his way down the stairs.

  “You’re leaving,” Dalton said, standing from his workbench when Finn walked into the shop. He reached out to Finn, who took his hand and brushed a kiss over the back of it.

  “Yes,” he said simply, the word sounding rough and painful.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll write,” Finn said hopelessly.

  Dalton nodded. “I will too.”

  “Dalton,” Finn whispered. “I have six months left to serve, and then I’ll have completed my five years’ service. I can leave with a good salary and the opportunity to come back and train others instead of working on the front line.”

  “I thought you wanted to stay, to work,” Dalton protested.

  Finn shook his head. “I wanted to hide,” he said. “Now I have something worth coming back to.”

  Laughing softly, Dalton reached out and cupped Finn’s cheek in his palm. “Okay,” he said simply and laid his lips one last time on Finn’s. “I’ll still be here,” he promised. “I’ll wait for you.”

  “I’ll come back. I’ll come home.”

  Affection flowed more freely between them now, and they kissed slowly, easily, reverently, hands quietly mapping each other’s bodies, memorizing.

  “I want to give you something,” Dalton said. “To take with you, to remember me by.”

  Finn nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “Close your eyes.”

  With his world cloaked in darkness, Finn was more aware of his surroundings, the heady beat of his heart, the absolute sorrow that threatened to spill over.

  Dalton’s hands came to rest on his cheeks, gently cradling his face. Then in a second, soft lips grazed over his own, once, twice, and then hovered there in the sweetest of kisses. He responded after a moment, kissing back, catching Dalton’s lower lip between his own, sharing the taste of each other back and forth.

  Because he was shorter, Dalton had to lean up into the kiss, and it was instinctive, now, for Finn to hold him around the waist to keep him steady; that too brought them closer together. When Dalton pulled away, Finn had to fight the little sound of distress in his throat and turned quickly, placing another kiss to the palm of Dalton’s hand.

  “Take that,” Dalton said, his own voice rough, “and remember me, and come back safely.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Finn slipped out of his lover’s embrace and through the door, not trusting himself to look back. In a moment, he was gone.

  The Letters

  DALTON,

  I am writing to tell you I have arrived back at the camp safely. The journey here was blissfully uneventful, if a little slow. I have already met with Tennessee (who has asked me to pass on his regards) and he is very pleased with the progress I have made.

  I miss you, Dalton. There—I said it. I wasn’t sure if I could. But I do—miss you, that is—it feels strange that after such short a time it became so normal to be around you. I hope you’re well. I’ll send more news when I can.

  Yours,

  Finn

  FINN,

  I’m glad you made it there safely. I’ll admit I was nervous, waiting for your letter so I knew for sure. It’s a terrible thought, but I knew that if anything happened to you on the journey no one would think of contacting me. Well, maybe they would, after a time, maybe to return the hand to me. Or maybe not.

  Business has been slow these past few weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to replenish my stocks. It’s probably because I’ve been opening odd hours, although that’s not exactly anything new.

  I miss you too, sweet boy. Look after yourself.

  Dalton

  DALTON,

  I only received your letter last night. Tennessee delivered it to me. I think he knows, or at least suspects, that there’s something more to our relationship. I told him we’d grown close while you were helping me learn how to use the new hand and he accepted this. But you know Tennessee—he’s not one to hold back his opinions.

  Things picked up suddenly here last week and I was sent out on my own for the first time since returning to the camp. It was nice to be back out doing what I do best—living alone, under canvas hunting and living for myself. It was a reconnaissance mission, that’s all I dare say in a letter, and I was successful. That means I don’t have to do the next one, which gives me time to write.

  There was something I never asked while in London—why is it that you go by one name only? If you’d prefer not to answer I don’t mind. I send these letters addressed to one name only and they always seem to find you.

  Hoping you’re well (and that my paper was longer so I might write more),

  Finn

  MY FINN,

  Congratulations on your mission. How is your hand?

  I suppose the story isn’t as interesting as one might think. I don’t know my given name. When living with my mother she would call me “kid”—an affectionate term, I assure you—and after a time I must have forgotten the name I was christened with.

  A few years ago I looked up the registry for names and found my family. From what I could guess my name was either John or Edward, but knowing for sure would mean contacting people I haven’t spoken to in many years, and I’m reluctant to do that. I am used to answering to Dalton now.

  Please find enclosed in this parcel all the paper I could buy at Spitalfields. Oh, so it’s not all the paper—I exaggerate. But you are out of excuses for not sending me long letters.

  Sometimes I wake in the night and roll over, looking for the warmth of your body. It feels cold here without you, even though it’s warmer outside. I hope you’re not cold, sleeping with only canvas for cover.

  Yours,

  Dalton

  DALTON,

  I apologize, again and again, for the lateness of my reply. I was sent out again, for two weeks this time, and your letter was waiting for me when I returned. Tennessee said that it had been waiting for me for days already so I imagine you have been waiting for my reply for some time.

  Tennessee knows of
our relationship now—knows what you are to me, and I to you. I didn’t tell him, he approached me and guessed. I so rarely receive letters, and for me to suddenly have so many, and all from the same man, I suppose it wasn’t difficult for him to make the connection. I hope you don’t mind. He’s being rather sweet about it all—instead of passing me your letters out when the other men are around he gives them to me quietly, so I may read them in peace, without them knowing and asking me questions.

  I should thank you for the paper, it is certainly better than what I can get here! All I have to wish for now is more time to sit down and write, and maybe someone to tell me the right words.

  When I am out I carry your letters with me, did I tell you that already? There’s a small pocket inside my shirt that I can tuck them into to keep them safe. I wouldn’t dare to leave them in my pack in case they were lost, or stolen. I read your words most nights. It feels like I’m so very far away.

  Hoping that you are well,

  Your Finn

  MY FINN,

  I was worried for you! I had thought that maybe you were in an area where my letters could not be delivered, and I wondered how long it would be before I could read your words again. The postman does not often have cause to stop by my door and I guess that he, like our friend Tennessee, has guessed that I am receiving letters from someone special.

  Please do not be concerned about Tennessee knowing about the nature of our relationship. He has a rather varied taste in partners himself, and outside of a military setting is not shy of this fact at all. I first met the man in a tavern in London, many years ago, and we became firm friends. I hope that he will look after you, knowing that you are mine.

  I hope that if there is anything else you need you will ask me for it, to be able to send you simple things like paper pleases me, especially when it is returned bearing your letters! I have heard that this great heat that has enveloped London has spread over much of Europe, I wonder if it has reached you, too. I fear that your hand was not built for great extremities of warmth and cold and it may fail to function as I had intended. Do tell me, how is it feeling?