by P D Singer
“If I can keep this tub afloat, guess I can keep myself afloat.” A shaky chuckle followed. “One will probably be easier with the other.”
“Easier still if you teach Harley how to raise anchor properly.” Not that Bobby begrudged getting rescued by his biggest competition, but it sucked seawater that his own boat was crippled.
That got a belly-deep laugh. “That boy does not understand boats. Causes as much work as he does, some days.”
“So we’ll teach him something. And we’ll teach me something about helping you. All I know is I can’t do it for you, but I can be there with you.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Bobby MacArthur, but I am damned glad you’re here.”
The gap between them disappeared—Lee dove across the inches to come skin to skin. Oh man, he’d slipped into bed without anything stupid like underwear. Suited Bobby just fine.
Because Bobby was also damned glad to be here. With the heat of the man he loved all but burning into him with the force of life. With arms and legs and stiffening cock all plastered against a man bent on proving how happy he was to have fished Bobby out of the cold, cold sea.
He’d almost given up on feeling again, but with Lee in his arms, his mouth sealed to Bobby’s, that was all he could do. All he wanted to do, unless it involved getting even closer. He’d hold his lover and demand to feel the vital force pulsing through them both. Bobby pinned Lee against the mattress, needing every inch of his living body for a shield against the sea that could have taken them both. With his mouth on Lee’s neck, Bobby tasted life throbbing against his lips.
Life throbbed in their groins too, hard and immediate. Bobby hated letting go—he never wanted to let go, but getting to Lee’s cock meant changing grip. Yeah, not letting go of the man who kept him alive and made that life more fulfilling, who filled his mouth with glorious hot cock.
The drips of precum tasted like the sea.
Bobby laved them away anyway—they were life right now, from Lee. From his glorious fighter who stumbled, maybe fell, and got back up. Who didn’t give up. Who hadn’t given up on the stupid-impossible task of finding one man in a vast ocean and had brought him back. Lee couldn’t give up on himself. Bobby would keep him from giving up on himself, one blowjob at a time.
Lee thrust that wonderful cock between Bobby’s lips, letting him do what he would on the way by. His face was buried in Bobby’s groin, his arms tight around Bobby’s thighs. Lee nibbling at his ballsack and taking one heavy ball into his mouth made Bobby redouble his efforts—he had to please Lee just as much.
“Whoa, wait!” Lee kung-fued them to their sides, face-to-face again, jerking his cock out of reach. “Give me a minute.”
“All the time you need.” Forever? Would Lee take forever, with brief breaks to dive or eat, maybe sleep now and again? Bobby wasn’t getting out of bed for anything except the important stuff.
“Gotta check you out.” For Lee that meant kissing his way down Bobby’s body, licking anything that stuck up, rubbing his face into the pelt he swore was Bobby’s third layer of fleece. Damn but this was the right use for Lee’s mouth, especially when he settled down for some serious sucking. Bobby threaded his fingers into Lee’s hair and let him. Oh man….
“Can you feel anything south of your balls yet?”
Agh! Talk! “More interested in what’s north of my balls.” Would he get back to sucking? Now?
“Gotta know.” Lee slid toward Bobby’s feet, nibbling his way across a thigh and in between, where his muscles bulged and the fur thinned out. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.” It was nice, too, just not what he’d been getting.
Lee nibbled up, bumping his nose into Bobby’s balls. Better, getting there….
“Can you feel that?”
“Oh yeah.”
Lee hooked his hands under Bobby’s knees and flipped him double, feet above head, ass in the air. The whoops of getting upended made him grab the covers. A good handful on each side to steady himself. Okay, he could deal with this, oh yeah, especially when Lee licked across his taint and up behind his balls.
“I’m assuming you can feel this.” Bastard went right back to licking. Bobby could only answer with groans because yes, he could feel that and wanted to feel more.
A sharp nip on one buttock brought a yip and one knee damned near into his own nose.
“How about that?”
“Damn it, Lee!”
“That means yes. How about this?” Lee plunged his face between Bobby’s buttocks.
The wet heat of his tongue across Bobby’s hidden, puckered place was a “yes, oh fuck yes,” he could feel that. Bobby didn’t know whether to yell or moan or call Lee’s name. He might have done it all at once for the wonder of Lee’s tongue swiping and probing, for hot breath against tender skin. Nothing had ever felt better, except for all the other marvelous things Lee did to him, but this was now, right now, and Lee couldn’t seem to get enough. Was there such a thing as enough of this? Until it was time to add a finger somehow drippy with lube, or maybe two, and then be uncoiled to lie down with the tip of Lee’s cock pushing into his slick and eager back door.
Bobby wrapped arms and legs around Lee, pulling him down for chest-to-chest contact, pulling him in for sheer need. He widened around Lee’s cock, welcoming the penetration, to feel him inside as well as out. Their bellies trapped his cock. Lee claimed his mouth, taking him everywhere. All over. In every way. Bobby clenched around his lover with every part that could move.
Lee still managed to buck against him, thrusting up and in as if he sought Bobby’s heart, and yes, oh yes, Bobby let him.
Lee jammed inward and froze, his face hidden in Bobby’s neck. That last slam hit right on target, though not hard enough to detonate Bobby too—that needed a hand jammed into the slightest gap for the last couple of tugs to bring his flood. He shot his seed between their bellies while Lee filled him with the sticky heat of life. They trembled and clung, and when the exquisite shudders subsided into an occasional tremble, Bobby kept Lee on top. Where the beating of his heart knocked against Lee’s rib cage and Bobby’s too.
“I’m assuming you felt that,” Lee mumbled into Bobby’s neck.
“Pretty good assumption.” Bobby ran tickly fingers over Lee’s back. What a doink. His doink. “What if I said no?”
“Then I’d call you numbnuts and try again.”
“Any time, Cap’n. Any time at all.”
Epilogue
Ten Months Later
THE FLOTILLA motored out of the harbor: dive vessels from up and down the coast, pleasure boats, a few fishing vessels. The Bottom Hunter led the way, flanked by the Tech Tach and the Tracy Bolden. A Coast Guard cutter brought up the rear. The Navy planned a separate ceremony.
A perfect summer sea for this journey, where so many of the boats carried passengers who had never sailed out of sight of land. This journey was for them, as well as for the men who made it possible, even needful.
Sixty miles on the ocean might have made for a party trip, given the group aboard the dive boat. Kent, Chuck, Darrell, Wes, the rest who had been aboard when Bobby had been lost and then found. Stuart was aboard. Felix Bredow had flown from Germany, though his grandfather was too frail to travel. Other governmental dignitaries traveled in this convoy, some American, some German. Every boat had her honored guests, with names like Asbeck and Eckart.
Lee checked his GPS and the time. “We’ll be there soon.” He leaned back against Bobby, who stood behind him, his hands on Lee’s shoulders.
Bobby spent a lot of time at Lee’s back. This last year had been rugged, what with learning to be a couple rather than a ménage with Jack Daniels, but they’d managed pretty well. Even with a couple of oopsies. Well, one “oops” and one “oh shit,” but Lee got a grip on himself before it hit the fucking fuckbasket stage. One day at a time. Sometimes one hour at a time. The maintenance on his sobriety was more work than on his boat, but worth infinitely more. Lee was s
tronger with Bobby, and Bobby had his back. Lee made damn sure to be worthy of the honor guard.
“I’ll send Tip up.” Bobby dropped a kiss on Lee’s head.
“No need.” Lee would be ready for his part, even after sailing all the way out.
“How about Harley?”
Imagining Harley’s boat-handling skills being put to the test in convoy gave him pause but not the jitters. Funny how an acid-blocking pill a day plus some therapy calmed him down about disasters, potential or imaginary. He still wouldn’t let Harley take the helm.
“Very funny, Bobby. I’ll set the anchors and get down on deck.”
The Bottom Hunter and the Tech Tach would be the only boats to set anchor. Their divers needed the lines to guide them down and then back up again. The rest would maintain position at a distance. If the ceremony lacked intimacy for being broadcast by the Coast Guard cutter, it would be no less moving.
Lee set his anchor, easy as pie. Had to make it look like that, what with the eyes of the world, and Bert Guldbrandsen, on him. Not that he would struggle—he’d been out to this wreck a dozen times since winter ended.
Lee greeted everyone on deck quietly. Even though they weren’t in a house of worship, this was sacred time. He’d learned a lot about that this year—a higher power didn’t have to come packaged in a church or a doctrine. He took his place between Bobby and Stuart, with the rest of the divers trailing around a horseshoe to Stuart’s starboard and the guests in the center. At the stern, Felix Bredow and an official balanced a circular wreath six feet in diameter, crushing the red and white roses on one edge. The men wobbled when the boat rocked. Lee hoped no one would go into the drink, even with life vests over their suits and ties.
“We are here to honor the sailors of Unterseeboot 919” boomed from the cutter. Lee could hardly follow the service through the tightness in his chest—the war that claimed these lives was long over, and they were just men, men who had died and been lost to their families until now. Bobby had given them back to their families. He stepped forward to press a small box containing a graven Bakelite razor into the hands of an elderly guest, who whispered, “Danke.” The old man had been a toddler when his papa went to the bottom of the sea, and now Bobby was handing over a memento he could be sure his lost father had cherished.
Bobby stepped back into place, dashing at his face with one hand and groping for Lee’s hand with the other. Lee twined their fingers together. Stuart was sniffing hard—they all were—listening to the pastor entreating for peace for the forty-seven men and the ones who mourned them. Lee took Stuart’s hand, starting a ripple around the chain of divers, until Wes and Kent at the far end had clasped hands as well. They were a family, weren’t they, and comfort to each other.
The officiant began to read the names of the officers and crew. Felix and his cohort held the wreath aloft and cast it into the sea. Tethered to the boat, of course. They knew too much of what happened to floaters in the current here.
Lee shrugged into his gear with an assist from behind. Buckles needed clasping, the BC required one last puff of air, the Velcro on his pocket full of rose petals had to be resealed. He adjusted his mask once more and followed Bobby into the water.
Rafe and his companions met them at the wreath. He took a grip, as did Bobby, Lee, and as many others as could find a handhold. On Bobby’s signal, they headed down.
The sea gave him a chilly kiss, a caress from a lover who carried a knife. His lover as much as Bobby was, though he came away from her bed glad to be alive. Down he went into her bosom, with a gift and an offering.
Visibility was good today—they could see the wreck of the U-919 from sixty feet. Named at last and claimed for her sailors, she lay on her side on the bottom. The jacks no longer spread the wound in her side. This was a war grave and would be entered no more. Bobby and Lee’s bottom time with the torch had made sure of it. At Felix’s request, they had installed a grill to keep the curious out.
Bobby anchored his section of the wreath to their handiwork, and Rafe did the same. The twenty divers formed a circle, a living wreath coated in neoprene of black, red, and orange. At Lee’s gesture, they released their flower petals. With the tribute rising to the surface, those who waited above would know the task was done.
This dive was out and back, so they’d need a fraction of the usual decompression time, but they’d still hover at various depths. Not a hardship at all, even with their solemn errand, because Lee was in the water. Bobby trusted him to dive again the way he trusted Lee with his heart. A sacred trust, one Lee would do his damnedest not to betray. He’d lost everything once: Bobby, diving, his self-respect. Never again.
A group beep sent them up to the next deco stop. Idling time still needed alertness—the ocean clattered with the pings, clunks, and rumbles of the flotilla. Four anchor lines for twenty divers to cling to made for a crowded stop at this depth, where two lines angled toward each dive boat. Bobby finned out of the group and reached for Lee. He could have jon-roped himself some room, but holding hands was so much nicer. Lee squeezed and Bobby squeezed back. Smiles would wait for a moment when his mask wouldn’t fill with cold seawater.
The roll call of the fallen was long over when the divers surfaced, and everyone got back into the boat without incident. The flotilla dispersed, headed for home once the red and white “diver down” flags dropped.
With enough sea room to maneuver, the Tech Tach raised anchor and motored off. Rafe and his fellows raised their hands in salute and left the Bottom Hunter alone.
Harley appeared at Lee’s elbow while he was still standing in his fleeces to stow his dry suit. The rent Bobby’d had to patch barely showed at all. “Captain, want me to raise anchor?”
“Go ahead.” Teaching Harley the maneuver had been harder on the teacher than the student, but they’d both learned to trust the young man’s new skill. Lee would have some more time with his guests.
“My grandfather thanks you for all your efforts.” Felix caught them on their way belowdecks to change into proper clothing. “It is another chapter of the history completed.”
“We appreciate your help too.” Bobby spoke for Lee, more than he knew. “I found the right paperwork first try because you were so clear with what to look for.”
All the logs, maps, and paperwork were long since dried out, scanned, and sent off to the U-boat museum. The history of the U-919 belonged there for the scholars and the historians, not on display as diving trophies. Not that there was much room on the Bottom Hunter for such things. Bobby had mounted the Enigma key in a Lucite cube, and that was their only memento.
Two men living in the captain’s cabin meant keeping possessions pared down. Even with their minimalist ways, some of Bobby’s wardrobe and library still lived in his basement bedroom on land. That lease felt like a reproach, but Bobby slept there now and then. Well, only during the “oh shit” incident. A little cause and effect there?
They had enough room for a hug and a kiss and a yearning glance at the bed while they changed into jeans and sweatshirts.
“I’d throw you down on the bed for a quick reminder of how alive we are, except….” Bobby glanced up at the ceiling, which thudded with the footsteps of their passengers in the lounge.
“Hold the thought, because I might just remind you back.” Lee contented himself with a kiss that nearly undid his good intentions to go above and play host. “We’ll have the boat to ourselves once we take Felix to the airport.”
In the meantime, they would join their guests for conversations in whatever languages they could muster, and a bite of something to eat, courtesy of the government.
About twenty minutes out of port, Lee excused himself to take the helm. Not that Harley couldn’t manage—now—but captain’s privilege. Lee needed a few minutes alone. The State Department hadn’t consulted the captain on refreshments, and their idea of catering included wine. Time to get out of temptation’s vicinity.
Lee settled into the captain’s chair to chec
k his position and local traffic. They should reach the first harbor buoy in a few minutes. The wheel was still warm from Harley’s grip. Kind of like a homecoming.
Bobby joined him a few minutes later. He slipped his hands beneath Lee’s arms to lace his fingers across Lee’s chest and rest his chin on the handiest shoulder. Definitely like coming home.
“We did the right thing.” Bobby followed up with a nuzzling kiss on Lee’s ear. “Even though it was tough going.”
“Yeah. The families have some closure. The museum has the records. The interior’s off limits.” None of those had been easy. Lee lifted a hand to ruffle through Bobby’s hair, freshly trimmed for the occasion. “Or did you mean something else?”
“All that, but us. Mostly us. I love you. I always loved you, even when I couldn’t live with you. But now we’re together and stronger than we’ve ever been. You’re healthier than you’ve ever been, in all the time I’ve known you.”
“Pronounce that ‘sober.’ That’s the truth.” Lee was much better with that truth these days. “And I love you too.” He could have been on rock bottom like the U-919, broken, encrusted, and never to sail again. He might have sunk without a trace, except for Bobby. “Do you know why I wanted to hold this service today?”
“No. I didn’t realize you had a reason.”
Bobby had missed out on Lee’s more forceful discussions with the State Department, including stated coordinates of the wreck. By Lee’s choice. Holding out his former drinking hand palm up, Lee displayed a couple of spectacular scars. “This is the one-year anniversary of putting a glass through my hand.”
“Damn, Lee!” Bobby flinched hard enough to creak the captain’s chair. “You never did say why that happened.”
“Because you asked, ‘How sober is the captain?’ and I didn’t have a good answer for you.” The wounds were a white tracery, and a reminder. “I have a better answer now.”
Bobby squeezed Lee hard. “It was killing me, watching you slip away drink by drink. I’m feeling very healthy now myself.”