Secret Light (15 page)

smooth stretch of skin hidden behind Rafe’s sac and circled the wrinkled skin of his

entrance.

“
Oh, nein
.” Rafe’s hand gripped Ben tighter. “Nein, nein.”

Ben stopped what he was doing and glanced up. He hoped Rafe could read the

question in his eyes—
What’s wrong
?—because he couldn’t make himself let go of Rafe’s

cock long enough to ask out loud.

“You can’t possibly want me to”—Rafe clenched his jaw and gestured to his

penis—“in your mouth.”

Ben grinned around Rafe’s cock and raised his brows as if to say
Why not?

Rafe’s cheeks flooded with color. It stole over his neck and the upper part of his

chest while desire darkened his eyes even more and they rolled back in his head. Ben

ignored him and went back to work, pumping and sucking, stroking along all the best

bits of Rafe’s most vulnerable private places as long as he had the freedom to do it.

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Rafe’s belly and thighs tightened as he gave himself over to pleasure. Ben wrapped

his arm around Rafe’s hips and bobbed on his cock, surrounding him with heat and spit

and suction until Rafe was rocking boldly up into his mouth, taking everything Ben had

to give with long, slow strokes that made him groan at the sensation, then short,

trembling jabs that presaged a total loss of control. He gave a deep, guttural grunt and

went over the edge, flooding Ben’s mouth with seed and going boneless in his arms.

“
Oh jaah
. Ben.” Rafe trembled all over. “
Oh mein Gott. Jaah
.”

Reluctant to let Rafe’s spent cock go, Ben let it slip from between his lips but

continued to nuzzle it gently with his mouth, flicking his tongue out occasionally to

taste the salty, slightly bitter flavor of Rafe’s skin.

Rafe’s hand unclenched and stroked his hair.

“Are you okay?”

“How”—Rafe pulled up Ben’s chin so they were once again face-to-face—“can you

ask if I’m okay?”

Rafe looked dazed, and pride made Ben’s grin lazy and a little smug. “Well.
I’m
all

right. I know that.”

“You’re more than all right. You’re unbelievable.
Pfau
.”

“What does that mean?”

Rafe smiled. “Peacock.”

Ben began to right Rafe’s clothes again, pulling drawstrings, buttoning his shirt. He

even retied the sash of Rafe’s dressing gown but gave it an extra tug as a tease. “Right,

then. All tight.”

Rafe picked up his pipe, which had gone out, and checked it. Ben was ready with a

match before he even had to ask. When he struck it in the space between them, the

flame lit Rafe’s face in a way that made him stunning, as if light and shadow loved him,

as if they fought over the territory that made up his features. As the fire flickered,

boundaries changed. Ben watched helplessly, utterly enthralled.

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Rafe breathed out, and Ben was right there to kiss him, wanting to share the same

flavors—to breathe the same air. He pressed his face into Rafe’s neck and inhaled,

memorizing how good it felt to be that close to him, storing up every sensation like

souvenirs for the time when what they had together all fell away.

Because it always did.

“I’m so happy to be here with you like this.” Ben spoke into Rafe’s skin. “This has

been the best week of my life.”

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Chapter Thirteen

December 17, 1955

Rafe opened his eyes while it was still dark outside. He lay unmoving in the

predawn stillness. If it weren’t for the soft snore coming from the man sleeping beside

him, he would be walled up inside its cold silence alone.

What was reality? Silence? An empty bed? Going to and from work and out with

friends, but always remaining detached? Or this fairy tale where he could have what he

wanted, a man lying beside him at night. Someone he could care for? Was his new

reality a man who fussed over him as tenderly as his Mutti and brought him pleasure

like he’d never known?

You couldn’t be an Austrian boy and not know how fairy tales really end.

Loneliness got old. The isolation he’d sentenced himself to had become a kind of

madness, but he’d managed it. He’d found a way to pass his days without thinking of

all the things he’d been missing.

Now when Ben no longer needed to watch over him—or no longer wanted to—he

would know exactly what could be his if he was brave enough. If he was strong enough

to take it.

But he wasn’t strong. He was weak, and he was utterly afraid.

Nothing on earth could induce him to relive the nightmare of being hunted. Of

running just one step ahead of the jaws of some horrible death. To that, to the pain of

his childhood, he had only to add the loss of Walter Hart and it became…terrifying.

Impossible.

But he’d come so far, so fast. He had a lover.
A lover.

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Tentatively he rolled to his side to study Ben. The man snored like a bear

sometimes. Not like now, when he whuffled softly. Sometimes it was downright loud.

His short coarse hair stuck out in tufts and half his face lay in shadow.

But it was such a
fine
face. Symmetrical and pleasing. Masculine but still chiseled

enough that he might have been called beautiful in another age—some ancient time

when a man’s body was considered the epitome of form—when artists and poets

praised a beautiful man’s naked body in all its raw godlike magnificence.

Ben lay uncovered on his stomach, facing away, unabashedly sleeping nude for the

first time. The breadth of his shoulders was astounding. Light limned the line of his

back, the dip and curve of his spine where it met his hips, the tight, rounded hillocks of

his
Hinterteil
and powerful, hairy legs. Even his feet were lovely, lean and long, with

high arches and toes that curved adorably—like pink macaroni. He was exquisite—

especially because he had no idea of any of it.

Rafe experienced ecstasy, as transcendent as any religious vision, when Ben shifted

and turned his head. Green eyes fluttered open, and Ben smiled in welcome. His hand

came out and wrapped itself around Rafe’s hip to draw him closer.

Maybe it was the heat radiating from Ben’s solid body, maybe it was the leftover

dregs of a nightmare, but Rafe’s imagination conjured the image of a crematory fire,

and he froze.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Rafe scrubbed his good hand over his face.

“Not nothing.” Ben peered at him.

“I’m afraid,” Rafe admitted. “Of this. Of you… I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Ben brushed at loose strands of Rafe’s hair. “I wish I could say I’ll keep

you safe. That nothing will ever happen to you or to us. That things will be easy.”

“That’s a fantasy.”

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“Yes it is. When the sun rises, I’ll realize how foolish it is.” Ben crept closer. “But

just for tonight, I want to believe.”

If Ben wanted to believe, then Rafe wanted to believe as well.

He let Ben lay him back against the soft pillows and rut on him until they were both

desperate—kissing, and clenching the muscles of their legs, their hips jutting out to rub

their cocks together.

“Ben.” Rafe gasped. “
Ja, genau da
… Touch me there now.
Please
.”

Ben took pity on him and wrapped his big hand around them both, gripping and

stroking them together, swallowing Rafe’s cries and parting his lips to search Rafe’s

mouth with his tongue. Rafe let Ben invade him. He opened wide and submitted to the

tender caress—a dizzying parody of intercourse that felt so good but so
dirty.

Whatever Ben did to Rafe’s mouth echoed in his balls, and Rafe wondered what it

might feel like to use his mouth on Ben the way Ben had done for him. To suck and bob

and taste his seed. At Rafe’s most daring, he wondered if Ben wanted to make love to

him in other, more forbidden ways—to go inside him—and he tried to imagine what

that might feel like.

When they were together, Rafe sometimes wanted that. Something deep inside his

body called for Ben to penetrate him. He wanted to open himself and take Ben in. To

submit to him in that most primal way, but he could never find the words.

Ben gasped, and heat spattered onto Rafe’s belly. The groan of Ben’s release seemed

to be the only thing Rafe needed to find his own. They moved together, milking every

last drop of pleasure they could, and Ben sank, sated and sweaty, to rest his head on

Rafe’s chest.

“Oh honey.” Ben uttered the endearment as though he’d said it a thousand times,

but Rafe had never been the recipient of such casual affection. His heart warmed to hear

it.

“You are a very sweet man, Ben Morgan.”

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Ben wrapped himself around Rafe. “I’m sweet on you, honey.”

Rafe rolled his eyes but deep down he wanted to die right there as long as he could

have the memory of that night with him forever. “You make me very happy.”

* * * *

back door. He called out a greeting and told him he should come in. Ed glanced around

when he entered the kitchen. “Rafe still asleep?”

“Yes. I don’t think he sleeps well because of his arm. Get yourself a plate. I’m

almost done cooking for Her Highness Miss Mooki, and then I’ll make us something.”

“You cook for the dog?”

Ben shrugged. “Well, Rafe soaks day-old bread in egg and fries it up for her. He

says it’s good for her coat.”

“That dog eats better than I do.”

“Better than me too, if I didn’t live over my mother’s garage.”

“Ah, I wish I could taste my mother’s cooking again. She had a way with a pork

roast. We lived on a farm. Have you always lived in Los Angeles?”

“I grew up in San Pedro. We have a house there in one of the old neighborhoods.

My mom had the apartment built over the garage for me when I got older.”

“That must be nice. Privacy.”

Ben nodded. He had a small frying pan on the stove and used just a touch of Rafe’s

unsalted butter to keep the egg from sticking. “I can still keep an eye out for my mom

that way. She’s not getting any younger, and she’s a little delicate these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She, of course, thinks she can still do anything. I caught her trying to turn the

mattresses the other day.”

“It’s good she has you.”

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Ben turned the cooked egg bread onto a plate for the dog. “Here, fan this with a

towel until it’s cool enough to eat. Rafe cuts it up into little bits for her.”

“I can do that.”

Rafe entered the room. He’d washed up as much as he could manage and changed

into suit trousers and an immaculate white shirt with cuffs. He held out his red-and-

blue-striped tie, which he’d removed the night before still tied, so he could put it on

again with only a little help. “Do I hear people spoiling my dog?”

“Yes.” Ed grinned, waving with one hand while he cooled Mooki’s food with the

other. The still slightly subdued Mooki watched his every move like a hungry cobra.

Rafe let Ben cinch his tie, then picked Mooki up and cuddled her to his chest. “She

is entirely worthy of our devotion.
Nicht wahr, Liebling
?”

“I still can’t get over a dog that speaks German.” Now that the important cooking

was finished, Ben wiped his hands on a towel and turned to look for food for the three

humans in the room. “Do you have flour and baking powder?”

Rafe considered this. “Yes. Probably.”

“Then I’ll make pancakes and we’ll fry up some of your sausages and eggs.”

“You make me hungry already.”

“I got my stuff from the garage, Ben,” said Ed. He didn’t elaborate when Ben

caught his eye and gave him the barest shake of his head.

Maybe it was silly, but Ben wanted to surprise Rafe with a tree. He planned to make

up some excuse and go out looking. He thought he could find the perfect tree to put in

the window, maybe something around six feet tall. He liked a noble fir and didn’t much

care for the recent trend toward flocking. He shared a second secret smile with Ed and

started the batter by putting the dry ingredients into a bowl and making a well for the

eggs the way his mother taught him. Rafe got out his little-used percolator and made

enough coffee for all of them.

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“What a treat.” Ben liked the smell of coffee brewing, but Rafe normally made

instant by the cup. “A nice breakfast. A day off.”

Ben accepted a cup of black coffee from Rafe with a lingering glance. He’d only

recently taken his mother to see the movie
Oklahoma!
and he was reminded of a song