Eye of the Storm (13 page)

“Patience, sir. I intend to make a proper job of this!” He let his hands roam over the front of Davy’s body. The scar of his terrible wound was smaller now, but he felt a pang as his fingers brushed across it. They had come so close, so very close... “Davy...”

“You mustn’t say—”

“I know. But this is important. I love you, Davy.” It was difficult to say the words. Why? Why should the greatest truth of his life be so hard to express? An awkward truth, even a dangerous one, but all the more precious for that. “I love you.”

Davy’s head fell back against Marshall’s shoulder, and he twisted around for another kiss. He was all smooth warm skin and supple strength, turning like an eel within the embrace. Marshall scooped him up and deposited him in one of the cots, then pulled off boots and stockings, leaving that beautiful body naked against the striped ticking.

He
was
beautiful, the loveliest thing Marshall had ever seen. Even with the golden mane shorn short, the sight of that strong curve of shoulder, the scattering of wiry hair across the broad chest, smooth flat belly...

Marshall had never had any artistic pretensions. He could appreciate the sun’s bright rays angled low over water, or white sails straining against the wind; paintings and statuary had never moved him. But this living, breathing work of art was something else altogether. When he looked at Davy’s naked form, the very sight awoke the memory of how wonderful that body felt against his own.

He took a moment to be sure the door was latched shut and shed his own clothing as he returned to the cot. He barely noticed the cabin’s temperature; he felt very warm indeed. “Now, then, this matter of ravishment...”

Davy merely smiled, and held out a hand. Marshall took it, caressed it, and brought it to his lips. Davy had done this for him, once, and it had nearly driven him out of his mind. He licked the palm of that small strong hand, flicking his tongue between the fingers, then ran his tongue from wrist to elbow in quick short strokes. As he neared the armpit he was overwhelmed by the scent of this beautiful man, his beautiful lover. Davy was habitually clean, but sex had its own scent, and their earlier encounter had marked him. Marshall’s cock hardened as that most particular musk worked its magic on his brain and body.

He met Davy’s eyes. The glass of wine Will had earlier could not account for the flush that heated his lips as he slid them down that warm shoulder. The blue eyes slid shut as his lips fastened on a nipple; Davy’s chin tilted up as he gasped and shivered. Marshall felt a bit unsteady himself, and held tight to the cot as he ran his tongue across the sensitive nub. He let his other hand caress his lover’s tight belly, roving down to the springy curls that surrounded the now rampant cock.

Davy squirmed and whimpered under the dual teasing. The tip of his cock was wet already, and Marshall worked the fluid around with his thumb and transferred his attentions to the other nipple. “Are you feeling ravished yet?” he mumbled around the tiny nub, and gave it another careful pinch.”

“You’re getting there,” Davy said breathlessly. His nails dragged across Marshall’s shoulder. “In fact, I—oh!”

Marshall had taken a firm grasp of the main objective, and began licking a slow trail from chest to groin. He paused to kiss and lick the navel. His own wasn’t especially sensitive, but such attentions drove Davy mad. When his whimper indicated that objective was achieved, Will proceeded to mount his main assault.

Such a silly thing, a cock. The Great Architect must have a truly bizarre sense of humor. But when attached to a beloved, what a perfect gauge of passion.

He had not paid such homage often. In the years since they’d become lovers, Davy had often thrown dignity to the wind and worshipped Will’s body with his mouth. Marshall, squeamish, had offered but had usually been relieved when the offer was declined.

Now, for reasons he did not understand himself, Davy’s cock became an object of veneration. He slid the foreskin down, rubbing the slippery head against his lips, delighting in the stifled cry the movement produced. Holding it tight, he ran his tongue delicately around its head. Davy’s fingers tangled in his hair, and a whispered, “Oh, yes!” delighted him. And then he took it wholly into his mouth, letting his tongue move against its length, and Davy let out a low moan and rose up to meet him.

He feasted. Why this had bothered him before he could not say, but some inner censor had at last been silenced, and he took such delight in pleasing this precious human being that he felt he had almost become some other person. There was no room here for William Marshall’s sense of dignity, the burden of rank or position. There was only Will, who loved Davy, who was whimpering, “Yes, please!” and writhing on the cot in complete abandon.

He cupped Davy’s balls in one hand, reaching back to tickle his sensitive opening, and Davy trembled, thrust and cried out quietly as he pushed Will’s face against him and arched, tensing as his body spent itself, and then relaxing completely.

Marshall snatched the bottle of wine from the table and took a long swallow, then draped himself over his lover and pulled the blanket over them both. So strange; he had not reached his own satisfaction, but Davy’s pleasure was one he could feel in a magical, nearly physical way; he shared somehow in that release. He was conscious of Davy’s arms going around him before he dozed.

It could have been minutes that he lolled in the pleasant warmth of his lover’s embrace; it might have been longer. He wasn’t sure he ever really fell asleep. But eventually the gentle rocking of the sea brought him back to the awareness that he had not completed his task, and that however satisfied Davy might be, his own body was ready to be rewarded for its restraint.

He raised his eyelids a fraction, and saw Davy’s blue eyes an inch away. “Are your prepared for further debauchery?” he asked courteously.

“Ye gods, Captain, I’d nearly forgotten what a determined fellow you can be.” Davy tangled both hands in Marshall’s hair and pulled him close for a long, involved kiss. “I shall await further debauching at your earliest convenience.”

Davy was such fun in bed. There was no other way to put it; his capacity for enjoyment was amazing. Marshall never ceased to marvel at how a man who had survived so much pain could feel and share such joy. Whatever the cause, he was blessed to have such a lover.

“Well, then.” He assessed the situation, realizing that there wasn’t room for really inspired ravishing. “I propose to leave no inch of you untouched.” He suited his action to the words, holding Davy close with one arm slid beneath his head while the other was left free to roam.

Davy’s lips parted, an obvious invitation for another kiss, as Marshall’s fingers slipped into the crevice of his arse. They didn’t have much room to move, but Davy crooked one leg up over Marshall’s hip, giving him free access. For a little while he lost himself in the taste and feel of his lover, the heat as his searching fingers found their goal. Davy jerked forward with a yip of surprise as he slid one finger inside. “That’s
cold!”

“My apologies, sir. But you may be chillier still.” Shifting suddenly, he regained his feet beside the cot, turning Davy as he moved so the smaller man was now lying crosswise upon it, his arse caught on the edge and his legs hanging over the side. “Wait a moment.” He grabbed the pillow and wedged it beneath Davy’s head at the far side of the cot, then surveyed his prize. “Are you comfortable?”

Davy seemed to consider his position, Marshall standing between his outstretched legs with one knee crooked over each elbow. If Marshall let go, he’d slide right onto the floor, but he’d know Will would not let that happen. He stretched his arms out to either side, along the starboard edge of the cot, grinning in a most abandoned fashion. “Quite comfortable, thank you. And yourself?”

Marshall took a step closer, bracing Davy’s rump against his own belly. “Doing very nicely.” He surveyed the riches spread out before him, and could not resist stroking the strong thighs spread so invitingly. He felt Davy quiver as he dragged his fingernails slowly across the tender flesh. “I hardly know where to begin.”

Davy was watching him, his gaze so intense it felt like a touch. His eyes closed, though, when Will’s fingers reached his nipples. Those soft pink lips parted soundlessly as he gasped for air. “Willll...”

“What would you like?” Marshall asked. “Tell me, Davy...”

He leaned forward, caught the sweet lips with his own, tasting, probing. He could feel Davy hardening against him once more, and his own body responded a hundredfold.

“What do you want?”

Davy’s body lifted up against his; there was a sharp twinge as their cocks brushed together. “—me..” Davy murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Fuck me! Damn it, Will! It’s been so long—”

He tried to catch Marshall’s arse, but his arms weren’t long enough. Will laughed softly. “You want to be thoroughly ravished, then?”

“
Yes!”

And his own body was saying
now!
Quickly, he found the jar of salve in the canvas bag slung from the hook that supported the hammock. He leaned down to kiss Davy again as he took the cork out of the jar, scooped out a fingerful of the salve, and covered his own cock with the stuff. He slid what was left into Davy, and smiled as his lover bore down around his invading fingers. “Patience, Mr. St. John!”

“To hell with patience, Will,
take me!
”

The heated whisper was like oil on fire, but Marshall had sworn to himself, long ago, that he would never, under any circumstances, risk causing Davy pain. So he took his time, easing his fingers in, using a long deep kiss as distraction while he made sure his lover was ready to receive him.

When he finally positioned himself and slid inside, he was near to bursting, and the tight slick heat of Davy closing around him drove him mad with passion. He slid all the way in, and Davy squeezed, and he threw himself against his lover, letting the cot swing wildly. “Buggery boxes,” he’d heard these cots called, and justly so. They put things at a perfect level.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, leaning into Davy, letting the swing of the cot do most of the work. Their earlier tryst made a difference; it had reduced the urgency, given him time to enjoy this sweet friction as their bodies danced together. He looked down, met Davy’s eyes, and it felt as though their very souls were joined as deeply as their bodies. “I love you, Davy. Love you, love you...” How very strange, to have his thoughts so free while their bodies were slamming together like two parts of a pile-driver. “Love you...”

“Will...” Davy was flushed, lips reddened, sweat beading his beautiful face. He caught Marshall’s wrists. “Harder, Will. Please....”

But he couldn’t manage harder. The cot was a delightful platform, but even leaning forward he couldn’t use his whole weight.

“The floor, damn it!” Davy gasped. “Put me on the floor!” Halfway up, his nails dug into Marshall’s arse. “Harder.
Please!”

The temptation was irresistible. Marshall snatched at the mattress from his own cot, yanked it onto the floor, and dragged both Davy and the other mattress out of the other cot. He was barely able to break the fall as he bore his lover down to the deck, stifling his own cry as they both made contact and the impact drove him deeper in. Davy’s legs wrapped around the small of his back and they rocked together like mad things, his own breath coming in short gasps as Davy’s teeth closed on his shoulder, a sharp pinch that sent a jolt through to his cock—

“Love you love you love you love you...” He was sobbing, wheezing, and then riveted in a shattering climax that seemed to set off Davy’s own. He felt the warm spurt against his belly as he cried out against Davy’s neck.

It took a little while to get his senses back. He rolled to his side, cuddling his lover close. A sense of warmth and happiness seeped through him, like hot soup or strong drink, and better than either. He was naked, gloriously naked, without rank or dignity or fear, and at least for the moment he knew what was truly important. “I love you,” he said once more, brushing the hair out of Davy’s beautiful blue eyes. “Davy, I love you.”

“Yes,” Davy said, eyes shining. “So long as we both shall live.”

The phrase was familiar and right, though he had never expected to hear it regarding himself and anyone else, much less another man. But Davy voiced what was in both their hearts. “Yes,” he agreed. “For better or worse.”

Davy laughed ruefully. “I think we’ve seen both, now. Kiss me?”

He did. But it was December, and it was cold. Before long they were cuddling for warmth more than anything, and Will reached up to snag a blanket. “We’d best go to bed,” he said, regretfully.

“Pull down all the blankets,” Davy advised. “We’re fine as we are.”

He did; it was going to take all the blankets to keep off the chill. “But the men—”

“I spoke to Barrow,” Davy said. “We have until morning, Will. It isn’t much of a Christmas present...but we can sleep together tonight, if you like. All night long, together.”

The joy was sharp as a knife; he could not stop the tears. Davy held him tight, and kissed him, and pulled the blanket close. “Merry Christmas, love.”

The End

About the Author:

Lee Rowan has been writing since a second-grade nun explained that fiction lets you tell stories without being scolded for lying. She didn’t keep much of the dogma from those early days, but retained the concepts of “love one another” and “do unto others”.

Lee believes that loving and being loved is one of the finest things about being human, but after a difficult first marriage and a few short-term disappointments, she decided that humans were more trouble than they were worth. Eventually, a couple of cats and a big-hearted dog taught her enough about love to melt her cynicism, and romance started creeping into her writing. When she started writing love into her stories, it came into her life, and she is now happier than she ever hoped to be in her second—and final—marriage.

Lee thinks fiction lets a person try out new ideas before tackling them in real life—whether it’s traveling to a distant place or taking an emotional chance—because before anything can happen in reality, it first has to happen in the imagination, where dreams are born.

When not tossing fictional people into mad, passionate embraces or doing research for same with her sweetie, Lee likes to garden, haunt garage sales, and take care of the four-legged fur family.