Finding You, Finding Me Read online

  William broke the moment first, cringing. “Fuck, my head hurts. What the hell happened to me?”

  Snapping out of his funk, Henry pushed to his feet. “Don’t know,” he growled. “You hit your head, but beyond that, I don’t fucking know. I’m going to search for your gear. You don’t look shot. Maybe you landed in these trees. Stripped yourself.”

  William mumbled something, but he leaned forward, head in his hands. He had already bled through the bandage pressed against his scalp. Fuck. They’d have to find some kind of shelter. They had already stayed in the woods too long.

  Henry turned away and slipped through the trees, scanning around them, overhead.

  He hadn’t gone far when he found the tangled parachute strings, the torn canopy, and the broken branches scattered everywhere. From the damage, it looked like William had careened through the treetops, moving way too fast, and his chute had snagged and torn on the branches on the way down. His helmet was in the dirt, and Henry snagged it quickly. No sign of his gear or his rifle. It was probably still caught in the trees or had fallen somewhere further away. He didn’t have time to look. It was a much bigger fall than Henry had thought, and they were lucky the German’s weren’t on them already. They had to move, and now.

  Stilling, Henry crouched low, listening carefully as he caught something at the edge of his hearing.

  Chapter Two

  “We’ve got to move,” Henry whispered, sliding in next to William. He plopped William’s helmet on his head and slapped him on the back. “Can you move, Private?”

  William groaned. He rolled his eyes, glaring at Henry, and visibly gathered himself. “You gonna help me walk?”

  Nodding, Henry wrapped one arm around William’s waist and hoisted him up with the other, letting William drape his arm over his shoulders. William’s hand gripped down on Henry’s arm, squeezing almost painfully tight, and Henry glanced sidelong at him. “We need to head west,” he whispered. “There’s a creek there, running south, and I think that’s the boundary for the eighty-second’s DZ.” If Henry was right, they were way, way west of their own drop zone, somewhere in the wild.

  “You expect me to fight, like this?” William’s words were slurring, and he was unsteady on his feet.

  Henry gritted his teeth, glaring at the man hanging on his side. “No, I expect you to follow me to safety. Can you do that?”

  “Whatever you say, Doc.” William let his helmet rest against Henry’s, thunking metal against metal.

  Henry hefted William closer, bolstering his weight with the arm thrown over his shoulder, and set off. William kept slumping and sliding, and eventually, Henry gave up and hefted William over his shoulder. It was easier that way, but he couldn’t keep William from blacking out like this, as he had before. With a sharp jab to the side, whistling in his ear, pinching his ribs, he’d forced William to stay awake, stay—if not alert—not unconscious, but now, with him hanging limp over his shoulders, Henry was certain William was out cold.

  God only knew what that meant for the state of his head, as suspect as his mental state already was. Henry forced himself not to think about their kiss. It meant nothing. It was the product of a confused mind, an addled brain. Besides, William had never before spoken to Henry, never said two words to him. He didn’t know him. Didn’t know him at all.

  Henry’s cock wanted to, though. Despite the war, despite the danger, he still was a man, and he craved the touch of another. But enough to indulge a deranged man behind enemy lines, where any Kraut could come crawling over them? No, not that much.

  Henry trudged on, following the creek bed south, his muscles straining, burning. He was gasping, dragging in ragged lungfuls of air, trying to force himself forward, but he could feel his body failing. His muscles wanted to tear themselves from his bones, his back was trying to quit, and he couldn’t feel his shoulders anymore. Just a little further, though. Just a little further.

  He dropped to his knees, collapsing under William’s weight and the miles they had walked. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t take one more step. He tried, forcing himself to his feet. He gritted his teeth and grunted as he stood on shaking legs.

  “American?” A heavily accented voice whispered through the darkness.

  This is it. Dying behind enemy lines. We’ll never be found. He turned toward the voice. Better to die facing the enemy. At least William was unconscious.

  “Come this way!” The voice spoke again, and Henry heard near-silent footfalls approach. Then a small hand grabbed his wrist and tugged. He followed the tiny voice through the trees, rising away from the creek bed. As he popped out of the brush, gasping for breath, he saw the outline of a teenaged girl waving him toward a barn.

  God bless the French resistance. Digging deep, Henry found the last of his strength and trotted after the girl. Slipping into the barn, Henry collapsed against the straw pile near the door, rolling William off his back. The French girl was speaking to him, a ramble of French and English, but it was all Henry could do to check William’s pulse—steady—and then pass out on top of William’s chest.

  * * * * *

  When Henry woke, it was the middle of the night. There was a round of bread and a bucket of water in front of him on a stool. He blinked and shook his head. A horse nearby whinnied. Looking around, he spotted the outlines of the barn, though the corners were lost to the shadows. Cows stared back at him, and horses tossed their heads in their stalls.

  He sat up, groaning as his muscles protested. His entire back was on fire, and he felt pain in areas he never knew he had muscles. Rolling his shoulders, Henry grimaced again. Fuck, that had been awful.

  Glancing sideways, Henry found William still sprawled out on the hay pile, right where he’d dropped him. Probably not the wisest thing, dropping a man with a head injury, even if it was into a pile of hay. Not one of his finer moments. But they were alive, and that had to count for something.

  Henry grabbed his pack, pulled out another bandage, and dipped it in the water bucket. He turned back to William and slipped his helmet off, letting it fall back in the hay. The bleeding on his head had finally stopped, but there was an ugly gash and a nasty bump forming, not to mention the blood smeared all over his face. Slowly, Henry started wiping away at the dried blood, cleaning William’s high cheekbones and his stubbled jawline.

  Up close, William wasn’t bad looking. He hadn’t been able to tell in the middle of the night in the German woods, but up close, he had the sort of rugged all-American look—a cut jawline, high cheekbones—but with dark hair. Henry let his thumb trace a cheekbone, ghosting over William’s skin and back to his temple, then into the soft cut of his hair.

  “Don’t stop,” William breathed. He rolled into Henry’s touch, a small smile stretching over his face.

  Henry rocketed back, fumbling and sliding in the hay. Finally, he steadied himself only to stare right into William’s lidded, dreamy, yet bright eyes. “What?” Henry managed to grunt.

  William smiled, sly and inviting, and reached for Henry. “C’mon, gorgeous,” he whispered again. “Let’s have some fun.”

  “What in the hell?” Henry hissed. Still, he let William cup his face, stroke over his cheek. He tried not to shiver at his touch. “Christ, Rollins, what is with you? Pull it together!”

  “Why don’t you help me with that?” Again, William smiled, and it went straight to Henry’s cock. He swallowed, trying to back away.

  “What do you remember?” Henry finally shook William’s hand off.

  William turned confused eyes to Henry, big and blue and full of want, before he huffed and glared. “We were in the woods,” he started. “You rescued me.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Henry mumbled, remembering his finger hovering over his rifle’s trigger, ready to fire. “And then?”

  “We woke up here.” William grinned again. “With you touching me. Could get a whole lot more interesting if you keep going.”

  Clearly, William was placing all of the blame fo
r the halt to their burgeoning sexual adventure on Henry’s plate.

  There wasn't going to be any sexual adventure. Not now. Not ever. “Oh no, Private, I think not.” He knew his face was flushed, burning even, knew his cock was getting hard. “You’re delirious. You hit your head. You’re having some kind of fantasy right now, and I won’t play along. I won’t be whatever woman you are imagining I am right now—”

  “I don’t think you’re a woman.” Now William was frowning at Henry, seemingly hurt. “I know who you are.”

  Henry scoffed, snorting. “You don’t even know who you are!” He shook his head. “You don’t like me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because no one likes me. I’m the company queer.” Henry arched his eyebrows at William, challenging him. “You really making a move on the company faggot?”

  William frowned, and his fingers picked at the straw between their bodies. William’s eyes darted over Henry’s body, taking in the exhaustion, the bruises, the way he couldn’t sit straight. “You’re hurt.”

  “’Cause I was saving you,” Henry snapped. “You don’t get to scold me when I saved your life.”

  William’s eyes blazed, and he stared at Henry until Henry fidgeted and looked away. Then Henry glared back and snapped, “What?”

  “What are we?” Will whispered.

  “‘We?’” Henry gaped. “‘We’ are nothing. You don’t know me, I don’t know you—”

  “But I do know you!” Will hissed. “I feel like I know you. Like you’re important.” Will reached for Henry again, dropping the straw he’d been plucking at.

  Henry squared himself against Will, rolling his shoulders back. But that twinged, and he hissed in pain as his shoulder caught and popped. He grabbed his arm as William did, both of their hands colliding. Suddenly, William was right there, right next to Henry, his face inches from him. Henry couldn’t look away.

  “Your shoulder,” William murmured, rubbing at the joint.

  “I’m fine.” Henry tried to shrug William off, but even he thought the effort was lame. It was more a sigh of relaxation into William’s touch. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to help.” William’s fingers were soft, rubbing against his shoulder, and he couldn’t deny it felt good. Too good. Henry closed his eyes, letting his guard down. He allowed his patient with a head injury to fondle him.

  Stiffening, Henry tried to pull away. William moved at that same moment, cupping Henry’s cheek again, tugging him close, and then he kissed him again, warm and soft and insistent all at once. This time, Henry yielded beneath William’s lips, opening to his searching tongue, and he kissed William with all of the yearning he’d been holding back.

  Suddenly sloppy, the kiss turned from soft to hard in no time, teeth hitting each other as they sucked on lips and tongues. William rolled on top of Henry on the hay, and Henry finally broke the kiss as William’s weight settled onto him.

  “Rollins. Will…” Henry grunted. “This isn’t right.” One hand was on William's waist, and he stroked the other up William’s uniform-covered back.

  “This is the rightest thing I’ve ever done,” William whispered. “And call me Will. It feels right. Especially from you.” He gazed down at Henry like he was something to be craved, something to be yearned for, and that alone nearly had Henry buckling.

  “You’re injured,” Henry fumbled. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not…” He swallowed, cutting himself off.

  Confusion crept into Will’s eyes, followed by despair. Will seemed to search Henry’s gaze, trying to find something, anything. What he was looking for, Henry didn’t know. He kept stroking Will’s back, though, and he couldn’t stop.

  “You mean…” Will blinked fast. “We’re not…” His voice faded away, but the question lingered in the air, unspoken.

  Henry shook his head. “We’re not.” Not lovers, not even friends. The real Rollins wasn’t even queer, as far as he knew. He’d been in the same company with Rollins for a year, and not once had he ever seemed to notice him.

  Determination schooled Will’s features. He shifted, pressing his hips against Henry and aligning their cocks. Hissing, Henry jerked, but he could feel—clearly—the hard outline of Will’s cock through his uniform. And he was sure Will could feel his cock hardening against him and betraying Henry entirely.

  “We could be,” Will whispered, nipping at Henry’s jaw.

  “What?” Henry shuddered as Will’s lips sucked at his ear. “Will, no! You’re going to be fucking pissed when you get back to yourself. This isn’t you!”

  Will found Henry’s lips again and used his tongue to coax Henry’s lips apart. Henry moaned, grabbed Will’s ass, and thrust up into him, rubbing cocks through their uniforms. Will gasped into his mouth, and Henry used that to turn the tables, sliding his tongue into Will’s mouth this time, suckling and stroking as Will moaned. It was so fucking hot his spine almost melted, and he could feel the churn of come in his balls, straining for release. Will’s hands were in his hair, mussing it every which way. Henry wrapped his legs around Will’s, and Will’s hands found Henry’s belt buckle, found his uniform buttons.

  “No,” Henry murmured again, pulling back. He grabbed Will’s hands. “No.” Will slid his hand up Henry’s shirt, under his uniform, and God, just a little bit more, he just needed to roll Will over— “No,” Henry said again, pushing Will back with the flat of his palms. This time, Will sat back, eyes blown wide but still full of confusion and worry, and worse than that, rejection.

  “You don’t want me,” Will finally said.

  “I don’t want you like this.” Henry gestured between them and then to Will’s head and the ugly gash marring his handsome features. Will’s lips thinned together as he looked away. “Are you even queer?”

  When Will looked back, Henry’s breath stuttered, stumbling in his body. Will’s eyes were bright, brighter than he’d ever seen them, brighter even than when he looked crazy and furious in the woods. Will swallowed, long and slow, and Henry watched the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. It was patently obvious to Henry that Will had never before answered that question, not even to himself.

  He let him off easy. “You’re just confused,” he said, looking away. “You hit your head on the way down. You don’t know what’s what.” Let him go back to pretending. Let him get through this with his sanity intact. Never mind the making out, the hot kisses, or the way his body seemed to beg for Henry to take him.

  And never mind the odd memories Will had of Henry, the seemingly out-of-nowhere fascination.

  Shaking his head, Henry turned away, breathing deep. He needed to get out of the hay pile. He needed to calm down, get away from Will. What he needed to do was clean his cut again, check Will over, but he couldn’t get that close to Will now. Not while his lust still surged. It had taken every part of his strength to push him back.

  “What if I am?” Will’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

  “What if you are what?” Henry tried not to listen, busying himself with his medic bag and shutting Will out.

  Will’s hand landed hard on Henry’s shoulder. Henry spun, whirled around by the force of Will’s tug, and nearly fell against the other man. He frowned, pushing back, but froze.

  “What if I am queer?” Will whispered again, staring into Henry’s shocked eyes. Steel lined his gaze, though he clenched his lips together, forcing them not to tremble.

  Henry snarled, trying to pull away. “Don’t,” he snapped.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t push me,” he growled. “And don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not—” Will frowned.

  “What is this? Some kind of ridiculous prank by Doyle and the others?” Rage spiked suddenly, drowning Henry’s thoughts in torrents of red. “Why are you so insistent on getting at me?”

  “No!” Will pulled back, jerking away. “I’m trying to understand why I can’t get you out of my head.” His p
leading eyes searched Henry’s. “I don’t know where I am or what’s going on, but I do know that I need you!”

  Lunging, Henry grabbed Will’s shoulders and pulled him tight against his body. His lips crashed into Will’s, demanding, and smothered him with a molten-hot kiss. Moaning, Will wrapped his arms tight around Henry and rolled backward, landing in the hay pile once again. Tongues dueling, Henry rocked into Will, sliding their bodies—and their hard cocks—against one another. Beneath Henry, Will jerked, and he grasped at Henry, holding him against his body.

  Henry’s mind was screaming, shrieking at him to stop, to get up, to run away. He couldn’t take it anymore, though, not the constant desire pouring from Will nor the near frantic urge to be close to him. He was just a man, a man who hadn’t had a lover in too long, a man who wanted, more than anything, to be desired in return. He was exhausted, strung out, mentally done, emotionally wrung, and he just wanted to bury himself in Will and forget about everything for the moment. Damn the consequences, and everything that came with it. He just wanted to feel.

  And Will’s body felt amazing. Hard beneath him, bucking and writhing against his, with hands stroking over his back, fingers digging into his body. Will slipped his hand beneath Henry’s uniform, and then his fingers were scratching over Henry’s skin. Moaning, Henry jerked against Will’s body, driving his cock against Will’s. He just had to get their zippers down, get their cocks out. Will squeezed Henry’s ass, and he bit down on Will’s lip, too hard. Will whimpered, but he chased Henry’s mouth when Henry tried to pull back.

  Panting, Henry reached for their belts, fumbling as he tried to undo the clasps with a shaking hand. He was still kissing Will, working one-handed while their hips rutted against one another. Just a bit more, God, just a little bit more until they were skin to skin.

  “In here?”

  Henry froze, every muscle in his body jerking to a stop as he heard Giordano, his sergeant, call out softly on the other side of the barn door. Gentle French answered, and then the muffled sound of boots scampering across hard-packed mud. He heard Giordano’s fingers close on the barn door, heard the squawk of the hinges as the door rattled.