Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Patrick: Part One

England, 1847

Working as a labourer on Patrick Abbott's farm was very different than trudging through the sewers of London as a tosher. The work was still hard, but Gideon Hartwright had grown to appreciate it.

He had absolutely no experience with crop-picking or animal husbandry, but his vampire strength came in very handy at stacking hay, building drystone walls or fences or gates, mending the slate roof of the farmhouse, or helping to dig and maintain ditches, ponds and farm roads.

His inexperience with farm labour had almost cost him the job at first, even more so when Patrick Abbott realised that Gideon needed to work by night. But he'd hired Gideon anyway, and offered him a tiny attic room to sleep in. Gideon suspected he'd got the job because he'd told Patrick that he wouldn't need food – that would save the farmer money, something which Patrick seemed keen to do.

Gideon smiled as he heaved stacks of hay into place in the barn. This wasn't where he'd ever thought he'd end up, but he liked having a purpose. He liked the feeling of achieving something, and though he knew that this, like everything else, couldn't last forever, he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Patrick himself didn't talk much, but his wife, Maggie was kind and warm, and their four children were like tiny balls of sunshine. They weren't Gideon's family and they never would be, but he liked stepping into the glow of the love they all had for each other. It felt like he'd been standing in the dark and the cold for a long time, and then someone had flung open the door, spilling light into the night, and even though Gideon couldn't pass through that door, he was content with standing in the spilled light.

Footsteps crunched outside, then Patrick came into the barn.

Quickly, Gideon looked away.

The only thing wrong with his life here was Patrick, not because he wasn't the most approachable of men, but because he was so beautiful. Years of farm work had carved his body into hard muscle, and his skin was tanned from spending so much time outside, with weathered lines fanning out around his eyes and across his forehead. A reddish-brown beard dusted his chin, slightly lighter than the thick hair on his head.

Since Gideon wasn't human, Patrick's presence didn't cause his heart to speed up or his breathing to stutter, but he felt clumsy and tongue-tied around the older man. Since leaving Nicholas, he hadn't felt any particular attraction to anyone, which wasn't surprising considering how little time he'd spent in one place. Then he'd met Patrick, and all the feelings that had withered away after Nicholas came roaring back.

"Good evening," he said, glancing at Patrick.

Patrick just grunted, but his eyes were intense as he looked at Gideon. It made Gideon squirm in the most delightful way.

He tried to focus on stacking hay, anything to stop thinking about the man behind him and the fact that Gideon desperately wanted to take his clothes off.

Patrick's footsteps came closer, but Gideon didn't turn to see what he doing.

Just focus on the hay.

He hauled another stack into place, but thoughts of Patrick had him distracted, and the hay didn't quite land where he wanted it. He bent over to pull it into place, and suddenly Patrick was right behind him, standing close enough that he pressed against Gideon from behind.

There was no mistaking the hardness jutting against his trousers, and Gideon went very still, his hands lingering on the hay. At first he wondered if it was a mistake, if Patrick had simply misjudged the distance between them, but then Patrick didn't move. His hips insistently pressed against Gideon, and when Gideon looked over his shoulder, he found that Patrick was looking intently back at him, his eyes dark with heat.