by Lee Rowan
He let go immediately, horrified. “Oh, my God—did I go mad?”
“No,” Marshall croaked, holding his throat. “You… you just… exploded.”
Archer hovered, rubbing his friend’s back, feeling like a murderer. “Holy Jesus, Will, I’m sorry.”
Marshall coughed, then laughed. “I’m not,” he said, in a more normal voice. “If I had any doubts as to whether you were fast enough—wherever that came from, I hope you’ve got more.”
“I don’t know.” But he did. The sickening memory sprang back full-blown. “It… it was Correy… he’d choke me, sometimes. Once I almost did not wake up.” He wiped cold sweat from his face. “Christ, I’d not thought of that in years. Will, I could have killed you!”
“Perhaps you’d better practice on me this time,” Marshall suggested.
“I had better not. What if I—”
“You must be sure you can do this, Davy. You’ll only get one chance, and we don’t know from one day to the next if we’ll be together to practice.” His grin flashed in the darkness. “And I really don’t want to try it on you again. You’re dangerous.”
Even if he was just saying that as encouragement, it made Archer feel less a victim. “All right. How long?”
“Barrow said three minutes can kill, once a man’s unconscious. Half a minute should be safe enough. I’d rather you keep it less than that.”
“Twenty seconds, then. And you’d better try to get away, Will. Really fight me. I’m sure he would.”
“No doubt. See if you can tell how long I stay out. That will be important. You won’t have to worry about too long a hold with him, though, since there’ll be no tears shed if you break his damned neck.” Marshall sat cross-legged on the straw. “All right, Davy. Fire as you bear.”
It took four tries. The first time, William brought his chin down, blocking the choke; the second, Archer didn’t get his hands locked properly. The third time he did but was afraid to follow through, and they wrestled around ineffectually for a bit. But the fourth time, he was just frustrated enough at his failures to stop being too careful: placement, lock, and pressure were all exactly right, and Marshall’s struggles ceased with terrifying suddenness.
Chapter 17
“OH, MY God. Will?”
He let go, and the limp body slid bonelessly from his grasp. Marshall wasn’t pretending. Archer sat back on his heels, gathering his friend into his arms, turning his face up. “Will, please—” Thank God, he was still breathing.
He’d forgotten to maintain the hold for twenty seconds. To hell with that. But he started counting the seconds that Will had been unconscious, practically second nature from timing his men during firing practice. Archer smoothed the hair back from William’s forehead. His lips, relaxed and slightly parted, were so close, only inches away….
And he was unconscious, and helpless, and how much difference was there, really, between taking the first slight liberty and outright rape? Archer damned himself for the impulse and shifted so their faces weren’t so close. “Wake up, William, this is not funny. Will, please—”
Will was senseless for nearly three minutes after Archer remembered to count the seconds, then drew a quick, deep breath and blinked. His eyes were blank and unfocused in the thin moonlight.
“Will—?”
“I’m all right,” he said unconvincingly. “Dizzy. Head hurts.” He blinked again and looked more himself. “Hello, Davy.” Another blink and a smile. “Davy, you did it!” Archer counted to thirty-five before Marshall even tried to move. But he seemed ridiculously pleased for someone who’d just been choked unconscious by a friend. “This will be perfect, Davy. You can just hit him with something if he starts to come round—”
Still shocked at what he had done, Archer gave him a shake. “Are you all right? Can you move?”
“Never better. Of course I can move.” He rolled his head from side to side. “The headache is almost gone now. Amazing.” Then, without warning, his hand slipped behind Archer’s head and pulled his face down.
The kiss was warm and tentative, unbearably sweet, and Archer had no will to resist. But at last he came up for air. “Will, no… we mustn’t… you said—”
He smiled and put his lips close to Archer’s ear. “The part of me that knows better is still asleep,” he said softly. “Let us be very quiet, so as not to wake it.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Archer said without conviction.
“Probably.” Another kiss, just below the ear, nearly drove coherent thought from Archer’s mind. “Davy, when I left home, there was a girl… she wanted me and I ran away. I told her I didn’t want to compromise her, but the truth was, I was too afraid—I thought perhaps I’d come back after I was successful. And then I lost her. She died of a fever the winter after I left. I’ve regretted it ever since.” He shifted and took his weight off Archer’s knees but didn’t release him. “When they didn’t bring you back last night, Davy, I thought you were dead too.” One hand clenched in Archer’s shirt-front, and his voice shook. “I’ve given the Service every minute of my life, never grudged it. And it can have the rest, gladly—save for the next couple of hours. You’re right—this may be the only chance we’ll ever have. If one of us were to die tomorrow, I want the other to have those memories you spoke of.”
“It’s not what might happen if we die that worries me,” Archer began. A thought occurred to him. “Will, do you mean to say you’ve never—I’m sorry, stupid question—”
“Not until two nights ago, no. I never. The Vicar’s son, remember? A model of propriety, Mother’s good boy, a perfect bloodless little officer and gentleman.” He rested his forehead against Archer’s temple. “So when you suggested doing everything we can think of? I’m afraid you’ll have to think of most of it. All I would want is what we did the other night. But slowly.” His hand caressed Archer’s face, turning it gently until their lips met. Archer leaned into the kiss, noting absently that for someone with no experience, William was learning fast, running a hand along his back with exquisite care, leaving shivers in its wake. “If you still want to.”
“Want” was much too mild a word. But even as his arms went around Marshall, drawing him close, his mind threw out a notion of just what it was he wanted to do.
Everything Adrian had done to him. Well, everything that didn’t hurt.
To William.
He wanted to turn his beloved friend into a sodomite. An outcast. Threatened with disgrace and death at every turn. No, I just want to love him—
It was one and the same.
And Will had been a virgin, for God’s sake. I may have already ruined him. Archer groaned and pulled away, his whole body screaming protest. “We can’t. Will, we can’t, I-I never should have said anything, that bastard’s made me just like him—”
“Impossible. Davy, you were right. Lieutenant Hampton was not evil. Neither are you. Neither am I. I can understand why this is forbidden.” His palm cupped Archer’s cheek, thumb brushing over his lips. “Nobody would ever bother getting married, there’d be no children, and how could you ever get anyone to fight? You couldn’t have this on a warship, it would be worse than having women aboard.”
Archer wanted to be convinced, but he could not allow it. “You can’t have it off a warship, either. And what about the Bible—”
“The Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill,’ Davy. Remember what it is we do for a living? The Bible says a lot of things that are ignored when inconvenient. There may be a God, but I stopped believing in religion long ago, except as it’s useful for discipline… and that’s why I never thought of following in my father’s footsteps. Forgive my blasphemy, but if you look at the way Christian countries like France and England go at one another, it’s clear Whoever’s up there has a foul sense of humor.”
In his wildest dreams, Archer could not have imagined such an unlikely theological discussion, but he might have expected that once Marshall turned his excellent mind to an objective, he would find a
rationale for achieving it. If he weren’t so close, if his hands weren’t so warm, it would be easier to argue to the contrary.
But his own uncomfortable silence got William’s attention. “Davy? This… this is what you want, isn’t it? Just this once, and nothing that happens here goes beyond these walls….”
Half-convinced his own career was at an end, anyway, Archer wanted to say yes. But he’d already done so much damage—
Marshall shifted, an infinitesimal degree, and his hands dropped away. “I’m sorry, Davy. This must be hell for you. I don’t mean to make it worse. It’s your decision.” He shifted again, taking the warmth with him. The loss was so great Archer nearly cried out. “But you must decide now. We’ve only an hour or two till dawn, and by this time tomorrow, we may be off this damned tub.”
Archer sat locked in an agony of indecision. “I don’t want to be like him,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You aren’t. You couldn’t. What he’s done was against your will—nothing you wanted. If this is what you want, yes, so do I. There’s your difference.” Marshall gave him his own words back. “But not unless you choose it. I don’t want to hurt you either, Davy. I’ll—” He seemed to be having trouble with a word. “I’ll love you either way. You must know our friendship will hold, whatever you choose.”
Archer could no more stop himself than he could fly. He was drawn forward like iron to a magnet, and they melded together as though they were parts of one being. It was too dark to see anything at all anymore, and it was easier so. He rose to his knees to help William pull off his shirt, found his own sliding up too, and Will’s lips skimming across his collarbone, fingertips running lightly up his back. After the ordeal of unwanted attention forced upon him, of trying not to feel, the sensations were overwhelming. “Wait—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Only—slow down, Will. Let me show you?” He felt strange asking, even stranger being the one with more experience. First time for that. Even the girl he’d been briefly and disastrously involved with, before he joined the Navy, had known more than he.
“All right.” William lay back, letting him take the lead, responding enthusiastically to his kiss.
Archer moved down to kiss his throat, then back up to catch the gasp of pleasure with his own mouth. Throat, collarbone…. “There’s salt spray all over you, Will. You taste like the sea.”
“Davy.” His whisper was unsteady. “Would you mind if I touch you, too?”
How amazing and wonderful to be asked. He smiled against Will’s lips. “Please”—a kiss—“do.” He caught his breath as those warm hands slid down the sides of his chest, thumbs brushing the nipples.
“Does this feel good?”
In answer, Archer kissed down his throat, moved off to one side, and found a nipple with his tongue. William’s fingers dug into his hair. Archer moved to the other, easing his weight down, feeling William straining upward. Then he moved aside, skimming a hand up his hip, across his belly, covering the parted lips with his own.
“Did that feel good?” he teased.
“Oh, God—”
He let his hand rest on William’s fly buttons, feeling movement beneath. “You’re my senior officer,” he whispered. “There’s no need to salute.”
Will giggled, that silly sound so uncharacteristic of his usual serious demeanor. “You ass.” He caught Archer in a fierce hug and nipped his earlobe. “D’you realize I’ll never see a salute again without thinking—”
Archer would have thought humor would dispel passion. It worked the other way; a flurry of quick kisses and quiet, guarded laughter left him ravenous. For some time there was no question of who was leading or following. Lying side by side, their hands were all over each other, and at some point, their breeches came off. Instead of feeling vulnerable, he felt incredibly safe.
Such a strange contrast from what he’d been doing earlier, and all a matter of volition. No fear, no pain, no humiliation. It was as though William’s touch was cleansing away the others, like St. Elmo’s fire flickering over his body, passing back and forth between them, growing so intense he could stand it no longer. “Will, are you—?”
“Oh, yes.”
A brief, frustrating tussle while Marshall tried to pull him on top, and he discovered to his surprise he didn’t want to be there. There was something comforting about being held snug and safe, shielded from the world. “Will, please—”
“Davy—are you sure?”
“Yes—oh, damn it, come here!” He pulled Will down onto him, their bodies not quite matching, but the difference didn’t matter, Will’s long legs wrapped around his quite well, and they found the rhythm again, and shortly, apart from remembering he must keep quiet, Archer could not think at all.
Chapter 18
WHEN HIS breathing steadied, he brushed a wisp of hair out of William’s ear and whispered, “Was that what you had in mind?”
“Oh, God.” He rolled to one side, one arm still pillowing Archer’s head. “Oh, my God. I shall never have the strength to climb out that window. How can anyone… do this… on a regular basis?”
Archer stretched, luxuriating in the sense of well-being. William’s warmth upon him seemed to have melted all the ice out of his soul. “Quite cheerfully, I expect.” He kissed the edge of the shoulder nearest his lips, breathing in the unique, tantalizing scent. They had been in close quarters before, but he didn’t remember William smelling quite like this. Silly notion. They’d never been so close before, and certainly not like this.
“That’s probably another reason the crew’s always kept busy,” Marshall said thoughtfully. “Sex requires energy.”
Whatever he’d said about claiming this time for themselves, there was just some part of Will’s mind that was perpetually on duty. Archer suppressed a laugh and disentangled himself long enough to find their now completely bedraggled table napkin. He dipped it in the wash bucket and wiped himself off, then rinsed it again. “Brace yourself, Will, this is cold. No, let me.”
He washed a good deal more than was strictly necessary and much more carefully, backing away from places that seemed ticklish and lingering on others. By the time he was finished, he’d somehow wound up lying against William again, and he was beginning to notice some response in the nether regions.
“I didn’t think it would come back to life so quickly,” Marshall said. His hands drifted down Archer’s stomach, settled a little lower, fingers exploring so carefully it almost tickled. Almost. “Is this something else you were thinking of?”
Archer nearly couldn’t answer. It was a struggle to think coherently over the pleasure. “Yes. Do you think we have time?”
“They rang eight bells not long ago. A little time. What shall I do?” His fingers circled and closed gently.
Thank God William had been paying attention. Archer belatedly realized that a troop of Marines could have marched past the door and he would not have noticed. Would not notice now. “Nothing. Or whatever you want. Tell me if you don’t like it.”
He moved William’s hand away, reluctantly, and began a trail of kisses down his body, starting at his throat, letting his hands move in long, slow strokes. Will would like it. Archer had never encountered anything so completely overwhelming, ever before. Even from someone as hateful and contemptible as Adrian, it had shattered his control, broken him. He had been able to block out everything else. But when that bastard had tried to compel him to return it in kind, his body had revolted.
So why was he doing it now—and to someone he cared about?
This is different. He did care. He wasn’t frightened or numb or drugged. He was reveling in a gift freely given, in the sharp, fluttering breaths as William struggled to keep his voice in check. His flat belly quivered as Archer dipped his tongue into his navel and brushed his fingers up one thigh, cupping the soft weight of cock and balls in his palm as he reached the top.
“Davy, what—” A shuddering indrawn brea
th as Archer took him into his mouth, the body beneath him rising like a deep ocean swell. “No, that’s too… ohmigod.” The hands that were pushing him away suddenly pulled him closer, then fingers wove through his hair, holding but not confining, moving down to rest against the base of his neck, stroking lightly along his shoulders.
He rode the swell until it crested, absorbed in the sensations, the heat and smoothness and warm musky scent, delighting in William’s response, so he never thought of pulling away even when Will’s body stiffened, thrusting up, then relaxed with a long, deep sigh. Davy relaxed too, letting his cheek rest against the warm, smooth skin.
Suddenly William was sliding around beneath him, hands seeking, lips against his thigh. Fingers capturing him, a few tentative, galvanizing licks—Oh, no, he mustn’t, I can’t let him—“William, no, you don’t have to—”
He caught Archer’s hands. “Davy, when you did this, it felt wonderful. Don’t you like it?”
“It’s not that—” He felt vaguely that he didn’t deserve it, that he shouldn’t ask… but he hadn’t asked, had he? And if he had enjoyed the giving… “I—I didn’t mean that you should—”
“Shhh.” The cool breath made him tremble, and he let William gently put his hands aside. Then he was being drawn down into pleasure so overwhelming he could do nothing but feel. No need for resistance or denial. It was almost unbearable to be fully present in the face of such intense feeling, but worse to think of losing one instant of it. He reached out blindly, rubbing his face against the tight thigh muscles, nuzzling, kissing whatever he touched, blowing a thin stream of air that chilled the wet skin. He was a little surprised to find William rising to the occasion once more.
One last time. This would be the last time. With sudden urgency, he reached down to William’s hair, urging him up face-to-face despite his body’s insistent demand.
