Maxwell smiled wider. “Edwin,” he repeated. His name sounded like it belonged in Maxwell’s mouth.
“You’ve been watching me?” Edwin shifted closer. He glanced at Maxwell’s lips, remembering how they tasted.
Maxwell sat up, able to without wincing now. “It’s hard not to.” He scanned over Edwin’s form painfully slow, guaranteeing he would notice. Edwin swallowed, his body suddenly too hot. “It must be difficult, though.”
“What—What must be difficult?” Edwin managed to ask, his throat dry and scratchy.
“Your work here,” he gestured around them. “I can imagine it’s stressful.”
“It can be.” An understatement.
“It might help to find some way to…relieve yourself, so you can relax.” Maxwell slid his hand over the sheets and he placed it gingerly on Edwin’s thigh. The heat building in his body converged between his legs.
It took every thread of Edwin’s willpower not to break eye contact. “You seem to have something in mind,” hewhispered.
Maxwell glanced at Edwin’s lap, his arousal obvious, and his hand drifted further up his thigh. “Looks like I’m not the only one,” he breathed huskily.
Just as Edwin leaned down, Maxwell sat up further to meet him, shifting his legs so they were hanging off the bed. This time the kiss was far from chaste. They pressed against each other, desperate for the touch they’ve both been craving for too long. Edwin planted his hands on Maxwell’s chest and felt up and down his body, dragging his nails over his skin and swallowing the groans he drew out. They licked into each other’s mouths, tongues and teeth clashing, and did their best not to make any noise.
Edwin was hyper aware of the danger of being caught—in some ways it added excitement.If they were alone, they would take hours to explore and play, but now was the time to hurriedly take what they both wanted.
Maxwell dropped his hand to Edwin’s thigh and made quick work of his pants. Edwin broke the kiss to get much needed air and let his eyelids flutter closed as Maxwell wrapped his hand around his length. Edwin bit down hard enough on the inside of his cheek to draw blood. Maxwell tried to lower his head but he winced at the movement, gasping in pain rather than pleasure. Edwin opened his eyes and frowned in concern.
“Don’t strain yourself,” he whispered.
Maxwell released his grip on him. “But I still want to.” He licked his lips.
All the air left Edwin’s lungs and he found himself nodding. “Okay, maybe if I—” He stood up and turned towards Maxwell, his length inches from his face. Maxwell grinned and shifted so his legs sandwiched Edwin’s thighs. He grabbed his hips and wasted no time taking him into his mouth.
Edwin buried his hands in his dark hair and made a mental note at how Maxwell groaned when he pulled on it. Edwin got lost in the overwhelming heat, his legs trembling, and let go of all the tension he’d been holding onto like a lifeline.
Soon, Edwin couldn’t bear to be the center of attention any longer. He needed to touch him, too. He pulled Maxwell off and pressed him into the bed with a hungry kiss, hands scrambling to pleasure each other. No amount of closeness was enough, but God knew they tried. Greedy hands grabbed and limbs wrapped around each other, their bodies tangled in a knot they couldn’t undo…
I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep next to him, it was no matter that the cot is barely big enough for Maxwell, let alone the both of us, but we both knew it would not be prudent. I left him with a drawn-out kiss and the promise of my return another night.
* * * *
25 August 1918
It hasn’t even been a month but I suspect what I told myself was just a fling is turning into a true love affair. My whole being—body, heart, and soul—is drawn to him. I am starving for him.
Every waking minute is spent counting down until I might have the chance to share a moment with him. I’ve been making up excuses to take over his care, even the cleaning and dressing. The nurses are too busy to notice, they’re all too happy to accept my motivations are purely altruistic. I devour every morsel he offers me. Every subtle touch and tidbit about his life. He’s a poet. He’s from Milwaukee. He moved to New York a few years before getting drafted. He loves beef stew. He’s Irish.
I seek him out each night, half of which fail for one reasonor another. If I don’t have him for more than a few nights in a row my focus suffers. Does he know he is creating a monster? What will I be without my creator when he goes back to the front?
* * * *
12 September 1918
The letter arrived sooner than expected. I recognized the stationary immediately, the distinct printing something every soldier here fears. I watched from a distance while Maxwell read it, attending to another patient across the hall, and saw his face settle into one of solemn resignation. It was a busy day, so I only had the opportunity to speak to Maxwell after dinner. He seemed to be waiting for me…
“When?” Edwin asked somberly after he sat next to Maxwell. He didn’t need to elaborate.
“Three days.”
Edwin sucked in a breath through his teeth. He lowered his head and stared down at his clasped hands. “That’s…soon.”
“I know, but you’ve been putting off my return long enough.”
