Eye of the Storm (12 page)

“Do you think it might?”

“I don’t know, Davy. I simply do not know.  I should hope not, but I cannot be sure. I think that it might. You mean more to me than any man aboard, or all the crew together.” Or the ship itself, come to that. There was nothing in the world more important to Marshall than David Archer himself.

“We’ll deal with it when we must, then,” Davy said. “If, and when. If my presence does interfere with your command, I should have to go ashore. That would endanger the entire ship and crew. But knowing you, I don’t believe it will. In the heat of battle, I could dance naked on the quarterdeck and you wouldn’t notice.”

“I believe we can forego that experiment, sir!”

“I believe we had better. I shouldn’t want to risk losing any significant body parts.” He rested a hand on Will’s knee, and began to slide it slowly upward. “I would prefer to engage in other experiments, such as determining how long you can hold back after a month’s abstinence.”

“As long as you, I’ll wager!”

“I shouldn’t advise it.” The hand found its target, and Marshall found himself standing at attention while leaning back against the hull. “I’ve been keeping in practice,” Davy murmured against his mouth, “and I’m quite certain
you
have not!”

Marshall groaned as his body responded. “What? Not
now!”

“Why not?” He had the flap of Will’s trousers unbuttoned and had somehow worked his fingers inside his drawers.

“It’s nearly time for the men’s supper! Oh! God, yes… Davy, wait, I—I need to take the helm while they eat!”

“Will, you’re the captain!”

“Yes, but—”

“The men won’t be messing for half an hour.”

“But—”

Davy got his left arm around Marshall’s shoulders while his free hand played merry hell with his captain’s composure. “Rank has its privileges!” he said, and put an end to the conversation.

There was something extremely persuasive about the way Davy kissed. No nonsense, no question of what he had in mind, and no time wasted as he finished unbuttoning the underwear and freed Will’s suddenly sensitive cock. The feel of Davy’s fingers closing tightly around it, his thumb rubbing slowly over the tip, moistening it in the cool air of the cabin, banished all other thought. Marshall felt himself shivering in anticipation as Davy’s tongue carefully explored his mouth.

No matter how many times they did this, or under what circumstances, he was always a little in awe of his lover’s enthusiasm. Not that he himself was reluctant, but in loveplay he often felt a bit embarrassed at his body’s reactions and undignified behavior. What attraction Davy saw in a big-nosed, sharp-shinned scarecrow, he could not begin to imagine.

Davy, though—even with his golden hair cut so short it only brushed his collar, he had a beauty of grace and form that must surely win the love of anyone who saw him. His smile could melt a block of ice.

He was grinning now, the rascal, as he pulled back to assess the havoc he’d wrought. Continuing his slow, rhythmic caress of Marshall’s cock, he asked, “Do you suppose you could spare a few minutes before you attend to the crew?”

With one arm pinned between them, Marshall had to satisfy himself with a grab for his lover’s thigh. “You’ve raised the problem,” he said, “you’d better deal with it.”

Davy stood, slipping off his own shoes, and took hold of Marshall’s waistband. “Lift your arse?”

When he did, Davy slid Will’s trousers down around his knees, then loosened his own, and in a moment they were writhing together on the narrow bench, dignity thrown to the wind. It would’ve made more sense to balance on the cot, but that would have required getting up, and right now the only thing that mattered was the hot smooth length of Davy’s cock sliding against his own, the pressure of his weight not quite enough, grabbing that beautiful arse with both hands and pulling Davy closer as they bucked together.

They had learned silence over the years; they could make love with no more noise than a bit of heavy breathing. But it
had
been a month, and Marshall found himself reaching the peak faster than he’d meant to, gasping in surprise when he felt his body spasm in release.

Davy bit his shoulder an instant later, then quieted. “Well,” he said, taking some of his weight on his arms. “Lucky I didn’t take that bet—though I do think you fired first!”

“It’s not the same, alone,” Marshall said. He ran a hand through Davy’s hair. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“My pleasure, Captain.” Davy pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and tidied them both. “May I invite you to a return engagement later this evening, after the crew has been fed and watered?”

He pulled himself back together swiftly, while Marshall was still luxuriating in the sense of well-being and fumbling with his drawers. “You may.” He managed to balance with one hand against the hull while Davy helped tug his trousers back up. “In fact, I shall make amends to you for treating you so shabbily this past month. You must decide what you would like as your Christmas present. On Christmas night, after the men have had their treat, you will have yours.”

That grin could be genuinely wicked. “With bells on?” Davy asked.

“I’m afraid not. Bells would be too noisy.” That was safest, Will thought. It would not do to ask just what Davy thought the bells might be affixed to.

Chapter Twelve

The crew maintained a respectful silence while Captain Marshall read the Nativity from the Gospel of St. Luke. They enjoyed their feast down to the last mug of beer, exchanged small presents among themselves, then cleared the deck for dancing.

Despite the horrible noises Angus MacIvor scraped out of his fiddle, Marshall managed to enjoy the Christmas festivities. He found himself almost oblivious to the raucous screech, and even to the men capering on deck. He and Davy were sharing a bottle of wine. He’d given the men an extra ration of rum, which most of them preferred to wine anyway. The men were merry, though not drunk, but Marshall was still nursing his first glass, preoccupied with what Davy might ask of him once they’d retired to their cabin.

Davy seemed to sense his thoughtfulness. He joined in some of the Christmas carols, but every once in awhile he would shoot a quick look from those blue eyes, a look that sent fire down to the pit of Marshall’s belly.

What was he going to ask?

Most of their trysts had been brief, limited to a few moments stolen from their duties, when they could find a bit of quiet and privacy, but every so often they’d had overnight shore leaves. They’d always gone through the precautionary sham of hiring a girl, then smuggling her out as fast as they could so they could spend the rest of the time exploring one another’s bodies.

Dear God, they had been so young, back then. So young, so naïve… and so randy. The first time they had all night together, they had barely slept at all.

The last time…the last time they’d had days to spend together, they had both thought it would be the last time they’d ever see one another. They’d spent five blessed days at Lord Christopher St. John’s estate in Jamaica, rediscovering each other and saying farewell. They had slept quite a lot then; Marshall had been exhausted by the weight of his first command, coupled with fear for his convalescent lover, and Davy had more enthusiasm than stamina. Every time they’d made love, it had seemed to wear him out, but that never stopped him for long. They’d done things that last night that they’d never done before or since. The night Will had been given command of the
Mermaid,
there had been so much to do that their reunion had been a poor imitation of what it should have been.

What would Davy ask? He liked it when they were both naked. So did Marshall, come to that, but he was always a little uneasy aboard ship, and he usually had at least his nightshirt on when they were together. Their cabin, like the
Mermaid
herself, was beautifully constructed but quite small, and the cots slung on either side made it difficult to brace oneself. Though Marshall had some theories he wanted to test, an interesting notion that would make good use of the physics of a suspended bed. The curves of curvature…

He cleared his throat as the thought of Davy’s tempting arse swinging back and forth began to produce a trophy he didn’t want to display on deck. As though hearing the thought, Davy looked up and grinned. “Penny for your thoughts, Captain?”

He narrowed his eyes. If Davy had learned to read minds, he should be hearing,
I’ll get even with you for that one!
But in a way it gave him the chance to say a few words without having to make a speech, and the men would appreciate that, too.

“I was thinking,” he said, noticing how the men quickly fell silent, “that in the ten years I’ve spent at sea, “ he nodded to Barrow and Klingler, who alone of the crew from the old
Titan
had known him as a green midshipman, “I’ve never seen a happier Christmas, a better crew, nor a finer ship.” He raised his glass. “To your health, men, and a long, successful venture for us all!”

That brought a roar of approval, and three cheers for Captain Marshall, led by Barrow and joined enthusiastically by all the rest. MacIvor started sawing away again; Marshall recognized the first verse of the old song about a very dangerous female.

It was a cloudy morn when we set sail

and we were not far from the land

when our captain he spied a fishy mermaid

with a comb and a glass in her hand

Marshall would have chosen a different tune. He didn’t much like the story this song told—the unnamed ship in the tale wound up sinking to the bottom of the sea.

Davy rose and wandered over to lean against the railing where Marshall stood. “Pay attention,” he said under his breath. “They’ve rewritten it for you.”

Marshall set his teeth against the screeching violin and managed what he hoped looked like a smile.

And the ocean waves do roll

and the stormy winds do blow

and we brave tars go skippin’ on the deck

while the landlubbers lie down below, below

While the landlubbers lie down below!

Then up spoke the Captain of our gallant ship

and a brave young skipper was he

“Well, no fishy mermaid will ever frighten us

For this crew is the bravest on the sea!”

Another chorus, God help us,
Will thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t like music. He liked it very well indeed—but between MacIvor’s ill-tuned fiddle and a foretopman who couldn’t carry a tune if his life depended on it, Will wasn’t sure this performance could even be considered music.

Then up spoke the owner of our gallant ship

and a brave young tradin’ man was he

“No mermaid will scare us, we’ve got a job to do

A fishy lass will never frighten me!

Marshall leaned close to his friend. “Seems you’ve been included as well,” he said as the crew ground through another chorus.

Then up spoke the bosun of our gallant ship

and a wise old sailin’ man was he

“Our Mermaid’s a good lass, she’ll bring us home again

She’ll keep us safe upon this stormy sea!”

Finally, the end was in sight, and the crew finished up the final chorus with more enthusiasm than skill. When the last landlubber was lyin’ down below, Davy inclined his head subtly. Finished, at last! Marshall nodded his approval.

“No landlubbers on
this
ship!” Barrow said emphatically.

“And no nonsense about going to the bottom of the sea!” Marshall responded. “Thank you, men! Mr. St. John and I are going to retire to our dinner, and leave you to your celebration. Merry Christmas!”

“A fine speech, Captain.” Davy said as he followed Marshall into their cabin and slid the folding table from its brackets behind his cot. “Brief and to the point. Would you care for a little more wine?”

“Not just yet.” One folding chair fit on either side of the table, and he lit the candle lantern that hung above it. They’d barely finished setting up when the steward arrived with their dinner, a nicely stewed chicken, with potatoes and carrots and bread bought when they’d been in port two days before. And coffee, for which Marshall had developed an irrational fondness as the Beauchenes’ guest.

“Well?” he demanded, as they enjoyed their meal. “Have you determined what you would like for Christmas?”

“I’m still thinking,” Davy said. And he said little more until they were finishing the juicy slices of their own oranges. The sweet tartness on Marshall’s tongue reminded him somehow of Davy, and he asked once again.

“I’ll tell you when Clement has cleared the dishes,” Davy promised. “But in the meantime, this is for you.” And he held out a small package, neatly wrapped in brown paper and held shut with a bit of red ribbon. It proved to be a pair of gloves of soft black leather, exquisitely tailored and lined with lambswool.

“Oh... These are too grand, Davy!”

“Try them on.”

They fit perfectly, of course, and he could remember one morning sometime back when Davy had made a point of comparing their hands, Will’s fingers much longer than his own neatly shaped ones.

“They’ll never fit anyone else properly, so you must keep them.” Davy leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “I can’t tell you how distressing it is to have your icy digits inserted into places where they can get warm,” he whispered.

Their steward, Clement, chose that moment to return and clear the table. Marshall took the opportunity to retrieve the present he had bought for Davy before they had first sailed out in the
Mermaid,
a small collection of poetry that he had taken pains to determine his friend did not possess.

“It’s beautiful, Will,” Davy said, opening the leather covers reverently. “Some old friends... and some of these I’ve never read!”

“I’ll never have your gift for words,” Marshall said, embarrassed. “I’d write the stuff for you myself, if I could.”

He was rewarded with a look of such uncomplicated affection that he took Davy’s hand, across the table. “Will you tell me, now, what you would like?”

“Whatever you wish to give,” Davy said.

“What?”

“Will, I’ve known you for seven years now,” he said, mischievousness replacing the softer sentiment. “And one thing I have learned: when given an objective and free use of your imagination, you always excel. So...I would like to be ravished, by whatever means you choose.”

Marshall felt as he had one Christmas when he was six years old, and a kindly woman, one of his father’s parishioners, had given him a whole sack of biscuits. One sort had nuts, another raisins, another was dusted in sugar... it had taken him most of an hour to decide which to eat first.

“I’m going to stretch my legs,” Davy said, still smiling. “I’ll be back momentarily.” He didn’t bother to put his greatcoat on, which seemed to indicate a short trip.

Clement came in as he left, to put away the table, but Marshall told him to leave it up. “Mr. St. John and I are going to have a game of cribbage before we turn in,” he said. “We may stay up late, and we’ll attend to the furniture. You’re off-duty for the night, and a merry Christmas to you!”

He passed a half-crown to the grateful steward. It was very, very pleasant to have a little money to spare for generosity, and having observed Captain Smith’s treatment of his cabin servants, back aboard the
Calypso,
he was sure the investment was worthwhile.

He put the table away immediately; they were going to play, but not cribbage! A towel stuffed into the deck-glass assured them a bit of privacy—barring the outbreak of war, of course, but it was unlikely that the French would attack on Christmas night.

A tap at the door, and Davy poked his head inside. “Ready or—wha—?!” He stifled a yelp as Marshall caught his wrist, yanking him all the way into the room.

“One ravishment,” Marshall whispered, “as ordered.” He pulled Davy against him, capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss. But Davy was seldom at a loss for long, and as Marshall lifted him in his arms, Davy wrapped his legs around Marshall’s hips. Overbalanced, he tipped forward, pinning his lover against the bulkhead.

“Mister
St. John!” he gasped. “If you please!”

“Mm?”

“Who’s ravishing whom, here?”

Davy blinked, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Oh.” He unwound himself, grinding against Marshall as he lowered himself to his feet. “Was I giving offense?”

“Not at all! I only expected—if you wish to be ravished, sir, you might be a little more receptive!”

“Receptive? I thought I was!” Davy grinned. “Very well, then—what shall I do?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Marshall reached up and began to unbutton his lover’s short jacket. David St. John, civilian, dressed a trifle more elegantly than his naval predecessor, but for ordinary shipboard life a grey wool jacket and darker trousers served well enough.

As the buttons yielded beneath his fingers, Marshall was aware of Davy’s eyes upon him; he felt his face growing warm, and reminded himself that
he
was doing the seduction here.

Silly notion. As he finished with the jacket and started undoing the silky blue waistcoat, Davy sighed, and Will felt his hands tremble. It was silly; they’d been rolling around only a couple of hours before, and here he was, eager as a bridegroom.

He slid the jacket and waistcoat together from Davy’s shoulders, leaning forward for another kiss. He felt Davy’s hands on his hips, and they leaned against each other gently this time, rocking back and forth with the motion of the sea.

I could stay like this forever,
Marshall thought foolishly.

But this wasn’t ravishing; this was romantic mooning. “Mister St. John,” he murmured, “would you object if I remove the rest of your clothing?”

“I would be crushed if you did not.”

It was chilly in the cabin, and damp, but not quite chilly enough to see one’s breath, and he intended to keep Davy sufficiently warm even without his clothing. Nuzzling down the side of his neck, Marshall moved around behind his lover, pulling Davy close to his body’s warmth and alternating nips and kisses while he worked loose Davy’s trouser buttons. As the clothing fell to his ankles Davy pressed backward. “God, Will—”