Chapter Text
St-Peter's Town
1707
"You better keep your head down" Aidan told himself as he walked through the crowd. The crowd divided to let him pass, shouting insults, cursing, spitting on him. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to hear them either, but he did anyway. "It's him ! The other sodomite! The perverse shit! May he burn in hell with his whore!" The harsh words sank in his mind like icy water, freezing his agonizing heart just a bit more.
He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and in his ribs, he hissed, the villagers were now throwing rocks at him. His first reflex would have been to sit on the ground and let the angry crowd stone him to death him, he had nothing to lose anymore, he was already dead. But he didn't, because he had a thing to do, a very important one, he had to see Dean, his Dean, one more time before it was too late. He had to apologize, to plea, to beg, to do anything. It couldn't change Dean's fate though, nothing could, but he couldn't let him alone, not today. He knew he must be strong, be strong for them two, although he didn't feel strong at all, he felt miserable and broken.
More rocks were thrown at him, Aidan looked up to face the hate of his fellow citizens and began to run, pushing people out of his path. Someone's fist hit his temple; blinded by the pain he tripped but he didn't fall and he didn't stop. He had to reach the other side of the marketplace before someone could kill him. The crowd became furious, crazy, trying to grab his clothes, to sink their claws into his skin. "You think you hate me" he thought, "but you don't know what real hate is, you will never be able to hate me as much as I loathe you all."
He finally managed to make his way to the prison's door. He was glad (as much as his heart could feel something positive) to see who the guard in front of the door was. McTavish was a person Aidan could have considered as a friend; even if he wasn't sure he still had friends in this village. He was somehow relieved to see that there was only deep sadness on Graham McTavish's face when he saw Aidan, rather than disgust or anger: these expressions Aidan saw on everyone's face since Dean was in jail.
When Aidan stood in front of the tall Scotsman, people stopped attacking the young man. Nobody in the village was stupid enough to risk the wrath of the blacksmith (recently promoted as a prison guard).
"Go back home Turner, you shouldn't be there" McTavish growled.
"I want to see him."
"Go away, you don't help yourself by coming here."
"I don't give a shit about what people think, I want to see him."
"I'm not allowed to let anyone in, not even his mother."
"I MUST SEE HIM !!! Aidan shouted, on the verge of tears. "YOU WILL LET ME IN! OR I SWEAR I'LL…"
The guard grabbed his wrist and twisted it to make him stop this yelling, but not enough to cause pain. "No lad, I can't do this, you know I can't, go away now."
The young man clenched his jaw and whispered between his teeth so only Graham could hear. "Listen to me, I don't care what people think, I don't care if they hit me or throw rocks at me, I'm not worried about myself or my fucking reputation. Tomorrow morning, my best friend will be executed." The tears of rage that he had been holding back for weeks began to roll out of his tired brown eyes. "Tomorrow, Dean will be dead." Aidan's voice broke on the last word. He swallowed and continued. "He is living his last hours and he is alone, all alone. You hear me? Nobody deserves to be alone when they are about to die, even the murderers. If you once had just a little bit of respect for him, or for me, if you have just a little bit of compassion for human kind, as god taught us, you will let me in, Graham."
Graham's face was expressionless, but Aidan thought he heard a faint sigh escape the big man's lips. He released Aidan's wrist and gently pushed him away. "My orders are clear." He said loudly, as he stared coldly at the young desperate man before him. "No one is allowed to see the prisoner; all you can do now is to pray for his soul and for yours."
"AHAH ! You better pray, Turner! Murderers and sodomites are ending up together in the fire of hell", someone shouted in the crowd.
Aidan clenched his fists angrily, everybody was letting him down, he knew nothing could change the Scotsman's mind now. Aidan was about to walk away when Graham called him back.
"Wait ! If you go to church…"
McTavish searched in his big leather uniform and took some paper and a charcoal pencil out of his pocket. He wrote something on the piece of paper and reached it out for Aidan to take it.
"Give this to Reverend Blackhawk, and maybe he'll let you pray in the church until tomorrow morning" he added.
"I don't think he'd let a muderer's whore enter his church, let alone the whore of his son's killer" a woman shouted. Her exclamation was followed by several mocking laughs.
"My place is not with Reverend Blackhawk, or even with God now, my place is with Dean" Aidan growled.
McTavish shook his head and Aidan knew there was no hope here.
He shoved the piece of paper in his pocket and walked away.
"That's it, McTavish! That's a good thing you didn't let him fornicate one more time with his beloved killer, this town has seen enough sins." An old man congratulated the prison guard.
"Let the boy alone now and go mind your own business !" Aidan heard McTavish roar at the villagers.
A couple of people hustled Aidan anyway, whispering venomous insults in his ears but he chose not to pay attention to them.
Two hours later, he was lying down in the hay in his parents' barn, looking blankly at the wooden ceiling. He would certainly not go to the church, whatever McTavish had written on this paper; Reverend Blackhawk wasn't of the forgiving kind. But Aidan's thoughts weren't really fixed on the morning's events; he was only thinking about Dean. Dean occupied all the place in his mind and his heart. Aidan had come here, to the barn, to remember. It was the only way he could be close to Dean right now, by being in a place that had some significance for both of them. He could have go to their tree, the old oak in the meadow where they used to meet in secret, but he didn't because it was a cursed place now. He was here, in the haystacks, because it was the place where they had made love for the first time. Aidan was sixteen, Dean was nineteen. It had been twelve years ago.
Dean was back in the village since the morning, he had spent two years in military school and Aidan had not seen him since he left for his training two years ago. Everybody was so proud of Corporal Dean O'Gorman, especially his father who was relieved that his son finally did something good with his life. Good for his own standards, because Aidan knew that Dean had done this semblance of military career only to please his father. Dean was an artist and a gifted one. Aidan had seen all his drawing, his painting and poems, he was the only one Dean agreed to show his artworks to. Dean knew his family couldn't understand who he really was, only Aidan could; he was his best friend after all.
When Dean came back from the military school he was a man, with large shoulders and a thin beard on his cheeks. When Aidan first saw him he was a bit intimidated. Would that manly corporal still want to be the friend and confidant of a skinny dishevelled, wild boy? There was something new in the way Aidan looked at his friend , new thoughts in his mind, new sensations he hadn't experienced yet that were growing in him when he saw Dean, very handsome in his army uniform, coming towards him to greet him with a brotherly hug. It was desire, desire to stay a bit longer against this hard chest, to touch and explore the skin under the uniform.
Those thoughts had scared him because the pastor had admonished countless times in his sermons that only married couples, a man and a woman, were allowed to have this kind of intimacy. But Dean smiled at him and the fear of being rejected disappeared. "You grew up a lot since I left," Dean appraised, stepping back to take a better look at his friend. "You're as tall as me now!" Dean still had this warm smile on his lips, he moved forward and whispered in the boy's ear "You look like a man now, Aidan."
Aidan didn't feel like a man at all, not in comparison with the muscular soldier who stood before him, but this remark made him blush and a delicious sensation of warmth flooded his young body.
That night they were lying in the barn's attic, hidden in the haystacks, lying side by side on some old blankets.
"You received all my letters ?" Dean asked him.
"Yes of course ! At first your mother read them to me but at some point I was tired of it and I asked Mr Armitage, the bookseller, to teach me and after three months I was able to read alone."
Dean straightened to look at his friend. "You learnt how to read in three months?"
"Yeah ! Why?"
"That's really impressive, Aidan! You are a clever little raven, aren't you?"
" A raven? You want to insult me? They are disgusting animals, they eat dead people!"
"That wasn't an insult, they are very wise and clever birds and I think they are beautiful, their black feathers shine in the sun, a bit like your hair sometimes. There was a lot of them where I was, in the fort, they reminded me of you… dark and clever… and noisy."
Aidan threw one of the blankets in Dean's face with an indignant protestation and they burst in laughter. They giggled for several minutes, playfully throwing handfuls of hay in the other's face. Aidan was glad and relieved to note that their friendship hadn't be damaged during the two years of separation.
When they calmed down, Aidan sighed. "You know, I can read now but I can't write yet, that's why I sent you my drawings instead", he told his friend. "I'm not as good as you though".
"Don't worry about that, I loved all your drawings, particularly the ones of our tree, the old oak where we were playing when we were kids, I kept all of them in the inside pocket of my uniform. I could see you were getting better with each drawing you sent me."
They remained silent for a moment. Dean was looking at the ceiling, lost in thoughts, so Aidan took the opportunity admire the beautiful features of his best friend. He felt like he was seeing him for the first time, everything was different.
Aidan had never noticed Dean's lips. Of course he knew they existed, he unconsciously acknowledged their presence in his friend's face, but he never really looked at them, not the way he was looking at them now. They were pink, thin but shapely and they looked very soft and Aidan couldn't help but imagine how they would feel, pressed on his own and this thought made him shiver in a pleasant way. Dean was still looking up, batting his long, elegant blond eyelashes (another thing Aidan never noticed before). Aidan was wondering whether Dean had similar thoughts, whether he was thinking about him.
As if his friend had read in his mind, Dean suddenly turned his head to look at him and asked: "Did you think of me often when I was away Aidan?"
Aidan loved the way Dean was saying his name, with his low and fully formed man's voice.
"I did, every day" the boy admitted, holding his gaze.
"Me too, I missed you very much" Dean whispered
Aidan smiled.
There was another silence before Dean took a deep breath. "Did you think of me every night too? " he asked, nervously.
"Yes", the dark haired boy replied softly.
Suddenly, Dean's hand was on the back of his neck and his lips were against his, and they were as soft as he imagined and even more.
The pastor's preaching about chastity and sacred marriage had fled his mind. This couldn't be a sin, because it felt so right. It felt like the logical ending of a story, Dean and him were always meant to be together like that. Their lives had necessarily led them to this moment, they had always loved each other, but now that their bodies had grown, they could experience love as adults… and no one had to know.
When they broke the kiss, panting, looking the other's face, trying to read the other's reaction and emotions, Aidan ran a hand through Dean's long golden hair, admiring his clear blue eyes. Then, he caressed his short beard.
"You are so beautiful…" Aidan murmured, with a little jealousy. "I'll never be as handsome as you."
Dean pressed a tender kiss on his forehead and held him tighter in his arms.
"Don't say that, you are very handsome, you took my breath away when I saw you this morning, you are more mature now. You were so young when I left, too young."
"You already wanted to kiss me before you left?" the boy asked with genuine interest.
"Hum yes, that's one of the reasons I agreed to be enrolled in the army. I wanted to let you grow up away from me, to give you the opportunity to make your own choices."
"But I have always chosen you, even if I couldn't really understand that, until now"
"I know"
"I never had the desire to kiss anyone else but you."
"I know, me neither. I love you Aidan." Dean nuzzled in the young man's hair, humming softly.
Aidan smiled, it was the best day of his life; his best friend, his confidant, the only human being who really knew who he was, in the depths of his soul, the amazing artist he had admired throughout all his childhood, his hero, also wanted to be his lover. "Maybe it's what they call a soul mate…" he thought, he was so happy, the idea that it would be wrong for two men to be soul mates never crossed his mind.
"I want to be your lover, Dean" Aidan decided.
Dean buried his fingers in the dark tousled mane and looked down at the gorgeous young man snuggled in his arms. "That would be an honor, Aidan."
None of them had to mention that they had to keep their relationship secret, it was obvious, they were in love but they weren't stupid.
They exchanged several other passionate kisses, exploring each other with lips, tongues and hands.
After a particularly heated kiss, Dean looked into his young lover's eyes for a long moment and asked him with a voice rough with contained desire. "Do you want me to make you mine, my love?"
Aidan gulped and nodded. He was old enough to understand the meaning of these words and he could trust his instincts to tell him how much he wanted this. "I am yours" he answered in a solemn but shaky voice.
Dean undressed his lover slowly and tenderly without breaking the eye contact, carefully looking for any sign of discomfort or unease, he didn't want to force him into something he didn't fully consent to, but Aidan's eyes were only reflecting love, desire and reverence.
Aidan held his breath and bit his lower lips as Dean took off his own clothes. The blond soldier was definitely more muscular and manly than the last time they swam together in the pond in the Turner's barley field two years ago. Aidan longed to touch this body both familiar and new.
Dean laid down and took Aidan in his arms, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both their throats as their hot and sweaty skins met. The older pushed away a few curls from his lover's face, he cupped his chin in his hand and caressed his lips with his thumb.
Aidan was shivering with anticipation, but he trusted Dean more than everything. They were both inexperienced in sexual matters, but the older made sure his young lover enjoyed everything he did to him this night. They were unsure, clumsy, a little shy but that didn't matter, only the sensation of their bodies, finally so close to each other, skin against skin, together, that was enough to send them over the edge.
Hours later, Dean had his head on Aidan's stomach; the younger man was stroking his hair lovingly. They were both sleepy, exhausted and happy.
"You don't leave again, don't you? Not without me" Aidan asked suddenly, realizing that maybe Dean had to return to the military fort soon. Dean raised his head and looked straight into Aidan's chocolate eyes.
"Never" he swore.
Aidan knew it was a real promise. The next day, Dean sent his resignation letter to his superior, much to his family's disappointment and bewilderment.
Twelve years later, Aidan was lying at the exact same place; he was remembering that night with fondness and despair.
He closed his eyes, all he could see was Dean's face, Dean's eyes, Dean's smile, his hands when he drew, his fingers stained by ink or soiled by the charcoal. He swore he could also smell his scent, his scent that was a mix of the freshly cut grass Dean liked to lie on under their tree, of the bee wax candles he lit when he wrote poems late at night, the oil paint and the musky and spicy scent of their lovemaking. The unfairness of all this was too much for Aidan, he wasn't able to admit it was over, that he had lost his lover forever.
He couldn't accept this. He was afraid, petrified, a blind rage was boiling in his veins, an uncontrollable anger against the stupid people of his town, too stupid to mind their own business. People that would kill the man he loved… tomorrow morning… tomorrow morning…TOMORROW MORNING.
Aidan slammed the wooden floor with his fist, punched it again and again, screaming like a mad man until the blood begin dripping all over his hand from his injured knuckles. He allowed himself to cry for an hour, his head resting against his knees, until he fell asleep, exhausted.
When he woke up, he realised with utter horror that the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon. Dean's last night had begun.