Why, then, did the desire persist? Why did he still believe that their kiss meant something?
With his mouth twisted in a sneer, Hamilton gazed malevolently at the big-breasted women Ensign Lawfield had tacked to his wall. He wasn’t particularly affronted by the pornography, though it was decidedly against regulations. Rather, it occurred to him that were his own sexual inclinations accepted within the British military—and society at large, for that matter—he might not have gotten himself so turned inside out by the kiss he’d shared with J.C.
What if it had been perfectly permissible for him to have a male lover, or even a whole string of them? What if he could have carried on openly with willing sexual companions, the way some sailors claimed to have a wench in every port? In that case he might not have been so starved for manly company and might not have been so easily beguiled by the first comely boy who gave him some attention.
That was a world Hamilton Arkwright would like to visit. It would have a distinct advantage for him over the intolerant one that he now inhabited.
But even these abstracts couldn’t pull his thoughts entirely from J.C. He knew, in his heart, that he did find the man appealing. J.C. was an irresistible male in this or any world. And Hamilton, God help him, had fallen under his spell.
But his highest priority had to be the retaking of his ship. Whatever these rogues had in mind, they couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
“What the hell was that?” It was J.C.’s voice next door, carrying through the vent even though he wasn’t huddled up next to it anymore.
Hamilton had felt the change to the engines. A boiler burned fuel, a special mix of it, to create the focused jets of steam that moved the turbines. He knew every breath those engines took. He had heard the hiccup before the reaction, which had just startled J.C. so badly, and had braced for it. The airship had dropped, a brief jerking plunge no more than the height of a man, before the descent was arrested. It had jolted the whole ship.
Hamilton felt a grin break out across his face. “That,” he said, “was a deliberate interruption in power. Not a blocked line, not a hesitant piston. Those calamities have a different feel to them.”
“So Brixton or one of his goons threw a wrong switch?”
It didn’t dampen Hamilton’s elation. “Perhaps. But unlikely. The error was corrected instantaneously, you noticed? That means whoever did it knew what would happen and compensated immediately. He meant to cause that single jolt.”
“What for?” J.C. sounded confused.
Hamilton didn’t answer right away. He held to his belief that it was Chief Prichard who had created the interruption. Was it to distract the pirating crew? Was it a message to the captain himself to let him know that rescue was on its way? Aloud he simply said, “We’ll see.”
“Thanks. That’s very illuminating.”
“Now who’s being snide?” Hamilton shook his head, still wearing the grin. He’d never met a man he was so drawn to and who he also wanted to smack so badly. Maybe that spanking would be a good idea if they ever got the chance. Of course that just conjured a fresh set of erotic imaginings, wherein he was slapping J.C.’s naked rump again and again, feeling the skin turn hot, savoring the tautness of the reddening flesh, all of course as a prelude to him plundering that sweet netherhole with his rampant cock….
An unconscious moan slipped past his lips.
“What’d you say?” J.C. called from the adjacent cabin.
Hamilton slapped the back of his own hand, as if he were a schoolboy again. “Nothing,” he said curtly.
He had of course searched his navigator’s quarters for anything that could aid in an escape or in a subsequent fray with these buccaneers. There was nothing. No weapon, no tool that could pry this solid door free. Hamilton had a pistol in his cabin, a decorative piece given to him by his father. Also there was the ship’s armory. But none of that could help him here in this room.
From next door came a growl of frustration.
“Is something wrong?” Hamilton called.
“Wrong? Just me stuck in this goddamned cupboard of a room. How do you sailors stand this?”
“My own cabin is rather bigger.”
“You’ve got a bigger bed than what’s in here?”
“Oh, decidedly.”
“Huh. Is it roomy enough for two?” J.C. had suddenly adopted a wanton tone.
It was hardly the time or place, but Hamilton heard himself say, “If the two are… companionable.”
J.C. barked a laugh, then said, “There. Look what you’ve done now. You went and gave me a hard-on.”
Hamilton felt his belly tighten and his heart lurch. He went utterly still, listening keenly. He heard the rattle of buckle. “What….” The breath went out of him abruptly. He started again. “What are you doing?” The question trembled on his lips.
“What comes naturally, Archer. I have my cock in my hand. I’m feeling a great deal of tension, but luckily there’s an easy means of sure relief. You could join me if you like.”
Hamilton’s jaw dropped. Was the younger man teasing, taunting, playing some game with him? He looked up to the vent and was about to vault up onto the small desk to get a glimpse down into the abutting cabin, but with unnerving prescience J.C. called out, “If you try watching me through that little grille while you’re fetching mettle, you are going to fall and break your neck. Come near the wall.” He was starting to grunt amidst his words.
Hamilton stepped to the wall. Excitement fluttered in him. He was stiffening inside his trousers. Did J.C. really have hold of himself? He heard the man’s breaths from the wall’s other side. They grew louder and shorter.
“I’m thinking of you while I’m doing this,” J.C. panted. “Do you like that?”
Hamilton’s hand moved, as if of its own will, to tug hurriedly at the brass buttons of his fly. “Yes—”
“I’m imagining jamming my cock in your mouth!”
“Yes—” Hamilton’s cock sprang into his hand. He was savagely erect. He put his forehead, slick with sudden damp, against the cabin wall. “Plug my mouth with it!”
“And you’ll suck it. Yeah. You’re sucking on it like it’s a sweet. Your tongue is around me. Your lips enclose me. You go up and down on my cock, head bobbing, bobbing….”
Hamilton pumped his engorged shaft. Hesitation had vanished, as had any doubts. He was quite certain now that J.C. was engaged in an authentic masturbatory act on the other side of this wall. Even with this separation, Hamilton felt a participant in the deed. He saw the images as J.C. described them, saw himself sucking avidly on the man’s cock, relishing the taste, cherishing every sensation.
“I’m fucking your mouth now,” J.C. said between harsh breaths. “I can’t help myself. You suck me so good. My hips are thrusting. I’m burying myself deep in your face. It’s—it’s—aaah!”
The orgasmic cry was unmistakable. Hamilton fancied he could actually hear the wet spatters as they struck the wall. In his mind, however, that juice was thundering into his mouth, coating his tongue. He was swallowing each spurt as it came, feeling the salty sting in his throat, keeping his lips wrapped around the staff until the last issue was released.
“Yeah…,” Jonny murmured languorously. Then he said more clearly, “Time for you to finish. Do you want to jet in my mouth too or—”
“I want to come in your ass.” Hamilton said it flatly, almost dully, though the excitement was burning in him now, a fire beyond his control.
J.C. didn’t miss a beat. He said, “I’m on my hands and knees, buck-ass naked. You kneel behind me. You’ve greased up my hole with spit. I want you inside me. I’m desperate for it. Stick it in my ass, Arkwright!”
“I am! I’m driving my cock through your tight ring. Your channel clenches me. I slide in farther.” Hamilton was pulling on himself faster and faster.
“I feel the throbbing length of you. I love it. I want you deeper—”
“I thrust deeper—”
“I
cry out. Aaagh! Yes, Hamilton, yes! Fuck me. Fuck me hard!”
The images blinded him. They became reality. He was fucking the blond man, jamming his cock deep inside with every thrust. His ballocks slapped against the firm buttocks. He clutched the hipbones, their curvatures ideal for this particular grip, as if nature understood that men might want to couple in this fashion and had provided this anatomical assistance.
“I’m—it’s—” Hamilton felt the final rush. His balls tightened.
“Shoot your cum inside me, Hamilton! Give me your creamy load!”
His juice tore loose from him, spraying J.C. deep inside. Each spew wrested fierce pleasures from Hamilton’s being. He shook. He panted. He wouldn’t have been surprised if tears were coursing down his cheeks. The smell of semen filled his nostrils.
He was blinking. The electric light burning in the cabin gave everything an unreal sheen. He looked dumbly at the pearly trails of seed he’d left on his navigator’s wall. A smile fluttered his lips, and he thought inanely that at least he hadn’t shot off all over the man’s nudie pictures.
“Did you enjoy that, Archer?” J.C.’s tone was almost businesslike now.
Hamilton tucked himself back into his uniform trousers and redid the buttons. “I did. Thank you.” He sounded like someone thanking a fellow for help in mending a fence. The moment seemed vaguely absurd. But there was no denying the pleasure they had just shared. What would it be like to actually make love to the man in the flesh? Would it be at least as good as this strange scenario?
“I don’t know about you,” J.C. continued, “but all this tumult has tired me out. I’m going to lay down on this Lilliputian bed and steal some sleep. Be a good fellow and wake me if our fabled rescue happens along, won’t you?”
HAMILTON HAD to admire the younger man’s audaciousness. Surely it was some lingering vigor of reckless youth that allowed him to fall asleep in the midst of such a crisis. He could hear the occasional soft snore through the vent.
Then again, what was there for either of them to do? There had been no further changes to the functioning of the engines since that single interruption earlier. No one had come around to unlock the cabins. No rescue. If Chief Prichard were out there, he hadn’t yet made his bold move.
It was impossible for Hamilton to sleep. A keen thrumming energy possessed him, keeping him continually at the ready. Not even the masturbation had dimmed his vitality. He felt a tiny, cringing embarrassment over the incident, although he knew also he would hold the memory of it dear for some time to come. But what if one of these thieving scoundrels had overheard the bawdy talk through the walls? What if Brixton had walked in while Hamilton was choking his cock? What if Prichard had chosen that moment to unlock the door?
He didn’t let these thoughts distract him overmuch. But there was nothing for him to do but wait. He monitored the sounds of the engines. He calculated distances in his head. Hours were passing. The radius of territory they might be covering kept expanding. Prichard’s modifications gave the ship quite a range.
Pangs of appetite nettled him. He tried to ignore them. He sat on his navigator’s bunk. He leaned back against the wall, propping the thin pillow behind him. His eyes smarted, and he decided to close them for a while.
A boom and familiar thunderous reverberation awoke him. He stumbled off the bunk, instantly realizing to his dismay that he’d let himself doze. A cannon had fired! It was the starboard fore, he could tell.
“What the bloody hell was that?” J.C. fairly shrieked in the next room.
“Artillery,” Hamilton said with steely calm. Now at least something was happening, even if it would likely prove a further disaster for him and his purloined airship. Another boom shook the Indomitable. It was the port fore cannon this time.
“Who the fuck are we firing on?” J.C. sounded truly distressed.
“Something on the ground is my guess.” Hamilton was listening to the whistle of the shells. The craft was designed to strike enemy positions below. He had worried that this outlaw crew might be shooting at another ship, perhaps one sent in pursuit of them.
“We have to get out of here! This is crazy! I’ve had enough of this shit!” J.C. pounded on his walls, voice gone hysterical.
“J.C.! Calm yourself. Please. Hear my voice. Just listen to me. Be calm. Listen only to my words.” He went on in that vein for a moment, until the other man had collected himself. All the while Hamilton kept an ear out for the clang of shells being loaded into the artillery pieces. Like the noises from the engines, he knew these sounds intimately.
When the cannon fired next, he was ready. He had positioned himself at the cabin door, and upon the thunder of the discharge, he brought the heel of his foot down hard on the wood, right alongside the lock. He put all his strength into the kick, and a satisfying crack appeared in the door. Without the cannon for cover, the noise would have alerted their captors, even if they were all on the bridge.
“What’re you doing over there?” J.C. asked, maintaining his newfound composure.
Hamilton’s ears strained for the next reloading. “Quiet. Wait.” J.C. grumbled something about more waiting, but when the mounted gun spat another shell, Hamilton again brought his foot down with all his might. The mahogany around the lock splintered and the door flew open. He lunged and caught it before it banged the outer wall.
He peered both ways along the short corridor. Clear. He stepped over to the adjacent cabin and unlocked it. Expecting J.C. to come scrambling out, he had one hand up to restrain the young man and the other at his lips in a shushing motion. But the blond man emerged on cat-silent feet, casting cautious looks down both legs of the passageway as well.
Hamilton led him to the end of the corridor, which was floored in maroon carpeting, all the fixtures brass. It was indeed a handsome craft. It had two main levels, as well as the bridge and engineering section. Also, one could clamber about on the outer skin along walkways, something which required a certain amount of nerve.
At the corridor’s end, a ladder led up to a hatch in the low ceiling. Hamilton hopped up and undogged it. He leaned down to whisper, “This is a duct. We have to be extremely quiet, or they’ll hear our reverberations all over the ship.”
J.C. gave him a smirk. He whispered, “Not my first burglary.”
Hamilton didn’t take the time to point out that this wasn’t a case of burgling. They weren’t thieves. Brixton and his blackguards were the bandits. Hamilton meant to take back what was rightfully his—and make these bastards pay in the process.
He closed the hatch silently once they were both in. The duct was smooth-sided, with seams for purchase for fingers and toes. Crewmen slid through this network to make mechanical adjustments all over the ship. Recessed lights burned softly. Hamilton knew the layout, of course. The question was, where to find Prichard?
The ducts were canted at odd angles, unlike the crisp straight lines of the rest of the vessel. Hamilton scurried quietly along. J.C. followed, virtually silently.
Another gun resounded, and the noise was almost deafening in the metal tube. After that, however, there were no more volleys. Hamilton wondered with dread what the target on the ground had been. He didn’t know what this Brixton was capable of or what ultimate purpose he had in mind. Someone of the Colonial Underground in control of a powerful Crimson Talon ship might do anything, might rain death and destruction down upon official installations, bridges, roads, even cities. There was no telling if hundreds of innocents might have already been slaughtered this night, using his ship.
The thought curdled his soul and strengthened his resolve. He decided that their first stop needed to be the armory.
The hatch down into the chamber had a spyhole. He saw no one among the racks of weaponry. Quietly he climbed down from the duct. His ears still rang from the last cannon blast, and he felt a curious twinge of belated claustrophobia. Prichard’s mechanics sometimes spent hours in the tubes, to say nothing of Prichard himself who, it was said, could get from one
end of the ship to the other through the ducts faster than a running man.
J.C. dropped down beside Hamilton. It was the closest they’d been to each other since they had left the Rookery together. The proximity raised unexpected gooseflesh on Hamilton’s arms, but he kept his face stony.
His quick eye noted that the weapons store had already been raided. Several handguns were gone, as well as some of the repeaters, which were long arms capable of delivering uninterrupted salvos. As with everything these days, the technology of firearms was improving by bounds. It sometimes seemed there was nothing science couldn’t enhance.
Wide-eyed, J.C. gazed at the array. Hamilton took a pistol, checked the chambers, and put it in his pocket. He gathered ammunition.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing that J.C. hadn’t moved.
“I… I’ve never used a firearm before.”
“Never? In your profession?”
“What do you know of my profession? Burglary isn’t marauding.”
Hamilton caught himself before he made a cutting remark, something about villains being villains no matter if they went armed or not. But this wasn’t the time for further derisive banter. Like it or not, their alliance was real. Their escape from the cabins would surely be discovered soon. He needed this other man at his side and needed him properly equipped.
“Here.” He lifted an arm off a rack, a weapon with two abbreviated barrels side by side. “This is a shotgun, modified for close-range firing. It’ll spray wide, give an awful kick, and quite effectively hit anything in front of you. Take it. Feel its weight. These are the shells, and this is how you load it.”
J.C. handled the implement a moment. His face had gone grim. Quietly he asked, “Do you think we’ll have to use these?”
Hamilton took another pistol and slipped it into the waist of his trousers. “I’ll tell you this. Those men have committed treason. They’re for the rope already. The assistance you provide me will spare you that. I… I could not allow anything like that to happen to you. But you must help me retake my ship.”
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