Sail Away

by Lee Rowan

  Marshall arched back against the bulkhead, shivering at the contrast of warm mouth and cool breath. He nearly cried out when Davy’s mouth closed on a nipple, but managed to keep it to a strangled gasp. A part of his mind was grateful for the gusty winter wind outside; their little noises would be lost in the natural sounds and the creaking of the ship.

  “Can you keep quiet, Will?” Davy asked softly, then licked his ear and wrapped his fingers firmly around Marshall’s yearning cock. He groaned, reaching to reciprocate, but Davy shifted just out of reach. “You must stay quiet.”

  “I will…. Davy, for pity’s sake—!”

  Davy chuckled and slid slowly down the front of Marshall’s body. He knelt for a moment, gently cupping Will’s balls. “Quiet, now,” he warned. “Shhhh….”

  Marshall had to bite his own hand to keep still as Davy took his cock into his mouth. His whole being narrowed down to that one intense point of pleasure. But after a moment, he mastered himself, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Davy’s golden hair. The sensation was unbearably good, utterly perfect. Davy held him, braced firmly but gently, while his mouth… dear God…! The gathering pressure suddenly peaked, and he was thrusting frantically, and Davy somehow kept up with him as he went over, was there with him, catching him in his arms as he slid bonelessly to the floor, holding him as he sprawled there, panting, trying to compose himself.

  “Oh my God, Davy….”

  Davy was laughing softly, and Will was struck by sudden remorse. “What about you? What should I do?”

  Davy kissed him, a light salute. “Nothing. I came too. Couldn’t have stopped it, Will. I got caught in your squall.”

  “Oh.” He looked closer and saw a patch of wetness near the hem of Davy’s nightshirt. “But I should have done something for—”

  “You did exactly what you should have,” Davy said. He pulled Will into a close embrace, then relaxed his hold. “For once, you simply let me give you what you wanted. Thank you.”

  Marshall blinked. “You—you wanted a kiss.”

  “And I got it too!” Davy’s grin was positively wicked. He pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand. “You’d better climb into bed before you pass out down there, Will. And I’ll be asleep myself in a minute or two, so I’d best be in my own cabin.”

  Marshall took his hand. He would have liked nothing more than to squeeze the both of them onto his berth and doze off with Davy’s breath warm against his neck, but that would be fatally stupid. He hoisted himself up reluctantly, his head spinning with drink and happiness.

  Davy guided him into his hammock and kissed him again, then picked up the forgotten woolens and wrapped the scarf snugly around Marshall’s neck. “There.”

  “But….” He plucked at the scarf. “Davy, you’ve given me so much….”

  “It’s a little bit of wool. After what you just gave me, I ought to give you a whole sheep!” He laughed at Marshall’s horrified expression. “Well, perhaps not, that might cause talk. Pleasant dreams, Will! Merry Christmas!” Still smiling, Davy pulled his greatcoat back on and let himself out.

  Marshall lay back and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He could never recall having felt so content. He knew he ought to be ashamed or at least indignant at how easily Davy had seduced him, but he just could not manage it. Not right now. He was too relaxed, too comfortable… too warm. His body tingled with the happy memory of Davy’s touch, and the scarf around his neck still held the faint scent of his friend and lover. Better than mistletoe.

  Merry Christmas, indeed!

  Perhaps they ought to celebrate Twelfth Night too. And Candlemas, of course. And possibly Spring Equinox….

  FORTUNE FAVORS

  LIEUTENANT WILL Marshall tightened the wet leather around the upright shaft. “Give it a tug.”

  “Ow! Stop!”

  “What the—?”

  “You caught my hand in it,” Lieutenant David Archer explained. “I need those fingers.”

  With a growl of exasperation, Marshall relaxed the collar that he had—finally—managed to fit snugly down around the base of the spar serving as their mast long enough for Davy to pull his hand free.

  It was entirely his own fault that he’d bagged the pleasant chore of taking the Calypso’s skiff out for a test run after a few splintered boards had been replaced, and it was remiss of him to have taken only one shipmate with him. But the chance to sail the little boat out around a rocky, barren speck of land that barely qualified for the term “island,” tether their craft to one of the scrubby trees that jutted out over the water, and enjoy each other’s bodies for the first time in months was worth taking a bit of a chance to sail the boat a little farther than necessary.

  In terms of prudent seamanship, it had been a mistake.

  But error in judgment or not, he’d done it, and he had savored Davy’s look of astonishment when he’d realized what Will was up to almost as much as the delightful shiver of his lover’s body when he took Davy’s suddenly upright yardarm in hand and licked its rosy tip.

  Five minutes, Will had estimated, and he’d met his goal almost to the second, as Davy reciprocated his affectionate attentions and then loosed the boat while Will buttoned himself up. The love was no less sincere for being hasty; a few minutes snatched here and there, like a hummingbird hovering in flight to sip nectar, was all they could ever hope for aboard ship. They had to be quick, and careful, and bold. “Fortune Favors the Brave”—that was the motto Will’s first captain had engraved on the quarterdeck rail.

  He hadn’t thought to add that Fortune sometimes mocks the overly bold.

  They were rounding the far side of the little island on their way back when the squall line came in over the horizon, and were two-thirds of the way home when it hit them, moving fast, catching the boat’s sail even as they struggled to gather in the suddenly sodden, heavy canvas. For a few crazed moments, it was all they could do to hold fast and ride it out, and then the wind cracked the mast out of its socket.

  Then the squall was gone, and they were left sitting in several inches of water in a skiff riding tipsily on a roiling sea, their cracked mast dragging along beside them, held on only by a few tangled lines.

  Will swore, scanning the horizon. He could see the Calypso far in the distance, and knew that someone would be up in the fighting top with a spyglass trained on them. He waved, and Davy stood up beside him, so their shipmates would know that they were all right. A signal flag responded—the Blue Peter. Return to ship immediately, to make sail. That was Captain Smith, all right: he had all due concern for his men, but no inclination to coddle those who made stupid mistakes.

  “Ah, well,” Will said. “Fix the mast, or row?”

  “We shall fix the mast here or back aboard,” Davy said with a grin. “We’re alive, at any rate—and I’d not have missed that chance for the world.”

  Will nodded. And as they dragged the soggy mess of sail back onboard so they might untangle the lines, he raised a corner of canvas to shield them from the ship and gave his lover one last sweet, hummingbird kiss.

  TOKEN OF AFFECTION

  “THE LADIES, God bless ’em!”

  The toast was duly drunk: first to the Captain’s wife, then to First Lieutenant Drinkwater’s, and so on down the line. The younger lieutenants and midshipmen of His Majesty’s frigate Calypso, most of whom were not so fortunate as to have a wife or sweetheart, swapped feminine relatives for their salutes. Lieutenant David Archer praised, in a chastely avuncular manner, the beauty and charm of Mr. Drinkwater’s eight-year-old daughter, while Lieutenant William Marshall raised his glass to Mr. Archer’s sisters—all four of them, two of whom were already married—and was duly chaffed for his ambition. The ship’s surgeon, Dr. Curran, who received innumerable missives from the fair sex, finished with, “To our wives and sweethearts—may they never meet!”

  Marshall had come off his watch just before supper; Archer was off duty for the rest of the evening. Now that the official acknowledgment of ro
mantic love was over, they had a little time to spend indulging in the genuine article—even though they couldn’t risk an active celebration.

  “Mr. Archer, would you care to resume our study of Shakespeare?”

  “Certainly, sir.” Having matched his lover’s formality, Davy took another tack. “One of these days, Will, we shall have to round up the hands and stage a theatrical. I long to see Klingler play Bottom.”

  “Your longing in that direction may be forever unrequited,” Will said. “Though if you could convince him it was a starring role, I’m sure he would acquit himself well. And who would you cast as Titania? Yourself?”

  “No, I’d rather be Puck. If his lines aren’t delivered properly, no one can understand the story. That new little mid—Beecroft?—he looks the part, but that stammer of his would be fatal.”

  “Do you think Captain Smith would approve such a thing?”

  “We’ve nothing to lose by asking. So long as their work does not suffer, what harm is there in educating British sailors in some of the greatest drama in the English language?” Davy grinned. “It will keep them on their toes while this infernal blockade duty persists. Besides, do you think Sir Paul could turn down the part of Oberon?”

  “And what part would you give me?” Will asked as they reached his cabin. “I would have thought you’d want to see my Bottom, but—”

  Davy gasped as he stepped inside. “Will! Was that a pun?”

  “I fear it is. Your evil influence, no doubt.” He pulled Davy to the side of the door, where they could not be seen from without, and kissed him soundly. “I have a Valentine’s surprise for you.”

  “Not here, Will, we couldn’t possibly—!”

  “Mr. Archer, whatever are you thinking?” He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a small flat packet, folded in brown paper. “For you. It isn’t much.”

  Davy took the gift with a smile. “I have something for you too—but for what I really want to give, and receive, we’ll have to wait for shore leave.” He unwrapped the parcel and found a pair of handkerchiefs—fine, close-woven silk, soft and just a little too elegant to be practical.

  “I didn’t know what else to get,” Will said. “We have not come near a bookshop in months. I know you have some already, but… examine them closely. I hope you won’t think me foolish.”

  “They’re very fine,” Davy said, shaking out the folds. “And I shall keep them for shoregoing, so they don’t get spoilt—” His eye caught something that warmed him through. “Oh, good Heavens. Will, did you do this yourself?”

  Embroidered on one corner of each handkerchief was a tiny red heart.

  Will was blushing furiously, something Davy had not seen him do in quite some time. “Yes, I—stupid, I know, ruined them, I should have left them alone, you can pick out the stitches—”

  “I never will.”

  “I thought if anyone were to notice, you could say one of your sisters had sent them.”

  “If anyone notices, I shall cast him a mysterious look and keep mum. That should enhance my reputation.” Davy studied the tiny stitches. “Where ever did you find red thread?”

  “Oh, that.” Will’s combination of pride and unease was most endearing. “When I was Flag Officer—remember, I asked you for the loan of your sewing kit?”

  “Will—you didn’t raid the Union Jack!”

  The blush disappeared; he actually went white. “Of course not! One of the signal flags caught on a hook and had to be trimmed.”

  Davy bit his lip to hide his smile. Will might defy Article Twenty-Nine without regret, but deface the flag? Never. “Well, I shall treasure them. And for you….” A small packet appeared from his own pocket. “A token of my esteem, and quite coincidentally appropriate.”

  Will unwrapped his package in turn, and laughed aloud at what it contained: a small leather envelope with a card of needles, a tiny pair of scissors, and white as well as colored threads wrapped around a fold of paper.

  “I knew you’d lost yours when we were kidnapped,” Davy explained. “The thread came with the kit. I’ve never seen you use any but white or navy blue.”

  “It’s too much,” Will protested.

  “I won’t quibble over shillings with you, Mr. Marshall. You cannot tell me these handkerchiefs were cheap.”

  “You really like them?”

  “Very much.” He needed to tell Will how deeply touched he was by the clumsy stitching without causing his lover to die of embarrassment. “I take back what I said about saving them for a special occasion, though. I shall keep one of these hearts next to mine, always.”

  Will blinked, his face so very serious. “Thank you. And… I shall take better care of this kit than my previous one.”

  They stood looking at one another, conscious of the footsteps on the deck above, listening for movement in the gangway outside the door. A touch, a quick kiss—then necessary discipline locked passion back in its place. After Will retrieved the hefty volume of Shakespeare’s collected works from his sea chest, they settled themselves upon it, side by side beneath the port.

  “Had we finished Much Ado About Nothing?” Will asked.

  “Not quite.” He dared a squeeze to Will’s knee. “You will see much ado the next time we are in port, I promise you.”

  “I shall hold you to your word, Mr. Archer.”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Marshall.”

  TOUCH

  THEY ENDURED the boat trip from the Calypso, rushed through the meal at the inn, lied through their teeth about the ladies of dubious reputation they’d visited, and finally clumped upstairs as though they wanted nothing more than ten hours’ sleep.

  Will barely had his jacket off before Davy pounced on him, driving him back against the wall like a frigate attacking a seventy-four. His body answered his lover’s urgency, and they had each other’s clothes off in less than a minute, stopping only to be sure the door was locked and a jacket hung on the doorknob to block the keyhole. Davy bent to retrieve the little jar of salve from his pocket, and Will was so overcome by the sight that he simply tipped him onto the bed. Laughing, they wrestled the cork out of the jar, and Will got enough of the stuff out to accomplish his purpose.

  He loved the way Davy shivered when he bit that sensitive juncture where neck met shoulder. How he thrust back when Will squeezed his cock, pushing his own deep inside. How the faintest pinch on a nipple could make Davy suck in his breath like a man surfacing from deep water.

  Within three minutes of entering the room, they were lying on the bed, twined together like ribbons of a maypole, breathing hard and utterly spent. With Davy’s blond head tucked against his shoulder, Will closed his eyes for just a moment.

  The sun was a little farther along when they awoke. Will reached for Davy again, but his lover caught his hand.

  “It’s my turn, Will.”

  “What?”

  “There’s something I’d like to try. We always seem to couple so very quickly—”

  “But didn’t you like—I thought—”

  “Yes, I liked.” Davy grinned and brushed his lips with a kiss. His scent, wafting across the bed, was indescribable. Will felt stirrings in his nether regions. “But you’re taking your rank far too seriously, Mr. Marshall.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Davy sat up in bed, crossing his legs tailor-fashion. “You take the tiller, like this….” Will gasped as Davy’s fingers closed around him. “And the next thing I know, we’re lying here panting as though we’d run a mile. Not that it isn’t the activity I prefer to all others, Will, but I want the chance to touch you. To take my time. You assume an attitude like Nelson.”

  Will’s mind balked at the notion. “Davy, no, you don’t—you couldn’t think—he and Hardy?”

  “I don’t think Lady Hamilton would stand for that, no,” Davy said drily. “I’m referring to your inclination to dismiss maneuvers and ‘go straight for it.’”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Exce
llent! I shall demonstrate—if you believe you can hold still for it.”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Are you sure, Will?”

  The way he drew the word out, running a finger along Will’s thigh, sent a thrill down Will’s spine. “You have my word!”

  Davy grinned. “Don’t forget, then. Lie back?”

  Will lay back against the pillow, amazed at the sudden pounding of his heart. He knew Davy would do nothing to harm him, but what would he do? He held his breath, mesmerized, as Davy reached out across the few inches between them. His hand seemed to move with infinite slowness.

  “Will!”

  He jumped guiltily. “What?”

  “You’re watching me!”

  “Of course I’m watching you! I can’t imagine what you’re going to do!”

  Davy sighed. “Nothing I haven’t done before, for pity’s sake. Would you be willing to close your eyes?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s unnerving, to have you watch me like a rabbit with a snake.”

  “Davy—”

  “Close your eyes, Will,” Davy coaxed. “Just for a moment, and I’ll do something you’ll like.” He scowled at Davy with wounded dignity, but Davy only laughed. “If you act like a little boy who doesn’t want to take his medicine, that’s how I shall treat you,” Davy said. “Only what I’ve got for you is much better than some nasty pill.”

  Will found it impossible to resist the good-natured teasing, and he knew by the sparkle in Davy’s eyes that it was no empty promise. “No tickling!” he said sternly.

  “Aye-aye, Mr. Marshall, sir,” Davy saluted. “Eyes closed, if you please. And do try to relax.”

  Attempting to scowl, Will eased back down, doing his best to release the tension in his muscles. He was immediately rewarded with a kiss, quick and sweet, hardly more than a breath against his lips.

  He tried to make it more; Davy drew away. Will sucked in a breath, but before he could speak, Davy’s fingers rested on his mouth.