by Lee Rowan
“Yes!” Archer said, and leaned over to kiss him. It was a dream, no doubt, and wholly insubstantial, but it felt real enough, the arms around him strong and warm… and their actions tore a scream of rage from Correy.
Will pulled back, with the beautiful, relaxed smile he never wore in life, that only showed in dreams. “Davy, even if this is only a dream—I love you.”
“Yes,” Archer said again. “Yes. We’re only dreaming, it’s safe here. Oh, God, I love you!” He leaned back against the mast, pulling Will to him, somehow not surprised at all to find their clothes gone. And then there was nothing but Will and a joyful urgency that left no room for anything else.
At some point Correy ceased to matter; whatever tie had drawn him seemed to have melted away in this warmth. He was no longer important, or frightening, or even very real. A curse, a wail of thwarted fury, and he was gone. Forever, Archer guessed.
They lay together for a very long time, holding each other, exploring, laughing like youngsters at the way their bodies leaped to attention at the merest touch, finding the touches that banished rational thought.
And then, slowly, a sense of time began to make itself felt. The night was passing.
Will gazed out over the ocean, at the swirling mist reflecting the bright full moon. “So this is all just a dream?” His fingers brushed Davy’s cheek, and Davy turned into the caress, leaving a kiss in his palm.
“I cannot think what else to call it. I know this is not physically real.” But it felt real; it felt more genuine than anything that had ever happened before, and more wonderful. But no, it was not real. And it was not going to last. He could feel time slipping away like sand beneath his feet. “It’s real to me, Will. I love you. That’s real enough.”
Will’s dark eyes were luminous in the moonlight. “Do you think we’ll remember?”
“I suppose not.” I will remember, he swore to himself. As I remember to breathe, I will remember this. But he knew, somehow, that Will would not. The whole notion would be too strange, the intimacy too threatening to Will’s essentially cautious nature. And in truth, to make this physically real would be deadly dangerous for them both, under the Articles of War.
His essentially cautious friend suddenly caught him in a fierce embrace, his warmth and scent as tangible as a heartbeat. “God, Davy, I don’t want to lose this, I had no idea….” Their kiss was long and deep, and Archer had a strange sense that the two of them were almost merging into each other. Perhaps souls could do that; he didn’t know. But hold on as he might, his lover was slipping away.
“Will, we can always dream,” he said quickly. “Whatever happens in waking, let us try to meet in dreams.”
“Here, in the fighting top?” Will said into his hair.
“Yes. Yes, or anywhere. Wherever you like.”
“Oh, God.” Will pulled him close, as though sensing the impending separation. “Davy, what’s happening? I can’t feel you—”
And he was gone, suddenly, as the ship’s bell sounded the inexorable end of one watch and beginning of the next. Will would be going on duty; he always did seem to be awake just before the bell sounded his watch. This watch would see the sunrise too. That made no sense, given where the moon seemed to be, but who ever said the planets behaved sensibly in dreams?
Archer decided to share the sunrise with Will, even if no memories accompanied it. He drifted down toward the deck, barely touching the shrouds, then felt a wrenching dislocation, felt himself falling—
And sat up clutching at the edges of his hammock.
ARCHER DRESSED quickly and made his way above deck, surprised at how damp and chilly the air was to his wakened body. He felt heavier too, less aware. He was a little surprised to find that he could no longer sense where Will was just by thinking of him. How strange, to feel that his physical body could be a constraint—and to realize how easily he had adjusted to being outside it.
But Will was where he ought to be, of course, standing on the quarterdeck, his attention focused on the binnacle, checking the compass, since he had just taken over the watch. He nodded when Archer came up. “You’re up early, Davy.”
“Halloween dreams. I couldn’t sleep.”
Will smiled crookedly. “I had strange dreams too, I think. Don’t remember much.”
With the sense of Pandora admiring her gift box, Archer asked casually, “Goblins and ghosts?”
“Oh, worse than that. George Correy, of all people. Wanted to drag us down to Hell, or some such thing. Silly.”
“Us?”
“Yes. I suppose it makes sense—that always was his aim, wasn’t it? But we sent him packing.”
“How did we manage that?” Davy asked, half hoping to evoke the rest of the memory.
Will shook his head, smiling slightly. “I really can’t remember, Davy. Somehow, it just seemed that we were strong enough together that he could not even touch us.”
“A good dream, then,” Archer said neutrally.
Will’s smile widened, but there was still a distant look in his eyes, as though he sought what he could not recall. “Indeed it was.”
Archer rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, a brief touch, nothing in excess of friendship. “Let’s hope we have many more.” He bit his lip at the slip, but Will only nodded.
“Yes…. Oh, Davy, look!”
The sun had edged just above the horizon, and the eastern sky glowed in a dazzle of bright colors, the sun magnified in the misty air. Every shade of gold, pink, and violet sparkled against the water, a visual splendor to drive a painter mad with frustration. The light poured across the Calypso, gilding her sails and turning her very halyards into cords of gold. For one instant, all the bustle on deck ceased, every soul aboard stopping to acknowledge the sun’s glory.
“Nearly two minutes later than yesterday,” Will noted, as though he needed to modify his delight in the beauty of it. “Eight more weeks of longer nights.”
“But no darker,” Archer replied, then shook his head at his friend’s quizzical look. “Sorry, I was just waxing philosophical. But it is beautiful, Will. Such a beautiful new day.”
GIFT EXCHANGE
DEAREST MOTHER,
Thank you very much for sending the Christmas package. It did reach me in time for the holiday, though I am sorry to say I was unable to open it on Christmas Day. We had a long, wet gale that blew as though it would never cease, and all our ship’s company was either on deck, below deck at the pumps, or sleeping like the dead from sheer exhaustion. The weather moderated, however; as I write this, my lantern is swinging gently as a baby’s cradle.
Please do not be alarmed at my mention of the pumps, Mother. It is perfectly usual for a ship to take on a little water in lively weather, and, of course, you know our good Captain would not allow the Calypso, his pride and joy, to fall into disrepair. Indeed, as soon as the wind relented and the rain began to fall down instead of sideways, Captain Smith had our men commence the restoration of order.
But I must return to my thanks. I enjoyed the marzipan rabbit immensely—I was astonished that it had survived the journey!—and will share the fruitcake with my messmates. The warm underclothing and woolen stockings are also much appreciated, but I may not have room in my sea chest for so many; please do not think me ungrateful if I pass a few of them on to my friend Lt. Marshall. He has no family, Mother, and though he would never speak of it, I know he feels the lack keenly, especially at this blessed Season. I have not seen him receive even one letter since we returned to the ship after our adventure last summer.
If we are ever given shore leave again (and I know not when that might be), I should like to bring Lt. Marshall home with me for a visit. You have seen for yourself that he is a most respectable officer—a full Lieutenant, with several commendations to his record—and I am certain even Father could not object to him. (Indeed, after his dismay at my Drury Lane acquaintances, Father might not even recognize me in such utterly unexceptionable company!) Please do broach the subje
ct, if you are able, and let me know how the wind blows in that quarter. You are a better judge of His Lordship’s temperament than I, and Father can be so abrupt. I would not see my friend slighted, as he is only too aware that his antecedents are less than illustrious. (Though I suspect he will eventually surpass many of our better-born but less capable shipmates.) He is certainly the best friend I have ever had, and I would not be writing this now if he had not saved my life last summer, an action that I know you must approve.
I do apologize for bringing up such an unfestive memory, but as the year draws to a close, I cannot help reflecting upon the great improvement in my life in the year just past. I had expected to wait a year at least before being allowed to take my examination for Lieutenant—and passing on my first attempt!—I did not wish to embarrass Mr. Marshall by saying this while he was present, but he must be given much credit for my promotion, since he did me the kindness of tutoring me in navigational mathematics—never my best subject. He vows that I am now able to find my way around the globe in my sleep, though if I can even manage that feat in broad daylight, I will be well pleased!
I seem to be approaching the bottom of another page, Mother, and while I do understand your hint—a gift of writing paper and ink is a signal even a junior Lieutenant can decipher—I must close now so as not to waste either my candle or my sleeping-time. Those of us on watch throughout the storm have been given two watches off to rest and recover ourselves. Captain Smith is, as I have surely said before, a very fine commanding officer, and while he expects our very best at all times, he is also vigilant of our welfare. You will be pleased to know that, once the ship was secure, he wasted no time in having the deck cleared for services so that he might read the Nativity from St. Luke to the assembled crew, after which he wished each man a Merry Christmas and had the cook serve a festive meal from special stores he had brought aboard when we were last supplied. The merriment that ensued was like nothing you could even imagine on such a normally sober, well-regulated ship!
Please rest assured that I am well and happy, and wish only that I could see your dear face, and those of my sisters. I will write to them soon, and more to you as time permits. When I may see you other than in my mind’s eye, I do not know, but I can think of no better way to occupy my time than serving in His Majesty’s Navy and guarding the land that holds my dear Family.
All love to you, and a Happy New Year!
Your devoted son,
David
Lieutenant (!) The Hon. David Archer, Royal Navy, HMS Calypso
“I DON’T know what to say.” Second Lieutenant William Marshall gazed at the little bundle of treasure that Third Lieutenant David Archer had just placed in his hands a few minutes after they’d come off watch.
Will was not only surprised but slightly tipsy, having for once drunk his entire spirit ration with the intention of getting to sleep as quickly as possible. If he were asleep, he would not be lying awake, alone in his hammock, two days before the first Christmas Eve of the nineteenth century. Alone, longing for the pleasure of Davy beside him in bed, a pleasure they would both have to do without until their next chance to be private together on shore leave. One day in October, All Hallows’ Eve, was all they’d had since the previous August, and every day of abstinence was more trying than the one before.
He’d thought Davy would be snug in his own berth already, not appearing in his greatcoat at the door of Marshall’s tiny cabin aboard the frigate Calypso. A brown paper bundle in his hands held a thick, warm winter scarf and two pair of stockings knit of the same fine, dense wool.
“You don’t need to say anything,” Davy assured him cheerfully. “Just use them, please. The weather’s been bitter enough, these past weeks.”
No doubt of that. Nor was there any way to lie convincingly and deny that he was always freezing cold on watch, in the damp, biting winds of the English Channel, where they had spent the last two months guarding against Bonaparte’s blockade-runners. “Davy, I can’t—”
“Of course you can!” Davy’s grin faltered. “Why ever not?”
“I—I haven’t anything to give you in return.” He had meant to visit the little bookshop in Plymouth and find a book of poetry for his lover, but the Captain had left him in command of Calypso during their brief stop in port. He’d known Davy would understand, but there were very few opportunities to show Davy how much he cared. They weren’t like ordinary sweethearts, who could carry their love tokens publicly. And it was even worse to be empty-handed in the face of Davy’s generosity.
“My dear friend….” Davy shook his head. “It sounds trite, I know, but you could give me the pleasure of sharing the gift.”
It was unfair of him to be so reasonable. Will ran a hand through his untidy hair, trying to come up with a response. “Davy—”
“Truly, Will—not only does my mother knit the things herself, she has set both my unmarried sisters to fabricating them as well.” He made a comical face. “Keeps them out of trouble, I suppose, but they’ve sent more than I shall ever use. It would please me very much to see you comfortable.”
William’s hands were warmer just holding the items; he was especially cold right now, wearing only his nightshirt. The thought of how those stockings might feel on his chilly shins, the scarf blocking the icy draft down his coat, was undermining his resolve.
His pride still balked. “Davy… is there anything I possess that you would like to have? Anything at all that I might give you?”
An odd longing flickered across Davy’s face for a moment. Then he smiled and shook his head. “No.”
“What is it? I know there is something—”
The look now was exasperation. “Will—Oh, very well. Yes, there is. One thing, and we can call it even.”
He could not imagine what that might be. “What, then?”
Fire lurked in the blue eyes that met Marshall’s brown ones. “A kiss.”
A too-familiar, suppressed sensation shot through Marshall’s body, but he fought it down. “What? Here, on board the ship?” They had spoken of this when they’d first become lovers, and they’d decided that strict celibacy aboard ship was the only way to keep themselves safe. The Articles of War, the draconian law of the Royal Navy, decreed death by hanging for men who did what they were doing, and the horror of seeing that happen to the man he loved was more than Marshall was willing to risk.
Davy bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Will. I beg your pardon. I know we agreed to behave ourselves at sea, and I think that’s wise. But tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I don’t think one kiss would be such a risk.”
“Perhaps not. But, Davy, can you stop at just a kiss? I’m not sure I could.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” Davy said with a sigh. “But please, Will, do keep the woolies. You never buy anything for yourself, and you have no idea how cold I feel, watching you shivering on the quarterdeck.” He gave Marshall’s arm a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’d better go now.”
He shifted, turning away; Will caught his shoulder. Davy looked up, their eyes met, and for a long moment, Marshall just looked at him, his gaze caressing the fine-boned beauty of Davy’s face, the sea-blue eyes, the perfection of his lips. Remembering how it would feel to touch those lips. To kiss them.
Nervous under the scrutiny, Davy licked his lips. “I’m sorry—” he began again, and Marshall kept hold of his shoulder and bent his head swiftly, catching Davy’s half-open mouth with his own.
It didn’t last very long. A little pressure, moist softness, Davy’s warm breath caressing his face, a tiny tug as they pulled apart—then his own frantic grab for Davy’s waist so he could steal a second kiss, longer and deeper. Davy’s fingers were cool on the sides of his face now, and the taste of him made Will suddenly ravenous for more. A third kiss; somehow he was holding Davy tight against him, and the kiss was turning into something that involved his whole body.
He pushed Davy’s coat aside, discovering that he was also dressed for bed. He must
have had a sudden generous impulse and tossed the greatcoat on over his nightshirt.
“Will—we shouldn’t—what if someone were to come in?”
He heard the words, but they were murmured without conviction—and Davy’s hands were now clutching Marshall’s shoulders, locking them together.
“No one will come in, Davy.” He reached over and slipped the hook closed on the door, then leaned back against the bulkhead beside the door, pulling Davy closer, discovering that Davy was as hard as he was. Rum and desire made him lightheaded; his body was urging him closer, but part of his mind was all too aware of the possible consequences. “Davy, what—what can we—”
Davy straightened, his expression dazed and wondering. “What do you want? Wait, just a moment.” He cupped Marshall’s face very gently in one hand and searched his eyes. “Will, you really don’t have to pay me back, you know. Especially not like this.”
They were speaking in whispers; it was so good, so sweet, and so very dangerous. But some things were worth the risk. “I do,” Will said. “Now. Quickly. It’s been too long.”
More kisses. There was a sharpness in the taste of Davy’s mouth now, an urgency. Will’s hands slipped to Davy’s arse as their bodies settled into a rhythm of sorts. Davy’s hands were roving down his back, his thighs, up his sides, thumbs slipping between their bodies to tease his nipples while Davy’s mouth muffled his involuntary moan. He was panting, sweating; his body was pushing toward completion, but the pressure was not—quite—enough.
“Will?” Davy’s whisper called him back to rational thought. “I’m going to do something. You must keep quiet. Can you do that?”
Gasping, he nodded. “What?”
“I’ll show you.” Davy kissed him, his tongue flicking lightly across Will’s lips. When Marshall sought to deepen the kiss, Davy switched targets, rubbing his lips across his jaw, down the side of his throat.