by Vivienne Cox
“Ah…”
“Still, they won’t do anything daft.”
“Not even the woman who, I believe, wanted me thrown into the ocean.”
“Ah, ye heard that. I did wonder. They would argue over you like you were already fit for a winding sheet.”
“I’m not sure she was caring to wait that long.” Thomas thought back, though the memories of so much of that time were hazy, he recalled the voices speaking over him with clarity. “Though in her favour I think I was closer to being dead than I was to living.”
“A fine fight I had with you. You can scare a man like that, Jamie. I’d be obliged if ye didn’t do it again.”
“I will endeavour not to, Captain.”
Satisfied, Alexander nodded. “That’s settled. Now, into the tub with ye.”
Unfastening the buttons on his breeches, Thomas nodded at the water. “What about you?”
“Later, though I usually prefer my water salt.”
“As in the sea – where there are sharks?”
Shaking his head, Alexander sighed. “There are places where the sharks don’t go, and the water is warm and clear enough to see fifty feet ahead. You’ll love it.”
“Will I?”
Alexander frowned. Head tilted to one side he looked disbelieving. “Unless ye can’t swim.”
“I can swim, Alexander. I had no desire to drown if I ever fell in the sea, so I taught myself as soon as I knew I was going to be a sailor.”
“That’s all right, then.”
“So one day I’m going swimming with you?” It was all very confusing.
“Oh yes. But first you’re getting the rest of the way out of those clothes and getting’ in the water before all the work of the crew – who as you noted were none too pleased at the task to begin with – goes to waste an’ it gets stone cold.”
“You ever take breath?”
“Waste of time. Now – get in!”
Smothering a smile, Thomas stepped out of the breeches and slid the shirt off his arms. Naked, curiously unnerved by the proximity of the other man, he stepped quickly into the water. Some sloshed over the side as he settled, knees bent, his head level with the tub’s rim as he sat back groaning.
“Good?”
“Perfect.” It really was. The ship rode the waves very sweetly, and lying back, looking past Alexander to the tall windows, and through them to the sea and sky, he felt an emotion so strange that it took a long moment for him to understand what it was. With realisation came wonderment, so much so that he wanted to hug with amazement everything around him, from the day, the time, the sheer vibrancy of being alive, to the man standing over him.
So this was how it felt; happiness.
Strange to find it somewhere so foreign to everything he had worked for. Everything his life was supposed to mean.
“What’re ye thinking, Jamie.”
Rolling his head to one side, slightly giddy with exhaustion, he smiled up at the fine, concerned face. “Strangely, I’m thinking that I’m happy.”
“Strange?” A slight frown slid between Alexander’s brows.
“Strange. Yes. ‘Tis not something I knew I was lacking, but apparently so.”
Shaking his head, beads and coins jingling, Alexander looked close to disbelieving. “If all it took was a bath, Jamie, well…”
“I think it is more than just that.”
There. An admission. He swallowed, and turned his face away. At once he started to clumsily undo the bandages around his wrists.
A hand stilled him, the fingers gentle, though the feeling of it made his whole skin tingle. “James.” Just his name, spoken softly. Thomas looked up, feeling hollow inside. “Yes?” “Let me?”
Ah yes, that was what his lungs were for. Breathing again, Thomas held up his arm, watching as the long fingers stripped the dressing away, cautious at the last, peeling the strip of cotton away from healing skin. A gesture, and Thomas lifted his other arm, water dripping back into the bath, to reach across and let Alexander work on that one as well.
“Don’t soak them too long.”
“No.”
“And Jamie?”
“Aye?”
“I’m happy too.” And bending, the pirate captain kissed him, his lips warm and sweet, tasting of sunshine and rum, of salt and the spice that was himself.
Thomas shivered, and brushed his fingers against the long neck, marvelling when his touch caused the other man to shiver in return. He parted his lips, and sighed as the kiss deepened. Under the water, his cock stirred and, wanton, he moaned helplessly into the other man’s mouth.
Leaning back, wide eyed, his lips wet, Alexander shook his head. “Bath first.”
“Tyrant.”
“Captain…”
“Hah.” Swallowing as he slid his arms back into the water, Thomas let his head rest on the bath.
He watched as Cruise went to the table, returning with something in his hand.
“Soap. Knew it might come in handy when I found it in Barbossa’s effects.” He winced. “Hope that don’t put you off?”
“No, truly.” Nothing could put him off. Though the memory of Barbossa and the appalling fight with the skeletal crew rode high on his lift of worst days ever, too much had happened since for the memory to hurt. He took the offering from Alexander’s hands and sniffed it. Not lavender, more rose. A woman’s scent, not that it mattered. He sank further down and let the water’s warmth ease his limbs as the kiss had eased his soul. Pleasure simply given, yet more complex than alchemy. “Thank you.”
“For the bath? Don’t thank me, I just gave the order.” “For that. And just for the kind thought.”
For once, Thomas knew he had disconcerted Alexander, and he wondered if, under the paint and sun-tanned skin, the pirate was colouring with embarrassment.
“Well… I was bored with washing you in bed.”
“Did you?”
Alexander nodded agreement. “You were making the linen grubby.”
“Oh.” Thomas started to soap his arms, working slowly and gently around the healing skin. “Who does your laundry?”
“There’s a boy, he sees to things like that.”
“The one who seems to be almost pleasant to me?”
“Aye, he’s new. Probably don’t know your hobbies.”
“One man to whom I am not an ogre, then.”
“There’s another.” Alexander grinned. “No, not me – though I don’t think of you as an ogre either, come to think on it. Remember back in Santo Domingo, the boy who helped you? Nice child, name of Adebayo Smith, terrified of O’Connell?” Thomas nodded, looking up briefly from washing his feet. “Well, he tried to help again, and I told ‘im to run. If ‘e makes it, we’ll pick ‘im up in Port Wiley.”
“You’re a kind man, Alexander Cruise.” And a mystery with a thousand layers. Kind, good, fine and a pirate. What sense was there in any of it?
“Kind? I just needed another crew member.”
“Of course.” Trying to not laugh, Thomas ducked his head under the surface. He came up in a splash of water, a small wave just missing a nimble footed Alexander. Awkward, his arms weighted as if with lead, he began to work the soap through his short, sweat-matted hair.
“Come on, let me.” And the soap was taken, and to his great delight Thomas found himself attended by careful hands that rubbed the soap through his hair, massaging his scalp in a way that left his mouth dry and his body more alert than it had been in a long while. Relaxed and warm, he let himself be rinsed clean. He sat forward, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him. “Not yet – shave first.”
He had no objections. None at all. Especially as it seemed that Alexander was as skilled with a razor and strop as he was with knives and swords. Anything with a sharp edge then. Or maybe just anything. The pirate of a thousand skills. As the steady hands lathered his chin, he looked up at the braids dangling towards his face. Amber and silver, stone and glass. “Is each one a story?”
“These?�
� A shake of his head made them dance.
“Yes.”
“Mostly.” The long razor blade started on his skin. “I pick things up that I like. Sometimes I’m given them. There’s no rhyme or reason to it really.” One hand rested on Thomas’s neck, as the other swept the cold blade through his whiskers. Hot and cold, hot and cold. “Lift.” A touch under his chin and he tilted back. Alexander’s eyes met his, and smiled, the corners crinkling as though under direct sun. Thomas blinked, and closed his eyes as the blade moved on. Cheeks and neck, chin and jaw, the movement sweet and smooth, not even close to snagging his skin, not even the last remains of the cut over his mouth, or the bruises that still mottled his skin. When it was done, Alexander carefully towelled his face dry and patted his cheek. “Perfect.”
His fingers were wrinkled from the water, but he smoothed them over his cheeks. It was a better shave than from many a barber. “That feels wonderful, thank you.”
“Looks better too – you’re not a man for a beard, Jamie.”
“Unlike you?”
“Oh, I like these.” He tugged at the braids that dangled from his chin. “Exotic, don’t ye know.”
Thomas laughed. “Exotic?”
As if explaining to a child, Alexander spoke patiently. “Pirates need to be colourful – how else are we to be told one from another?”
“I can’t see you ever being confused with another.”
“Ah, but would ye be saying that were I just another would-be dandy like O’Connell?”
Thomas shuddered delicately. “There is no comparison. Ever.”
“Oh, I think so too, but thank you.” He bowed slightly, then held out a hand. “Out ye gets, or ye’ll be like a prune.”
“Too late.” Thomas held his hand out, palm first. “Though I’m a very clean prune.”
“My favourite kind, come on.” So Thomas offered his hand, and allowed himself to be helped upright. Water cascaded from his body, but he stood, his knees quite firm. Though they weakened considerably as Alexander eyed him, top to toe.
A mischievous grin, swift as a spark in the night, and Alexander took a pace back, allowing Thomas to step out of the tub. He dripped onto the Turkey carpet, upright, though Alexander held on, making sure his charge was steady before letting go. “There.” He reached for a cloth, and shaking it open, held it for Thomas, wrapping it around him, and hence surrounding him in his own arms as well.
“Alexander…” So close. Dark eyes, just there, serious, slightly narrowed. Thomas hesitated, then his mouth quirked into a smile. “For a pirate you make a very good manservant.”
“Hmm, used to this from your servants are ye?”
“Well, maybe not quite this level of intimacy.”
“What level would that be - this?” He rubbed his hands down Thomas’s back, the fingers only stilling when they cupped his arse. “Or this.” A shift of thigh and they were groin to groin.
“Ah, God.” He laughed softly, alight with joy. “That’s… good.”
“Good?” Alexander looked mildly indignant. “Good is nothing. Let’s get to my bed and I’ll show ye better.”
“Better?”
“Or possibly best – though that might have to be worked up to. When ye’re well.” A hand smoothed his cheek, and Thomas leant into the caress. “Jamie, the things we will do…”
Almost blind, Thomas nodded. “Anything.”
A laugh tickled his ear, and a warm tongue licked him. “Things you’ve never dreamed of.”
Thomas shivered once as Alexander pulled away, and let himself be led to the bedroom, to be laid on the bed. He stretched out, quite incapable of movement, or even any thought – if any purpose to that thought was required. He watched Alexander strip and come and lie next to him, warm as summer, hot-eyed as first love. Curling onto his side, Thomas slipped a hand around the slim waist and tilted his head, smiling as he was kissed softly.
“Jamie…” His name on Alexander’s lips as they touched his own. Thomas smiled again as an arm curled under his head and drew him close. “Sleep now.”
“No!” But the objection was soft, his body already half there, his arousal just enough to follow him through into a dream, a dream of Alexander and waves and sunlight, of the sweetness of serenity. Of dark eyes that glinted with mischief, and of a body that held him tight. Most of all the dream was of whispered secrets; words shared, spun from shadows and the past, wrought into a different meaning, one by one, like jewels taken from darkness into light.
He awoke once, very late. The sky outside the window was dark, cast about here and there with the brightness of stars. Thomas stirred gently, and felt the arms around him tighten. Alexander was dreaming, his face tight with tension, his skin damp with sweat. Turning a little, Thomas freed one arm and lifted it to smooth the deep frown. After a while the anxiety seemed to lift, and Alexander went back to sleeping more easily. Lying awake, Thomas watched him for a long while, before he too gradually slipped back into sleep.
::::
Chapter 19
The next morning he was on deck early. Claiming a spot by the stern he settled on the warm deck and put himself to the twin tasks of watching Alexander and reading Homer. Both were equally delightful, though in truth more time was spent at watching than at reading. Once or twice Alexander came to him, once with water for them to share, once just to sit with him for a while.
About midday he took a few turns of the deck, walking back and forth, around and about, testing his body. He even tried a few exercises, simple ones that stretched his limbs and joints, finally realising that he did trust his body to mend. The fear that had nagged him, that he would be partially crippled, never able to use his shoulders and wrists easily again, had gone. That morning he’d even left the bandages off and rolled his sleeves back, to let the air heal his lacerated skin.
But he still felt tired. And after a while he returned to his bed and slept, waking to Alexander’s presence and a tray laden with goat stew, bread, cheese and fruit. When the remains were gone, Alexander leaving the tray outside the door as was his habit, Thomas stood up, purposefully naked. He was still tired, yet it was as if every part of his body was at war with itself; exhaustion and desire battling it out, with desire the victor. When Alexander returned, Thomas simply stared at the pirate, and watched as Alexander closed the door, locking it, before turning to lean against the wood. Watching him, James hesitated, then walked slowly to him and brought up a hand to touch his shirt, just where the cotton opened and the inky mark of a tattoo peeked out.
Taking the hand, Alexander brought it up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles, the fingers, and laying his mouth on the curve of the palm, pressing it close to his flesh. James lifted his head, his blood running hot and fast. Lazily, he was pulled forward, and brought close. Kissed again, lips to palm, then lips to wrist, the touch tender against his scars. Cruise was so warm, his skin like honey left in the sun.
He felt no shame, no hypocrisy. This was what he wanted. That thought alone – that acceptance – was as liberating as chains cut from his soul. And he wanted Alexander Cruise naked as well. To see the skin he had touched. To have it all.
His fingers picked awkwardly at the small mother of Siren buttons that fastened Alexander’s shirt. One at a time he worked them free, pulling the shirt up, tugging until it was loose and open, skin golden and smooth before him. He bent then, and brushing cotton aside kissed a dark nipple, aware just before he lowered his head that Alexander’s eyes were closed, his face caught somewhere between delight and wonder. Well, James had his own skills. Unpractised as they were.
He licked, and felt the nipple tighten. Again, and Alexander arched back into the door, a soft gasp spilling from his lips. It was very sweet to induce such a response, sure as he was that the pirate was well versed in the all bedroom skills. Probably in some his own education had failed to mention, let alone supply.
“Jamie.”
“Mmm?” He raised his head, straightening as Alexander shifted, slipping
out of the shirt. Hands dropping to his breeches, he unfastened them and began to push them down, his cock pressing against them, darting up as it was freed. Thomas’s own flexed responsively at the sight.
“Bed.”
“Oh, yes…”
Pushed back, kissed on shoulder and neck, handled with care and sureness, he fell back into the soft mattress. Alexander followed him down, easing him back. Something sharp poked him, and with an impatient sound, Alexander lifted a hand and pulled off his scarf, the sea-urchin spine coming away with it, and tossed it all onto the floor. His hair spilled around his shoulders.
As Alexander leant over him, Thomas cupped his face, smoothing his thumb over a cheekbone, rubbing the paint that darkened the skin under the intensely focussed eyes. “You paint yourself like a savage. Why?”
Amusement was there. “Truth or legend?”
“Both.”
“It helps me see when the sun strikes blindingly off the sea. That’s truth. The legend is just in how it makes me look – exotic.”
“Oh, yes. Piratical.”
“Unique.”
“I like it.”
“You do?”
“Mmm, you’d look good painted and wigged for a London season.”
“Not wigged, please.”
“Painted then. Your hair combed and loose, the envy of every woman.” He ran his fingers through the dark mass, careful of the snags. “Your body dressed in silk and satin.”
“And you too?”
“Aye, My Lord Pirate. I could wear green and you could wear black. With silver.”
“Emeralds in my cravat and in my unpowdered hair.”
“Sapphires for me.”
“We could flirt outrageously and fuck behind a curtain while society danced demurely on the other side.”
“I’d kneel and suck your cock.”
“I’d hold your head, press you down, spill my seed in your mouth…” Alexander gasped then, as if the images were too strong. Almost moaning in need, Thomas pulled him down.
“Alexander, kiss me again.”
The pirate obeyed, his tongue opening James’ mouth, his breath hot. Pressing up, James licked past the open lips and delved into warmth. Not soft, the kiss was demanding. Beard rough against his skin, James rubbed into it like a cat craving attention, his own face unbearably sensitive after the shaving. Alexander sucked his lower lip, teeth sharp and hard, biting deep enough to make James groan, his hips jerking upwards. Another bite, and intoxicated, he moaned again, the echo spinning back into his own mouth. Oh, the man was skilled; the kiss took him apart, explored him, scoured him clean of everything but the immediacy of desire, until he was whimpering, hands scraping at Alexander’s skin, begging, pleading… until pity let the kiss end, and Alexander was leaning over him again, his own eyes wide, needy, his mouth wet, reddened.
