Sail Away (16 page)

Will laughed, and Archer suddenly realized what a rare and pleasant sound that was. “We can take turns, Davy. But I confess I'm not certain what to do with your prizes, without a pot to boil them in."

"Neither am I. But I'm hungry enough to be clever. Do you think we can roast them?"

As it turned out, they could, and did. The meal they produced was not the finest they'd ever had, but it filled their bellies and gave a sense of accomplishment. For the moment, they had food, clothing, shelter, and good company.

As he and Will used boards pried from the chicken coop to dig out a crude jakes a safe distance from the waterhole, Archer reflected on how much he had learned, in a practical sense, from his time in the Navy. His upbringing had not been excessively privileged, but if he had been stranded like this before, he would have been utterly lost. Now ... now all they needed was something with a roof to it, and they would be rulers of what was admittedly a very small kingdom. There was very little more he could wish for.

"I think that should do it, Davy,” Will said with some satisfaction. He had worked up a light sweat with their exertion, giving a healthy flush to his tanned skin that contrasted blindingly with his smile.

Nothing more he dared wish for. Every Paradise had its serpent, and Archer had brought his own with him. Mouth dry, he said, “I had more sleep than you, before the storm. Shall I take the first watch?"

Will squinted at the sun, lowering on the horizon. “If you like. Though if we bank the fire carefully, there should be no need. I am convinced this island is deserted."

"But what if someone were to land—"

"In the dark?” Will shrugged. “Davy, anyone landing to seek water would come in daylight. We can run some of the line from the mast across the approach, so anyone coming in will trip over it. I am bone-tired, and you must be, as well. For tonight, I think we may trust to our luck."

"The hammock will be crowded."

"It's wide enough. And we'll both be warmer that way. The breeze is picking up."

Hiding his anxiety with a smile, Archer aquiesced. “Very well, then. We shall be sluggards, and hope this island has no hidden surprises."

He knew he would be a long time getting to sleep.

Marshall returned Davy's smile, afraid he had pushed too hard and wakened suspicion in his friend. He hardly understood his own insistence, but the memory of the night before, of Davy's arms around him and the amazing, comforting warmth of another body, was too powerful to ignore. He wanted to feel that again, if only for a little while. Wanted to feel that warmth, that closeness.

He felt ashamed of the desire. David was right, of course. They should set up watches. He had no business risking their safety to gain a thing he ought not even to want.

But was it really such a risk? There were not many ships out here, as far as they knew; the
Calypso
had been doing reconnaissance, and the ship they'd captured was the only thing they had seen for weeks. And even if an enemy were to land, the best they could hope to do, poorly armed as they were, was stay out of sight.

David was right—the proper thing to do would be to keep watch. But he would look a fool if he changed his mind again, and Davy seemed to have no objection to sharing the hammock, which was at least twice as wide as the ones they had on board.

Perhaps they should have made two smaller ones. But it would be foolish to waste line on that; they didn't have very much, and if they were not rescued promptly, they would need to conserve their resources. This was really much the more sensible course of action.

And it felt so good...

They set up what obstacles they could: vines across clearings, a dead branch that would not be seen in the dark. Mindful of the small creatures that could creep into shoes, they poked sticks into the ground and set the boots upon them like leather sentries, then arranged themselves upon the hammock under a scrap of sail. Marshall allowed himself a small smile as Davy's back settled against his own.

He had not reckoned with how difficult it would be to simply lie quietly. This was different even from occupying hammocks side-by-side, with little more than a foot of space to themselves. He'd thought he was too weary to stay awake, but the slight movement of Davy's shoulders as he breathed was an unexpected distraction. Every time he thought he had become accustomed to it, Davy shifted slightly.

Worse, Marshall found himself getting an erection.

His father, an eminently sensible man, had always advised him to attend to such things in private, or, if that were not possible, ignore them and they would go away. One way or another, his father's advice usually worked.

Not this time.

He resorted to mathematics, trudging through the times tables up to fifteen times fifteen, to no avail. He was nearly at the point of throwing off the cover to pace back and forth when Davy suddenly swung his feet over the edge of the hammock and reached for his boots.

"What is it?"

"Call of nature. The moon's up, I can find the head.” He scuffled around for a bit, then made his way down the path; Marshall heard him move a branch out of the way.

Marshall quickly took care of his personal difficulty, lay back down, and was very nearly asleep when Davy climbed back into the hammock.

"'Night, Will."

Marshall responded with a grunt. His last thought was that he would have to come up with a better sleeping arrangement in the morning.

Archer lay on his side, head pillowed on his rolled-up jacket, and stared up at the stars wheeling above. He'd hoped his hasty excursion down the path, just far enough that Will wouldn't hear him, would have let him relax enough to sleep. It wasn't nearly enough. He didn't merely want the quick release he'd just given himself. He wanted to roll over and hold Will, feel those long limbs wrap around him, taste the sensuous mouth that hinted at passion beneath the discipline...

Oh, stow it, Archer, you'll drive yourself mad.
He wondered if perhaps he was already going mad; he could almost smell the heady musk of sex on Will. It must be his own, on his hand; he hoped fervently that Will's nose was not as functional as it was ornamental.
I wonder if his nose would get in the way of kissing? No, of course not, I could just—

Stop it. Right now.

Archer sighed. Somehow, tomorrow, he would have to persuade Will that sleeping together was not a good idea.

Somehow, he did not. He never even found a chance to bring up the subject. Will awoke early in the morning, full of ideas. They located the trees that seemed best suited for observation in all directions, dug a firepit so they might heat stones for cooking, located another small spring, and managed to net a few small fish with a bit of salvaged sail.

Eventually, toward the end of the day, Will looked back toward their campsite. “I've been thinking, Davy. Perhaps we should ... reconsider our sleeping arrangements."

"You're right,” Archer agreed with relief. “It won't take long to rig a second—"

"Perhaps.” Will pushed at the hammock. “Still, there must be some way we can conserve this line. We haven't much, and we don't know how long we'll wait to be rescued..."

With some dismay, Archer found himself helping Will sink four lengths of spar as supports for their hammock, transforming it into a wide cot, to reduce the use of their limited supply of line.

Not two cots. One. Big enough for them both; it made perfect sense. Archer repeated his idea of the night before, that they should keep watches, and Will again discouraged the notion in a way that left no room for argument.

Archer stared at the taut sailcloth, with its cover neatly folded at the foot. He tried not to think of Will stretched out upon it, half-naked and asleep, unconsciously alluring and utterly oblivious to his best friend's unworthy desires.

Aboard ship, his unrequited longings were manageable; there were obstacles and distractions enough to keep him from dwelling too closely on the attractions of the shipmate whose black curls, deep brown eyes, kindness and courage had won his heart. In the year or so since he'd had the misfortune to fall in love with Will, he had not let his feelings overwhelm him so. Not more than once or twice. Well, perhaps a dozen times, at worst. But here, alone...

Archer sighed. He was doing that a lot, lately. Sighing, and wishing he could either transport Will back to the
Calypso
or fuck him senseless. Neither of which was even remotely possible.

He is going to send me mad.

Marshall frowned into the tropical darkness and wondered what he was going to do, how he could broach the subject of his friend's health without sounding like a fussy old maid. But broach it he must. There was definitely something wrong with David.

It didn't seem to matter what they'd eaten for dinner; they had only to settle down for the night and the problem presented itself, usually about the time Marshall was drifting off to sleep with Davy's back snug against his. Davy would start to shift restlessly, then he would hop up, find his boots, and trot off down the path. Something wrong with his insides, no doubt, but he never seemed to have the problem during the daytime.

Not that Marshall entirely minded. His own body seemed determined to embarrass him, and he found himself utilizing the minutes of Davy's absence to relieve his inappropriate urges. The privacy was helpful, but he was starting to worry about Davy's health. He didn't seem to be sleeping well at all.

But it seemed he'd hardly been gone for two minutes than there he was, back again, climbing onto the cot and settling down near the edge. “G'night, Will."

Marshall hesitated a moment, wondering if he should inquire after his friend's health once more. No point; Davy would give that odd, annoyed little sigh and reassert that he was fine.

Perhaps tomorrow.

Marshall shifted drowsily, warm and comfortable but aware of a slight tugging, a faint bit of pressure. Just at the edge of sleep, he let his hand drift down to find his cock, nudging it forward just a bit as his fingers closed around the shaft. It felt good. But it also felt ... odd. Wrong. As though, somehow, his cock was slightly numb. He closed his fingers a little more firmly, to no effect.

And then his slowly wakening senses told him that was
not
his own member he was holding with such affection. And that the pressure along the length of his shaft came from its being tight against, and between, Davy's firmly rounded buttocks. Their was no space between their bodies; even his face was against the back of Davy's neck, just where it joined the shoulder.

Shock held him motionless. And in that split second of horrified, mortified awareness, he sensed that Davy was also holding very, very still. Not even breathing. Waiting.

I wonder if he'd believe I'm still asleep?
But no, the frozen moment was becoming endless; he had lost the opportunity to feign a snore and roll away.

He drew in a breath, a few golden hairs tickling his nose. What to say? What
could
he say?

The obvious, of course. “Davy, I—"

He started to draw his hand away, and to his astonishment Davy caught it in both his own, holding it where it was.

"Don't stop!” he commanded in a strangled whisper. “For God's sake, Will,
don't stop!"
He thrust into Marshall's grasp, and with each movement ground his arse against Marshall's overstimulated organ.

Will's body needed no more encouragement, and any uncertainty about handling the unfamiliar equipment was overridden by Davy's wordless encouragement. He matched Davy's rhythm, his sweat and Davy's making it almost too smooth, too slippery—a moment's frustration when it seemed he could
not
get close enough—and he was drowning in a wave of pleasure that blotted out thought. He heard Davy cry out, shivering; the cock in his hand seemed to swell and throb, and then Davy relaxed against him, letting out a long, deep breath.

As the overwhelming physical reaction began to subside, he was left again his usual self-conscious self, wondering what on earth had possessed him. Davy's softening cock slipped from his grasp, but before he could draw his arm away, Davy pulled it close, holding Marshall's hand to his lips.

"Thank you,” he murmured.

Marshall laughed, embarrassed. “For what?"

"'S’ wonderful. Thank you.” And he snuggled back, not letting go, and eventually began to snore.

Nonplussed, Marshall lay there, acutely uncomfortable. He tried tugging his hand loose but didn't want to wake his—dear God, friend, yes, but—what else, now? What more?

He had to get up and find somewhere else to sleep ... but where? His body was making it clear that he was already falling asleep—now was the time and here the place. He knew he wouldn't be out for long, though, and after all, Davy tended to sleep like the dead ... and it felt so good to hold him like this, his cheek resting on the side of Davy's head. Tomorrow, though—what would he do tomorrow?

Even that worry could not keep his eyes open.

As Will's breath evened and his body started to relax, David Archer let his feigned snore return to normal breathing. He could scarcely believe what had just happened, could not believe that Will had gone through with it.

He opened his eyes, staring out into the mottled darkness of the tropical growth. His desire was, for once, sated. A great contentment filled him, even though he knew that the morning would bring its own difficulties. Will would not simply accept the role of lover—no, that was making it too simple. He would not accept the role of sodomite, even though what they'd done might not technically have been that.

He's not going to want me. Not going to want me in the same bed, that's certain.

Well, in a way that might make life a little less trying, wouldn't it?

No
. Not after this—the brief ecstasy followed by the warmth against his back, the sheltering arm around him, the breath against his cheek. He had managed to struggle up to the mountaintop, glimpse the Promised Land—and know that it would be denied him.