The Captain and the Cavalry Trooper

by Catherine Curzon

  Jack fell out of the kiss, sighing, stroking Thorne’s erection within the tightness of his still-fastened trousers.

  “Do it again!”

  “Address your captain in the proper manner, Trooper.” Thorne whispered it, though, a delicious, warm command against Jack’s ear.

  “Captain Thorne, do it again—sir.”

  Jack had managed to pop open the fastening on Thorne’s trousers and he took his lover’s hard length in his fist, stroking as best he could with their bodies so closely pressed together. Thorne spanked him harder still, the warmth of desire flooding through Jack’s blood as Thorne’s hand fell again, even as his captain moaned wantonly into the kiss.

  Looping his leg over Thorne’s hip to keep him close, Jack shuddered, trying to hold Thorne’s face to his, desperate not to break the delicious kiss which seemed to have no end. And there, just a nudge between his buttocks, was the intimate touch of the very tip of Thorne’s finger. Jack’s hips moved a fraction backward, encouraging the approach.

  “Whatever happ—” Thorne silenced himself with a kiss, hunger and desperation in every moment of it. His finger pressed a little deeper, his body rising toward Jack.

  Jack’s hips twitched and rolled against the incursion. He wanted this, had hoped for it, had never thought he would ever find a man who could—oh, but it was true—love him like this.

  “Robert… Robert… I know we only met the other day, but I feel as if I’ve spent my whole life up to this very moment…missing you. You dear, darling man, my handsome captain, you complete me. But now we’ve found each other, we might only have a little while.” Tears were rising in Jack’s eyes. In his mind, he saw again Thorne’s palm, the fate line cutting through the line of heart. Severing asunder. “I live a hundred years in every second we have together. I want you. So bloody much I can scarce breathe. Robert, my darling captain…will you make love to your trooper, to your Jack?”

  “Jack—” Thorne caught the word in a swallow and let his forehead rest against Jack’s for a long moment, their gazes locked on each other. He drew in a deep breath, kissing Jack’s closed lips. “No matter what happens, what that palm of mine told you— The first time Apollo saw you, he adored you, Jack, with all his heart.”

  “And I adore him, with all my heart…with all my soul.”

  Then Thorne was kissing him as though they might never see each other again, as though the massed forces of the German army were at that moment marching along the driveway to the chateau to tear them from each other’s arms. He felt himself being eased back against the soft eiderdown, heard the whisper of fabric as the captain shed the opulent mess jacket, then Thorne’s arms were strong around him once more, the warmth of his naked skin enveloping Jack.

  For a few moments, perhaps a few days—maybe, God willing, for more years ahead of them both than they could count—they would be together. Limbs tangling, safe and loved and adored. Jack could feel the captain’s intimate touch again and he gasped until he had no breath left at the intensity of the pleasure he felt, at what it meant for this stern man to uncoil, just for him.

  “Jack…” His lips brushed down Jack’s throat, nuzzling and tasting. “My beautiful love.”

  Ruffling his hands through Thorne’s hair, Jack skimmed his bare ankle down his lover’s still-trousered leg. “Robert…let’s shove protocol away, let your trooper give you an order! I want you naked… I want to feel your skin against mine.”

  “Yes, sir!” The captain left him with a kiss and sat up to discard first one boot then the other. His eyes didn’t leave Jack as he slipped from the bed and slid the breeches down, taking his time with each movement.

  Jack propped himself up against the pillows and cushions, an arm thrown casually back, framing his head. He watched, and he savored every second. The naked body he had first seen emerging from a stream, the naked body that he had clung to through the night of the storm. And now, the naked body that was appearing just for him.

  Thorne had the physique of the Neptune on the fountain, toned and perfect, hewn and hard. Unlike Neptune, there were whispers of dark hair garlanding Thorne’s torso and on his strong legs and arms. And very much unlike Neptune indeed, the real man of flesh bore a splendid erection of impressive dimensions.

  Jack whispered, “Can I give you another order?”

  “Sir!” Jack snapped a salute.

  “Get back up onto this bed right now and ravish me, Captain.”

  “Never commence ravishment without checking your kit, Trooper Woodvine,” Thorne told him. Then he crossed to an ornate dressing table on which a vast triple mirror afforded Jack a look at Thorne once more, of both that torso that stilled his heart and the broad, muscular back exposed to him. The table’s polished surface was home to a rainbow of glass bottles and small, bright jars and it was one of these that he picked up before he returned to where Jack waited. Thorne’s gaze settled on him once more and he placed the emerald green jar down beside the bed then, with the softest kiss to Jack’s brow, slipped down to the bottom of the bed, where he bent his head to kiss Jack’s feet.

  Jack watched, spellbound, as his lover kissed across the bottom of his feet. Slowly, Thorne made his way to Jack’s ankles, running his tongue in circles around the delicate bones. Jack’s body stirred in response to the tantalizing caresses and Thorne kissed ever farther, his cheek brushing for a moment against the blond hairs on Jack’s legs, which in his desire were goosebumped. Higher still, inexorably Thorne came on, kissing Jack’s kneecaps, licking around to kiss the soft skin behind. Jack emitted a cry of joy at that, never thinking that it could be so tender to the touch. But perhaps it was only the touch of this man that could induce such warm intensity to flow in Jack’s veins.

  Thorne was now between Jack’s long legs, kissing his way along the tops of Jack’s slender thighs. His skin was on fire wherever Thorne’s lips and hands fell. Thorne went lower, kissing the soft flesh of Jack’s inner thighs.

  Putting his hands about Jack’s waist, Thorne looked deeply into Jack’s eyes. Then, with a moan in his throat, touched his tongue to Jack’s erection. In one slow, sinuous motion, the captain swirled his tongue from the tip of Jack’s cock to the base, softly stroking and teasing him before he retraced his path. Jack lifted his hips toward Thorne’s touch and stroked his tongue down and up once more. All the while, Thorne’s blazing dark eyes held him in their thrall.

  Then, slowly, gently, Thorne took just the tip of Jack’s erection between his pouting lips, as he slid lower, taking him fully into his mouth. All the time that magical tongue was teasing and tasting, driving Jack on through sensations he would hardly have dared to imagine, let alone dream of experiencing.

  Jack clutched the headboard as his hips rose again from the bed. Little sparks ran to and fro over Jack’s skin and with his free hand he caressed Robert’s face, his hair, his neck.

  “Darling Robert… My Captain… Oh, how I—” I love you. But the words wouldn’t form in his mouth. He could barely string a thought together with the increasing speed of the captain’s mouth, his lips and tongue carrying Jack far from the world, the war, the threat of that severed line on his palm. Thorne’s hands were as sure in their touch as his lips and with one palm still gripping his hip, the other slipped round his waist and lower, his fingers pressing softly between Jack’s buttocks again.

  Jack fought against his body’s insistence on collapsing into bliss, wanting the sensations to never end. But Thorne’s touch, turning so gently inside him, undid him. All of Jack’s muscles clenched at once then sprang back at his release and he saw nothing but an intense whiteness, as if a hundred doves had been set free from their cote together.

  He shuddered, moaning Robert’s names—Thorne, Captain, Robert, my love.

  Thorne embraced him, kissing Jack’s hair, and nuzzled close to his neck. Nothing could hurt them here, safe in this fairytale palace, in those strong arms, the sweet spice of his skin lingering in the air.

  For a moment Jack thought he
had drifted off to sleep. Thorne had turned him onto his side and when Jack’s eyes opened, he realized that he had been watching him.

  “I wasn’t asleep, not really…” Jack reached to kiss him. There was a lingering impression in his marrow that he had had a dream. A desolate space of mud…a woman in a strange cap…the lane that led up to the farm…a gray horse in a field…a strong arm about his waist.

  “You must be exhausted.” Thorne stroked his hair, his voice just a whisper. “Thank you, Jack, for sharing tonight with me.”

  “I don’t want to sleep. Not while I’m with you. I don’t want to waste a second. And besides…” Jack looked down, and with a smirk held Thorne’s gaze. “I can’t be that tired.”

  “What an eager soldier you are, Woodvine.” Thorne laughed. He skimmed one hand over Jack’s shoulder and inward to his nipple, teasing it between finger and thumb. His touch was as sure as it was gentle, tweaking and caressing the soft, stiff peak.

  Jack murmured into the kiss, rocking with pleasure against Thorne. He reached down between their bodies to stroke Thorne’s erection, deriving pleasure from his response. Delicious groans came from Thorne’s throat, making Jack stroke him faster, his grip tighter.

  A moment after Thorne lifted his hand from where it was resting on Jack’s back, he heard the sound of glass chinking on glass as the captain lifted the lid from that small, emerald green jar and set it down on the table. A lightly spiced scent filled the air and he recognized it as one of those that made up Thorne’s fragrance, the perfume that would forever send him into the memory of this man’s arms, no matter where life had taken them.

  “Are you going to ravish me, sir?”

  “Would it be a terrible disappointment if I made love to you instead?”

  Jack felt himself go rather pink. His captain, making love to him.

  “Not at all…not at all.”

  “That’s not a no to ravishment, by the way.” The captain’s face lit up with a wolfish smile in the moments before their lips met and Jack sighed at the sensation of Thorne’s tongue exploring their kiss, claiming him once more. When he felt his lover’s hand on his buttock this time he gave a gasp of pleased surprise at the sensation of the jar’s contents against his bare skin. It was a soft, scented cream, though it was nothing like the sensible cold lotions that he had seen Mrs. Byatt rub into her hands after she had finished the laundry, as exotic as the housekeeper’s were domestic.

  Captain R. B. Thorne worked his elegant, strong hands about Jack’s buttocks with the same assured deftness as he had massaged Jack’s shoulders. But this was a world away from the grooms’ attic quarters, as Jack and Thorne lay together naked on the exquisite silk quilt. He could quite happily have spent what remained of the night like this, but knowing it was the prelude to something else made Jack’s enjoyment all the more intense.

  The captain’s second incursion was as gentle as the first, but the lotion made the sensation even smoother. Gently he moved, stroking and exploring, the soft silence punctuated only by their shared breaths and those occasional, enchanting moans. Jack caught Thorne’s rhythm and moved his hips against him.

  “Another, Robert… Am I greedy to want another?”

  Thorne was admirably quick to grant the request, the two fingers moving with confidence as the captain’s kisses grew even fiercer.

  Jack’s entire world had collapsed in on this one place, this enormous bed where two bodies met, where lust and affection combined, where unsung need was met. Tomorrow might soon brighten at the window, but tomorrow could go hang.

  Cupping Thorne’s jaw as he kissed him, Jack slipped his mouth away for a moment. He was almost breathless as he ran his touch along Thorne’s erection. “Darling, darling Robert—I’m ready.”

  And he knew that Thorne was too.

  “My beautiful gypsy,” Thorne murmured, very gently withdrawing his hand and returning it to rest on Jack’s hip. He eased Jack back against the luxuriant pillows and Jack looked up into his lover’s dark eyes as the captain moved over him, seeing passion flaring in the depths.

  The hand that rested on Jack’s hip lifted him slightly before Thorne’s lips were at his ear, nuzzling and tasting. He toyed with Jack’s nipple even as he pressed their bodies closer.

  Jack was alert to the closeness of their bodies, to the heat of his skin. So softly that Jack almost couldn’t discern the moment at which it happened, Thorne nudged just a little and their bodies were joined. He paused for a moment, as if allowing Jack to become accustomed to the new sensation, then as he moved slowly farther inside him, it seemed to Jack impossible that they could ever be severed.

  ‘We make our own fate.’

  It was true—Jack had made the choice not to hide from how he felt, from what everyone else said was wrong. He had found someone who felt the same, and it was his chance to love and be loved. Even if they only had a sliver of time.

  But what if it was fate, after all? Because how else had they found each other?

  Perhaps they wouldn’t be lost after all. Fate and the universe could not be so cruel.

  There was poetry in every kiss, every touch, a gentle unheard music between them in the tender rhythm of his captain’s movements. If this was his last night on earth, he could think of no better way to spend it, and no one with whom he would rather share his last breath, his last kiss.

  The stern captain had almost vanished, present only in the might of Thorne’s love, his determination rendered delicate by Jack. A peacock tamed by a horse-whisperer.

  Jack embraced him with his arms around his shoulders, his legs canted up and crossed about his waist. There was no possible way to be closer.

  Thorne’s hand closed around Jack’s erection, matching the pace and rhythm of their hips, as sure as a virtuoso. Their shadows danced as one in the candlelight, their breaths and sighs a shared song.

  Not quite knowing where his body ended and his lover’s began, Jack felt a spasm of bliss catch them both. Jack’s vision was filled with stars, brighter than the glass drops of the chateau’s chandeliers, a galaxy of suns and stars and other worlds. He was pulled shuddering into a luminous place, and Thorne was there with him.

  Long moments—was it minutes?—of bliss passed as he lay there, Captain Robert B. Thorne’s strong arms around him, their lips still exchanging the softest kisses. Eventually Thorne shifted just enough to bring his mouth against Jack’s ear and whisper one word, full of mischief and sheer joy.

  “Brereton.”

  “Brereton?” Jack shook with laughter. He adopted a mock-nasal tone. “I say, old boy, my name is Brereton. I have two thousand pounds invested in the three-per-cent consuls and a Palladian mansion with a fine stable of horses!”

  Even as he said it, however, Jack wondered if he should joke. Perhaps Thorne—Captain Robert Brereton Thorne—really did have all the trappings of a life that Jack could never begin to understand. For a moment a rueful twinge caught him, but as it was, that very same man with the plummy middle name was lying naked on top of him, their sweat cooling on each other’s skin. The trappings of rank and class didn’t matter here.

  “Sorry, dear old Robert, darling… I didn’t mean to mock. My middle name’s Forrester—as you probably saw on my papers, along with my height and my god-knows-what. I should emigrate to Canada and become a lumberjack.”

  “You don’t follow politics, do you, Jack?” Thorne lifted his head to look down at him with dancing eyes. “Strictly speaking, I’m not only Captain Robert Brereton Thorne. I’m Captain the Honorable Robert Brereton Thorne. You should probably bow to me and carry my sedan chair around the fleshpots of Paris.”

  “Well, you’re not very honorable at the moment, are you, romping with a groom? In fact, I’d say you’re Captain the Extremely Dishonorable and Rakish Robert Brereton Thorne right now.”

  “I’m exceptionally honorable. Dishonorable would have been a quick roll in the hay!” Thorne laughed. “This is the bed in which Paul Barras got his first look of Josephi
ne’s garters. It’s history, Trooper!”

  With his arm still around Jack’s shoulders, Thorne shifted to settle on the mattress. As he dragged the soft blankets over their naked skin, he told him, “My father is Viscount Brereton, so I shall tell Mother that you think her voice is splendid and Father that you think his name is absurd.”

  “I somehow doubt he’ll care for the opinion of a farmer’s lad from the back of beyond. He won’t be shedding any tears over me. Unless I steal you away from a marriage to a princess.”

  “He married an actress of dubious and slightly confusing Portuguese heritage. I’ll wager you didn’t know that Antonia was anything but an English rose.” Thorne smiled. “They were very scandalous once upon a time.”

  “I had no idea! And you, the son of scandal. Well, perhaps I should’ve guessed.” Jack snuggled into Thorne’s body, safe there, comforted. “There’s nothing scandalous at all about my family. Even my mother’s gypsy blood goes unremarked. Although… I have sometimes wondered about Mrs. Byatt and my dad!” As Jack began to doze, his voice seemed to come from some distance away. “Of course, you’d have to meet them both to find that amusing… And I’m not quite sure what I’d say to introduce you to them.”

  “I should tell you that I’m the younger son,” he heard Thorne murmur lightly. “You’ll never be a viscountess.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In rooms that had once housed the doomed monarchs of the Bourbon dynasty, their grandest inhabitant now sat against the pillows in an opulent four-poster bed, elegantly smoking an expensive cigarette. Queenie felt far more at home here than he ever had in dull old Oxford or gray old London, and it was right that he be on the arm of a general. At least until a field marshal came up for grabs. He glanced at Bowes-Fitzgerald, his head resting on the pillow beside Queenie, and thought how old the general was looking these days—far older than he had during their assignations in the pre-war city.