Ransom (34 page)
He had intended to take his time, prolong the pleasure as Davy had done for him, but the urgency of that entreaty changed his mind. He pushed the drawers down, got hold of Davy’s cock, smooth and hot, alive in his hand—and was suddenly at a loss. It felt so different from when he did this for himself. Not that they were that different, physically; Davy was not quite identical, perhaps a bit shorter, a little bigger around—but for all that they’d tried before, he hadn’t done this for more than a few seconds.
Well, when in doubt, improvise. He squeezed carefully, and Davy shuddered in his arms and bit the side of his neck. Good enough. He moved his hand slowly up and down, falling into a rhythm as Davy thrust into his grasp. A little longer, and he felt confident enough to try another kiss. Davy sucked at his tongue as though he’d been starved, both arms wrapped around Marshall’s neck now. He felt so warm, so good, and he was so close to spending... “Davy, you’ll have to let go so I can—”
“No!” Sweat beaded his upper lip, he slurred a bit. “No, just keep on—”
Marshall was keeping on; his body seemed to have more sense than his brain did. “But it’ll go all over—where—?”
“Here—” Davy freed one hand, fumbled in a pocket, shoved a handkerchief over Marshall’s fist. “Oh, God—” He stiffened, and shivered, and stiffened again as his cock leapt and spurted. He pressed his face into Marshall’s shirt so barely a sound escaped, nothing that would be heard above the creaking of the coach’s leather and wood. And then he relaxed profoundly, a dead weight.
The handkerchief had done the trick; Will let it drop for the moment and gathered David against him, a curious tenderness stirring in his chest. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” came the muffled reply. He held Marshall very tightly for a moment, then sat up, his eyes wet. “Will, you have no idea how good this is with you... how different.”
Considering his other experience with men had been rape, Marshall was touched but hardly surprised. He smiled, uncertain how to reply. “Well,” he finally said, trying for humor, “I would say you were my best ever, but that would not be saying much.”
David chuckled. “You could say ‘worst ever’, I suppose. I do appreciate the distinction. Thank you—”
“No need.” He felt a little embarrassed at David’s openness, his vulnerability. And he realized, suddenly, how different it had been this time, being able to see his lover, even in the dimness of the closed coach. In their cell, it had been pitch-black.
David touched his face tentatively, even shyly. “You looked so... so beautiful, a little while ago,” he said, as though his thoughts had been traveling the same path. “So intent. I love being able to see you.”
“You will need to see a doctor about getting your eyes examined,” Marshall said, thoroughly self-conscious now. “You are hallucinating.”
“No, I’m not.” David leaned in close, his breath warm just below his ear. “The line of your jaw, the way your lips part—” He licked at the edge of the ear, sending shivers down William’s spine, making him gasp. “Yes, like that. I cannot imagine anything more perfect.”
Marshall studied the face turned up to his, the blue eyes dark with emotion, and the tenderness within bloomed into passion once again. “I can.”
He pulled Davy to him, kissing him desperately, wondering whether he could ever get enough. It frightened him a little, this wanting. To give another so much power... yes, Davy was just as passionate, seemed to want him every bit as much in return, but—what if he did not? What if he were to change his mind? Or, God forbid, be transferred away, or killed in battle?
The fear that engulfed him was nearly suffocating, and the sweet warm body in his arms life-giving air. David held him just as close, just as tightly. For an immeasurable time they simply kissed, and held one another, and gradually the intensity of emotion lessened, the storm inside calmed a bit.
Finally Marshall was able to sit back and take a deep breath of ordinary air. “Does this ever...” He didn’t know how to ask.
“What?” Davy studied him anxiously. “What, Will?”
“I—Davy, I feel as though I could spend the rest of my life here—with you—and never miss the rest of the world. How does one live with such a feeling?”
David regarded him bemusedly. “From my not-so extensive experience,” he said, “if we give this horse its head I believe it will eventually gallop itself down to a walk. What are you so worried about, Will? We’ve been back to normal—more or less—since our escape, and not once have we ripped each other’s uniforms off. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to.” He punctuated his words with light kisses to William’s face. “But I have no intention of hanging. I wish to live a long, happy life.”
“An excellent plan.” But that hunger was still there, humming in him at the touch of Davy’s face against his, his body so close. “What shall we do next, then?”
Davy frowned, and leaned over to lift one side of the window-curtain. “Pull ourselves together, I think. Unless I’m very much mistaken, we’ll be at our stop in a few minutes.”
He was not mistaken. They had barely made themselves presentable, with David’s balled-up handkerchief stowed in a pocket, when the coach wheels bumped onto a cobbled roadway. Another inn, this one three storeys high, another bustling courtyard, the scent of food wafting over the other odors of man and beast. And above even that was the smell of a change in the weather—sure enough, off in the distance they could see heavy clouds with a towering thunderhead, approaching like a French line of battle. The final part of their trip promised to be messy, as well as slower due to the rain and a muddy road.
They wasted no time in the courtyard. The ale at the nearest inn had been recommended by Mr. Drinkwater, who’d also warned them to act as penniless as possible to avoid attracting unwanted attention. There was nothing about them that would catch the eye of a casual observer—a couple of very junior officers taking advantage of a break in their journey to sample the local brew was nothing out of the ordinary.
They were halfway through their drinks when their coachman appeared at the door. He squinted into the darkness of the common room until he located them, and approached with an oddly reluctant air. “Was you gentlemen in a hurry to get to London tonight?” he asked.
“We had expected to arrive this evening,” Marshall said warily. “But no, our business is not urgent. Is there a problem?”
The coachman spread his hands. “It’ll not stop us for long, if the smith can make time for me. One of the fells is cracked clear through, and I don’t like the looks of another.”
Marshall had no idea what the fells might be, and would not betray his ignorance by asking. “Is that serious?”
“Na, but we best fix it before we go on, with that storm movin’ in. Dougie Smith’s good at his job, once I find him. Might take an hour or two. I was just wondering if you’d want to press on when the job’s done, or stop over ‘til mornin.’”
The comfortably padded fellow presiding at the nearby bar called over, “You’ll not find him tonight, Freddie. An’ if you do, you’ll be sorry you did.”
“Oh, aye? Why’s that?”
“‘Cause he just got back to town an hour ago, from ‘is daughter gettin’ married yesterday, over to Ashford, an’ he’s got a ragin’ head on ‘im. Wouldn’t go near the smithy if King George himself asked, told his boy what brought him home if he heard anybody even breathe on the anvil it’d be the last breath he took.” He shook his own head, obviously unafflicted by hangovers. “He’ll be right as rain tomorrow, you’ll see. Poor Dougie—three daughters, you know, all married since Christmas.”
“And he’ll be three times a grandfather by Christmas, I’ll wager,” said Freddie and grinned at the laughter from the locals within earshot. “Thanks for the warning. Eh, Lieutenant, I’m sorry. If you want to roust Dougie out, it’s on your heads. I’m not so brave as you Navy men.”
“Now, don’t you get the King’s men murdered,” the landlord scolded. “I can find you gents a room with a clean bed, if you don’t mind sharin’ it.”
Marshall exchanged a look with his friend. He was both excited and alarmed by the sudden gleam in Davy’s eye. “Sharing’s not a problem. I’m sure it’s more space than we have aboard ship.”
“Cost you less than a room in London,” the landlord added by way of enticement. “And better food, too, I’ll reckon. My wife’s the best plain cook on the Portsmouth run.” The locals within earshot agreed enthusiastically.
Davy shrugged, his expression guileless. “Why not, Will? We have to sleep somewhere. Better for us all to be under a roof when that storm blows in.”
Marshall shrugged as well, knowing there was deviltry lurking under that blue-eyed innocence. They wouldn’t just be
sleeping
, he was certain. Still... “Why not?”
They settled on a price for a room and supper, and the coachman departed with a promise to bring their bags round before taking the coach to the smithy. They finished their drinks as they waited, while the landlord bustled off to see that the room was prepared.
Their bags arrived at the same time he returned. “It’s all ready for you, gents, I’ve got the boy settin’ out a fire in case you wants a bath before supper. Pretty warm up there, I told him not to light it ‘til you said.”
“A bath! Yes, thank you, that would be fine,” Marshall said.
“I’ll send up plenty ‘o hot water. First thing a sailor asks for.” He grinned broadly. “Well, almost the first thing!”
“We’ve been a few days in Portsmouth already,” Archer put in, covering Marshall’s embarrassment. “We’ve had all the ‘first thing’ we could afford. At this point, it’s a choice between company and supper.”
“Definitely supper,” William thought he should contribute his bit. “But I’d rather have a wash first. Top floor, you said?”
“Top floor, toward the back. Pull the curtain if the sun’s too bright for you.”
“We’ll do that, thanks.” They hefted their bags and made their way through the crowd to the stairs at the back of the public room. As David bounded up ahead of him, Marshall found himself hanging back. It was absurd to feel shy now. After all they’d been through together—Christ, after that coach ride!—but for some reason he was just a little frightened of the night ahead. This was no chance occurrence, no last grab at happiness because they were both likely to die; this was an assignation, plain and simple. A very risky assignation, in this inn full of strangers.
But then they were up in their room, and the door closed, locked and bolted. David was hanging his jacket from the doorknob to block the keyhole, and then Marshall’s arms were full of his lover, his body responding as though his mind had no say at all in the matter. Their lips met, and Davy pulled Marshall against him, easing back to lean on the wall. It hadn’t been an hour since they’d let go of one another in the coach, but here he was again, hard as iron, hot all over, the one thought in his mind that he must get closer. Impossible to do that; they were mashed together. But he could get the clothing out of the way...
He forced himself to draw back, locate the bed. Not difficult; there wasn’t room to swing a cat. A sleeping room, with a tiny fireplace, a small table under the window, a bed big enough for two, with a smaller window above. What more did they need? He giggled at how serious Davy looked, reaching up to untie his neckcloth, as though he couldn’t manage that himself. Perhaps it was the ale making him giddy. Perhaps not.
He did the same service, fussing with the fastenings of Davy’s waistcoat, popping one button off in his hurry so that they both had to chase it under the bed. Davy found it and backed out, mischievously pulling loose the lacing from the back of Marshall’s breeches as he got to his knees.
“Hey—” Belatedly, Marshall realized that the knees of his breeches were now smudged, and he swatted at David’s behind. But Davy danced out of reach and Marshall’s breeches dropped, and that was the end of it.
They both wound up on the bed, struggling out of the rest of their clothing as the tantalizing touch of bare flesh overwhelmed them. Before he had time to consider whether this was wisdom or folly, he was flat atop his lover, driving against him, while Davy gasped in his ear and dug his fingers into the back of Marshall’s thighs, pulling them tight together as he bucked upward. “Will—oh, God—!”
Whether it was the hot spurt of Davy’s seed against his belly or his soft, restrained cry, Marshall didn’t know. He buried his own face in the hollow of Davy’s shoulder to muffle his voice, but just as he was about to come—
Someone pounded on the door. “Hot water, gents!”
Marshall froze, shriveling. “That’s a
woman
!” he whispered in horror.
“I do believe you’re right,” David said. Easy enough for him to find this funny! “Just leave it by the door, dear,” he called out. “Wouldn’t want to provoke any maidenly blushes!”
“Like you’ve got somethin’ I ain’t seen before!” the unseen woman scoffed. She sounded old enough to be their mother, but probably
not
old enough to have forgotten how to become one. “Suit yourselves, boys! I’ll be back with your supper in an hour.” Something clanked in the hallway, and her laugh grew fainter as she walked away.
Marshall envied Davy’s ease in talking to women, even though he was appalled at what his friend had said. “Davy—she’ll think—”
David shrugged. “She’ll think we took our clothes off so we can have a wash. Which we did. We can give her tuppence when she brings the food.” He wriggled a bit. “Do you want to fetch the water, or let me up so I can do it?”
Marshall resisted the temptation to respond to that wriggle, pushing himself away from David and off the bed. He opened the door warily, but found himself faced only with a brace of water cans and a small washtub. It wasn’t big, perhaps two feet in diameter. They’d have to stand, but he could not remember when he’d last had a real bath; the idea of sitting in water seemed almost unnatural. When he pulled it in he found it contained a lump of soap and a couple of towels. He hauled the cans into the room and set them alongside the tub in the only clear floor space. “They’re generous with the washwater,” he said, “and it is hot.” Hot water, and fresh, not briny. They could be really clean for the first time in months. “Would you like to go first, or shall I?”