Matelots

by W. A. Hoffman

  Dickey flushed a little and sighed. “I am sure we will do our best.”

  “I will do my best,” the Bard said. “There is a thing we have not done as of yet.” He smiled at me. “So I would have us alone in the cabin.”

  I bowed and grinned. I had wondered how they had progressed on matters since the Bard told me his concerns a fortnight ago; now I knew either the Bard was making a great sacrifice in the name of love, or Dickey had taken to being trained on other matters as well as he took to dueling drills. I hoped it was the latter and not the former. Though whichever way it was, it would serve our purposes this night.

  Dickey was frowning at his matelot; and then understanding apparently dawned, and he flushed a brilliant crimson. His mouth opened and closed several times, and he followed an amused Bard into the cabin like a puppy on the scent of a bone. I was sure he would not have known who Tom was had I mentioned the name at that moment.

  The ship was, thankfully, nearly empty, and Gaston and I were able to retreat to the relative privacy of the aft of the quarterdeck with a half bottle of Madeira. The sea was peaceful, and there was a pleasant breeze. I shed my weapons and lay on the deck, and at last the tension drained from my body. Gaston sat and pulled my head into the v of his crossed legs. I peered up at him curiously. He appeared calm and in control, his shoulders heavy with reason. We watched the sun finish setting in companionable silence.

  “How are we now?” I asked in the grey twilight that followed.

  He smiled. “You ride well. I have not thrown you yet.”

  “I am a tick, remember?”

  “Non, I was mistaken. Ticks are ugly. You are not.” He caressed my cheek and scratched the stubble of my jaw.

  I hooked my arms around his knees to run my hands up his thighs on either side of my head. He caught my wrists.

  “Non,” he whispered. “Sleep. I will watch over us.”

  I sighed. “You know, you need but ask…?”

  He placed a gentle fingertip on my lips. “What would you tell the Gods you wish of this night?”

  “A repeat of last night or…”

  He shook his head regretfully. “I would tell them not yet.”

  “May I ask why?”

  He sighed. “I am tired, and I do not feel safe here. It is not as I want it to be.”

  I stifled my disappointment, as it truly was foolishness. I too was exhausted: last night’s exertions, this morning’s battle, and then hours of showing Dickey how to move had left me almost in as much pain as I had experienced after the beating over a week before. I nodded. “I love you.”

  “Sleep.”

  I kissed his finger and gingerly rolled onto my side, so that my head was still in his lap. He pushed my kerchief off, and I fell asleep to his caressing my scalp and shoulders.

  I woke from a very pleasant dream to the same sensation, but now it was not soothing, but rather playful and possessed of purpose. He was lying behind me, and my head was upon his arm and my knee cocked beneath me. His free hand roved along the contours of my body. I had dreamed we were coupling.

  “Will,” he was whispering. “Wake now. There is no cause for alarm. I wish to speak with you.”

  I thought it likely he had been repeating the same message and caressing my body for a time as I rose from the depths of slumber. I discovered my manhood had risen before me, and not with piss. That knowledge roused me literally more than his words, but I still felt as if I dreamt.

  “I am awake,” I murmured. “Somewhat.”

  “Good. Someone has lit a lamp, and the Moon has risen. I would see more of you.” His tone was seductive and he tugged at my tunic.

  With a chuckle, I moved only so much as I needed to shed my clothing, first tunic and then breeches. Then I lay partially beneath him, both torpid and turgid, and reveled in the feel of him and his touch. He was likewise naked. His kisses were gentle upon my shoulder and neck, and his jaw rough. The combination was somewhat like being licked by a cat, and I stretched languorously.

  “This is much as I dreamt,” I sighed. “Am I still dreaming?”

  “Perhaps. I have been thinking,” he murmured in my ear. “The first time I take you I will not last long. I feel the pleasure of it will be so intense I will spend myself immediately. So I thought that perhaps it is a thing we should do as a necessity, so that we cross that threshold, so that I can pleasure you at length the second time and it will be beautiful. There is much that we both must become inured to, is there not, in order for us to truly enjoy it?”

  His words tumbled through my sleep-mired thoughts and slowly took on meaning. I reached behind me to touch the one part of his body he was not pressing against me. He was resplendently hard beneath my fingers, and well-greased.

  I want you,” he whispered, and pulled me closer so that his manhood nestled between my buttocks. His hand stole to my member and he rocked against me.

  I did not feel I had ever experienced such pleasure, of the body as well as the soul. It was as I had always fantasized it should be, and my heart swelled so that it leaked from my eyes.

  “I am yours,” I gasped. “I could deny you nothing. I have dreamed of this… so many times. I want you.” I grasped his wrist. “But do not concern yourself with that. I would feel your hand elsewhere. I think that I will not find my pleasure this first time, due to that intensity of sensation you speak of, and I will not have you troubled over it.”

  “Oui.”

  His greased fingers left my member and crossed the precipice of my hip to dip in my opening. I let the tension drain from my body. There was only the gentle rock of the ship, the dim flicker of lamplight, the warmth and weight of his body, and his touch as I opened for him. And then there was a greater pressure, and he slid within, and I found myself pierced to my very core with warmth and light and a discomfort that minded me of the swelling of my heart with love. Our mutual groans of pleasure and relief became a single harmonious note, small but resonant in the night. Then we were still and silent.

  I felt we were two separate entities, connected only where he penetrated me. I knew he was far from me as he grappled his demons. I, in turn, found myself in the place where I had often battled the ghost of Shane. This time his shade did not mock me, though: it cowered in shame and regret. I felt no need to even kill him as I had once thought I would on this day. Instead, he merely faded away and I laughed and cried with the joy of it all.

  Gaston moved to hold me tighter, and in doing so shifted within me. I returned to him and he came to me. With a hoarse cry he spent himself with little thrusts.

  Then we were still again as he slowly shrank until at last he could not remain. I felt as if I had run leagues. I could not see for the tears in my eyes, and I heard his ragged breathing. I rolled beneath him and we held one another. I listened to the lap of the waves and the calls of night birds. The stars glistened eternally. All of my emotions ebbed until I was left with only peace, and I was not sure if it was an emotion, so much as a state of grace.

  I remembered another night when I had held him and stared at the stars, that first night when he had told me he was impotent. I had sworn we would heal him, and we had. It was a great portent of things to come.

  I woke to his tickling me.

  “Wake up,” he whispered with amusement. “It is near dawn.”

  I cursed lightly and pushed to my knees. I could barely see him in the dim grey light. The world looked as it had when I went to sleep. I was stiff… and a little sore.

  I grinned and murmured. “I had the most delightful dream.”

  “Hmmm,” he nodded sagely. “Did it involve bulls chasing you? Or perhaps dueling?”

  “Non, I said delightful.”

  “Tell me of it,” he whispered.

  Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes sparkled with mischief and amusement.

  I kissed his nose. “It is a dream I have cherished since I first discovered my member. In it, I wake from slumber to find the man I love is in great need of me,
and he gently rouses me in both body and soul, and then fills me with his love until I explode in happiness.”

  He grinned. “That does sound pleasant. I am sorry I woke you.”

  I tickled him, and we rolled about giggling and wrestling like boys until we at last collapsed in a tangle of limbs and fine spirits.

  “I would dream it again,” I sighed.

  “Perhaps when you sleep tonight,” he teased.

  “Non, I would have it in the light of day.”

  He sighed contentedly. “Perhaps after Dickey wins his duel.”

  “Oh damn,” I groaned. “I suppose that should be counted as holding more import.”

  “I did not say that,” Gaston said with a grin. “I can think of few things that would hold more import, but the duel is a thing that must be attended to.”

  “Oui.” I kissed his nose.

  He snaked an arm around my neck to pull me close and claim my mouth until warmth coiled in my groin. Then he pushed me away. “Go wake them.”

  “Damn you,” I muttered with amusement as I stood and relieved myself over the rail. “And I think it likely we did with our rolling about.”

  Dickey opened the cabin door immediately after I knocked, so either we had woken them, or they had been awake prior to our play. Judging by how awake they were, I thought the latter likely. I studied Dickey’s eyes for signs of fatigue or other impairment and found them clear and anxious. It was with relief I noted he did not appear as anxious as the Bard.

  “You will be fine,” I told Dickey solemnly.

  “I will do everything we practiced, and… I am clear of heart,” he said with equal gravity.

  The Bard did not appear confident. His gaze stayed on me as Dickey gathered his weapons. “I don’t know if I can watch,” he said quietly. “I’ve never had to watch before. I’ve never dueled. My old matelot never dueled.”

  When Dickey turned to regard him, I saw doubt in the young man’s eyes.

  “You must watch,” I told the Bard, “because surely you will not wish to wait here until someone tells you the results of the shots you will hear; but, you must stand so that Dickey cannot see you.”

  The Bard nodded, and Dickey appeared relieved.

  “Will,” Dickey said, “will you do me the honor of being my second? Francis and I discussed it and he thought it best if…”

  I bowed. “I am at your service.”

  Both men appeared even more relieved, and so was I.

  We found Gaston hanging over the side of the ship with his legs over the rail; he was slowly curling his body up until his elbows met his knees. We left him at it. I proceeded to drill Dickey while the Bard lit the cook fire and prepared some hot chocolate and warm beef for us. To my relief, Dickey moved exactly as he had when practicing the day before. Reassured by this, we ate and shaved and in all ways prepared ourselves; Gaston even applied his mask about all our eyes. Dickey appeared quite the savage with the black paint on, and I thought that an improvement. We donned weapons, and the Bard assigned someone to watch the ship. The eastern horizon was glowing gold when the four of us climbed into a canoe and headed for shore.

  Liam and Otter were waiting for us as we landed on a beach dotted by lumps. As usual, when there are a large number of buccaneers and sufficient rum, men were strewn upon the sand as if tossed there. Most were sleeping still, and thus the beach reverberated with snoring that drowned out the insects and early birds.

  “Reminds me of seals,” the Bard snorted as we pushed the canoe ashore.

  “I have never seen seals,” I said.

  “Now you don’t have to,” he said.

  “Nay,” Liam scoffed. “Seals be fat.”

  The Bard awarded him a level stare and drawled, “Can you think of any other difference?”

  Liam looked about and chuckled. “Nay. This lot all barks when they be awake, too.”

  He led us to the rest of our cabal. Julio was checking his weapons, Davey looked angry to be awake, Striker appeared tired but thankfully sober, and Pete was a boneless sleeping lump beside him. I spied Cudro a little way up the beach, talking to two men. Another group of men stood a short distance beyond. I could not discern them; but I thought it likely one was Tom.

  “Cudro is parleying with the other quartermasters,” Striker said slowly. “Tom sailed on the Belle Mer.”

  “And yet another reason for Savant to dislike us,” I sighed.

  “We made it damn clear this has nothing to do with you two,” Striker said. “But aye, he doesn’t like you.”

  I shrugged. “Well, at least I can be thankful we make better friends than enemies.”

  He regarded me quizzically. “I think you make one Hell of an enemy.”

  I grinned. “I meant better for us, not others.”

  He chuckled and then eyed Dickey seriously. “Is he ready?”

  “Aye. I have great faith in him.”

  This appeared to relieve Striker.

  A man separated from the far cluster and started toward the quartermasters. It was not Tom; I supposed it was his second. I looked to Gaston and found him still calm and relaxed. I gave him a light kiss on the cheek and went to join the parley.

  “Ah, here is Will,” Cudro said happily in French as I approached him and the other quartermasters. “Are you his second?”

  “Oui. I have been so honored,” I replied.

  “This is Rizzo, quartermaster of the Josephine. He will preside, as neither man sailed with them,” Cudro said.

  I shook hands with Rizzo, a lanky Frenchman who seemed to share the Bard’s sardonic mien and Pierrot’s good nature. His sharp-boned and weathered face was well-creased with lines from laughter about his eyes and mouth. He looked me over with interest and no disdain.

  “And this is Chat Noir, the Belle Mer’s quartermaster,” Cudro said.

  Chat Noir was lithe and swarthy with hooded black eyes, such that I thought his name well-chosen, at least in likeness. His demeanor toward me was in opposition to Rizzo’s. He did not take my proffered hand, preferring instead to make a great show of nodding greeting to the man arriving from Tom’s party. In that, I thought he was aptly named as well.

  The arriving man was a thing of beauty to rival even Pete. His eyes were azure, and he wore a huge mane of mahogany ringlets, a dusting of reddish stubble on a well-sculpted jaw, an ornate sword belt with a fine rapier, a pair of breeches slung low on his narrow hips, and nothing else. He appeared to be a well-sculpted piece dipped in copper, with not a scar upon him. I found my gaze traveling down his muscular chest, rippled belly, and the little line of hair escaping up to his navel from his breeches. Pete had the same feature, and I always thought of it as beckoning fingers enticing one to peek beneath his waistband.

  “I am called Dieppe,” the gorgeous young man announced.

  I grinned. I could not resist. “I have seen that fine port, and you do not resemble it in the least.”

  Rizzo and Cudro snorted with amusement.

  Dieppe’s mouth tiled with an arrogant smile. “And you must be Lord Marsdale.”

  All three of the men about us winced and hissed a little at that.

  “Not here, I am not,” I said coldly. “You may call me Will, as that is my name among the Brethren.”

  “That is not a thing that is done,” Chat Noir told Dieppe quietly.

  Dieppe seemed annoyed at the reprimand.

  “You are new the West Indies?” I asked, though there was little question in it.

  “Oui, what of it?” Dieppe asked. “I am well-traveled, I would say as much as you from what my friend has told me.”

  “Ah, so you have been about in the world since you were…what, eight or perhaps nine years of age?” I teased.

  This elicited a chuckle from Rizzo and Cudro, and even Chat Noir smirked.

  I almost said that I was pleased I had not come to the New World when I was as young, arrogant and unwise as he; but then I realized I had never truly been as he was now. Shane had robbed me of that.
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  Instead I said, “Do not believe everything Tom tells you; or do, if you are so inclined, but remember that others will not always hold his version of any event to be truth. And though others have surely told you this, you will feel much less of the heat if you shave your head; though it saddens me, as your hair is truly a gorgeous thing to behold.”

  “You are truly such the sodomite,” Dieppe scoffed. “And yet I hear that the man you have chosen is so very flawed.”

  I was actually more amused than angry. Chat Noir was cursing quietly, Rizzo’s mouth was agape, and Cudro was a mountain of anger at my side, but I chuckled.

  “Dieppe, my boy, do you wish to die?” I asked with a grin. “Or is your mental ability truly of such deficiency? If you wish to duel with me, say so; do not waste words attempting to disparage my judgment or my matelot’s vanity. Do as the three men I killed yesterday morning did, and threaten my man’s life.”

  This gave him pause, and set Rizzo and Cudro to snickering again.

  “Come now,” I goaded further. “We can easily have two duels this morn. The Brethren will already be assembled. We can bury the both of you in the same shallow grave. And I would be on with it quickly. I would like to break the fast, as I do not know what the day will bring and who might attempt to kill us, much of which is due to your … friend, I might add.”

  “You are a liar, and he is not my matelot.” He spat the word.

  “That is a shame, as you have so very much in common,” I sighed. “You are both arrogant fools. And now, as you are a well-traveled man, purportedly experienced with the ways of men in the world, and thus surely know that calling another man a liar has been the start of many a duel, what say you? Will you grant me satisfaction, or will you gracefully apologize and allow good Rizzo here to preside over what we must discuss?”

  Dieppe glared at him, and then back at me. “Though I do not doubt my ability to best you, I do not wish to duel with you at this time,” he said with a less than humble tilt of his head.

  “He’s not jesting about the apology,” Cudro rumbled before I could speak.