by Lee Rowan
“Do you want to stay?”
In answer, Davy put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. Marshall was so cold from his long day on deck that his body was drawn to the warmth as much as anything. The closeness, the taste of Davy’s mouth, woke a longing that he thought he had mastered, and he took his lover into his arms. A month! Had it really been that long?
When they stopped for breath, Davy said, “In case you didn’t understand, that was ‘yes.’” He extricated himself from the embrace, dropped into a careless slouch on the storage locker that served as a bench along the stern. It was a wanton slouch; it was a posture that said, Come alongside, I’m prepared to be boarded. “But only if I’m wanted.”
Marshall sat beside him, telling himself that they had to sit close so they could speak without being overheard. “How can you doubt that?”
Davy wasn’t giving an inch. “How can I not? You haven’t touched me since we last discussed the matter. For all I know, you’ve taken it upon yourself to feel guilty that I was shot back in the Indies—”
The accusation was so dead-on that Marshall looked away.
“—and decided to punish yourself with a vow of celibacy.”
“Davy, I—”
“And it never occurred to you,” Davy continued, somewhat plaintively, “that you were also punishing me.” He grimaced comically, in contrast to his tone.
“Davy, I never intended any such thing! It’s not—I only—” He ran out of protests and stopped to collect himself. Davy said nothing, merely waited. “I had not realized what a weight command would be. I am concerned about setting a good example for the crew. It seems difficult to find a time to be private.” Even in his own ears, the excuses sounded hollow.
“Now you’re prevaricating, Captain Marshall. Since we occupy the same cabin, opportunity seems to me to be the least of our difficulties.” Davy took Will’s hand, chafing life back into his half-numb fingers. “I have begun to wonder if I’ve somehow overstayed my welcome in your life. Étienne Beauchene… is a very attractive man. He wants you—I think he may even love you. And if I had died in Kingston, you’d be free.”
Something wrenched in Will’s chest. “No! Please, don’t say such things.” The very thought was like a knife in his heart. “Yes, Étienne is a good man… and if I did not love you, I would find him attractive. But—Davy, if you had died, I’d be as near dead myself as makes no difference. I lived for duty, from the time I left you in Jamaica. I think death would have been easier.”
“And I can tell you from some experience that you’re right. So tell me, please—” His fingers closed around Marshall’s, holding tight. “Why do you push me away?”
“I want you safe!” Marshall blurted out, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Oh, Will.” Davy shook his head, smiling. “There is no safety outside the grave. At sea, at war… I could be shot, or run through, or blown up, or drowned.”
“Exactly.”
“But ashore, I could catch my death of cold, be run down by a horse, murdered by thieves, struck by lightning—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
“No, honestly. I lost an uncle to a lightning strike. Kit’s father was walking across his own lawn, and—”
“Damn it, I don’t care if he was eaten by a tiger on London Bridge. Your chances of survival are better ashore.”
“And so are yours! What would you have me do, Will, wall myself up in a monastery?” He leaned in for another kiss, a mere brushing of lips. “I don’t think I could adapt to such a life. I would only corrupt the monks and be hanged for my pains.”
Marshall was riven. Part of him was thrilled to know that his lover wanted to stay. Part of him wished that were not the case, and he felt ashamed for wanting Davy at his side despite the danger.
“Is there nothing I can say to make you reconsider?”
Davy shook his head. “No. Well, actually, yes. Look at me—” He touched Marshall’s cheek, turned his face slightly so their eyes met. “Look at me, Will, and tell me you no longer care for me. If you can tell me that, and mean it, I’ll remove myself as fast as ever I can.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “But I will know if you’re lying.”
It would only take a few words, and Davy would be safe. But with his eyes held by that merciless blue gaze, Will could not utter them. After a long, wordless moment, Will gave up. “I lost you twice in Kingston. I think once more would kill me.”
“You have a risky job, Captain. That scraper you’ll be wearing will make you a much better target than I. There’s just as good a chance I could see you killed in action.”
“Yes, but I—” Marshall turned, smiling ruefully at what he was about to say. “I wouldn’t have to live through that. Ah, Davy… I never used to understand the notion of having a hostage to fortune. Now I do. And I hate it.”
Davy looked up at him. “Is loneliness any better? Sooner or later, yes, one of us will die. It could be today, or next month, or fifty years from now, in peaceful sleep or the heat of battle. There’s no way of knowing.” He stood, blocking Marshall’s restless wandering. “Would you forsake joy because there will someday be pain? Right now, at this moment, England is at peace and we are together. Why waste the time we have?”
He could not argue the sense of that, and Davy’s face was so close…. He bent his head; Davy flowed into his arms. After a time, Marshall sighed and decided on a strategic retreat from a battle he could not possibly win. “You said that you had news. What is it?”
“Oh, that.” With a smile, Davy patted his pocket. “Remember when we discussed the possibilities for my future career? I had in mind to become a ship’s master under your command.”
“It would be a waste of your training,” Will said. “You’ll be a lieutenant again, Davy, once the Peace breaks. Higher rank, with chance for advancement.”
“True, but if I were to advance from that rank, I’d be forced to take on a ship of my own, and we’d be apart until you became an Admiral. I’ve never seen the barky I’d take in trade for you. But look!” He produced a folded parchment with a flourish.
Though its seal had been broken, Marshall recognized it as an official document from the Admiralty. He sat on the bench to examine it more closely, recognizing what exactly it contained.
“This certifies your qualification as a ship’s master?”
Davy grinned, sitting close beside him. “Don’t look so bottle-headed! Everyone knows what Boney’s up to, and where’s the harm in assuring there are qualified navigators to spare?”
“How did you manage this?” Will asked. “Without my knowing?”
“Kit, of course. It was no great trick for Baron Guilford to ask a favor and get his upstart cousin certified as a warrant officer. Particularly since Sir Percy and Captain Smith were ready to assure the Admiralty that I actually was qualified. Percy’s only seconding what Sir Paul says, of course, but after what he and Mr. Drinkwater put me through before my Lieutenant’s examination, I deserve it! Or should I say, the three of you deserve it?”
“I think we all do.” Navigational mathematics had not been Davy’s strong suit, but between Marshall’s tutoring, Drinkwater’s patience, and Captain Smith’s quizzes, he had finally learned what he needed to know. And Will had some fond memories of “tutoring” Davy in the small hours, in quiet spots aboard the Calypso.
“So then, Captain Marshall… allow me to apply for the post of Ship’s Master when you finally get your official command.”
“That’s ‘if,’ Mr. St. John,” Marshall corrected.
“If and when, and I’ll bet you a shilling it’s before Midsummer Day.”
“Done. I can always use the money.”
They shook hands with mock-solemnity, and Davy let his breath out in a tremendous whoosh. “Will. On the subject of danger, sharing of—have we argued the case sufficiently to put it to rest, once and for all?”
It was a fair question, though Will knew that he would neve
r cease worrying. “I think so. As long as fear for your safety does not affect my ability to command.”
“Do you think it might?”
“I don’t know, Davy. I should hope not, but I cannot be sure. I think that it might. You mean more to me than any man aboard, or all the crew together.” Or the ship itself, come to that. There was nothing in the world more important to Marshall than David Archer himself.
“We’ll deal with it when we must, then,” Davy said. “If, and when. If my presence does interfere with your command, I should have to go ashore. That would endanger the entire ship and crew. But knowing you, I don’t believe it will. In the heat of battle, I could dance naked on the quarterdeck and you wouldn’t notice.”
“I believe we can forego that experiment, sir!”
“I believe we had better. I shouldn’t want to risk losing any significant body parts.” He rested a hand on Will’s knee and began to slide it slowly upward. “I would prefer to engage in other experiments, such as determining how long you can hold back after a month’s abstinence.”
“As long as you, I’ll wager!”
“I shouldn’t advise it.” The hand found its target, and Marshall found himself standing at attention while leaning back against the hull. “I’ve been keeping in practice,” Davy murmured against his mouth, “and I’m quite certain you have not!”
Marshall groaned as his body responded. “What? Not now!”
“Why not?” He had the flap of Will’s trousers unbuttoned and had somehow worked his fingers inside his drawers.
“It’s nearly time for the men’s supper! Oh! God, yes… Davy, wait, I—I need to take the helm while they eat!”
“Will, you’re the Captain!”
“Yes, but—”
“The men won’t be messing for half an hour.”
“But—”
Davy got his left arm around Marshall’s shoulders while his free hand played merry hell with his captain’s composure. “Rank has its privileges!” he said, and put an end to the conversation.
There was something extremely persuasive about the way Davy kissed. No nonsense, no question of what he had in mind, and no time wasted as he finished unbuttoning the underwear and freed Will’s suddenly sensitive cock. The feel of Davy’s fingers closing tightly around it, his thumb rubbing slowly over the tip, moistening it in the cool air of the cabin, banished all other thought. Marshall felt himself shivering in anticipation as Davy’s tongue carefully explored his mouth.
No matter how many times they did this, or under what circumstances, he was always a little in awe of his lover’s enthusiasm. Not that he himself was reluctant, but in loveplay he often felt a bit embarrassed at his body’s reactions and undignified behavior. What attraction Davy saw in a big-nosed, sharp-shinned scarecrow, he could not begin to imagine.
Davy, though—even with his golden hair cut so short it only brushed his collar, he had a beauty of grace and form that must surely win the love of anyone who saw him. His smile could melt a block of ice.
He was grinning now, the rascal, as he pulled back to assess the havoc he’d wrought. Continuing his slow, rhythmic caress of Marshall’s cock, he asked, “Do you suppose you could spare a few minutes before you attend to the crew?”
With one arm pinned between them, Marshall had to satisfy himself with a grab for his lover’s thigh. “You’ve raised the problem,” he said, “you’d better deal with it.”
Davy stood, slipping off his own shoes, and took hold of Marshall’s waistband. “Raise up?”
When he did, Davy slid Will’s trousers down around his knees, then loosened his own, and in a moment, they were writhing together on the narrow bench, dignity thrown to the wind. It would’ve made more sense to balance on the cot, but that would have required getting up, and right now the only thing that mattered was the hot, smooth length of Davy’s cock sliding against his own, the pressure of his weight not quite enough, grabbing that beautiful arse with both hands and pulling Davy closer as they bucked together.
They had learned silence over the years; they could make love with no more noise than a bit of heavy breathing. But it had been a month, and Marshall found himself reaching the peak faster than he’d meant to, gasping in surprise when he felt his body spasm in release.
Davy bit his shoulder an instant later, then quieted. “Well,” he said, taking some of his weight on his arms. “Lucky I didn’t take that bet—though I do think you fired first!”
“It’s not the same, alone,” Marshall said. He ran a hand through Davy’s hair. “Thank you for reminding me.”
“My pleasure, Captain.” Davy pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and tidied them both. “May I invite you to a return engagement later this evening, after the crew has been fed and watered?”
He pulled himself back together swiftly, while Marshall was still luxuriating in the sense of well-being and fumbling with his drawers. “You may.” He managed to balance with one hand against the hull while Davy helped tug his trousers back up. “In fact, I shall make amends to you for treating you so shabbily this past month. You must decide what you would like as your Christmas present. On Christmas night, after the men have had their treat, you will have yours.”
That grin could be genuinely wicked. “With bells on?” Davy asked.
“I’m afraid not. Bells would be too noisy.” That was safest, Will thought. It would not do to ask just what Davy thought the bells might be affixed to.
Chapter 12
THE CREW maintained a respectful silence while Captain Marshall read the Nativity from the Gospel of St. Luke. They enjoyed their feast down to the last mug of beer, exchanged small presents among themselves, then cleared the deck for dancing.
Despite the horrible noises Angus MacIvor scraped out of his fiddle, Marshall managed to enjoy the Christmas festivities. He found himself almost oblivious to the raucous screech, and even to the men capering on deck. He and Davy were sharing a bottle of wine. He’d given the men an extra ration of rum, which most of them preferred to wine anyway. The men were merry, though not drunk, but Marshall was still nursing his first glass, preoccupied with what Davy might ask of him once they’d retired to their cabin.
Davy seemed to sense his thoughtfulness. He joined in some of the Christmas carols, but every once in a while, he would shoot a quick look from those blue eyes, a look that sent fire down to the pit of Marshall’s belly.
What was he going to ask?
Most of their trysts had been brief, limited to a few moments stolen from their duties, when they could find a bit of quiet and privacy, but every so often, they’d had overnight shore leaves. They’d always gone through the precautionary sham of hiring a girl, then smuggling her out as fast as they could so they could spend the rest of the time exploring one another’s bodies.
Dear God, they had been so young, back then. So young, so naïve… and so randy. The first time they had all night together, they had barely slept at all.
The last time… the last time they’d had days to spend together, they had both thought it would be the last time they’d ever see one another. They’d spent five blessed days at Lord Christopher St. John’s estate in Jamaica, rediscovering each other and saying farewell. They had slept quite a lot then; Marshall had been exhausted by the weight of his first command, coupled with fear for his convalescent lover, and Davy had more enthusiasm than stamina. Every time they’d made love, it had seemed to wear him out, but that never stopped him for long. They’d done things that last night that they’d never done before or since. The night Will had been given command of the Mermaid, there had been so much to do that their reunion had been a poor imitation of what it should have been.
What would Davy ask? He liked it when they were both naked. So did Marshall, come to that, but he was always a little uneasy aboard ship, and he usually had at least his nightshirt on when they were together. Their cabin, like the Mermaid herself, was beautifully constructed but quite small, and the cots slung on either side
made it difficult to brace oneself. Though Marshall had some theories he wanted to test, an interesting notion that would make good use of the physics of a suspended bed. The curves of curvature….
He cleared his throat as the thought of Davy’s tempting arse swinging back and forth began to produce a trophy he didn’t want to display on deck.
As though hearing the thought, Davy looked up and grinned. “Penny for your thoughts, Captain?”
He narrowed his eyes. If Davy had learned to read minds, he should be hearing, I’ll get even with you for that one! But in a way, it gave him the chance to say a few words without having to make a speech, and the men would appreciate that too.
“I was thinking,” he said, noticing how the men quickly fell silent, “that in the ten years I’ve spent at sea—” He nodded to Barrow and Klingler, who alone of the crew from the old Titan had known him as a green midshipman. “—I’ve never seen a happier Christmas, a better crew, nor a finer ship.” He raised his glass. “To your health, men, and a long, successful venture for us all!”
That brought a roar of approval, and three cheers for Captain Marshall, led by Barrow and joined enthusiastically by all the rest. MacIvor started sawing away again; Marshall recognized the first verse of the old song about a very dangerous female.
It was a cloudy morn when we set sail
and we were not far from the land
when our captain he spied a fishy mermaid
with a comb and a glass in her hand
Marshall would have chosen a different tune. He didn’t much like the story this song told—the unnamed ship in the tale wound up sinking to the bottom of the sea.
Davy rose and wandered over to lean against the railing where Marshall stood. “Pay attention,” he said under his breath. “They’ve rewritten it for you.”
Marshall set his teeth against the screeching violin and managed what he hoped looked like a smile.
