The young seaman took his time, kissing his way down to Randall’s cockstand. Randall shivered, gasping for breath as the sweet torture of exquisite tingles coursed through his body. Lips enveloped his yard, a practiced tongue swirled around its head; then Smith plunged down, swallowing to the base. Pale pubic hair was a stark contrast to the man’s ebony locks.
Smith’s mouth was experienced, and almost…well, loving. Randall’s balls drew up to what felt like his throat, and even though he’d given his infrequent bed partner, Timothy, a fine and thorough fucking just five days ago, he was about to come with the potency of a bull.
Randall climaxed, seed spurting into the midshipman’s mouth, air whooshing out of his lungs with a roar that would put a dragon to shame. The world stood still for a moment while he was enveloped in a mist of intense pleasure that felt surprisingly comforting, like a warm blanket. Then, slowly, the world began to move again, leaving him with a feeling of losing the path toward home.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I…I did not realize I would come so quickly…” He felt disconnected, floating in an ocean of dissipating pleasure and wondering where this sudden sense of melancholy came from.
Smith, his mouth full and still lapping at Randall’s softening member, managed a mmm.
He grasped the man’s shoulders to keep suddenly weak knees from giving out. Regaining his balance, he let Smith stand. Lips that had enveloped his rod now sought his. Tongues probed, and he tasted the musky flavor of his seed. Such a heady sensation. His cock stirred again.
Mid-ship-man-Smith. Four exquisite syllables, a yearning he didn’t realize he had, a long-forgotten dream come true, a glimpse of a future he never dreamed could exist for him. “Bed,” he whispered. “I want you naked and writhing under me.”
“Yes. God, please, yes.” The man’s voice was low, rasping. He rubbed an impressive rod against Randall’s hip.
They replaced their clothing haphazardly, and with both of them holding their partially fastened breeches up, Smith followed him and his dim lamplight through shadowed hallways to his bedroom.
He locked the door, then took the single taper from the bedside table and used the fire to light it. The fireplace lit a corner of the room but left the bed in shadows. He lit three additional candles and then placed the taper back on the bedside table. He was intent on fully enjoying the sight of Smith’s perfect body stretched across the bed.
Smith looked around the room which, to a sailor, must have seemed large and opulent, but said nothing and did not seem overly impressed as he sat on the bed.
The midshipman was too perfect to be true. He was comfortable in these lavish surroundings even if they were foreign to him. Randall found he wanted to keep the young man, and he almost laughed at his own thoughts.
“Here, lie down.” Randall slowly pushed him back, pulled away his shirt, and slowly, tantalizingly, revealed a pale, firm chest sprinkled with straight black hair.
He could not wait to taste this fine young man and leaned down to lick the smooth skin before nipping at one nipple.
Smith lifted half off the bed and gasped.
“Ah, so sensitive. I like that.”
Moving lower, he pulled Smith’s breeches and smalls from a muscular arse and legs. The man’s fully engorged cock slapped against his stomach, ruddy and ready.
“Perfect.” He ran one finger along the length.
“It is a… I mean… I do not do this very often. I have not much experience.”
And no wonder—in London, if a poor man were caught being fucked by another man, the sheriff would toss their sorry arses into damp, nasty Newgate Prison and leave them there to rot. Newgate scared the devil out of Randall, more so than going to hell for being a deviant. That is, if he had believed in an everlasting hell. He could imagine how this fear would be compounded in a sailor, on a ship with little or no privacy, and with the captain’s discretion on how harsh a punishment to mete out. God only knew what parade of horribles that could mean for his new friend.
He did not want the man to worry about tonight. “Lie back and relax. There is no reason for concern. My servants are all abed, and I shall tell no one of this night of pleasure.”
Smith did relax into the bedding with that reassurance. “In that case, my lord, I am at your service.”
Randall removed his clothing, slipping his collar out from under the damn cravat. To hell with the thing. He would simply have to entertain this man with the cloth around his neck. He probably looked ridiculous, but found he didn’t care as he reached for Smith’s lovely cock.
The midshipman pulled in a deep breath but seemed tongue-tied. He laughed, then stammered, “The…er…candle? Should…we…blow it out?”
“God, no. I want to see your eyes when you climax. I want to see every muscle flex when I bring you off.”
Supporting himself with one elbow, Randall leaned over his lover and gently bit Smith’s lower lip; full, ripe, soft, inviting as a sun-kissed cherry. He slid his tongue into Smith’s mouth, feeling the hardness of teeth and the welcoming parts of this warm, hungry man.
Randall alternated deep kisses with nibbles on kiss-swollen lips. He could not decide which he needed more, so he took both aplenty, while Smith arched and gazed through lust-slitted eyes. Their tongues probed, explored silky smooth and intimate spaces, caressing each other with a gentleness that went further than one night. He realized he was shaking as warm, strong hands fondled his back and arse.
Leaning down, Randall licked a glistening drop of salty liquid from the tip of Smith’s rod.
“Please. Damn. Please. Now,” the man whispered. “Please.”
Almost overwhelmed by the plea, Randall pulled away and concentrated on the patterned silk bedcover for a few seconds. Counting the number of swirls before a rectangle, then counting the number of rectangles before the next swirl, he managed to stave off the need to plow between those pale thighs.
“Do not tease me, Randall. Suck me.” Smith rocked his hips, grabbed the stupid cravat, and pulled Randall down, so once again he stared right at this man’s lovely prick.
He could not resist; he wanted, needed this man in his mouth, so he kissed the straining cockhead.
Smith’s entire body quaked.
Using his middle finger, he found the enticing entrance as he slipped down to swallow the midshipman’s flushed cock.
Ebony pubic hair teased his nose like feathers as he gently rubbed Smith’s hole. He stroked the tender skin and felt the scant hairs bordering the rim, then, ever so slowly, eased one finger into the warm, inviting opening. It contracted, pulling the tip of his finger inside and exerting a delightful pressure.
It took a few minutes, but he finally found that spot, deep in the dark recesses of Smith’s arse where hidden pleasures awaited. He stroked the spot, one of the many Greek pleasures a past lover taught him.
The midshipman’s breath came and went with increasingly vocal gasps and extended moans.
Each gasp was like a thousand bellows flaming the fires of Randall’s desire.
Smith arced his hips upward, tensed like a longbow, and with a moan that held a bordello’s worth of sensuality, climaxed. His seed erupted, hot, salty, infused with a sweet, pungent aroma. It filled Randall’s mouth, some of it leaking out onto the man’s flat stomach as the midshipman’s hips continued to flex and his body pulsed with tremors.
Smith clenched the bedding in strong hands and expelled a raspy, “Yes.”
At that moment, Randall felt like the world’s greatest lover.
The candle on the bedside table sputtered and died, leaving the two of them in shadows cast by the remaining tapers and the soft glow of the fireplace.
Randall swallowed Smith’s seed, his own cock hard as oak and ready for an encore. He rubbed himself against the other man’s thigh.
Smith gripped Randall’s straining yard. “My God, that was…spectacular,” Smith mumbled. “You are the most…most gorgeous man I have… You’re beautiful.”
> As are you, my midshipman. He rolled to his back, sprawling and taking up most of the mattress to allow the man better access.
Smith followed, kissed one shoulder, then across his chest to kiss the other. “Your shoulders are so broad.” He kissed both eyelids. “Your eyes so green.” He licked first Randall’s top lip, then the bottom. “Your smile is strong, straight, and infectious. You smile often. I like that.”
Randall chuckled, the tender stroking tickling his lips.
“Your cock is so large.”
A full laugh bubbled up his throat but was cut off by Smith’s tongue invading his mouth as his hand squeezed his prick.
Even having come not an hour ago, he was primed and ready. Something about the man in his bed ignited every portion of his body, making him ready to shoot in an instant.
The sailor plundered Randall’s mouth and slowly stroked his member. Their bodies were entwined, as if to be one, and Smith writhed against him, his newly stiff member slicking Randall’s leg with a warm, sticky liquid.
The midshipman closed his eyes so tight, his winged brows nearly touched in the middle, and arched his body off the bed. Randall rose with him and then lost all perception except the exquisite euphoria surging through his body and the bright lights spiraling across his vision.
At some point, Randall came back to his senses. He lay on his back, Smith half atop him, cock spent. Cooling liquid puddled on Randall’s leg. With an arm around his lover, he sank further into the soft embrace of the feather mattress.
“Do you realize you roar like a lion when you come, sir?” Smith’s words sounded as if they were muffled by three layers of thick cotton as his lips moved on Randall’s chest.
He laughed. “No, actually I did not realize. Perhaps it is just that you make me feel as virile as a large predator.” He nipped the edge of one perfect ear.
The man snorted and slowly relaxed, even though his fingers continued to move, as busy when drifting off to sleep as when fully awake. It was not long before his breathing slowed and his body gave little jerks as if he had unpleasant dreams.
Randall, too, must have slept for a while, but he did not sleep peacefully. He woke as sun-filled dreams turned into lonely, dark nightmares.
The second time he woke, he found Smith’s warm body cradled against his side and wrapped in his arms. His head rested on Randall’s chest, day-old beard prickly against his skin.
“You are still here.” Randall sighed and felt like a fool, a besotted fool.
Smith snuggled closer. “Mm? What did you say?”
“Er…I said, good morning?” He cringed. Mornings were not his most impressive time of day. Even so, these inquiries were worse than some of his less intelligent utterances.
“Good morning to you too, sir.” Smith laughed, raised his head, and then rested his chin on his arms atop Randall’s chest. Soulful, dark eyes smiled at him. “God, it feels good to laugh. I haven’t had much enticement to do so of late.”
The man spoke clearly but with a peculiar accent, not unlike a nobleman’s child trying to imitate the speech of a commoner. Or as if he only remembered to speak clearly and enunciate part of the time.
“Stupid, I know, but I never asked your given name last night.”
Smith burrowed his face into Randall’s chest, tickling the hair there.
“Well, is it something awful?”
Smith’s laugh was muffled.
“Let me guess. Horatio?” At the shake of his partner’s head, he said, “Bartholomew?”
Another negative.
“Well then, your name must be Constance.”
Smith roared with laughter and flopped back against the bedding. “Stop; that is just too horrible to even consider. David, my…” The man suddenly sobered, sat up propped on one elbow, and looked Randall straight in the eye. “My name is David.”
“David,” he said as he pushed disheveled hair off the man’s gorgeous face before nuzzling the black locks, taking a deep breath of sea air. “David, what a pleasure you are.”
The man blushed, but did not look away. “Here, let’s get this thing off you. It is quite fetching when you are otherwise naked, but I imagine it does not make for comfortable sleeping.”
The man plucked and pulled at the recalcitrant cravat, and Randall took that opportunity to admire the dexterity of those hands and fingers. Must be from all the ropes he had to wrangle while on ship.
“On which ship do you serve?” That was not at all the question he wanted to ask. What he really wanted to know was how long he would have David’s attention before he shipped out, but thought that question would certainly make him look pathetic.
David hesitated, seemingly lost in thought. “Er…the…” He cleared his throat. “The…Dreadnought.”
A preposterous twinge of loss and sadness stabbed Randall’s heart. Of all the ridiculous emotions. He had just met the man. Granted, the sex had been breathtaking, and David was his ideal of male beauty. He needed to get himself under control. He was not the sentimental type.
However, he’d read about that warship in the paper many times. It would soon depart for dangerous adventures, perhaps even sail to the Americas. He had barely made this midshipman’s acquaintance and already missed his company.
“The Dreadnought is a fighting ship, yes?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “What type of ship is she?”
David snuggled closer. “She is a…um, a sixty-gun ship of the line.”
“Where will she sail next?”
“The South Seas. I meant…Madeira. The King’s ambassador…” David’s voice trailed off, his body tense against Randall.
He pulled a long lock of the young man’s hair ever so lightly through his fingers. The midshipman eventually drifted off to sleep. His breath barely tickled Randall’s chest hairs. David’s hand lay on Randall’s hip, inches from his member, which was so hard it hurt.
If only he could fall asleep again, knowing that David would still be there when he awakened. But what if the man slipped away before breakfast? Boarded his ship and sailed away without saying goodbye? He’d spend the rest of his days at the Pig and Whistle, waiting.
No, he would stay awake as long as it took. He would not let his midshipman slip away before they exchanged promises to meet again.
He’d fucked a midshipman or two in his time and bid them fare-thee-well the next morning without hesitation, but this one, he was… How could he be a mere midshipman? He was intelligent, handsome, a dark angel, a captain who should be commanding the fleet of Olympus.
Damn, but he was turning morbidly romantic.
Shadows moved almost imperceptibly as the sun rose. The dawn of another day he hoped would be spent with his new lover. The experience last night had been moving, real. Their liaison must last longer than one day. It could not exist like a mayfly, living its entire life of flight from a single sunrise to sunset.
2
David entered the study as Randall rubbed his temples. “I swear, I love my cousin Elizabeth dearly, but her timing is atrocious. Imagine if she had barged in unannounced five minutes later than she did.”
“Does she often arrive this early?”
Randall looked at the clock. Half past nine in the morning. “She and her husband keep unusual hours, and when she is excited about something, she thinks everyone wants to share in her newest discovery.” He snorted. “She has been up all night, working on… Well, I forget now what she was doing, but the results were quite spectacular, if her enthusiasm is anything to go by.” He held out a hand to invite David to his chair.
The man, dressed again in the suit he wore to the Pig and Whistle, strode over and sat in Randall’s lap. “And what would she have interrupted if she had arrived five minutes later?”
The thought of what he had planned for this beautiful man, this morning, in this room, set his sword for conquest.
He pulled a vial of oil from his pocket and placed it in David’s hand. “I had hoped to put this to good use and chris
ten the carpet by the fire with my cock in your arse.”
David stopped breathing and simply stared at the simple, dark-brown bottle.
Worried he pushed too fast, he amended, “Or, you can fuck me if you prefer.”
With a deep gasp, his guest started breathing again. “No. No…I. Well, I think I much prefer if you…um…do the honors.”
Unable to stop the huge smile and hearty laugh, he picked David up and moved him to the spot he had in mind for this morning’s buggery.
The man struggled for a second, then stiffened, before relaxing in Randall’s arms. He held the glass bottle in a tight, white-knuckled fist.
“David?”
“I am fine. I just… Can we get on with it?”
That honey and spice, shy yet assertive voice slid over Randall with more potency than an opium draft.
In answer, he laid David in front of the fire and then started to remove his lover’s clothing. He kissed every newly exposed bit of skin, until David pushed his hands away and finished the job.
“Now. I don’t want to dawdle.”
“Yes, sir,” Randall mocked. He stood and removed all his clothing; this time the damn cravat came off too.
David watched every movement, his face growing more flushed and his cock growing longer with each piece of clothing Randall removed. He did not, however, release his grip on the oil.
“David?”
“If you do not get that impressive club inside me soon, there will be a big bucket of bloody hell to pay.”
Randall laughed but lay down beside his lover. “At your bidding, sir.” He caressed and kissed his lover to release the tension he obviously held.
The man must not have much experience with getting fucked. He would need to go slow and fully prepare him for penetration.
David spread his legs, and he positioned himself between them. Pouring enough oil in his palm that some trickled onto his favorite carpet, he smiled, knowing he would remember this moment every time he saw the dark stain.
His Midshipman Page 2