Ransom (36 page)

“Something wrong, Davy?”

“No.” He poured himself more ale from the pitcher that had arrived with their meal, peering down into the mug as though there were something fascinating in there.

“It will be nice to have a fire. I’d not have thought we’d want one, a few hours ago.”

David shivered. “Yes. Very pleasant.”

Marshall very nearly asked him once again if he’d done anything distressing, but guessed that Davy would say no even if it were not true. They finished the meal quietly, put the empty dishes outside on the tray, and made certain the door was locked once again. The remains of dinner—the ale pitcher, a couple of rolls and butter—stayed behind.

A fire would be pleasant, with their damp hair, but it was not as enticing as his companion. Marshall smiled. “A good meal... and now to bed?”

David nodded, and moved into his arms, still shivering. His kiss was hardly reluctant, but there was some unspoken reservation in the contact. Marshall drew back just a bit. “I know something is wrong, Davy. Will you please tell me what it is?”

“It is nothing...” He sighed. “Very well. Will... if I were to ask you to do something... something you did not wish to do... would you tell me so?”

He shook his head—not in refusal, but in puzzlement. “I don’t understand. You’ve asked nothing against my wishes...”

“Not yet. Not today. But do you remember... back on that ship... I asked if you would like to be inside me? To—to take me, as a man would a woman?”

He was shivering harder, now, and although Marshall now realized it was not from cold, he left David standing beside the bed. “Just a moment, let me start the fire.” They might want it later, if the night was chill, and tending it gave him something to do with his hands; it also let him hide the physical effect of Davy’s hesitant question.

He had not thought of doing any such thing before today, but the memory of that bath—of Davy pushing against his fingers in what felt like open invitation, that hot channel between the cool, slippery curves—he was hard again already, from just the thought of letting his cock ride in the crevice of Davy’s lovely arse.

“Do you remember, Will?”

“I remember,” he said hoarsely. He moved the logs in the firedog apart a little, giving them room to let the air flow, threw in a handful of tinder and blew on it to raise a spark. “Why do you ask?”
Why do you ask, if you’re shaking with fright?

“I would be—” Davy stopped, and swallowed. “I would be obliged if you would do me that service.”

He could not say, “Are you mad?” But he thought it. The tinder caught, flared, sent flames licking greedily into the kindling. “Are you certain?” he managed finally.

“Yes,” David whispered.

“Why?” He turned, looking up at his lover, who was staring into the flames. “You don’t need to do that for me.”

David smiled wryly, without raising his eyes. “I know.” He shifted a few things around on the table, then left them to sit on the edge of the bed. “It is something I would like to do for myself. With you. If—if it does not repel you.”

Of all the words he might have chosen! “No. Not at all.” He rose and sat beside Davy in a single movement, wanting very much to touch him. “But I would not cause you pain. On my life, I would not.”

“As I said before,” David said cautiously. “When we are together, the things you do seem to—to clear away the wreckage. I want your touch on me, Will. Everywhere his was.” He ran his tongue over his lips, nervously, not seductively. “On me...
In
me.”

Marshall did touch him then; he had to. Just a hand on his arm. “Davy, you’re shaking. Are you cold?”

“No, no... Well, just a little.”

So far, so good. But that had not been the real question. “Are—are you afraid of me?”

“No!”
He pitched into Marshall’s arms so abruptly it knocked them both back onto the mattress, holding on as if he had fallen into deep water. After a moment he let out a long, ragged sigh, and Marshall realized he was weeping softly, almost noiselessly.

“Davy! Davy, what is it?” He had, now and then, seen youngsters react with tears, when they were first wounded or lost a friend in battle, when the grand adventure suddenly changed into bloody, ugly reality. The other men usually distracted them with rude jokes or religious consolation. Marshall had neither to offer, and he had never seen David this way. It had to be connected with Adrian; it had to be. But why now?

On second thought—when, ever, could an officer in His Majesty’s Navy behave this way? There would never have been a good time. If Davy could release whatever he had been holding inside himself and let it go, surely that was better than putting on a brave face and tearing himself apart inside. Marshall only wished that his own desires would be more respectful of his lover’s distress; the warm damp body plastered against him should have evoked sympathy, not lust. If only that woman had brought the tub two minutes later—!

After a little while the weeping stopped; David cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Marshall’s shoulder. “I had not meant to— The—the ale must’ve been stronger than I thought.”

“Will you please tell me—”

“You...” He would not look up. “You are not repelled?”

It would be stupid to claim he was; his cock was hard and hot, pressed against Davy’s through the two thin layers of fabric. “I am not. I am afraid, though. For you.”

“Will... You will
not
hurt me. Please. I want you. I want—for once in my life, I want to be fucked by someone I love.”

The words sent a rush of heat through Marshall’s body. He held Davy tighter, at an utter loss for words.

David sighed suddenly. “You don’t want to,” he said. “Damn me, you simply don’t
want
to. My apologies, Will. I am a stupid, oblivious, witless—whuf!”

The rest of the litany went unfinished as Marshall rolled atop him, driven past reason. “Does this feel as though I don’t want to?” he demanded, grinding downward. He seized Davy’s hair, pulling his face up so he could ravage his mouth. He knew he was clumsy at it, but there weren’t any words left and in another moment he was going to explode.

Davy grabbed him just as fiercely and gave as good as he got. When he ran out of air, Marshall rolled to one side and fumbled Davy’s breeches-buttons open, dragging them off with reckless haste. He shed his own clothes nearly as quickly, tossed them toward a chair. Davy had his shirt half-off, so he grabbed that and it flew off to join the rest of the heap.

Decks cleared for action, he dropped back onto the bed and grabbed his lover again, this time rolling over so that Davy was on top of him. “Listen carefully,” he said, brushing his lips against Davy’s mouth, sucking on his lower lip, dizzy from the ale and intoxicated by the heat and pressure against his cock. “I want to.” He caught Davy’s arse, one cheek in either hand, and let his fingertips slide between. He squeezed. “I want
you
. Are you listening, Mr. Archer?”

“Yes,” Davy breathed, undulating against him. His eyes were big and dark in the dim light, and, brave words or no, he did seem apprehensive.

“But you must show me what to do. Davy, I don’t
know!”
That seemed stupid, it was so obvious: turn him over and put it in... but... “If I were to hurt you—”

“It will be all right, Will. I promise. Here, let me—” Looking more than a little dazed himself, Davy moved back to sit on Marshall’s thighs. “See, it’s a bit wet already... so’s mine...” He ran a fingertip over the head of Marshall’s cock, spreading the fluid seeping out. Marshall shivered at the touch, and gasped when it ceased. “No...”

“Wait,” Davy said. He took his own cock in hand, leaning forward, and rubbed its wet tip against Marshall’s shaft.

The sensation was indescribable. Davy was concentrating, biting his lip. How beautiful he was... how good it felt... Will’s cock felt like it was growing harder with every touch. “You’re going to kill me!”

“I don’t think so. There.” He moved around again, hovering over Marshall, his cock making small damp kisses on Marshall’s stomach. “There. Now you hold it—no, hold
yours,
Will, hold it up, that’s it—’steady, boy, steady...’”

“You aren’t singing... are you singing? That’s—
OH!”
Davy had lowered himself, just a bit, and Marshall nearly fainted at the intensity of feeling as the very tip of his cock slipped inside his lover. His body surged up, and Davy gasped, and Marshall froze. He felt the blood rush to his face, as it seemed to be rushing everywhere in his body.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Davy said breathlessly. “Fine. Let me just... relax... It’s been a little while,” he said, sounding more normal. “You’re big... It’s fine... there.”

The enveloping tightness eased a fraction, and then shifted as Davy slowly slid on down, his hands on Marshall’s shoulders, golden hair falling forward to veil his face. Marshall instinctively reached up to support him, but he couldn’t think beyond that. He couldn’t think at all. It was as though that small part of himself now surrounded by Davy was the only thing that really mattered. Brain, body, will—all of that was only there to transport the important bit to its present location, where it was nearly ready to die of bliss.

“There.” David said again. “You can move now, Will. Remember that horse you tried to ride, last summer? You know how you sort of rock forward...”

He did just that and Marshall’s body followed automatically. One utterly idiotic thought crossed his mind:
if this be sodomy, let’s make the most of it.
He thought it somehow connected to the American rebellion, but he couldn’t hold a thought in a bucket, he was hot and cold and Davy was touching him everywhere, hands on his belly, his chest, nipples
dear God in heaven
—! His whole world exploded.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he could talk again. Davy was still astride him, and clearly still unsatisfied, even though Marshall could feel himself shrinking.

David only smiled. “That may make things easier,” he said.

“What?”

“Your spend. It should help. There wasn’t much butter left.”

“Davy, you didn’t!”

“I had to, Will, mashed potatoes are too sticky.” Smooth muscles tightened around Marshall’s cock, and he was amazed to find it responding already. “The last time,” Davy said, “the last time we had a night to ourselves, at any rate—you reloaded thrice to my twice. I believe if I just sit here and wait...” he wiggled a bit.

Marshall groaned. He had never imagined anything could feel so good. Slick, tight... he could not find words to describe the feeling. “Pleasure” was a pale ghost of the truth... it was like the excitement of battle a hundredfold, without the pain or danger.

David cocked his head quizzically at Marshall’s inarticulate response. “Unless you’d rather not?” He leaned forward, smiling, and their lips met, just touching.

Marshall felt the flame of desire increasing as Davy lapped delicately at his mouth. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

Davy sighed happily. “Impossible.”

He had been holding tight to Davy’s thighs; now he shifted one hand to circle his lover’s cock, and tried to match the rhythm Davy was setting. How long they moved together like that he could not tell and did not care. There was the faint creak of the bedstead, the crash and rumble outside, the rain slapping against the window, the familiar wind and water that made this feel almost like home. He let his eyes slide shut, and that somehow intensified the feeling, and that was wonderful. His first climax had taken the edge off, and now he felt he could go on like this forever.

For a time it seemed Davy felt the same, but eventually he slowed, then stopped. “Will...”

He had to open his eyes, but that was all right too, he could look at Davy sitting atop him naked and sweating, his damp hair ruffled around his face. “Yes?”

“Would you... would you mind if we did this in a different way?”

He felt a twinge of anxiety. “What do you mean?” If Davy wanted him like this... well, he’d do it, of course, it would only be fair, but his gut tightened at the very idea.

“There’s a place inside... it feels good, Will, I can’t explain it, but—I think you have to come in from behind me to reach it.”

“Um...” Marshall tried to make sense of that and finally gave up. “How do—hell, Davy, what do you want me to do?”

“Hold still a moment, I think—” Without breaking their connection, Davy pivoted around until his back was to Marshall.

It was a very exciting view, but Marshall didn’t much like being bent at that angle, and he had serious reservations as to how well it would work. He had a feeling that if he were to heave upward, Davy would go flying. “I—Davy, are you comfortable in that position?”

“I—Well... No.”

A moment of strained silence, and they both began to giggle. When that settled down, David said, “But really, I think it will work best from behind. The one time—” He broke off, hunching slightly.

“Davy?”

No response. Staring at Davy’s unresponsive back, Marshall wondered whether everyone had such awkwardness in romantic encounters, or his stupid inexperience was making everything more difficult. “Davy, we cannot make love or carry on a conversation in this position. Could you at least lie down beside me?”

“All right.” Suddenly, David sounded very subdued.

They shifted around awkwardly until they were lying like spoons, still joined. Marshall had one arm under Davy’s neck, but the body in his arms was stiff with tension. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“For what?”

“I—Will, please believe me, I was only trying to make it a little easier—”

“Of course I’ll believe you, Davy. But would you please tell me—?”

“I—forgive me—I imagined it was you. When he took me.” David was lying dead-still, breathing rapidly. “I only meant... it was easier, a little. There was one time—some potion, he made it feel good, I could not prevent it, I could not bear it feeling good with that bastard, so I pretended it was you. I’m sorry....”

“I’m not.” Was it pity that wrung his heart, or Davy’s tight arse squeezing his cock? Either way, the notion of Adrian claiming Davy like this, forcing him, sent a surge through him that was not at all loving. He kissed the back of David’s neck, hoping the trembling that resulted was from pleasure. “I do see, Davy. It’s all right. I’m glad you did.”