Take My Breath Away Read online

  Table of Contents

  Take My Breath Away

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Take My Breath Away

  by Malia Ulmus

  Copyright © 2017 by Malia Ulmus

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Take My Breath Away

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 1

  It’s going to rain soon. Raul can sense these things; smell them, just like his ancestors could. Walking up the steep path, eyes always on the dogs that are running around the sheep in circles that only seem meaningless and random to outsiders, but that indeed are the most beautiful, perfect collaboration Raul could imagine. Of course, the dogs were born into their profession much like he was. Not really a choice for a shepherd’s son, coming from a village of shepherds, hidden in a remote mountain valley. School was a distant memory, nobody here went there for more than a few years; reading, writing and basic mathematics more than enough to get by. Skills like reading the weather, sensing when a sheep was about to give birth, knowing how to make the most of the milk and cheese, those were what they needed to get by. And maybe also the ability to survive in solitude, because growing up a shepherd meant you’d spend your summers mostly depending on your own, sheep and dogs your sole companions.

  Raul has mastered all these skills, soaked them up from his grandfather and father and now he is perfectly capable of taking care of the flock over the summer. It isn’t easy, not on him and neither on his wife, Magdalena, who stays behind in the village, taking care of the small farm, the bit of land and their son. With a shake of his head, he chases away the thoughts, knowing they’re too hurtful, too distracting. In the distance, one of the dogs catches his attention, the animal deviating from its normal path, running in small, nervous circles now and barking for attention. Maybe a hurt lamb? Though Raul hasn’t seen any of them stray there. Confused, he makes his way to where the dog is making its alert, hand on the knife in his belt. Because lately, the occasional resistance fighter had been sighted here, the army having forced them up into the less accessible parts of the mountains. Politics make Raul’s head hurt. For the people here in the mountains, the war is a distant occurrence, the outcome not of any interest. It won’t change their lives, they’ve long stopped listening to promises and adapted to a sort of poor but, in their own ways, at least free and independent lifestyle.

  When he has almost reached the dog, his grip on his knife tightens as his eyes fall on the slumped body in the grass. He gets closer and frowns, shaking his head in anger and frustration. This one is barely a man, looking almost like a boy. He can hardly be older than Raul himself, possibly he’s even younger. It’s no age to be wasted to war that will only cause more suffering and more oppression. He looks in a bad state, completely wrecked, just a small, shivering heap in dirty, bloodstained clothes. Pale skin, dirty, messy blond hair - and freckles. He has freckles everywhere, something Raul has never quite seen on a man of their age before. And he sees the wretched figure and lets go of the knife, somehow anticipating he won’t need it.

  ***

  Damned dog. Damned, damned dog. Manuel pulls his arms closer around his knees, a ridiculous attempt to make himself smaller. As if there was any way to hide, here on the grass. He’s shivering, but not from fear he thinks determinedly, just from the cold and the damp ground. Maybe a bit from the pain that is encasing his entire body, every bone and muscle aching. They’d beaten him, tortured him, trying to get the names of his compatriots out. Then there’d been an attack and they’d fled, leaving him to die. He has tried to save himself, as stupid as it sounds, because these are remote mountains and even if he’d reached one of the villages, chances the inhabitants would have killed him without second thought were high. It’s dangerous for the villagers to give refuge to resistance fighters like him, rumors say the army has killed and burned entire little communities only for one hidden fighter discovered in one of the poor huts. Nevertheless, he tried to get away from the woods, to some place where he could find help, hoping for that tiny chance to meet up with the remains of his cell.

  But he had collapsed here, on a meager mountain pasture, with nothing left to hide behind. And where there’s a barking dog, there’ll also be a shepherd. Ironic, how he survived the soldiers' torments only to end up killed by a shepherd. Manuel snorts, hearing careful footsteps approach him and he buries his head in his arms. Hopefully, it will at least be quick. This time, all he wants for it is to be quick. At least, the dog is finally silent. He tries to have some clear last thoughts, recalls once more Carmen’s sweet face, looking at him full of affection, back in the easy days and he listens to the birds and inhales the scent of the grass, thinking that it’s a pity he wasn’t born as a simple shepherd.

  ”Oh dammit.” He hears the exasperated huff, coming from very close by and grits his teeth, as ready for the end as he can be.

  ”Stupid war,” the gruff voice says and without any understanding, completely confused and overwhelmed, Manuel feels two strong arms pick him up from ground, shouldering him and carrying him away.

  ”Let’s hope we get you through.”

  It must be a dream, Manuel thinks to himself before he feels the first drops of light rain on his head and then passes out from exhaustion, because in reality, these miracles don’t happen.

  We're nothing, and nothing will help us

  Maybe we're lying,

  then you better not stay

  But we could be safer,

  just for one day

  Chapter 2

  He’s not very heavy. Probably not well fed, Raul ponders, balancing the dead weight on his shoulder. In his chest, his heart is hammering and thundering relentlessly, but not from the exhaustion. It’s an irrational fear that makes him break into sweat, fear that the man he’s never seen before could actually die on him. Normally, as a country boy in a poor surrounding with a never ending war raging around, he’s grown up to see death and accept it as a part of life. He’s seen people die. In the most cruel ways. Yet, he’s totally terrified that it could happen to this man that he doesn’t even know. Just, the second his eyes had met the scared pools of dark brown, blinking up at him with fear, pain and confusion, he’d felt a sting that went through his entire body. He tries to shake off the thoughts, but they won’t go away. Something about the man is deeply fascinating him.

  Raul hasn’t checked the kind of injuries the man has, but he’s not blind. The blood soaked shirt, the tight rope around his wrists, dark bruises and chafed skin underneath, the bruises in his face and the tell-tale mark of a cigarette burn on his bare forearm. Those aren’t really war wounds; Raul thinks, those are signs of torture. And the thought alone is enough to make him feel sick, the atrocities of this whole useless feud feeling so pointless and the lives of men like the one on
his shoulder being wasted to a demonic cause.

  The dogs seem to be sensing that something is off, watching him nervously as he takes the route back to his tent. It’s too early to return, but he has a mission to accomplish and if he wants to stand a chance at putting the wrecked pieces he’s carrying back together, he needs to get to the tent and the creek. With the animals obeying him without second-guessing, he continues his route, the soft rain slowly draining him. It’s amazing, he thinks, the trust these dogs have in his judgment. They’re brought up to listen, to follow orders and in return they’re fed and groomed. As simple as that. The soldiers and resistance fighters, how different their goals might be, are a bit like the dogs, trained to follow orders blindly, not questioning their superior’s decision, all in exchange for food. And maybe the feeling of fighting for a cause that’s worth it. At least, that is what Raul imagines it should be like. With the wrecked body on his shoulder, he doubts any cause is truly worth it.

  His thoughts trail off, image of the man’s face, that looks so much like a boy’s face, back in front of his eyes. He is beautiful, without a doubt, the pale skin with the freckles unusual but flawless except from the dark bruises and traces of blood on his jaw and forehead, the eyes dark and pure, shining even under the worst conditions. Even the messy and soiled streaks of blonde hair still look gorgeous. I’m walking around marveling another man. The realization strikes Raul a bit like lightning, prompting him to shake his head in disbelief. That solitude in these mountains sure does strange things to my head. He’s flooded with relief when he reaches the creek, final meters passed in stride.

  ”Okay, buddy, let’s get you clean.”

  He carefully lowers him to the ground, positioning his back against a larger rock so that he’s sitting upright. The eyes, those beautiful eyes – and Raul scolds himself internally for not being capable of stopping this ridiculous admiration – blink open slowly and his stomach flips when he sees the fear in them, the boy scrambling around and obviously trying to shield himself from Raul.

  ”Hey, it’s okay, I just… you understand me, right?”

  For a moment, it occurs to Raul that he might not even be from here, but he nods, eyes still widened, but arms beginning to relax.

  ”Listen, I just want to get you cleaned up and check how bad you are, okay?”

  Another nod, tentative, but a nod. Nevertheless, when Raul approaches him and takes his knife, he tries to jump up, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. And Raul, again, scolds himself, because he should have known that the sight of him walking over there with the knife in his hand wouldn’t be trust-building.

  ”Hey, hey,” he says, voice trembling, “I just wanted to cut those.”

  He points at the ropes around his wrists and follows the movement of the man’s eyes, staring at his own wrists in disbelief, apparently not even remembering that his hands are tied. How long have they had you?

  This time, he stays seated, eyes wary and breathing shallow, but his body stays in place and Raul kneels down next to him, finally getting rid of the offending restraints. It’s not a conscious decision when the shepherd now takes the young man’s hands into his own, fingers rubbing gentle circles over the abused skin, eyes watching his own actions with fascination.

  ***

  His heart is still thundering and he knows his breath is hitching, but he feels a sort of calmness spreading through his body while he watches him. Watches the dark-haired man kneel in front of him, massaging his wrists and hands with tenderness. The calloused fingers move over his cuts and scrapes so gently, it’s actually giving Manuel gooseflesh. And it painfully reminds him how long it’s been since anyone has touched him to do anything else but hurt him.

  He still doesn’t understand where the other man’s kindness comes from. Most of the villagers and shepherds have become wary of both, soldiers and resistance, and Manuel doesn’t blame them. The horrendous stories about soldiers torturing innocent villagers just because a resistance fighter has – without their knowledge – spent the night in one of their stables. Or the stories of so-called resistance troops looting villages for food. Manuel’s stomach flips, the thoughts and facts still difficult for him to bear. Because it’s hard when you’re young and full of ideals and ready to defend them, only to find out how utterly pointless they are. When you find that the heroes you were looking up to betray any vision you ever had for a better future. He briefly shakes his head, trying to chase away the regret and hurt. No point to bother now, it’s not as if he could change the past.

  ”You need to drink.”

  The other’s voice wakes him from his philosophical thinking and he realizes, with a hint of disappointment, that the massage has stopped. He takes the flask of water that is held out to him and realizes that he really is thirsty. The water hurts his dried lips but it’s also wonderful balm for his throat. Taking occasional, small sips, not capable to fully open his mouth, he watches the man who is sitting across from him. A shepherd, obviously. Poor, probably. Because they all are. Dumb, that’s what his parents called them. And many of his compatriots, most from rich, academic households, said the same. But Manuel doesn’t agree and this man certainly is all but dumb. His eyes, dark and a bit mysterious, simply sparkle with attention, focus, intelligence. And in all the cruelty, he’s the first kind spirit Manuel has met in months. Not questioning, not second-guessing, just ready to help and share. And the man cannot be expecting anything in return, because in his current state, dirty and broken, Manuel certainly doesn’t look like he has anything to offer.

  His eyes cast down the man’s body, broad shoulders under a thick pullover that’s slowly soaking from the rain, legs clad in used, worn out jeans, heavy boots. It’s nothing unusual by itself, but it makes for a breathtaking combination on the man. He has dark long hair, framing a tanned face, skin slightly worn from being outside constantly. Gorgeous, Manuel thinks – and then wondering how and why and since when he looks at men this way. But he doesn’t, he realizes, he only looks at this man in this way. While he is still drinking, the other starts fidgeting with some tobacco, preparing a cigarette with skilled and probably long-practiced movements. His fingers are slender and long, calloused and dirty from their hard work, but nonetheless beautiful.

  ”Want a drag?”

  He’s holding the lit cigarette out to Manuel and the fighter takes it gratefully, returning the empty bottle. He inhales greedily and returns it, his fingers brushing the other man’s, skin tingling from the touch. His eyes follow the thin grey lines in the misty air until a movement from the other catches his attention.

  ”Okay, let’s get you checked. I’m sure you’ll need cleaning and some dressings.”

  Manuel nods absentmindedly, eyes glued to the way the muscles flex under the other man’s pullover. He walks towards the small tent at their side and returns with a cloth and some dressings. Manuel stares at them questioningly, unsure why he’d have any in that tiny tent.

  ”I’m prepared. I mean, the sheep hurt themselves, too, at times,” he mumbles, obviously having anticipated the fighter’s unspoken question. “You’ll have to take off your shirt though.”

  The shepherd says it almost apologetically and quickly turns away, wetting the cloth in the water of the creek. Manuel blushes. Not that he has any problem undressing; he understands the necessity and is starting to trust the other. But he cannot do it, because the pain in his joints keeps him from raising his arms far enough. And that is quite embarrassing. Yet, the shepherd again seems to sense his struggle when he turns around and sees him sitting there in his misery. And instead of making any fuss, he just takes his knife and cuts the fabric.

  ”I’ll give you one of mine. That one’s done with anyway.”

  So help me heal these wounds,

  They've been open for way too long.

  Help me fill this soul,

  Even though this is not your fault.

  Chapter 3

  He sheds the destroyed shirt and moves to take a closer l
ook at the other’s torso, finding it covered in bruises, all colors from yellow to dark purple. Raul bites his lip, partly with anger, feeling the irrational desire to track down the bastards who did this and hurt them in the same way. Partly, he has to bite down for another reason. Because even with the bruises and the blood from some cuts on his chest, the other looks absolutely breathtaking. His muscles are lean and well defined, showing under the smooth skin that’s tanned on the few areas where it’s not bruised. Broad shoulders, arms stronger than he expected. And freckles, he really has freckles everywhere.

  When he notices that the fighter is shivering in the cool rain, he hurries to start washing him, noticing the way he’s gritting his teeth, the touch obviously painful for him. And Raul keeps biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood and very afraid to say something completely inappropriate. Also, he might feel his cock twitch. Which is even less appropriate. And, Raul reminds himself with growing despair, it’s a man he’s looking at and touching. A man. He doesn’t get hard over seeing naked men. Although his body is doing its best to prove him wrong on that one right now. Maybe when he is done with his chest and moves to the back it will be better. Raul grits his teeth now as well and hurries to get a last scratch on the other’s stomach clean before he walks around him.

  Shit. Dear goodness. What kind of bastards were you with? Raul freezes, eyes glued to the back that is covered in a number of bad cuts, obviously caused by a whip. With tears dwelling up in his eyes, he counts twelve marks. And he knows he will have to clean them, because he’ll get an infection from the sweat and dirt that’s already in there and he also knows he will hurt him like hell and he hates himself for what he will have to do. Taking a deep breath, he braces himself. While he takes care of the tormented skin, wiping off dried blood and sand, some of the wounds opening and beginning to bleed again, he cannot believe how tough the man in front of him is. He might look like a boy, and a very shy one at that, but the way he is sitting there, completely motionless, back straight and not a sound coming from his mouth is impressive. The only sign for his discomfort is the way his breathing becomes shallow and his muscles tense under Raul’s hands. God, you’re brave.