Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  The old fears had disappeared along with the pain. I knew with every fiber of my being that the man upon me in the dark was Gaston. And if he had been erect, I would have opened for him without reservation – nay, I would have sucked him inside with abandon.

  In my clawing about, I encountered the table leg, and Striker’s hand upon it, gripping as tightly as I wished to do. My initial reaction was to pull away and find another handhold for leverage, but he released the leg and caught my hand before I could withdraw. Our fingers quickly twined together, and we used one another for the leverage we sought: he pushing up, and I pushing down. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Pete in the patchwork light, his intense face framed by Striker’s feet: as if perhaps he lay on the floor with Striker above him.

  I grinned. I felt peace and love folded about me like a good blanket on a cold night. Our grunts and sounds were a lullaby for my soul, and they drowned out all others from the ship. I found myself flowing, rowed ever faster with each spasm of pleasure from my member, toward an oblivion peopled by those I loved and was loved by in return. For a giddy moment, I wondered if somehow Gaston had dosed me with laudanum. But nay, he had dosed me with something else, and my heart ached to breaking with how much I loved the man that was providing me such pleasure this moment in exchange for none of his own.

  Striker came first, with a sound that spoke of seeing great beauty and a grip that nearly broke my fingers. At this, I christened our new mattress as the room was illuminated in the white light of Heaven behind my closed eyes. I saw us all clearly, standing there before the gates of rapture. I fell to earth and our bed, my cock still twitching fitfully in Gaston’s now trapped hand, and it was my turn to laugh.

  My love fell atop me, panting and chuckling on my shoulder. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss all of them, but Striker and Pete were too far away. I squirmed mightily under Gaston until he moved so that I could roll over onto my back once more. His mouth was upon mine before I could ask.

  We held each other and savored languid kisses until the now discordant noises our companions were making brought forth seemingly brilliant lamplight. I closed my eyes and cringed. I did not welcome it: I had seen all I needed to see this night. Then I peeked, and found Gaston’s amused emerald orbs gazing upon me with adoration. I realized I did need to see the real world, as I could never capture with my memory how very much I enjoyed gazing upon him.

  He moved to accept a bottle and took a long swig. Then he swiftly descended on me, and I opened wide to gulp the mix of fruit juice and rum he emptied from his mouth to mine. I gasped in the aftermath and he licked the escaped dribbles from my cheeks.

  “I am loved,” I whispered in French when his gaze returned to mine.

  “Oui,” he breathed on my lips.

  “You are loved.”

  He smiled. “Oui.”

  There was a heavy sigh from beyond the table, followed by a chuckle from the room’s fourth inhabitant. We looked out to find Pete had moved to sit with his back to the windows next to my head, and Striker–apparently after lighting the lamp now swinging from the beam overhead – had sagged onto a chair to sit as he often did, with only his shoulder and the edge of his buttocks in contact with the wood. His long legs stretched out like a bridge to his matelot, and his heels rested between Pete’s legs. They were naked still, and watching us with amusement.

  “Sometimes I wonder how long you two will remain so in love that you adore cooing at one another,” Striker drawled with a grin.

  I awarded him my middle finger. “I hope for all eternity.” Then I grinned. “Are you implying that it is a thing that will fade? Is it a thing you two once engaged in that has since faded?”

  Striker made a disparaging noise and Pete laughed.

  “Never,” Striker scoffed. “The most romantic thing Pete does is let me make his arse sore for a change.”

  The adoration in his eyes as he regarded his matelot belied his words somewhat.

  “So there were no halcyon days of your courtship where you sat about and whispered endearments to one another?” I teased.

  Pete groaned. “Nay! ’EKnowsILove’Im. NoNeedTaSayIt.”

  I frowned at that.

  Gaston answered. “It is good to hear. I know Will desires me, yet I enjoy seeing his cock hard at the sight of me.”

  “Aye,” Striker said admonishingly to his matelot.

  Pete regarded all of us with narrowed eyes and then stubbornly crossed his arms.

  Striker chuckled. “Well, I love you, you bastard.”

  “NotMyWay,” Pete said. “An’YaBeMadAtThem.”

  “Ooohh,” I said. “Such a feint!”

  Striker laughed. “He’s right. What’s all this marriage twaddle? Are we such good friends I must hear these things from Julio?”

  I was amused. “I see why you are riled now. Would you have been less troubled if you had heard them from Liam or the Bard?”

  He grinned. “A little.”

  I laughed. “I am sorry. We did not intend to tell them of it, but… events, or rather the conversation, this afternoon took such turns as revealed all. If we had set out to inform people of that in particular, rest assured, we would have made mention of it to the two of you first.”

  “Pretty words,” Striker said with mock disdain. “And the deed is done. Now what of it?”

  “As a Lord, I am expected to produce a legal heir. To that end, my father is sending me a bride. I want nothing of it.”

  “I want puppies,” Gaston said, taking the blame for the matter yet again.

  Pete frowned. “WeGotPuppies. WeLeft’EmWithThatGirl.”

  “Children,” Gaston clarified.

  “WhatTheDevilFor? PuppiesBeCuter.”

  I chuckled. “Those are my sentiments.”

  “I’ll say,” Striker said thoughtfully. “There are few things as ugly as an infant. When my son was to be born, my uncle warned me of such, and then he hauled me away to the tavern because the womenfolk would not let a man be about. Finally they sent someone round to fetch me. I ran back to the rooms, and this midwife tells me it was a boy, and hands me this tiny bundle of blanket.” He indicated the size with his hands. “And I set it on a table and opened it up. And there was this wrinkled, red, offal-smeared, screaming…” he frowned in memory and shook his head, “babe. I nearly fainted. I could not imagine how such a thing could have issued from my dear wife, as she was quite lovely.

  “Later, he became pinker and rounder. Yet he still didn’t look right: his head was too large for his body.” Striker considered his crotch, and fingered his flaccid member in drunken thought. He grinned. “They are rather like a prick. They must grow into their head and wrinkled skin. Same color too.”

  “Striker, you possess a poet’s soul,” I said.

  He snorted and sighed. “I suppose he looked fine… later.”

  At Striker’s change in tone, Pete stilled. I remembered that Striker’s son and wife had died while he was at sea.

  “Would you want another one?” I asked carefully.

  Striker smiled sadly. “I suppose. As I said, they don’t stay ugly. I would see one grow into a lad.” He looked to Pete with guilty eyes and looked away.

  “Children seem to be an issue that haunts all matelots,” I said.

  “Aye,” Striker sighed. “One man always wants them, and the other does not. So you will marry this bride?”

  “I do not know,” I said truthfully, and looked to my matelot.

  Gaston sighed with a rueful smile. “We tried to find a bride we could favor. It brought me to madness and caused her to flee.”

  Striker laughed, and then sobered to ask kindly, “Because of your madness?”

  “Nay,” I answered for him. “The matters were coincidental and not necessarily related. We do not know what this bride my father sends will bring us to, though. I may abandon my title entirely.”

  “Not for me,” Gaston said quietly.

  “Nay,” I chided, “for my own self-serving re
asons of wishing to spend my life with you as opposed to living under the aegis of a thing I have never placed much value on.”

  Gaston slumped to the floor beside me, to lie staring up at the bottom of the table.

  “All matelots have some battle that can never be won,” Striker said quietly into the silence.

  “IfThey’reTa StayMatelots,” Pete added.

  I hoped that was not the way of it. I felt that there was some threshold we would cross in the near future that would be the final arbiter of such matters. I did not know what it would be, though. I surely knew I did not wish to dwell in limbo over the matter until such time as my father might pass away.

  In the morning, we were woken by Cudro’s booming voice. I looked about blearily and was thankful we were under the table. The cabin was now full of men. Striker and Pete had gained their hammock overhead, but the other two berths, the floor, and even the top of our table were filled with men. Besides the wolves, I recognized only two of them.

  With a scowl, Cudro went about prodding and kicking until all filed out the door save the wolves and Gaston and me. Then he sagged onto his hammock and swore quietly in Dutch before groaning, “God damn rum,” in English.

  “Amen,” Striker intoned from the ceiling.

  “Drink water,” Gaston said.

  “Do not know if I could keep it down,” Cudro sighed.

  “Are we ready for the day’s business?” Striker asked.

  “We are underway with the morning wind, though the Bard is in quite the snit,” Cudro said.

  “How so?” Striker asked.

  “He counts ninety-two men on deck, and I just chased another ten out of here.”

  “Gods!” I exclaimed. “We only sailed with eighty-five on the Mayflower, and she was larger by a quarter.”

  “I expected as much,” Striker said, and his head emerged over the edge of their hammock.

  I wasn’t pleased to be beneath him, as I was concerned he might retch.

  “Pierrot said the French are packed just as much,” Striker said. “All the men are bored and broke and we’re the first to sail. Damned idiot Morgan won’t sail until after the New Year. So everyone is looking to escape the ports with us so they can sit about on Cow Island and eat free beef and drink free water.”

  “I hope they are not looking for free rum,” I jested.

  This brought a chortle from Striker. “Aye and nay. Some men with money still bought a number of barrels of that and wine and asked if they could bring it on for all. As we can use the barrels for beef when they’re empty, the Bard and I agreed to it.”

  “Is there any food aboard?” I asked.

  Even Gaston laughed at this.

  “As usual, only what any man brought,” Striker said, and began to slowly ease his way out of the hammock.

  As usual, my matelot had practiced excellent forethought, and we were well-stocked with boucan. In addition to Gaston’s medicine chest, we had brought aboard a small sea chest stocked with all manner of things including food and wine. I knew the rest of our cabal were likewise supplied. Of course, if some horror befell the ship and we did not reach a place with food inside a week, we would all be honor-bound to share what we had.

  Once he was on the floor, Striker smacked the bottom of their hammock a few times, until Pete cursed at him. Then he accepted Gaston’s proffered bottle of water and drank a goodly amount before passing it to Cudro, who did likewise.

  Meanwhile, I worked on easing my aching body to a sitting position. I had not felt last night’s lustful exertions as they occurred; however, this morning it seemed my muscles and bones chose to practice usury on me for my prior forfeiture of attention.

  Gaston slipped to the door and peered out. He returned to me with grim features.

  “I would rather climb out the gallery windows to reach the quarterdeck,” he said. “But you cannot. We will have to battle to the steps and up them.”

  “Let us prepare to go in the others’ wake then,” I sighed.

  He sorted our weapons, and passed me my baldric and brace of pistols. Then he donned his personal armor by painting the mask about his eyes.

  I touched his hand when he finished and pointed at my face. With a smile, he daubed the substance around my un-bruised eye and grinned at the result.

  “We don’t have to board our own damn ship,” Striker said with amusement.

  “Speak for yourself,” I said. “Remember, there are rumors about us.”

  Striker cursed quietly.

  “Liam has been hard at work, though,” Cudro said with a chuckle.

  “I am of two minds on that,” I said with amusement. “The first being that we have truly fine friends, the second, that only the Gods know what they now think.”

  Pete dropped to the floor. “TheyBloodyBest BeThinkin’Na’Ta MakeUs Angry.”

  He pissed out the gallery window, and we followed suit. It afforded us our last view of Port Royal, as the town slipped away in our larboard quarter as we sailed east.

  I felt relief that we had at last escaped civilization once again.

  With Pete and Cudro in the lead, we made our way to the quarterdeck. Once there, Gaston maneuvered us into the fore larboard corner, where we found Dickey.

  “Were you able to sleep on deck with so many?” I asked.

  I looked about from the vantage point the quarterdeck provided. I could not see the planks of the deck for bleary-eyed and rum-cursed men. Where we stood was no better, and Gaston had placed himself between me and the rail so that I would not be jostled, and then wrapped his arms around me protectively from behind. I was touched, as always, by his concern, but despite my aches and bruises, I did not feel so very fragile that it was warranted. Then I stupidly realized that, judging from the tension in his arms, his gesture of support and security was more for his well-being than mine. I rubbed his arms reassuringly.

  Unfortunately, our stance, or perhaps our mere existence whether we embraced or not, caught the wandering gaze of many of the barely-sober men squinting about in the morning light. They would look and then whisper to their companions, who would then look. I dearly wished to know what they said, but I did not wish to disengage from my matelot’s embrace to go and confront them. The Devil with the lot of them.

  “Nay, no sleep at all,” Dickey was saying. “It was more from so many men being drunk than from so many men.” He rubbed his eyes. “And Francis is in quite the mood.”

  I frowned at the name, and then remembered it was the Bard’s given one. I suppose his matelot could not be expected to call him the Bard. I looked to where our Master of Sail stood in the middle of the fore quarterdeck rail, with his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes on the sails. He appeared to be brooding and not watching the wind as he rocked back and forth with the ship.

  “Beyond today, how goes that?” I asked Dickey cheerfully.

  This brought a smile from the young man. “Well, I feel. It is… different from all I have experienced.” He shrugged sheepishly. “And it is different than what I expected of such things, though not necessarily in a manner that is worse than those expectations. In some ways it exceeds my humble thoughts on the matter entirely.”

  “But in others?” I asked with amusement. I was fighting hard not to break forth with mirth at his ruminations.

  “Well…” Dickey said solemnly, “We talk a great deal about the future. He is quite concerned.”

  I lost my battle and laughed, startling him, and thus was quickly forced to explain. “Nay, nay, I do not find amusement at your expense, rather in sympathy. So, you might have tried to envision the squeaking, but not the astounding amount of words that need be said.”

  “Precisely,” he smiled.

  “Well, if it is any consolation, the talking is not a thing men engage in often, at least not of that nature. I have never spoken of the matters I do with Gaston with any of my prior lovers. I simply left them when it became obvious things were no longer going to proceed as I wished. The talking
is good. It is proof of commitment to the endeavor.”

  “Thank you for putting it in such a manner,” Dickey said. “It is just… I thought love would simply… conquer all.”

  “It can.” I grinned. “But only if you take the time to develop a plan for the battles it must face.”

  “He is concerned that I will wish for children,” Dickey sighed. “He avers that he does not, and that I am too young to know my heart on the matter. He often feels I am too young to know my heart on the matter of many things.”

  I sighed. “Dickey, I am very fond of that man, so do not take what I will say next as mean-spirited. I feel that he speaks of his cynicism and not your youth. Sometimes the years bring fear more than wisdom. And I will cite a variation of a passage from his book: If he were not so very smitten with you, he would not be so very concerned about losing you.”

  He nodded soberly. “What can I do to assure him of the truth of my intentions?”

  “Do not release him,” Gaston said. He had to strain to be heard over the breeze and constant murmur.

  Dickey nodded again and smiled. “I understand.”

  Striker had finally gathered his wits sufficiently to address the men. We made short work of the elections and articles, there being no elections save carpenter and cook; and we were not sailing for the purposes of roving, so the articles were reduced to a mere reciting and ratification of the rules of life aboard ship or shore, and not divisions of any booty. The ship’s surgeon would be the young man Striker had mentioned at Negril: Farley. He seemed a pleasant enough man: thin, with an open countenance and dark brown eyes and hair. But he did look young indeed. He listed an English college of medicine as his credentials for the job, and all seemed pleased with that – save my matelot, of course.

  As I was named First Officer, and I had fairly legible handwriting, the job of recording the articles and witnessing signatures fell to me. So despite the lack of argument and the relative brevity of the entire process, the sun was very high in the sky when Gaston and I were at last able to retreat to the relative sanctuary of the cabin. We were dismayed to find it full of men. There was even a man sprawled under our table. As I now knew without doubt, having seen them all sign, that there were one hundred and four men aboard, I suppose I should not be surprised that a good ten of them had settled into the cabin to seek shade. They had every right to be in the cabin; but, as we were owners of the vessel, I felt we were entitled to other rights even amongst the democracy of the Brethren.