“I’m Jonah,” he said. “You look nice.”
Ben stared, too amazed to speak. He was vaguely astonished that every other man in the room wasn’t staring. He didn’t think he could have borne it if Jonah had gone to another table.
Jonah’s smile widened. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes,” Ben agreed, and a moment later, “That is, it’s Ben. Benedict. Ben.”
“Ben. Good evening, Ben. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?”
Jonah cocked his head to the side, birdlike. “I think so. Don’t you?”
“Would you like a drink?” Ben blurted.
“But I don’t want you to go all the way to the bar,” Jonah pointed out. Ben pushed over his pewter mug without hesitation, and Jonah turned it before he drank, so that his lips rested where Ben’s had touched, sharing the ale in a kiss by proxy.
He was sucking Ben in the alley no more than fifteen minutes later. Ben would have done it for him, would have done anything he was asked, but Jonah had gone to his knees without hesitation, those deep eyes sparkling up. His mouth proved as clever and generous as it looked, taking Ben down with gleeful enjoyment. Ben gripped his hair with both hands and came absurdly quickly, so fast that the tremors of pleasure were shot through with both embarrassment at his eagerness and horror that this might be over already. He looked down, appalled at the thought, as Jonah wiped his lips, but the glorious smile held no mockery.
“Did you need that?”
“I needed you,” Ben said, surprising himself, and was delighted to see Jonah’s smile widen. “Can I…?” He reached out.
Jonah took his hand, rising gracefully from the dusty, dirty ground. “Oh, yes, you can. But could we go somewhere more comfortable?”
Then he had Ben by the hand, pulling him along, both of them laughing, even when Jonah had to release him as they came to the street, for the sake of discretion. He followed Jonah, and found himself in a small room in a cheap boarding house that didn’t ask questions, and what he’d feared would be a dry, wasted night had been filled with stars.
There was no guilt, no hurry, no shame, nothing rough. Instead it was a whispery, almost giggly exploration of each other, as though they were schoolboys, as though it were the first time. They played each other for hours, taking turns with hands and mouths, stopping to murmur their incredulity at their good fortune: that you were waiting there, for me. That you came in just then, to me. That Ben might have gone to another town or Jonah to another pub. They both shuddered at the thought, and laughed because it hadn’t happened. And they kissed as well, at absurd length, for minutes at a time. Ben hadn’t known much kissing before, hadn’t met many men he’d wanted to kiss, but Jonah was made for it. Everything about his mouth was perfect, whether smiling or sucking, kissing or chattering, and Ben lost himself more deeply in wonder every moment.
They lay there till the morning, Ben accepting Jonah’s assurance that it was safe here with blithe, unquestioning confidence. Jonah was charmed.
But he had to go at last, as dawn came, back to his duties, and Jonah kissed him goodbye with a cheerful, almost cocky grin. There could be nothing more, Ben knew that, and what they’d shared had been something that he would treasure as a memory through lonely years to come. But he still felt an absurd shiver of pain that Jonah’s farewell could be so lighthearted, because somewhere in the depths of his solitude, he had wanted to cry at the parting.
Six days passed. The bittersweet pang of that careless smile didn’t fade with time, its bee-sting sharpness always there, tainting the memory of the most joyful night of Ben’s life. And then, the next weekend as he patrolled the quiet streets of Berkhamsted, someone fell into step with him.
“Good morning,” Jonah said, at his side. “You didn’t tell me you were a policeman.”
Ben turned and stared, an instinctive fear dawning—blackmail? threats?—but Jonah was smiling, with mischief in his eyes as he murmured, “That explains how you’re so good with your truncheon,” and Ben found he was smiling unstoppably back.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, I came to find you, of course.” Jonah grinned at him. He was a couple of inches shorter than Ben and only a little less broad, with an acrobat’s build, powerful in the shoulders, narrower in the hips, compact muscle worn lightly. He sported a rather dandyish waistcoat of bright pattern, over the chest that Ben had stroked and kissed. The thought of that, the taste of Jonah’s skin, came on Ben like a physical touch, and he could barely muster the saliva in his dry mouth to reply.
“Find me?”
“I missed you,” Jonah said.
“I missed you,” Ben returned, because it was absurdly true.
“I didn’t want you to go. I know you had to, but I didn’t want you to. So”—Jonah looked uncertain, but his eyes were bright—“I thought I’d come after you.”