Ransom (37 page)
“I—you are?”
“That you wanted me? Thought of me, instead of that swine? Of course.” Of course? At the time, it would have horrified him. What a sea-change he had been through, these past weeks! He was still uncertain what they would do in the future, could not even guess what they would do tomorrow. But at this moment Davy was somehow inside his own heart as surely he was inside Davy’s body, and he had no thought to spare for anything else. Every shiver that went through his lover shot sparks through him, and if he did not move soon—
“What would you like me to do, Davy?” He thrust as gently as he could, stroking Davy’s chest and belly, finally understanding why things were so bloody complicated. That damned bastard’s ghost was in bed with them even now, between them—uninvited, unwelcome—and Marshall had no idea how to exorcise it. “What do you need?”
“You.” Davy held Marshall’s arm tightly, reached around with the other hand to clutch at his thigh. Freed now, the words tumbled out. “I want you, Will. On top of me. Hard. So I can’t even think of anyone else.”
His cock leapt at the words. He’d nearly been ready to stand down, Davy’s anxiety draining his passion. He would not have imagined any words could have such an effect on his vigor, but the raw desire in Davy’s voice combined with his own urge to pound Adrian to a paste, and he suddenly felt like a stallion.
“All right, love,” he said, amazed at his own confidence. “All right.” He held Davy close, thrusting more firmly. “Just... just move however you need to.” He kissed Davy’s neck, licked, nibbled, and was delighted at the little cries that elicited.
Davy rolled over, and then shifted to hands and knees. Marshall followed his lead, finding the final position nearly perfect. The sight of his cock disappearing into Davy’s arse, the feel of their bodies moving together... to hell with George Correy, to hell with Adrian, with whoever and whatever had ever hurt him before. That was over now, over and done with. He could not see why Davy would have chosen him, but by God he was going to be worthy of that trust.
He pulled Davy closer, reached beneath to bring him along. Davy sobbed once as he touched him. “He’s gone,” Marshall whispered. “They’re all gone, Davy, it’s just me... come with me, love, come on...” Some inner wisdom he didn’t know he had was guiding his actions, endearments he hadn’t thought he’d known coming out of his mouth. And that overwhelming sense of the rightness of this all pounded through him and into Davy with the force of a 30-foot wave, carrying them both along as it surged and crested and threw them both up onto the beach. Davy’s arms and knees buckled, and they both fell haphazardly onto the bed. Limp with release, Marshall wrapped his arms and legs around Davy, who lay relaxed and panting in his embrace. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yes,” Davy murmured, snuggling close. “Better than... what a fool I was... better than I could have dreamed, I... I am falling asleep, Will. Jus’ for a moment...”
“Mmm.” Marshall let his face sink forward onto Davy’s hair, overcome by lassitude and contentment.
~
He awakened some time later with one arm half-numb and golden light filling the room. Clouds were still visible from the window over the bed, but away westward the setting sun had peeked out from below the storm.
He shifted, and Davy rolled over. His eyes opened, and focused, and a slow smile started in them that spread across his face. “Will.”
Thank God he was smiling. “Was it—was it all right?”
The smile bloomed, brighter than the sunshine. “Will, it was not ‘all right’. It was splendid. If you could be promoted for your performance, you would be an admiral.” He chuckled. “Rear admiral, no doubt.”
Even the excruciating pun could not annoy him. He had never seen Davy so unreservedly happy. “How do you feel?”
“I’m not sure, Will. Different.” David frowned thoughtfully, shook his head. Then he sat up, swung a leg over and leaned down for a kiss. One thing led to another; before Marshall knew what happened his body was responding to the enticement, and Davy was riding him once again.
From time to time, aboard ship, some angle of light would make a picture of extraordinary beauty. The pictures never lasted very long, and Marshall had no talent for art, no way to capture the moment. But this image, he knew, would live in his memory as long as he drew breath: David astride him, lips parted, hair ablaze in the red-gold sunset, his strong young body limned in liquid light. He looked more than human, some legend come to life. Apollo in his chariot.
He smiled down at Marshall, and said, “I feel free.”
~
The transcendence had dimmed when they awoke the following morning, startled from sleep by someone knocking on the door with hot water for shaving. They would have time for breakfast, the boy informed them, but the smith was already working on the repairs and they’d be on the road within an hour.
David bounced out of bed, whistling merrily. Marshall left the covers reluctantly, aching in a few odd places but feeling incredibly content with life. He appeased his barely repentant conscience by using some of the shaving water to clean up a telltale spot on the bedsheet.
“Just pull the sheets off the bed,” David suggested with the ease of a gentleman born to household servants. “They’ll have to change them anyway—the washerwoman won’t know who left the spots, and I’m sure she won’t care.”
He realized with some relief that Davy was correct, and stripped the bed in a trice. “Davy—are you certain I did not hurt you?”
David laughed. “I’m tough, Will. You did no damage. No one’s ever been as gentle as you were.” He made a mock-grimace and rubbed his backside. “You’re a little bigger than any natural object I’ve had to accommodate, but I don’t need to ride into London with a bandage round my rump.”
Marshall shook his head in wondering affection. “You are—you are like an onion.”
David stared at him, brows drawn together, then a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I see. I stink and I make your eyes water. Thank you so much, Mr. Marshall.”
Marshall sighed. “That is not what I meant, Davy. You seem to be to be made of more layers than I can ever penetrate.”
Davy wiggled suggestively.
“That
is not what I mean, either. To most, you seem bright and carefree, as though you had not a worry in the world, but I know you better than that. I look more closely and see a trace of old pain—then beneath that, a deeper strength. Layers. The more I look upon you, the more I wonder what I have not seen.”
He was instantly embarrassed at speaking so plainly; David’s smile was warm, but his reply was lighthearted. “I shall be pleased to give you every opportunity to continue your observations, sir. The onion does not quite suit my aspirations. I hope you find something more poetic.”
He smiled back, relieved. “What does a simple sailor like me know of poetry?” He made sure his bag was buckled securely, buttoned his uniform, and grimaced when he found Davy’s petrified handkerchief in his pocket. He’d have to wash that out in London, without fail.
One last kiss, a close embrace, and they swung the door wide to leave this unexpected haven.
It felt as though they had spent much more than one night in this room, and Marshall was only beginning to realize how much had changed in a dozen hours. On the surface, all was as it had been: they were on leave, Davy was still facing his examination, they had not yet even arrived in London. But in a deeper sense Marshall realized he had at last reached the destination he had been seeking all his life.
And he had not arrived alone.
~The End~
Lee Rowan has been writing since childhood, but professionally only since spring of 2006, with the publication of her Eppie-winning novel,
Ransom
. She is a lady of a certain age, old enough to know better but young enough to do it anyway. A confirmed bookaholic with a wife of many years, she is kept in line by a cadre of cats and a dog who gets her away from the computer and out of the house at least once a day.
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Eye of the Storm – The Royal Navy Series Book Three
Walking Wounded
Sail Away
Coming soon:
Home is the Sailor – The Royal Navy Series Book Four
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Bristlecone Pine Press, an imprint of Maine Desk, LLC
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First Bristlecone Pine Printing, August 2009
Copyright © J.M. LINDNER, 2006
All rights reserved
Rowan, Lee
Ransom: a novel/Lee Rowan
ISBN: 978-1-60722-006-0
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of historical fiction. Apart from well-known actual people, events, and locales that figure in the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.
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