Cross Bones

by Editor Anne Regan

  SULE thinks that he should feel angry that Olaf doesn’t care. Now he can start simmering again, just like he used to. But instead, he feels cold for the first time in his life.

  “IS HE going to be all right?”

  “They said he might lose the arm.”

  Sule sat in the galley, a mug of rum in his hands, listening to snatches of conversation as crew members walked past the doorway, talking about the raid that day, how it had gone wrong, and the terrible consequences. He had wrapped his own shirt around Nate’s arm, trying to stop the bleeding, and by the time they got the boy back on board the bleeding had slowed, enough to replace the shirt with bandages. Nate would probably live. Whether he would have two arms a week from now was another matter.

  Sule took another sip of rum, trying to warm up, and heard footsteps pounding on the deck toward the galley. He stared down into his mug, not wanting to answer any questions, hoping that whoever it was would continue past the galley, but no such luck. The footsteps slowed, then stopped, and Sule heard a hoarse voice ask in Dutch, “How badly are you hurt?”

  Sule looked up. Olaf stood in the doorway, his face chalky, Sule’s bloody shirt in his hands.

  Sule shook his head. “Just a scratch. Why do you have that?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at the shirt.

  “I found it topside. No one knew why it was there or what happened to you.” Olaf sagged against the doorframe. “I thought you were dead.”

  “No such luck.” He looked down into his mug again, the silence in his head nearly deafening, and then suddenly Olaf was at his feet, clutching Sule’s legs.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please come back to me. It can be the way it was, we don’t have to ever do that again—”

  Sule stared down at him. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry.” He felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes began to sting. He pulled his legs free and climbed off the bench to sit on the floor with Olaf. “I am the one who is sorry,” he said, looking down at his hands.

  “Why did you run off, after we made love?”

  Sule frowned. “Is that what—I thought you said that was a fuck.”

  “I thought it would be. I was wrong.” Olaf took Sule’s hands in his, just as he had on the bed. “Tell me.”

  So Sule did. He poured out all of it: his enslavement and escape, his fights with strangers, his entire life that had been fueled by anger for so long, and now that anger was gone. “I’m… nothing now.” He shrugged, tightening his grip on Olaf’s hands. To his surprise, Olaf laughed.

  In the past, Sule would have flown into a rage at being laughed at, but now he couldn’t ignite even a spark. Before he could ask, Olaf said, “You’re not ‘nothing’ without that anger. It was a poison, eating away at you, and it would have killed you one day. There’s so much more in you than that.” Olaf stroked a hand over Sule’s hair. “You’re a strong, brave man who’s got a good brain and a good heart. I saw how kind you were when you helped me, even though you wanted me off the ship. If you truly had that emptiness inside you, you would have found a way to get rid of me.”

  “I punched you. In the face.”

  “You call that a punch? It’s a wonder you ever won a fight.”

  Sule looked into Olaf’s eyes, at his welcoming smile, and something inside him cracked open. “God’s blood, I’ve been horrible to you.” He wrapped his arms around Olaf and felt arms go around his waist, warm hands on his back.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  Olaf hesitated, then nodded into Sule’s neck. “Yes, you have. But you had your reasons.”

  “No.” Sule shook his head. “No reason to treat you like that.”

  Olaf pulled Sule closer. “The poison, the anger, it’s out of you now, right?

  Sule closed his eyes. The quiet that had frightened him was still there, but now he could see that it was cool and calm, like the sea after a storm has blown through. He nodded.

  NO PLACE on the ship is quite as comfortable as a bed on land, but at least they don’t have to sneak off the way they used to.

  “EVERYONE on the ship knows,” Josiah said, rolling his eyes when Sule tried to mumble an excuse as to why he and Olaf were in the second mate’s cabin with no shirts and a red bite mark on Olaf’s neck. “Except the captain, and we’ve got a wager on as to when he’ll figure it out. So don’t go telling him, now.”

  “No one minds?” Sule asked.

  “Don’t be daft,” Josiah answered on his way out the door. “Crew sticks together.”

  “YOU’RE on watch?” Olaf walked up to stand next to Sule at the port bow.

  “Yes. It should be Nate, but….”

  “That doctor says he’ll probably keep the arm, might even have the use of his hand.”

  “I hope so.”

  The two of them stood silently for a few moments, looking out at the moonlight reflecting off the water. The wind was so slight that William had ordered the sails furled and told the helmsman to stand down, leaving only Sule on duty.

  Olaf reached out and took Sule’s hand. Sule smiled and tightened his grip. He felt his heart start to pound, but he also felt the quiet washing over him, and he wondered why he’d ever hated losing his anger. “You’re still with me, even though I no longer burn hot.”

  Olaf smiled. “You’re still warm enough to heat my blood.” He started to unbutton Sule’s shirt with his free hand.

  “I’m on watch,” Sule murmured.

  “Stay on watch, then.” Olaf pulled his hand free and turned Sule to face the sea, then reached around in front of him to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling it off and dropping it on the deck, he then unfastened Sule’s trousers but let them puddle at Sule’s feet. “Keep your hands on the rail,” Olaf whispered into Sule’s ear as he traced patterns across Sule’s bare chest and back. It wasn’t an order; Olaf never gave orders, but Sule had learned that Olaf’s ideas were usually good ones.

  The night air was cold on Sule’s chest, causing his nipples to harden, but Olaf moved in close behind him, warm and solid against his back, arms wrapped tight around him.

  Just when Sule’s curiosity was about to burn through his patience, Olaf moved away, then tugged at Sule’s feet, shifting them back just a bit so that he was leaning forward, hands still on the rail. The next touch Sule felt was a slick finger sliding between his buttocks, Olaf’s other hand moving across his chest, over his neck and head, down to his stomach. Teeth gently bit the side of his neck as that finger pushed in and out of him, bit by bit, so slowly.

  Sule’s eyes kept dropping shut with each stroke. Olaf could make Sule climax with just a finger inside him, and Sule could feel himself getting close. His eyes flew open in surprise when he felt Olaf pushing a second finger into him. That was new, and not very comfortable at first, but Olaf still moved slowly, gently, giving Sule’s body time to adjust, and soon enough he felt his climax building again.

  But then Olaf pulled his fingers out, and Sule moaned in disappointment. “Don’t you dare stop now, you—oh.” Olaf had begun to push his prick into Sule, who tensed without thinking about it. But Olaf wrapped an arm around Sule’s waist, kissed his neck, and Sule shut his eyes again, calling up that calm that Olaf had given him. Olaf moved back and forth, rocking gently, pushing himself in so slowly that Sule was the one beginning to lose patience, but Olaf would not be rushed. When he was finally all the way in, both men sighed.

  Olaf pressed himself against Sule’s back and covered Sule’s hands, still on the railing, with his own. As they stood there, leaning against the railing, Sule thought he would never feel better than he did at that moment. Then Olaf started to move. The fullness, the friction was so good, Sule let out a moan, uncaring if any of the crew heard him. Olaf kissed the skin between his neck and shoulder, then bit down on the muscles there, and Sule moaned again. Olaf rocked his hips, moving Sule with him, occasionally touching that sweet spot inside of Sule that made him cry out, his head rolling bac
k onto Olaf’s shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.

  Sule wanted desperately to touch his own prick, which smacked against his stomach with every thrust of Olaf’s hips, but the only things keeping him from falling over were his hands on the railing, still covered by Olaf’s. At that moment, Olaf stopped thrusting and lifted his hands off Sule’s, wrapping his arms around Sule and pulling him upright against Olaf’s chest. Without thinking, Sule lifted his arms and reached back, embracing Olaf, loving the feeling of warm breath and a rough, scratchy beard against the back of his neck.

  OLAF unwraps one arm so he can reach up and stroke Sule’s cheek, and Sule smiles. He’s getting used to smiling these days. He turns his head to kiss Olaf, and even though the position is awkward, it’s worth it to hear the hitch in Olaf’s breath and feel their tongues slide together. Olaf wraps his hand around Sule’s prick and begins thrusting again, and as he does so, Sule feels more than just the quiet filling him; he feels happy, happier than he’s been since he was taken from his family. He’s got a home again, on a ship full of men who are more than crewmates; they’re his brothers. He has a lover who pleasures his body and warms his heart, quiets his anger and his fears. He’s finally still, calm, happy.

  B. SNOW found her way into the magical world of M/M stories by way of fanfic and slash, and original characters began banging on her brain several years ago. If she can conquer her chronic procrastinitus, she may get that banging written down someday.

  Originally from the west coast, B. Snow and her husband now live in the Atlanta area, sharing a house with two very bad cats who are just lucky they’re so cute.

  You can find more information at: http://bsnowwriter.blogspot.com/ and http://www.facebook.com/bsnow.writer.

  ON THE WINGS

  OF LIR

  RILEY SHANE

  HE WAS going to capture a pirate.

  Hugh Edwards couldn’t believe his luck. For months he had debated whether or not to accept the offer his former tutor, Albert, had extended to him—an invitation to a private pleasure house… one that would meet the needs of a man like him.

  Excitement had warred with trepidation as he’d approached what outwardly looked like an ordinary gentleman’s club. If he were caught, the consequences would be far greater than the sheer embarrassment that had occurred the first time Albert had noticed Hugh’s trousers filling out at the sight of him. At the time, Hugh hadn’t been wise enough to panic over discovery. Now, he didn’t want to think on what being caught with another man could do to him, to his family. His father made inventions for Queen Victoria herself. Hugh told himself that his lust for his own sex was foolish, not worth the risk. Yet denying his desires had become too much to bear. Hugh was tired of denying himself, and Albert had promised that the proprietor of this place and his… employees… were discreet.

  His decision to take his pleasures had gifted him with an unexpected boon: Patrick Kelly, captain of the Wings of Lir.

  The invention of airships some decades before had, Hugh learned, slowly brought about a resurgence in piracy. Airships had been created around the time of the famine in Ireland, and many investors sought to build their airship factories in Ireland where labor was cheap. Albert called the men fools, and Hugh could not disagree. Poor conditions and poorer management led to heavy numbers of thefts, and soon the air was besieged by pirates. It had taken a long time before the sky navy had been able to quell the pirate rebellion. Yet even now, pirates still sailed the skies: buccaneers who prided themselves on the number of merchant airships they could plunder. And one of the worst was Captain Kelly.

  Kelly had not come to the sky navy’s notice until about a year ago, when he had begun targeting airships belonging to Lord Bradock, whose brother-in-law was the First Lord of the Admiralty. Hugh was a lieutenant on one of the airships that—at the urging of Lord Bradock—was tasked with capturing Kelly. They’d come close to bringing down the Wings of Lir only a few days ago, but Kelly and his men had gotten away, doing enough damage in the process that Hugh’s own ship had barely limped back to the dock. It would be another day or two before the airship was ready to set sail, and they’d once again be on the hunt for that damn pirate.

  Now fate had smiled on Hugh. He had only taken a steam coach part of the way, not wanting even a coach driver to know the address he was visiting. As he’d approached the pleasure house, the lights of the open door beckoned him. So too did the man inserting his invitation into the automaton guarding the door.

  It wasn’t the color of Kelly’s hair that made him distinctive, though the glint of red in the gaslight was what had captured Hugh’s attention at first. Rather, it was the length of it. The man kept his hair long, like a barbarian. The dark red length fell, unbound, to his hips. Hugh had seen it whipping about him in battle and had been captivated, so much so that he’d barely missed a meeting with a bullet.

  Kelly’s arrogance in visiting the pleasure house tonight, undisguised and unafraid, would be his downfall. Hugh knew he couldn’t call for aid. Not in the area he was in, not without explaining how he had discovered Kelly’s whereabouts. But if he served the pirate up to the Admiralty on his own? He’d have his own airship, at the very least. Kelly wouldn’t admit to buggery; no sane man would add that to his list of crimes. Hugh’s secret would be safe and a dangerous criminal would be captured.

  Stepping into the shadows, Hugh turned and ran back the way he had come. He had the perfect plan. All he needed were a few items from his father’s workshop.

  THE whelp was trying to poison him.

  Kelly wanted to laugh, but he kept his face sober. More cunning men than this obviously untried lad had tried to kill Patrick Kelly these past few months, and those men had been the ones to wind up dead.

  Had Bradock sent him? Kelly didn’t think so. Bradock wouldn’t waste a young, well-formed man like this one. The lad’s coal-black hair curled around his face like an angel, and those incredibly blue eyes completed a face that looked heaven sent. It was those eyes that gave the man away. They were wide, nervous, yet eager. But it wasn’t because of the pleasure house. He hadn’t stopped to take in the sumptuous surroundings or the beautiful men whose company was for sale. No, the stranger had entered the room, immediately focused on Kelly playing cards with some other members, and casually joined the game.

  Kelly didn’t tip his hand but instead looked to Tommy, his preferred companion here. A nod from him and a glance at the boy had Tommy doing his unspoken bidding. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to sneak into the pleasure house, either to murder or blackmail someone there. But when Tommy returned, a shake of his head indicated that the stranger’s invitation was legitimate. Automatons guarded the entrances of the pleasure house; no one could bribe a machine. The invitations that allowed patrons entrance to the pleasure house were the work of renowned inventor Nathan Edwards. The clever little clockwork coins could not be replicated, and the automatons that guarded the entrance would be able to detect a forgery. It was possible the lad had murdered someone for the invitation, but Kelly had long ago learned to trust his gut. And his gut said the man beside him was not a killer at heart. Not to mention that, judging by the man’s abysmal attempt at poisoning, Kelly rather doubted he would succeed in harming a blind and crippled dog.

  On the boy’s finger was what looked like a signet ring. Had Kelly not been watching the lad out of the corner of his eye, he might have missed the almost imperceptible movement of the metal mechanism on the top of the ring when the stranger brushed his hand. Unwillingly, Kelly felt a pulse of desire for his would-be murderer, even as powder fell out of the ring and into his whisky glass. As the men at the table studied their cards, Kelly pretended to do the same while he lifted his glass and discreetly sniffed its contents. The young man was trying so hard not to watch him that Kelly almost laughed again. He did let out a snort when he realized what the lad had poured into his drink.

  Though the ring he wore was expensive and well-crafted, the powder it had h
eld was cheap. It was a sleeping powder, potent yet rarely used since it left behind a faint but unpleasant smell when mixed with spirits. He set down the glass and raised an eyebrow at Tommy, who was watching him. As Tommy approached, the stranger turned, clearly distracted by the prostitute’s sensual grace. For a moment, Kelly almost forgot his reason for summoning the man. Tommy’s pale blond hair and dark eyes would complement the lad’s dark-angel looks perfectly. Unwarranted jealousy crept up as Kelly saw them together in his mind’s eye, slender limbs wrapped with practiced skill around a young, firm body, blue eyes gone hazy with want….

  He drew himself out of his wayward thoughts, paused, and considered. He was jealous? Over this man? Interesting, but unlike him. Apparently the black-haired beauty next to him wasn’t the only one distracted by Tommy’s nearness. Deftly, Kelly switched his glass with the lad’s. Then he sat back, his attention once again on the cards in front of him as he waited for the sleeping powder to take effect.

  HUGH came awake with a groan. His head felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds, and he couldn’t move. Opening his eyes, he saw the reason for the latter, and it wiped out all care for the pounding in his skull. He was bound with the ties he had taken from his father’s workshop. The ones his father had finished making for a client the day before. The bindings looked and felt like silk, but in reality they were so much more. They could bend and be hidden away in a jacket pocket as Hugh had done. The ties looked harmless until you were bound by them. They couldn’t be cut, not with the new metal mixture his father had created that was made part of the thread.

  “Fascinating ropes you have on you,” a smooth voice boomed out.