by Vivienne Cox
There was no possibility of subtlety. His breath uneven, edged with desperation, James almost cried out as Alexander pulled him between his thighs, both of them on their sides, strong hands cupping James’ buttocks as his own hips pressed eagerly forward. James needed… no, he couldn’t reason it.
Couldn’t think or voice what it was – he just needed. There was a shoulder by his mouth and he bit down, shuddering as his cock was pressed tight to hot and straining flesh, as Alexander was sobbing into his ear, as the whole of the world span down into the weight of his balls and the feel of skin against skin. It was there, no. Not there. Here. And he arched, screaming into the muffle of shoulder muscle, his seed burning as it spilled from him, again and again, as Alexander’s body shuddered under his hands, and he knew that it was Alexander’s seed as well as his own that spattered hot and slick between their bellies.
He trembled sporadically with the aftershocks. Unlocking his mouth, he kissed the bruise he’d left on the warm skin.
Never, never… Not like that. Not in his dreams. From a distant place he found the energy to lift his hand and stroke the long hair that curled over his chest. Tendrils of it lay on his face, and he turned into them, pressing his face to Alexander’s head. Slowly the head turned, and Alexander eased away. Just far enough to focus, not so far they were not entwined at leg and arm.
“Jamie…”
James could only lie there, bemused, blissful. His eyelids felt heavy. It was rude to sleep now. Unconscionable. But…
The mattress shifted, and Alexander was rearranging him, settling him. It wasn’t unpleasant. He smiled as an arm curled protectively about his shoulders. No, it wasn’t unpleasant at all. The last thing he was aware of was Alexander’s voice, humming tunelessly to him as he fell headlong into sleep.
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Chapter 20
Alexander knew he was dreaming for his name was wrong. Not Cruise. Not yet. It was something else, something the darkness hid from him. Pressed into a corner, his eyes blind, he sat and sang to the night. Though it could have been day, for all he knew, he preferred to think of it as night. Dark and shadowy, hiding his secrets. Hiding him.
Hands pulled over his scalp, his shaved head alive with lice, he tucked down, knees to nose, feet one upon the other in the ordure that lay thick upon the floor, he watched the darkness shift with shapes. Ghosts, he thought, ghosts of those who had lain in this place before him. All mad, of course. What else would they be. And mad ghosts were strange things. Sometimes they just drifted past, tearing at their silvered hair and rending at their garments. At others they stayed and laughed at him. Maybe those who laughed where not ghosts at all, though they frightened him just as fully and he couldn’t help but scream at them to leave him alone.
The dream, which had to be a dream, for his name was not Cruise, made him sweat and groan in the darkness. The room was small, too shallow to stand in, and too narrow to lie, so he crouched, weighted down by a metal hoop welded around his middle. It clanked when he moved, the thick, heavy chain struck fast to a ring cemented into the wall. Though where they thought he would go, he wasn’t sure. Unchained, what could he do? Fly though the shutter in the metal door, when they opened it? Crawl like a worm though the earthen floor? Maybe they thought he was a magician and the metal was all that kept him from vanishing in a puff of dust and excrement.
That thought amused him for a whole day. Or week. Or month. He had laughed so long his throat had ceased to make sound, and he had cackled soundlessly. More ghosts came and laughed at him then. Which made him scream until his throat bled.
Solid darkness was the sweetest.
The shutter clanging back and his enemy leering at him was the opposite. Sometimes the broad, bristled face would stand there and eat his dinner, drooling mouthful by mouthful, smacking its lips and licking its thick fingers. Sometimes though the food was given to him, and Alexander ate it slowly, wonderingly, scarcely remembering why he did so.
Alexander knew it was a dream. A dream that lied. A dream where he slept to the sounds of other inmates screaming. To pain and humiliation. Where the dreams within the dream were all of flight and freedom. Even the small freedom given a Cruise, its tiny wings spread wide, fluttering in the air as it swooped from branch to branch, or its beak busy with seeds as it hopped from stalk to stalk of an endless field of barley.
When he’d been chained he dreamt of freedom. Now he was free, he dreamt of being caged. At least he knew this freedom to be real. Mostly. He only scared himself when reality became hazy, and he wasn’t sure which dream was true.
But his name was the anchor. And the rolling swell of a ship. His name was Alexander Cruise. Alexander Cruise. He had no idea who Alexander Dawkins was. The name, with the young man it belonged to, had been left behind, long ago, to rot. He was a Cruise now. Flying free. Free. But the darkness mocked his determination, and the shadows laughed, on and on.
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Chapter 21
A sound awoke him. Lying still, James Thomas held his breath. Dry-mouthed, skin prickling with fearful anticipation, he opened his eyes to a room full of half-light and shadows. Not the cellar. He wasn’t there in that darkness, and the simple knowledge made him almost faint with relief. He took a long, uneven breath that caught fast in this throat as the sound came again.
A whimper.
Alexander. Alexander’s body warmly wrapped around him. Too warm, slick with sweat and quivering.
Thomas stroked his hand over skin, feeling the slight roughness of scarring under his fingertips.
The body stilled, words, only half formed, totally incomprehensible, were muttered against his chest.
“Alexander?”
His answer was another sound, one utterly filled with despair. A nightmare, it had to be. A man with his past must have more than a few demons. The bitter thought was instant, as was the ashamed rebuttal – for the nightmare could be of anything. Anything at all. Thomas ducked as a hand swept suddenly past his face, but he caught it, and with a twist of his body he flipped Cruise onto his back, and was leaning over him, staring at his anguished face.
“Alexander, please…”
Nothing. Though the body he was half lying on twisted suddenly as if trying to curl in on itself. “Alexander!” Another sweep of the arm almost knocked him sideways, but he ducked in time so it merely caught him a glancing blow over one eye. “Alexander, wake up!”
The panicking body stiffened. Then, shuddering once, was suddenly very still.
“Alexander, it’s all right. You’re on the Siren … please.”
A soft gasping breath. “Jamie?”
“Yes.”
“God.” He tried to turn, found himself trapped under Thomas’s body. “Please?”
Shifting to let him move, Thomas watched as Alexander rolled to one side, and slowly, painfully moved to sit on the edge of the bed. His face dropped wearily into his hands. Thomas pushed back until he was sitting against the headboard. The sheets where Alexander had been sleeping were clammy with sweat. He fingered them, wondering.
“We all get nightmares.”
A short, ugly laugh was his reply.
Thomas flinched and looked towards the windows. It was getting darker. They must have slept the afternoon away. He touched his chest, fingering the scars on his own skin. He’d lain with a pirate
– and it was the pirate who awoke from nightmares. He shook his head, and turned to one side, his hand reaching out to Alexander’s skin. The slim back arched away as if burned when he touched it.
“Alexander, please?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t usually sleep with someone. And the dream…” He shook his head slowly, and when he spoke his words were muffled. “It doesn’t come that often.”
It seemed cruel to ask what it had been about. What could cause someone to be so unmanned? A dream about being hanged, perhaps? Guilt made him press hard into the wood behind him, the carvings digging into the tender skin of his back merely a just penance. To dream of
death after lying with the man who had tried to cause it? If it were so, did he want to know? As the ship swept into stormier seas, as the darkness deepened around them, he gathered his courage.
“I’m sorry.”
Straightening, Alexander turned his face, even through the shadows it seemed bemused. “What for?”
“For what I did.” He reached out again, and was overwhelmingly comforted when Cruise took his hand and shifted so he sat facing him, one leg curled on the bed.
“James, you’re speaking in riddles.”
He took a deep breath. “Your dream, there was such horror.” Ah, where was his courage when he needed it. “I believe it was of being hanged, when I caused you to…”
“No, you’re wrong.” He wiped his hands over his face. “So wrong.” He sighed then, the sound deep and long. “Jamie, trust me, that is not something I dream about. And even if I did, I would not be blaming you.”
“Oh.”
“Ah, for goodness sake, this darkness, I can’t see what you’re thinking.” He reached for the table and found a flint. After a moment a candle sparked into flame. Then another.
Thomas looked at him, at his fine face in the stark light, at the bones that lay so close to the skin. A beautiful man. What could there be in his past that was worse than nearly dying at a rope’s end?
“That’s better.” He smiled then, just a little, and leaning forward came close to James’ face. “An’ I can see you.”
“You can’t see what I’m thinking.”
“So I can. You’re racked with guilt and you think you’re the cause of everything, from plague to storms at sea. Well, you’re not.”
A smile twitching at his lips, Thomas lifted a brow. “Really?”
“Really.” He came closer still. “The dream was of long ago, and high time I stopped havin’ it, if you ask me.” Closer, his eyes seemed to dance with the candle flames. “But I am feeling a mite peaky, and in truth I can only think of one thing to make it better. Which, if you want to help, might just go better with two.”
His cock was stirring already. The proximity, the heat that spun off the near body. “Alexander…”
“Ah, you get my drift, Jamie.”
“Yes…”
“A kiss then, to make it better.”
How did you kiss a dream better? Thomas tried to think it through, but his lips were caught, trapped by Alexander’s and the thought fled into nothing. Warm and sweet, the tongue delved into him, opened his mouth and took possession. Offering himself, he eased back and down, as Alexander - one hand braced on the headboard - pressed more closely, the fingers of his other hand cupped around James’ head, bringing them closer, deepening the kiss. A thumb stroked behind his ear. James moaned then, hearing the sound slip into Alexander’s mouth, feeling the response as Alexander gauged his need. The kiss became more insistent and he willingly opened wider, fingers knotted in the crumpled sheets as he was explored, Alexander’s tongue sliding across palate, teeth, under his tongue and over his lips, only to slide away so teeth could bite him, their sharpness enough to make James gasp, arching up, heady with need.
Alexander laughed then. The sound low and soft, wicked in its unashamed delight. He was still laughing as he bent, his mouth tracing down James’ chin and neck, to lick and suck just where his blood ran so close to the skin, the teeth still sharp as he nibbled, the bite deepening as James groaned.
When his nipple was licked, he cried out, and he tried to pull Alexander down, to touch, to have. The laugh, that same soft laugh, stopped him, and a finger tapped his cheek as Alexander moved to straddle his thighs. “Patience, Jamie…”
“Monster…”
Another laugh, which was buried as Alexander kissed him again, this time with one hand reaching under his balls, massaging upwards with sure fingers. He would have screamed, but he was too busy kissing, fighting to open his mouth wide enough, to take Alexander deep enough. Another press and he was gasping for breath, his cock hungrily reaching up, blood pounding in his ears.
“Sweet, sweet, Jamie.” A wicked smile, and Alexander was bending again, licking downwards, sliding his legs straight so he was almost flat, his head raised enough to kiss and lick as he wormed backwards, skin against skin so glorious that James was struggling to breath, to think. No, not think, to touch…
But when he reached out fingers wove through his own and held them fast to the bed. A lick traced the line of his groin. A suck made his sac tighten. Another lick on his thigh and his muscles were trembling like a rope drawn overly tight. “Alexander…” His mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak, the sound no more than a groan that struggled from his lips.
His scream was silent when his cock was swallowed. He arched up, the darkness behind his tight closed eyes striated with colours as he was sucked into unbelievably tight heat. Not once, but again and again. He couldn’t last. The pleasure… it was too much, too sweet, too powerful. His hands released, he touched the dark mass of hair, stroking jerkily as Alexander raised himself slightly and simply took all his cock in one lunge. And held there, his nose tight to James’ heaving belly as James’ eyes flew wide open and he came, hard and fast into Alexander Cruise’s throat.
Sweat dripped from his face. He shuddered as Alexander slowly lifted his head, his mouth like fire on over-sensitised skin. Helplessly, James pulled at his shoulder, tugging him up the bed, his own hand reaching for Cruise’s groin.
“Touch me…”
The breathy word was command enough. Thomas cupped the heated shaft, fingers curling about its girth, thumb dipping in the slickness that dripped from the deep slit. He pressed hard as Alexander shuddered and, as he squeezed, Alexander groaned deep in his throat and came.
“Oh.’
After a moment, still breathless, Alexander smiled at him, his eyes dark and lazy.
Hands cupped around Alexander’s face, James kissed the swollen lips, just brushing against them. The kiss was returned in kind.
Grinning, Cruise sat himself back on the bed, his hand still wound around James’ fingers. “I need to go up on deck. We’re heading for high seas.”
“The storm.”
“Aye.” He shrugged. “Mayhap it won’t be too bad. You stay here, rest.”
Thomas could already feel the need for sleep in his bones. “If I can help, come and get me.”
“If I’m desperate I will – otherwise, stay here and rest. I didn’t mean to…” He hesitated.
“To what? Make love again? I think I am well enough for that, Alexander Cruise!”
“That you are, Admiral, but I just don’t want to wear you out. I don’t know your stamina, yet, do I?”
“As good as yours, pirate.”
“Good.” A kiss was planted on his nose, and then Alexander was up and off the bed, reaching for his clothes. He dressed fully this time; shirt and breeches, waistcoat, boots, belt and coat. The only piece of clothing he didn’t wrap around himself was the sash. The last thing he did was to tie the scarf around his head. As he knotted it fast, he glanced at the bed. “Stop staring at me, Jamie.”
“Why? I like looking.” Lazily, curled on his side, James watched unashamedly. “Even when I’m dressing, not undressing?” “Yes. Though I think I’d like that too.”
“Then look your fill.” And he bowed, arms sweeping the air, as courtly as any lord. “Though now I must be off. Sleep well…”
Unlocking the door he opened it wide, blew a kiss back to the bed, and was gone. The room was extraordinarily empty without him. Pulling the covers over his shoulder, Thomas lay quite still.
His body ached, all of it heavy as lead, but it mattered not at all. Staring at the candles he lay still, feeling the shift and lurch as the ship fought the sea. It felt strange to be hidden away, when for years he would have been the one out there drowning in rain and spray. Strangely, he had no sense of urgency. He trusted the ship’s captain. Trusted him maybe more than anyone he had ever met. The realisation curled him deeper into the bed. Who had he last
trusted? His first captain? Governor Lowe? Neither. Certainly not Elizabeth. Maybe he had to reach back into his childhood, to his sister perhaps, who was long dead, or his tutor, but his trust for them had been different: his sister because he was the strong one and how could anyone not trust a child as innocent and kind as she had been, or his tutor whom he had trusted because the man had known so much, and he had been kind, gentle, so vastly different from his father. No one was like Cruise. No one at all.
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Chapter 22
Alexander was soaked and half-addled with exhaustion, when he returned to the cabin. Closing the door behind him, he slipped into his quarters, hoping that James would be asleep. But, he was sitting in bed wearing the shirt for nightclothes, reading by the light of a candle. Alexander stood in the doorway and dripped.
“Bloody hell, Alexander.”
“It rained.”
“So I see.”
“But we’re through the worst. All masts intact.” Thomas was getting out of bed. “No, I’m fine, I’ll just strip off.” His fingers plucked ineffectually at his belt, and he frowned down at it, sure that it undid that way.
“Give that here.” Warm hands pushed his own out of the way, and the belt was undone, peeled off, along with his coat and shirt. It was all very business-like and efficient. A sheet was pulled off the bed and draped around his shoulders. Thomas knelt.