Cross Bones

by Editor Anne Regan

  “Touch me, Bri.”

  He groaned and gathered me into his arms, walking us backward toward my small bed. “Six months is far, far too long. I’m afraid I won’t last.”

  I didn’t mind. I never minded. We had all night. A lot longer, if I had anything to do with it.

  “Come love me. I need to remember. I need to know you’re still real.”

  We collapsed on my bed, limbs tangling in the damp, black heat of the night. I reached up to touch his tumbling hair, those sharp cheekbones, the high bridge of his nose. It was the only way I could stay in the moment and not tremble into a thousand pieces thinking of the past and the future… thinking of how I might never see him again every time he walked from my room and my life.

  Brian ran his hands down my flanks, over my hips; the pad of his thumb traced an unsteady line up my torso. He memorized my body by touch. I could see the concentration and the bald emotion on his face.

  “I miss touching ye. Sometimes I can’t sleep for missing it so desperately.” His accent was thicker. It always was when he got emotional. Who would ever have thought that the fearsome Irish Red could be brought near to tears by a mere barkeep? I covered his hand with my own, loving that he needed me as much as I needed him.

  “I miss it too. Every day. Come here.”

  I pulled on him until he was lying on me, his long hair draping on the pillow. I wanted to touch his hair. I’d loved it since we were children. Instead I wrapped him as well I could in my arms and lifted my knees to hug his hips. Just the sensation of his growing cock against mine was enough to make me breathless. Brian….

  “I don’t know if I can wait any longer.”

  “Nor I. Just… slow. It’s been a long time, after all.”

  Brian smiled and reached for the oil that I kept near my bed, but only for him. There could never be another, and he knew that. It was the same for him. We’d only ever had each other in the world. He poured out a generous amount, slicking up himself and massaging it on my entrance.

  “I won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

  “I know.” I pulled him close again, spreading my legs to make room for his thighs between mine. “Now, Brian. Please.”

  He nodded, and with a kiss he lined up and pushed against my entrance slowly until he was seated all the way inside me. It stung at first; my body wasn’t used to it after so long alone, but I reveled in the fact that it was him—inside me and real and alive.

  Brian took my knee and slung it over his elbow. “You’re heaven, my love,” he breathed in my ear. “I don’t know how I’ve lived all these months.”

  “Barely,” I answered and moved my hips to encourage him. It was time.

  The room was filled with soft grunts and breathing. I smelled his sweat, clean and salty, on the night air from my open window. His breath filled my consciousness, his presence almost unreal. Every time I closed my eyes, I expected him to disappear.

  He kept his hands on my face, thumbs caressing my cheeks as though he felt the same. But I was there. Always. Waiting for him. I would never leave.

  “I need more,” I moaned. More of him. More of his body in me. I needed something to remember when he was gone like the mist.

  “I want it to last. I’m too close.” His voice sounded strained; his hair grew damp with perspiration.

  “Now,” I ordered. “I want to feel it.”

  As much as he was the ruler at sea, he could never deny me. He trembled, and I felt his warmth filling me.

  “Chris….”

  A few brief tugs from his hand and I was following him, shaking and grabbing on to his long, loose waves of hair.

  HOURS later I was still awake, sitting up in the dark, thinking about nothing and everything: our pasts, my loneliness, the dangers of Brian’s life, the way I wanted to tie him to my bed and never let him set foot on the damn cursed ship again. I must have tensed because Brian shifted.

  He was asleep, arm slung across my legs, face nestled up against my hip. It was most likely his first real rest in months. His skin, tanned from days in the harsh weather, looked warm to the touch, like he was the sun radiating his own heat. He always tanned so easily. When we’d been in the navy, I remembered his skin turning the same color of golden tan. His hair had been shorter then and always tied back in a punishingly tight braid. I remembered wanting to tug at the strands until they were loose and warm on my fingers. He’d been so young then, so beautiful. He looked young still—far too young to have endured all that he’d been through.

  I ran my fingers through it now, just like I’d wanted to do all those times when we were younger and under the watchful eye of some commanding officer. He stirred again and tightened his arm around my lap. I knew he was awake. I scooted back down under the light blanket until his arms were around my shoulders. Brian slid his thigh between mine.

  I kissed the salty skin of his neck, then grinned, remembering. “Why did you give me all that gold earlier? It could’ve started a riot had anyone seen.”

  He chuckled. “I wanted to surprise you. You used to love gifts.”

  “Of course.” I laughed too and pulled at his hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Bri. Tell me you’re not leaving again.”

  “Christopher, my darling, I love you.” He nuzzled my forehead and brushed hair slick with sweat and humidity off my face.

  “That was not an answer.”

  He smiled, transforming his face once again from Irish Red O’Malley to Brian, my Brian. “You require an answer, little one?”

  “I’m not little,” I grumbled. “Maybe compared to you….”

  He chuckled and squeezed me in his long, sea-hardened arms.

  “Brian, it kills me to wait for you, never knowing if each time you leave it will be the one where you end up at the bottom of the sea.”

  He chuckled. “Have ye no faith in me?”

  I closed my eyes and lay back on my pillow.

  “I love you.” I couldn’t say anything more. It wasn’t that I had no faith in him; I just knew of the many men, military and pirate alike, who’d like to see him dead.

  “One last trip, Chris. Then I’ll have enough.”

  “Enough for what? How could you possibly need more?”

  “Soon. I don’t want to tell you until I know for sure. Now let’s sleep. I only ever sleep well in your arms.”

  WHEN I woke, he was gone. The only way I knew he’d even been there was his scent on my pillow and a bag of coins on the desk with a note that said Soon, my love. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was scared for him. It didn’t matter how many times he went to sea; each time was equally as bad as the first. I had work to do, though. The Dagger was sure to be a mess, and I’d been too keyed up the night before to see to it.

  My stomach was sick with his leaving, but life had to go on. The only thing I could hope was that the day wouldn’t come when I’d hear that my Brian had been killed by one of the same naval ships we used to fight on years before.

  IT WAS late winter, or it would have been if I'd been in Ireland. I had faint memories of snowfall in Dublin, the chill of rain and overcast skies, but we’d been sold to the British Navy so long ago, as boys of thirteen. I doubted I would ever see Ireland again. As it was, the memory of it was slipping from my mind more with every passing year.

  I was starting to wonder if I’d ever see Brian again as well. Doubtful, I knew. It had been eight excruciating months. The longest he’d been away by far. Every day I waited to hear of his death—he couldn’t still be alive and not have come to me by now. I hadn’t slept well since he left, and I knew by the fit of my clothes that I hadn’t been eating well either.

  Brian, are you still out there somewhere?

  If he was alive, the first thing I would do when I saw him was kill him for making me worry so.

  And then the day came. There were whispers, some quiet, others more forceful. I heard the words “Irish Red” in the dark corners of my bar. After hours of half-wisps of information, conversation
s partially overheard, my worst fears were realized. Irish Red O’Malley was dead; killed at sea by a nameless pirate, stabbed in his sleep. Not even a noble death, going down fighting.

  The rumors swirled around me, but soon I stopped hearing. I gripped the counter of my bar, barely able to stay upright. What would I do? The days stretched before me, endless and bleak with the knowledge that never again, until I joined him in death, would I see Brian’s face, feel his touch on my skin, smell the warmth of his hair. One more trip, love. Surely you could’ve said no.

  I was lost.

  I lived after that. Barely. Existed was a better word. The days blurred by, and nothing seemed to matter. Eight months turned into nine, ten… a year. When the day came that I woke to the realization that he’d been gone from me for a year, I knew I had to go on. Somewhere else. I wouldn’t stay. Not when there was no chance that he would come back to me.

  Even though I knew I had to leave, I found it nearly impossible to get the strength to go through with it. Days continued to sink one into the next. I’d lost weight. I didn’t care. My customers probably got more for their money than they’d gotten before. I wanted only to be in my bed, curled up and hugging my thin pillow, wishing it was him.

  ONE dark night, September, I thought, I was lying in my bed unable to sleep. The bar had closed hours before; it would probably be morning soon. It didn’t matter. I rarely slept anymore. I had a sword near my bed most nights. I felt uneasy. It was time to move off the island. Long past time. There was a creaking downstairs. I heard it clearly in the silence. I’d locked up carefully. Since Brian had died, I’d felt even more alone. Unsafe. Even when he’d been gone, the knowledge that he was out there had made me feel better. No longer. Reaching down, I gripped the sword I’d stowed under my bed, wishing it were a gun.

  The creaking grew closer. It was on the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut and sat up, feet on the floor, ready to defend myself. My door opened. The squeal from the hinges seemed shockingly loud in the silence of the night. A tall figure filled the door, skinny, lanky, and clearly the worse for wear. He was wearing a loose coat and had a hat jammed low on his head, hiding his face.

  “I’m armed,” I warned the shadowy figure.

  “Chris, no. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was tired, scratchy… and so dear to me. But he was dead, was he not?

  “H-how….” My sword clattered to the floor, and I along with it. For a moment, everything was black.

  The next thing I knew, I was being lifted in strong arms and carried back to my bed, where I was placed gently. “Brian?” I whispered. I was afraid to say it aloud for fear that I’d finally gone insane.

  “Yes, love, it is me.”

  “But you’re dead.”

  He chuckled softly and brushed his finger over my forehead. “I’m not. Irish Red is gone, but I am still here. I came for you like I said I would.”

  “For me?” I echoed dumbly. Shock stole my usual powers of speech.

  “Yes. No more pirating, no more leaving. We are together from this day if you still wish it.”

  How could he think I’d wish for anything else? I reached up and pulled his hat from his head, expecting his hair, my hair, to come tumbling down. It too was gone. “Your hair!”

  “It will grow back, love. It was too recognizable.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, then took a good look at his face. He was skinny and looked exhausted, like he’d been through the bowels of hell trying to return to me. “Where have you been?”

  Brian stood and pulled his coat off before sinking down wearily onto the bed beside me. “That’s a story for another day. I am dead on my feet.”

  I smacked at his chest. “Do not say that word! How could you have let me believe you were gone all these months?”

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. “I had to. It was too dangerous to try to send word. I came as soon as I could without being noticed.”

  “So you staged your death?”

  “To disappear, yes. So we could be together like we always planned. It took a bit longer than I originally thought it would. I’m sorry you worried.”

  “Worried? I died that day.”

  Brian winced. “Forgive me? I did it for us, love.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose with fingers that were suddenly shaking, but I nodded. Of course I forgave him. I’d have forgiven him anything.

  “What now? Someone here will surely recognize you.”

  He smiled and pulled my hand from my face. “Do you really want to live with me always, deal with my snoring and my smelly feet?”

  I chuckled despite my worry. “Why do you even ask?”

  He looked down. “Then there is an island. A place for men like us.”

  “What do you mean?” What he was saying seemed impossible.

  “It is small, isolated, but not too far from here. Men live there freely… loving each other.”

  My eyes widened. “You cannot be serious.”

  He nodded. “I bought a plot of land, right near the sea. It’s ours if you want it.”

  “But what of the bar?” My hands trembled. I knew the question was inane. I’d follow him to the next life if I could. An island where we could be together sounded like paradise.

  “Are there no other barkeeps on this awful rock?”

  “There are,” I acknowledged.

  He kissed me again, small and soft on the tip of my nose. “Then come with me. I’ll build us a house. We can bring dogs to play with.”

  I’d always wanted a dog. We used to talk about it when we were stuck on the Thames in the middle of the ocean and I was sicker than a… well, a dog. Brian would hold me when everyone else went to sleep and wipe my forehead with a wet rag. He’d tell me that someday we’d live somewhere nice together and have a whole little herd of dogs that were ours to love. I couldn’t believe it was finally real.

  “What will happen to the Sargasso?” I had to ask.

  “It’s gone already. I’ve no need of it any longer. It fulfilled its purpose long ago.”

  I scooted under him and wrapped my legs around his lean hips. “A home of our own, a life lived together,” I marveled. “Is it even possible?”

  “It is ours for the taking.”

  “I think this deserves a celebration.”

  An arch of my hips against his was all it took. He growled and slung an arm around me to pull me closer. Our clothes would have to go, but I couldn’t bear to be away from him long enough for that to happen.

  “Why do I have a feeling we’ll be spending a long time celebrating?” he asked with a smile.

  I couldn’t answer because his lips covered mine. I cupped his shorn head, looking forward to the day when his thick, wavy strands would be grown again, and kissed him hard and deep.

  I figured that was the only answer he would need.

  M.J. O’SHEA grew up, and still lives, in sunny Washington state and while she loves to visit other places, she can’t imagine calling anywhere else home. M.J. spent her childhood writing stories. Sometime in her early teens, the stories turned to romance. Most of those stories were about her, her friends, and their favorite cute TV stars. She hopes she’s come a long way since then….

  When M.J.’s not writing, she loves to play the piano and cook and paint pictures, and of course read. She likes sparkly girly girl things, owns at least twenty different colored headbands, and she has a little white dog with a ginger eye spot who sits with her when she writes. Sometimes her dog comes up with the best ideas for stories... when she’s not busy napping. She’s a relatively new author, but the great folks over at Jessewave.com named her as one of the new M/M authors who rock in 2010.

  Links:

  Website: http://www.mjoshearomance.com

  Blogs: http://mjoshea.com/ and http://mjandpiper.blogspot.com

  email: mjosheaseattle@gmail.com

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/MjOsheaSeattle

  BLACK JOHN

  PIPER VAUGHN

>   Isla Sagrario, 1715

  I HAD never thought to see his face again. Querido. My lovely boy, now a man full grown. Never had I thought he would still be alive, not after all these years. And here, of all places, delivered to me by the sea.

  How long had it been since the destruction of the Red Scourge? Five years? And two since Red and I had left the Sargasso. Had it really been so long? Santo Dios. But even after those many bleak weeks, months, years, I still recognized him at a glance. His hair was a tangle of knots, shades darker than the pale gold I remembered, and a full beard had grown, shadowing the lower half of his face. But I remembered the slant of his brow, the curve of his bottom lip, the shape of his eyes. I could never forget; the dreams kept the memories fresh, as if a day hadn’t passed since I’d seen him last.

  I remembered his eyes, blue-green and fathoms deep, his touch like fire on my skin. We’d shared only a few brief moments, frantic couplings in darkened corners, deep in the bowels of the ship. Always fearing discovery and the consequences such a thing would bring. Death, swift and sudden. It was no wonder he’d been so afraid. At sea, on land, there was no mercy for the likes of us. A quick hanging was the best a man could hope for. But no one had ever known. Not then. He’d hidden it so very well.

  “Jacob?” My voice was loud in the silence of the room.

  He hadn’t woken since we’d found him on the shore that morning, his skin pale, an angry red gash at his right temple. I’d heard stories of men being trapped in sleep, their bodies still alive but never waking, unable to speak, to feed themselves. Eventually those men withered away to nothing and died. A body could only survive for so long without food and water. I had been close to death enough times to know that much.

  It seemed a cruel twist of fate for God to return him to me only to take him back in such a way. I sent up a brief prayer to the Holy Father, a habit too deeply ingrained by my childhood in España to ever really cast aside. There was no church, no priest on this island, home to thieves, pirates, brigands—men roughened by the sea and years of hard living. Men who wanted nothing more than to live in peace after fighting so long, to love as they would without fear. Myself included, though I had yet to find someone to share this life with me, this home I had built with my share of the plunder.