Men Must Work

The Groves/Gillette Series, Chapt. 2

Sharing Expenses

by

Gryphons Lair

Theo tore his eyes from the enticing sight of those beads coiling in the cleft of her bosom, and ordered a mulled ale with his best admiring smile. That got him a demur "Just as you like, sir" and a decidedly warm look over a lifted shoulder as she walked away.

He turned toward the fire, still smiling, and saw Andrew seated on the left-hand settle, reading a book. "Good afternoon."

The other mid glanced up without raising his head—"Groves"—and immediately returned to his book.

Theo's smile vanished, and he changed course to stand on the hearth, back to the fire—and the figure on the settle. Apparently Gillette really had only offered to share a room to save on expenses. He'd said as much, but Theo'd thought perhaps—Obviously, I was mistaken. True, Gillette had introduced him to the innkeeper as an old friend, but he could scarcely tell the man how and when they'd really met. If he didn't want to turn the polite fiction into reality, Theo had no cause to complain.

The maid returned, and Theo accepted the tankard with an absent-minded "Thank you." He took a long drink of the hot, spice- and rum-laced ale.

Probably Gillette was regretting having made the offer already. That would explain why he'd left as soon as they'd finished breakfast. Well, he'd not push in where he wasn't wanted. It wasn't as if he had to hang on Gillette's sleeve, after all. He'd plenty to do before Friday without dancing attendance on him.

"Supper is served, gentlemen," the landlord said.

Damn. Theo drained the tankard and left it on the mantlepiece. He should have expected this. Nothing to be done but go through with it.

Gillette rose from his seat, not so much as glancing in Theo's direction.

The landlord smiled impartially at them both. "This way, young sirs."

By the time the food arrived, the silence had become tangible; people would notice if it lasted much longer. Theo knew he should say something, but he couldn't think what. He'd asked about the Dauntless at breakfast—

"How long have you been ashore?"

Theo looked up, to find Gillette's expression as blandly polite as his tone. "Five months." He poured gravy over his steak-and-kidney pudding. "My last posting was the Leviathan—a frigate, 36—under Captain Jordan." He speared a generous bite. "Four years' convoy duty, with the Company's fleet." The pudding was excellent.

"I've never sailed with anyone but Franklin." Gillette was attacking his own portion with enthusiasm. "We were with the Mediterranean fleet until the Resolute was recalled last autumn. Based out of Gibraltar, of course."

"I haven't set foot on Gibraltar in four—no, five years now." Theo took another bite of pudding, remembering. "That was when I was with Warton on the Clytemnestra, before he lost his legs." He licked gravy from his lips. "There was this little tavern in Cannon Lane where all we mids put up. The beds were flea-infested, and the beer undrinkable, but the landlord's wife was the most marvelous cook. I'll remember its name in a moment." Theo bit down absently on his spoon's bone handle as he searched his memory. "Corona de Espinas, that was it!" He looked over at Gillette, pleased at having remembered the name. "Is it still there?"

"I don't recall," Gillette said, looking away an instant before their eyes met. "If you'll excuse me," he cleared his throat, "I'll return in a moment." He turned away quickly, dropping his napkin on his chair. The edge of his coat caught the small, blue-bound book he'd been reading earlier, knocking it to the floor.

Gillette was already halfway to the back door, so Theo picked up the book himself. Smoothing a crumpled page, he realized it was in French. Histoire du Chevalier Des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut A biography of some sort? He'd never heard of the Chevalier Des Grieux, but that didn't signify. Resisting the temptation to try to puzzle out a few sentences, Theo returned the book to its place and applied himself to his food.

Gillette was gone for a good ten minutes. When he returned, he was faintly flushed and seemed to have lost interest in the—now rather cold—steak-and-kidney pudding, leading Theo to wonder if perhaps the dish hadn't agreed with him.

When Gillette showed no signs of renewing the conversation, Theo asked, "How long were you at Gibraltar?"

"Three years." He still wasn't meeting Theo's eyes. "Though we were not often in port."

The congealing pudding was taken away, and a raspberry fool set before them.

"You said the Leviathan convoyed with the Company's ships." Gillette picked up his spoon. "You must have seen India, then. You made port in China as well, I suppose?".

"Yes, both voyages ended in Calcutta." Theo began on his own portion. "And we spent two days in Canton harbor, on the second voyage."

"I envy you," Gillette said. "I've never been farther east than Cairo."

"I'd gladly have traded Canton for Cairo and the pyramids. I've wanted to see them ever since I was a child." He smiled, a bit awkardly. "My father used to read Herodotus aloud of an evening, you see. In translation, of course."

"Oh, of course." Gillette was scraping his dish clean. "The pyramids are most impressive, and the Sphinx truly a wonder. Captain Franklin took all we young gentlemen to see them, when we were anchored in Alexandria." His mouth quirked up in that attractive smirk. "I dare say you'll see them some day."

"No doubt I shall." Theo looked up, surprised, as the clock over the mantlepiece chimed. "Eight already?" He glanced across the table, smiling apologetically. "I really should be studying. If you'll excuse me?"

The smirk faded to a polite smile. "Of course."

Gillette hadn't been exaggerating when he said the room was small. It was tucked under the eaves, the outer wall so short a sea-chest barely fit against it. The wash-stand stood under the single, unglazed dormer opposite the door, and anyone foolish enough to have tried to fit a real bed into the room would have risked cracking his head on the oak rafters every time he sat up. The thick straw pallets served just as well, and were—as nearly as Theo had been able to tell from a brief inspection—free of vermin.

Theo's portmanteau was waiting for him on the left-hand pallet. He pulled out his books and slate before stowing the bag at the foot of his bed. Laying shoes, wig, coat and waistcoat aside, he arranged the pillow between his back and the rough plaster of the wall, opened "The Sea-Man's Vade Mecum", and settled to his studies.

Or tried to settle to them. No matter how firmly he fixed his mind on the text, his thoughts kept wandering to the red-headed boy downstairs.

If he was still downstairs. For all Theo knew, he could be back at the Crooked Staff, choosing another boy to take upstairs and—

He pushed the thought away, and traded the "Vade Mecum" for "A Sea Grammar". But even Admiral Smith's chapter on "How to manage a fight at Sea" proved insufficiently absorbing. Opening his journal, he turned to one of the navigation problems the Leviathan's First had set him after he'd failed the last examination.

After several false starts, he had what he thought the right answer, and turned the page to check. The latitude and longitude matched. And under the answer, he'd written "Alexandria".

Andrew standing in front of a pyramid, smirking as sweat from the strong Egyptian sun traced a path down his throat...

Theo decided he'd done enough studying. Stacking books and slate next to the portmanteau, he blew out the candle before stripping to his shirt for the night. Pushing the blankets to the foot of the bed, he stretched out on the well-worn linen sheet, then bent his knees slightly as he pulled his shirt up in front.

Theo closed his eyes, imagining how it might have been if they'd gone back to the Crooked Staff together.

Andrew, clad only in a shirt, undoing Theo's breeches, pulling them down over his hips. Theo's hands sliding up pale, freckled skin as Andrew straddled him.

Andrew lowering himself onto Theo, head thrown back, eyes closed. Rising and falling, slowly at first, then faster—

The sound of footsteps in the hall and the click of the room's latch brought Theo abruptly back to reality. He barely had time to pull the blankets up to hide his flushed face and turn to the wall before the glow of a candle brightened the room.

It was torture to lie there, pretending to be asleep, while Gillette moved about. He daren't look, but his ears gave him a clear enough picture of the other boy's actions.

A faint grunt and the movement of stiff cloth—that would be his jacket and waistcoat. The sound of water being poured, and splashed on his face. The clatter of soles on wood as he stepped out of his shoes; a faint sigh, and a series of rustles from the straw pallet as he sat down, unbuckled his garters, and rolled down his stockings. The soft pop of buttons being undone, then the slither of rough duck over linen sheets as he stripped off his breeches. A whisper of cloth on cloth: his cravat. A sliding sound as he lay down, the soft murmur of blankets being pulled up...

The room went dark, there was a final rustle from the pallet opposite—and all was silence.

Just as Theo thought he must finally have fallen asleep, Gillette rolled over. There was a brief pause, and then Gillette's breathing sped up, took on a short, almost gasping cadence matched by a rhythmic rustle of shifting cloth.

Oh, fuck. Theo stared at the plaster wall a scant foot from his nose and tried without success to keep the picture those sounds made from filling his head. Gillette's gasps turned to grunts, and Theo had to bite on a fold of blanket to keep from moaning aloud as his hand slipped downward. He fought to keep the rest of his body still, to let no sound escape as his hand began to move in time with the noises from the other side of the room.

Gillette's half-swallowed cry sent Theo over the edge. He bit down so hard on the blanket he nearly choked, and then lay utterly still, praying Gillette hadn't heard him, wouldn't realize...

It was a long time before he finally dropped off to sleep.

He worried at the problem all the way back to the inn, but no new ideas presented themselves. The taproom was almost deserted at this hour of the morning, and Theo was debating what to do next when Gillette clattered down the stairs.

Hesitating only a moment, Theo crossed the room to intercept him. "Good morning!" He smiled. "I wonder if I might impose on you for a small favor?"

Gillette's lips curved into the now-familiar smirk. "That would depend upon the favor."

"I'm having a bit of trouble making myself understood with a French shopkeeper," Theo explained. "Would you translate for me?"

The smirk vanished, taking with it all the warmth in Gillette's eyes. "What makes you think I speak French?" His chin came up and he glared at Theo through tight-pressed lips.

Theo was too taken aback to do more than gape at him for a moment. When he'd gathered his wits he said, very quietly, "The book you were reading last night was in French."

The belligerence changed to surprise, then unease. Gillette looked away. "Very well."

"Thank you." Theo half-wished he hadn't asked, but he couldn't draw back now. "Shall we go?" Gillette nodded, not meeting his eyes, and Theo led the way, still not at all sure what he'd said to make the other boy react as he had.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the street Theo had left such a short time ago. They stopped in front of the shop and Gillette, who'd regained most of his composure on the walk, raised an eyebrow. "A pawnbroker?"

Theo shrugged. "The prize money for Leviathan was delayed, and I needed to pay my coach-fare home and settle my reckoning. I thought to reclaim my things, now that I'm in funds again, but old Tunstall's dead, and Madame doesn't seem to understand English very well."

"Well, then," Gillette's smile was only a little forced, "let us see what I can do for you, shall we?" He led the way into the shop.

As soon as Madame caught sight of Theo, she launched into the same broken tirade she'd heaped on him during his last visit. Theo scarcely had time to draw breath before Gillette stepped forward and addressed the lady in her native tongue. As he and Madame conducted a rapid exchange, a remarkable transformation took place. Gillette's expression, previously so guarded, became animated. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at Madame, and both hands rose in the air, gesturing rapidly.

It was as if he were a totally different person—a person Theo found utterly fascinating.

After five minutes of rapid-fire conversation, Andrew turned to him. "It is that you owe her five pounds, seven shillings, nine and a half pence and," he added, "you are not to think you can cheat her because she is a poor helpless widow." His tone was solemn, but his eyes were dancing and there was a suspicious quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"No fear of that!" Theo eyed the figure in black bombazine with wary respect as he laid the coin on the counter, proffering his pawn-tickets at the same time.

Madame counted the money twice, then disappeared into the back room and returned with the small pile of Theo's belongings.

His "Thank you, ma'am," got him only a cold nod, but Andrew's far longer thanks—Theo caught the word "merci" at least three times—earned him a beaming smile and the offer of Madame's hand, which he saluted with considerable panache.

When they were safely into the street again, Theo said, "I'm most grateful for your help." He glanced at the other boy, choosing his words with care. "Might I show my appreciation by making you my guest for nuncheon? There's a tavern in the next street but one that does a marvelous roast mutton."

Dark brown eyes rose to meet his. The animation Andrew had shown in the shop had vanished again, but those eyes still held more than a little warmth. "I would like that very much."

It was still early, so they had no trouble obtaining a table at the Crossed Anchors. When their first hunger was assuaged, Theo broached a subject that had been exercising his mind since they'd left the Drake's Head.

"It's none of my business, I know," he spooned a bit of mustard onto his plate, "but I don't understand why you hide that you speak French. I'd think most Captains would count a midshipman who was fluent in French as an asset."

Andrew seemed to suddenly find the task of selecting a slice of mutton quite absorbing. "I dare say they would, if the midshipman was named Smith, or Jones. Or even Groves." He transferred the slice to his plate and looked up, mouth tightening. "But when one's name is Gillette"—he pronounced it Jhee-yett—"it is quite another matter."

"But you're English!" Theo protested. "Aren't you?"

"Three generations, born and bred." The tone was light, but there was tension still around that full mouth. The mutton reclaim his attention. "My great-grandfather was a Huguenot. Andre Guilliame Gillette. I'm named for him." He lifted a bite of mutton to his mouth. "He fled France in 1685 and settled in York." Looked up. "My grandfather, Henri Pierre, took a first at Cambridge but," there was definitely a bitter tone now, "he found posts as a schoolmaster easier come by if he sign his name 'Henry'."

Theo's discomfiture must have shown on his face. Andrew picked up his wineglass, and when he set it down again, his smile was back in place. "My father was baptised George. Very English. As is Andrew, of course."

"Very." Theo tried for a light tone. "I'm from an old Shropshire family, myself. You can find Groveses in the churchyard going back five hundred years."

"What, not back to the Conqueror?" Andrew quipped, with a return of that charming smirk. "I thought all old country families could trace their lineage to someone in William's train."

"Oh, no." Theo refilled their wineglasses. "We only go back to 1245 or thereabouts. The really old families in Market Drayton are of Saxon descent." He hung his head, adding in a melancholy tone, "My family is grateful if the real Old Draytonians speak to us in the street."

A sideways glance at Andrew's face made it impossible for Theo to keep his countenance. He burst out laughing, and Andrew joined him a moment later.

"It's foolish to say one man is more English than another, just because his family has been here longer," Theo declared. "It's what you do that matters, really."

"I quite agree," Andrew looked straight into his eyes, "Theo."

Theo's breathing quickened, but before he could think of anything to say the landlord appeared at his elbow, offering a choice of sweets to finish the meal.

A gulp of wine wet Theo's mouth. "I've had quite enough," he turned to Andrew, "but if you'd like something...?"

"Thank you, but," Andrew's gaze swept down Theo's torso, then up again, "I've no appetite for pudding at present." He licked wine from his upper lip.

Theo pressed enough coin into the landlord's hand to pay their shot, and they were on their way back to the Drake's Head, neither quite meeting the other's eye as they strode along.

"Down here," Andrew said abruptly, and turned into a narrow alleyway.

Theo followed, stretching his stride to keep up—and found, on hurrying around a stack of hogsheads, that the alley ended in a blank wall. "Why did—"

Andrew spun him until his back was against the rough brick. Theo felt Andrew's mouth covering his, Andrew's tongue sliding between his lips as his hand found the front of Theo's breeches.

Theo leaned into the kiss, remembering just in time to lower the bag he held to the ground instead of dropping it.

They both fumbled for breeches-buttons, gasping, clumsy with need. Theo nuzzled Andrew's neck, tasting sweat and wig-powder as Andrew's hand closed around his aching prick. In another moment he had Andrew's breeches-flap open and was taking him in hand, awkwardly at first, then with more confidence.

Theo was vaguely aware that Andrew was swearing, a soft, oddly lyrical babble that flowed over him like running water. The sweet slide of calloused skin against flesh sped up, mounting to an almost unbearable pitch. Andrew sunk his teeth into the cloth of Theo's coat as he spilled, shuddering, into Theo's hand. His hand closed convulsively around Theo, who muffled his cry against the soft skin of Andrew's throat as he, too, slipped over the edge.

They leant on each other, staggering like drunks, until their breathing steadied, then separated to tidy themselves away.

When he was sure he was reasonably presentable again, Theo glanced over at Andrew. "I should return to the inn," he said slowly. "The Examinations are tomorrow morning."

"Of course." Andrew seemed absorbed in brushing wig-powder off his sleeve. "I dare say the place will be quite deserted at this hour of the day." As Theo bent to retrieve his bag, Andrew added, "I could go with you, if you like."

Theo pushed away the enticing images this suggestion called up. "I need to study, Andrew. It's important."

"I know." Andrew's eyes met his own. "I want to help, Theo. If you'll let me."

"Tell me," Theo smiled as he swung the bag over one shoulder, "how are you at trigonometry?"

"Order the helm thrown over to bring her about on the starboard tack," Theo said. "And right sharp, or we'll be dismasted."

Andrew grinned at him. "You're good. That one stumped half the mids on the Elphebe, when it was put to us." He closed the battered journal and set it on top of his sea-chest, next to their wigs, then picked up The Sea-Man's Vade Mecum. He leafed through it, stopping at a page about a third of the way through. "If your ship has a beam of twenty feet, what are the proper sizes for the main and top masts, and the main and fore yards?"

"Oh, they'll never ask that!" Theo protested.

Andrew primmed up his mouth and intoned, "Answer the question put you, Mr Groves."

He sounded so like the pompous, self-important ass who'd been Second on the Clytemnestra that Theo was strongly tempted to throw something at him. Instead, he leaned back against the cool plaster of the wall and frowned at the dark window opposite. "If the ship's beam is twenty feet, her mainmast should be... sixty?" At Andrew's encouraging nod, he continued, "That would make the top-mast forty feet, and the yards..." he reached for the slate, but Andrew snatched it away.

"Do you think the Captains will let you fiddle about with one of these?" he demanded.

Theo had to admit the truth of this and subsided, muttering as he tried to work out the numbers in his head. "Right," he said at last, "the main yard would be forty-five feet and the foreyard thirty-seven."

Andrew shook his head. "Thirty-eight and four-sevenths."

"Bloody hell." Theo rubbed his forehead.

"Headache?" Andrew asked.

"Nerves, that's all."

"You should try to get some sleep," Andrew said. "It's late."

"I suppose so." Theo sat on the edge of Andrew's pallet and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though I can never sleep the night before an exam. Too tense."

The pallet rustled and shifted. Andrew's hands were on his shoulders, his breath warm on Theo's skin. "I could relax you." He pressed a kiss on the nape of Theo's neck.

Theo's breath caught. He started to lean back—then remembered, and cursed his lack of forethought as his hands clenched into fists.

The warmth against his back withdrew. "If you—don't care for it—" Andrew's hands lifted.

"No!" Theo grabbed one of his wrists, twisting to look him in the face. "It's not—I don't—" He realized he was blushing, and looked away. "You'd have to—use something," he muttered, "and—I don't—"

"Oh." Andrew's hands were on his chin, his shoulder, pulling him around for a hard, hungry kiss. "My chest," he gasped when the kiss ended. "Right front, green glass." He stood, kicking their shoes out of the way as he lifted the bar into place across the door.

Theo gaped, blinked—and dived for the foot of the pallet, piling books and wigs and all on the floor so he could open the chest. He plunged his hands into the stacks of clean linen, searching by feel for the cool slickness of glass, scarcely noticing the rustles and grunts behind him.

His hand had just closed on a smooth round shape when something jarred the pallet beneath his knees, forcing him to grab the edge of the chest for balance. He glanced over.

Andrew had dragged Theo's pallet over to lie next to his own. He wiped away a trickle of sweat and grinned. "We might as well be comfortable." When Theo grinned back, he scramble across the plump, rustling bedding and slipped his arms around Theo. His breath was hot on Theo's ear as he whispered, "Did you find it?"

Theo pulled back his hand, opened it to show the small green glass vial on his palm.

"Splendid."

Andrew's arms tightened and Theo leaned back into the embrace, moaning under his breath as Andrew's teeth closed on the lobe of his ear.

Teeth and tongue traced fire on his throat while fingers made short work of undoing his breeches. Andrew's hands were on his hips, pushing the stiff fabric down. Twisting, Theo kicked the garment off even as he knelt to face Andrew, who pulled him in for another kiss. His hands slid down soft linen over hot skin until they found the harsh rasp of duck and the smooth, hard shape of breeches-buttons. Andrew wriggled out of his breeches, and then they were tugging on each other's shirts, alternately cursing and laughing as they got caught in collar and cuffs, until the tangle of linen fell away and they were facing each other, naked and breathless.

Curling a hand around the nape of Andrew's neck, Theo kissed him hard, relishing the long-denied feel of skin against skin as Andrew's tongue twined around his own, his hand sliding down the small of Theo's back to cup his arse.

Christ, but I've missed this.

Theo pulled away to fling himself down on his knees, head pillowed on his folded arms as he looked back at Andrew in open invitation.

Andrew's pale skin was flushed, his eyes bright, his breathing as harsh as Theo's own, but instead of moving behind him he leaned forward, placing a hand on Theo's shoulder. "No," he said. "Not like that."

And then Andrew was turning him over, pressing Theo's shoulders into the pallet, his mouth on Theo's throat, his fingers skittered down to tease maddeningly at Theo's nipples. Theo moaned, arching into the touch, barely remembering to keep his voice low. His hand found Andrew's hip, slid inward against silken skin—but before he could do more Andrew's fingers closed about both wrists, pressing them onto the pallet.

Kissing him lightly, Andrew whispered, "Wait for it."

Thoroughly confused now, Theo did as he was bid, keeping his hands quite still as Andrew straddled his leg, nudging his knees apart before—Oh, Christ, yes, please—moving to kneel between them.

He choked back another moan, writhing under Andrew's touch as those clever fingers traced leisurely paths down his chest and belly. One hand splayed over his hip, the other slid up his leg, lifting until Theo's foot touched a slanting beam. Understanding dawned, and he pressed his sole flat against the dark oak.

Andrew smiled, and the line of kisses he trailed down the skin of Theo's inner thigh nearly shattered his control.

The other foot rose in turn, and only then did Andrew pick up the green glass vial and work the stopper free.

The stuff gave off a faint, clean scent as Andrew poured it into his palm. He coated himself quickly, then slid slick fingers down Theo's spine before pressing against him.

Theo clenched both hands in the canvas pallet-cover and pushed, groaning in relief as Andrew's fingers entered him. He threw back his head, eyes closed, unaware he was making small, eager sounds as those fingers probed, twisted—withdrew. He opened his eyes and raised his head, watched as Andrew's hands slid up his legs.

Andrew moved closer, until his thighs were under Theo's hips, his prick against his arse. "Brace yourself."

Theo reached over his head to splay his palms against the cool plaster of the wall, then looked back at Andrew. He licked his lips, and nodded.

Andrew's fingers tightened on his thighs, he pressed forward...

Theo moaned aloud, relishing the sweet burn as Andrew entered him. It faded quickly, as it always did, and after a moment he opened his eyes to find Andrew watching him, lips parted.

Theo smiled.

That seemed to be what Andrew had been waiting for, because he started to fuck Theo in earnest. He began slowly, until Theo caught the rhythm of it, then picked up the pace, taking him harder and faster until Theo could barely hold back his cries. Just when he thought it could get no better, Andrew's hand closed around his prick, squeezing hard. He remembered just in time to turn his head, sinking his teeth into his own arm, muffling his cry as he spent himself, arching upward. When he slumped back again, he became aware that Andrew was still taking him, thrusting hard and deep—a rush of warmth, and Andrew collapsed atop him, gasping, his head under Theo's chin.

Theo let his legs drop from their high perch, draping them loosely around Andrew's. That felt so good he did the same with his arms.

After a while, Andrew stirred, then pushed up onto his elbows to grin down at Theo. "Relaxed now?"

"Very." Theo stretched lazily, and smiled back. "That was... I never..."

Andrew rolled on his side and raised a cynical eyebrow. "If you're trying to claim you've never been buggered before, I shan't believe it." He grinned and slid one hand across Theo's belly. "You're too good at it."

"Of course I have!" Theo said indignantly, even as he blushed at the compliment. "Just—not like that."

Both eyebrows rose. "Haven't you? I'd never have guessed." Andrew yawned. "Well, best catch what sleep we can before morning." He pulled up the tangle of bedclothes to cover them both before rolling onto his back. "Good night, Theo."

"Good night."

Theo opened his eyes to find Andrew sprawled half over to him, his head on Theo's arm. The slice of sunlight that fell through the shutters ran up his back to catch in his hair.

He'd always had a fondness for redheads, and Andrew was definitely that. His hair was bright as new copper, and his back and shoulders were liberally sprinkled with freckles. His nose was freckled, too, and—odd that he hadn't noticed it before—his eyes weren't quite on the same level.

Aware that his arm was going numb, Theo shifted—then froze as Andrew stirred, murmuring, his arm tightened across Theo's chest. Andrew's tongue crept out as he settled again, sweeping slowly over his upper lip in a way that made Theo's prick go from half-erect to full attention.

If he woke him, they could...

The latch rattled an instant before the door banged against the pinioning bar, sending both boys bolt upright.

"Young sirs?" A man's voice. "You awake?" The latch rattled again.

"One moment!" Theo called.

The boys' eyes met—

—and then they were leaping into action: dragging the pallets apart, splitting blankets and sheets between them, reaching for their clothes.

The first pair of breeches Theo found weren't his. Andrew was struggling into his shirt, so Theo threw them at his feet before snatching up his own. He was tugging them over his hips when a shirt hit him in the face.

The door rattled again just as Theo's head emerged from his collar. As he lifted the bar from the door, Andrew dived across the room, landing on his pallet with a thump. A pillow sailed past Theo as he lifted the latch.

"Yes?" He swung the door open a few inches, scowling at the manservant. "What is it?"

"Your bath's ready, sir. If you'll come with me?" When Theo didn't speak, he added, "You did say nine o'clock?"

"Yes, of course." Was it nine already? "I'll be along directly."

"Just as you like, sir."

Theo closed the door, making sure the latch caught, and slumped against it for a moment.

Andrew stood to tuck in his shirt. "That," he smiled wryly, "was not at all how I'd intended to start my day."

"Nor I," Theo chuckled. "But I don't think it wise to keep our friend waiting."

"No, probably not."

Theo retrieved his portmanteau, rummaging in it for his shaving-gear while Andrew shrugged into his waistcoat.

"Will I see you at breakfast?"

"I doubt I'll have time to eat." Theo smiled an apology as he rose to his feet. "The Board convenes at ten."

"Of course." Andrew didn't quite meet his eyes.

Theo hesitated a moment, feeling he should say something else, but not knowing what—then turned, and left the room.

Andrew was seated at one of the tables, empty plate before him and coffee cup in hand.

"Moment of truth," Theo said, shifting his books to the other arm.

"You'll pass." Andrew sounded as if he really believed it.

I wish I did. Theo hesitated a moment, then smiled nervously and turned away.

He hadn't gone far when he heard Andrew calling his name. He turned, surprised. "What?"

"I just realized." Andrew's face was flushed, his eyes wide. "You can't go like that!"

"Like what?" He looked down at himself. Nothing seemed to be out of place...

"It's all right, I can fix it. Come in here." Andrew took his sleeve and drew him into a footpath that ran between two buildings.

"But... I don't understand," Theo protested as they rounded a corner. "What—"

Andrew kissed him hard, teeth closing over Theo's lip as he backed away, leaving him gasping. "For luck," he grinned, and hurried away down the path.

Theo stared after Andrew until he disappeared around the corner. He took a deep breath, then another. That was madness. What if someone had seen us? A nearby clock chimed the quarter, and he pushed the thought aside as he hurried on his way.

There were already a half dozen candidates waiting in the anteroom when he arrived. Giving his name to the clerk, he took a seat on one of the benches that lined the wall, not too close to any of the others.

As the last stroke of ten sounded, the clerk called the first name.

More midshipmen continued to arrive, and the room began to grow crowded. The first candidate returned much sooner than Theo had expected, and left without meeting anyone's eyes.

The clerk called the next name just as one of the new arrivals took a seat near Theo. He didn't feel like making small talk, so he opened a book and started to read.

The second candidate was in the room almost half an hour, the third even longer. The fourth emerged after twenty minutes, looking remarkably well-pleased with himself, and stopped on the way out to exchange a few words with his friends.

Theo realized he'd been reading the same paragraph over and over for some time, and closed the book just as the clerk called, "Mr Simpson." An older man, a sallow blond whose face was marked by smallpox scars, answered the summons.

Theo opened his journal and paged through it, glancing at the entries, too distracted to pay them proper attention. After a moment, he realized his tongue was tracing the line Andrew's teeth had made on his lip, and stopped at once.

Simpson was only inside about ten minutes. He left in a hurry, head down, shouldering aside anyone in his path.

The door closed behind the sixth candidate. My turn next. Theo closed the journal and stared at the cover, trying to convince himself he'd pass, this time. He'd studied so hard, he had to do better. I could scarcely do worse.

Well, pass or fail, it would all be over soon. And then...

His tongue swept his lower lip again. His original plan had been to take the night mail back to London tonight, and leave from there for Bath on the Monday, but perhaps it would be better to stay in Portsmouth another few days. After all, he was only spending half what he'd expected to on his lodgings. He could inquire at the Port Admiral's office after any berths that might be available, and he should really meet with his prize-agent again. Perhaps a lieutenant he'd sailed with would be willing to ask his new captain to take Theo on, or recommend him somewhere. And if all else failed, he could visit the dockyards, see if he could pick up a bit of gossip that might lead to something . Really, now he thought about it, it was absurd to travel all the way here and not take full advantage of any opportunities that presented themselves.

"Mr Groves!"

Theo sprang to his feet and followed the clerk to the door, mouth dry and heart pounding in his chest.

It started to rain before he'd gone very far—the light, misty rain you got so often in Portsmouth—and he tucked his books under his jacket for protection.

A bake-shop on the next corner was sending out delicious odors, and a rumble from Theo's stomach reminded him he'd missed breakfast. He turned inside and ordered a pasty and a stoup of ale, carrying them to the counter that ran across the window.

At least he'd not disgraced himself this time. Whether he'd done well enough to earn his certificate—well, only the men on the Board knew that.

The rain stopped before Theo finished his nuncheon, and he made one other stop on his way back to the Drake's Head. Andrew wasn't in the taproom, nor in their room. Suppressing a pang of regret—he'd have liked to talk about the exam—Theo stowed his things and turned his steps toward the port-master's office.

A seat on one of the settles opened up. He started toward it, then changed direction as Andrew appeared on the stairs.

"Theo!" Andrew said. "How did you do?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Better than last time, at least."

Andrew stopped a passing servant to place his order. "I'd say you were a certainty," Andrew's eyebrows rose and his lip curled, "if it weren't for the well known tendency of Examining Boards to pass over men who'd make brilliant lieutenants for incompetents who are fortunate enough to have relatives in Parliament."

"Too true." Theo smiled wryly. "How many times did you take them, before you passed?"

The sardonic smirk was replaced by a flicker of surprise just as the servant returned with Andrew's drink. He stared into the ale and murmured, "I'll not be eligible for almost a year."

You're only eighteen? Theo covered his confusion by taking a long draught from his tankard. He'd taken Andrew for a young-looking twenty, perhaps twenty-one. He was so self-assured, so—experienced. He lowered the tankard slowly, unsure what to say.

"Mr Gillette, sir?" A seaman appeared out of the crowd, tugging his forelock.

Andrew turned to the man. "What is it, Gibbs?"

"Message from the Cap'n, sir." The man produced a folded sheet of paper. "I'm to wait for your answer."

Andrew broke the wafer and skimmed the few lines inside. "Tell Captain Franklin I accept with pleasure, and will be at the dock as soon as may be."

"Aye, sir." Gibbs tugged his forelock again and departed.

"I am summoned to duty, it seems. Or at any rate, supper." Andrew stuffed the note into his pocket with a wry smile. "I'll eat well, at least. Captain Franklin's cook knows his business."

"Perhaps we could share a glass of port when you return," Theo suggested. "I picked up a bottle this afternoon. We could," he let his glance slide slowly down Andrew's waistcoat, "open it in the room."

Andrew's eyes warmed. "I look forward to it."

Theo renewed the ink on his pen, then reread what he had written, frowning down at the half-finished letter for so long the ink dried on his nib. Dipping the pen again, he continued.

—with a chance-met friend, so my expenses are not as great as anticipated, and there are several lines of inquiry which can best be pursued here. I will write again to inform you of the date of my return. Until then, I remain,

Your loving son,

Theo

He read it over again, slowly, then sanded and sealed the single sheet. Blowing out the candle, he left the room—technically a private parlour, but no one had hired it tonight, and he'd had need of the desk—and descended to the ground floor.

It was after nine, and the inn was doing a brisk business. A group of small craftsmen were engaged in a spirited argument in one corner, a dice game appeared to be taking place in another, and there was more than one card game in progress. The air was blue with smoke, and the odor of tobacco warred with that of spilled beer.

Theo crossed to the mailbag that hung by the door, dodging his fellow-patrons and being dodged by servants with full trays, and slipped the letter through the slot. It would go out with the morning post, and reach Market Drayton by Monday, so his family wouldn't worry when he didn't arrive with the Tuesday mail-coach.

He was debating whether to try to find a seat in the crowded room when Andrew walked in. Before they could do more than greet each other the door swung open again, admitting a trio of very drunk Marines roaring out "Spanish Ladies" at the top of their lungs.

It was impossible to hear anything over the din. Theo jerked his head toward the stairs; Andrew nodded.

They climbed to the room without speaking. Theo'd opened the port earlier, and left it to breathe on the windowsill. As he reached for it he heard the bar on the door thud home. Filling two glasses he'd commandeered from the barman earlier, he offered one to Andrew.

"What shall we drink to?" Andrew's fingers brushed the back of his hand before closing around the glass. "Your imminent promotion?"

Theo shook his head, swallowing against a mouth gone dry. "Bad luck. What about," he raised his glass, "to chance meetings, and new friends."

"Excellent suggestion." They drank together; Andrew looked faintly surprised. "And excellent port."

"I'm glad you approve." In truth it was better than he'd expected; well worth the price. Theo made a note to patronize that shop in future; an honest wine-merchant was more precious than rubies. Taking another sip, he settled himself on the pallet and reached for a small brown-paper parcel. "This makes it better."

Andrew sat next to him. "What is it?"

"Gingerbread." Theo inhaled the spicy scent, and licked his lips. "My mother made it, for me to eat on the journey."

"Gingerbread? With port?"

"Yes. It's a tradition where I come from," Theo said. "Try it!" He held out the packet.

Andrew eyed the thin brown strips dubiously, but chose a piece and raised it for a bite.

Theo caught his wrist, laughing. "Not like that! Like this." He took the gingerbread and dipped it in his port.

Andrew's expression was still dubious, but when Theo raised the morsel to his lips, he took a small bite. "That is good!"

"Isn't it?" Theo dunked the strip again, and bit into it with relish. "You might try believing me, next time."

To Theo's surprise, Andrew blushed. "My apologies. Next time," he reached for another piece, "I shall most certainly take you at your word."

They shared the gingerbread between them, consuming most of the bottle of port in the process. By the time it was gone, they'd shed wigs, coats and cravats, and were sprawled comfortably on the thick straw pallet, trading kisses and feeding each other the last few broken bits.

Theo rolled onto one elbow, the better to stir the crumbs from the packet into the dregs of his cup. Just as he got the posset properly mixed, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and Andrew's breath against his ear.

"Theo?"

He slid his hand up to cover Andrew's. "Yes?"

"Was last night really the first time you'd buggered face to face?"

Theo sat up, turning away. "What if it was?" He curled both hands around his glass. "It's not—that unusual, surely."

Andrew's hands stroked his shoulders. "It's only that I was wondering," he nuzzled Theo's neck, "if you've never buggered face to face before," his teeth closed on the lobe of Theo's ear, tugging gently, "have you ever been—ridden?"

Theo's breath caught. "Well," he looked down at his hands, "not by a man."

"Would you like to be?" Andrew's voice was husky.

Theo set his glass on the floor with great care before turning to meet Andrew's eyes. "Yes."

A single bruising, breath-stealing kiss, and then they were tugging at each others' clothes, swearing at buttons and ties that seemed unusually recalcitrant to drink-fuddled fingers, until they tumbled together in a tangle of limbs.

Andrew ended on top, Theo wasn't quite sure how. He nuzzled pale, freckled skin, slid his hands over sweat-slick muscles. Moaning, Andrew arched his neck, grinding himself deliciously against Theo. Theo's hands moved over the small of Andrew's back to the firm curve of his arse. They kissed again, and he slipped one hand inward, down...

Andrew broke the kiss, gasping, "Oil."

"Yes." Theo let him go, rising on his elbows to watch the play of muscle on back and thighs as Andrew scrambling across the floor to retrieved the small vial from under his pillow.

He straddled Theo on his knees. "Give me your hand."

The oil was cool and slick in his palm. Theo closed his hand over it, felt it warm against his skin as Andrew tipped out a measure for himself.

Their eyes met. Oil dripped from Andrew's fingers onto his belly.

Without looking away, Theo reached down and closed his hand over his aching prick.

The vial fell from Andrew's fingers. He straightened, arching his back, oil-smeared hand reached behind—

Theo stroked his hand slowly along his length, spreading the oil, entranced by the sight of Andrew stretched bow-taut above him, gaze turned inward, lips parted as he prepared himself.

Then he was straightening, looking down with such hunger in his eyes that the breath caught in Theo's throat. Andrew leaned forward, hands either side of Theo's ribs, and Theo met him half-way for a kiss.

Sliding his hands up Andrew's thighs, Theo savoured the play of muscles beneath his fingers as Andrew shifted on the pallet. He reached Andrew's hips, curved his hands to cup them beneath his palms as Andrew began to lower himself, slowly. Theo's hands shifted, nudged, guided, until he felt his prick slide into the cleft of Andrew's arse.

Their eyes met. Andrew licked his lips. "Pull."

Theo tightened his grip. There was a moment's resistance—and then he threw back his head, choking back a moan as Andrew slid over him, around him, hot and tight and oh, so good.

They stayed like that a moment, until Andrew's breathing steadied. Then his hands were closing over Theo's wrists, moving them from hip-bones to thighs. Theo felt the long muscles clench beneath his fingers as Andrew pushed up slowly, rising until Theo was barely inside him, then lowering himself again.

"Oh, fuck," Theo whispered, stroking his hands along sweat-slick skin, fighting the urge to arch into that sweet, too-slow slide. "Sweet fucking bastard."

Andrew smiled and picked up the pace, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Theo swore, gasped, begged—

And then Andrew's hand was closing on his own, bringing Theo's oil-slicked palm up to brush his prick. He sped up at last as Theo's hand closed around him. Theo stroked him in time with their fucking, moving with him now, wrenching short gasps from him with each upward thrust.

Andrew choked back a cry as he arched over Theo, head thrown back, his seed spilling hot and sticky over Theo's hand and belly. He slumped backward onto his arms when the spasm passed, and Theo's hands found his hips again. He thrust upward, panting, fucking him hard and fast, until he shuddered over the edge at last.

His breathing was still ragged when Andrew moved off him. He curled against Theo's side, nuzzling his collarbone. Theo's arm found his waist. After a bit, he reached for one of the discarded cravats.

"Let me." Andrew took it from him, wiping away the sticky mess on his hand and belly before tossing the linen aside to smile down at him.

Theo smiled back, and pulled him down for a kiss. They ended curled together on the narrow pallet, Theo's back to Andrew's front, Andrew's arm draped over Theo's hip.

"The Caribbean?" Theo added sugar to his coffee. "The land of ship-worm, tropical fevers, and hurricanes?"

Andrew swallowed a mouthful of toast. "I prefer to think of it as an opportunity for glory, promotion, and the rapid accumulation of wealth."

"Having one's seniors die of fever would increase the probability of promotion," Theo admitted wryly as he reached for the butter, "but I'd think your chances of prize-money would be better in the Mediterranean."

"Ah, but that's because you don't know why we're going to Jamaica." Andrew refilled his cup, adding a generous portion of cream. "We're to hunt pirates."

"Pirates?" Theo said. "But that means—"

"Treasure," Andrew smirked, eyes dancing. "Booty. Swag. Ships. Some of which," he lifted his cup, "will no doubt be sloops fit to be bought into the service."

Lieutenants could command sloops. Acting-Lieutenants, even. Theo suppressed a pang of envy as he bit into his toast.

"Of course," Andrew drained half his cup in one draught, "not all the other mids see it that way. Several of them have chosen to seek another post, now that they know where we're going. Captain Franklin was saying just last night that he was having the devil's own time filling the berths."

Theo's breath caught. His hands curled around his cup as he looked up at his friend..

"I did just happen to mention," Andrew wasn't smirking now, "that I knew a senior midshipman who was between ships at the moment. He said to send you 'round at eleven, if you're interested."

If he was interested? Theo wanted to laugh, to shout aloud, to kiss Andrew right here in front of everyone. "Yes, I think it might interest me." A pitfall occurred to him. "Did you mention, ah, how we met?"

"What, that we happened to put up at the same inn, and the landlord seated us together at mealtime? Of course."

Yes, that should serve the purpose nicely. As long as Franklin didn't inquire of the landlord, of course. But then, he had no reason to do so, did he?

"It's only an interview," Andrew said. "It may come to nothing."

"I know. But I thank you for the favour, all the same. After all," Theo grinned as he picked up his cup, "I am your senior in the Service. If I get the berth, and pass my exams, I could be commanding that captured pirate sloop instead of you."

Andrew reached across the table and took the last piece of Theo's toast. "The thought had occurred to me."

"Yes?"

"Good morning, ma'am." Theo smiled at her. "I have an appointment with Captain Franklin."

The housekeeper didn't smile back, but she did step aside so he could enter. "You're to go straight up. First door at the top of the stairs." She didn't offer to take his hat.

"Thank you, ma'am." Another smile made no more impression than the first. Resolutely ignoring the knot in his stomach, Theo climbed the stairs and knocked again.

"Enter!" A man in a captain's uniform sat behind a wide desk liberally strewn with papers. He looked up as the latch clicked home, and Theo's stomach lurched.

He'd seen Captain Franklin before, sitting on the Examining Board yesterday. He'd been the officer who'd asked the most difficult questions, and seemed least impressed with Theo's answers. If Andrew didn't tell him my name, this could be a very short interview. "Captain Franklin," he said, and was pleased at how level his voice sounded, "thank you for seeing me, sir."

Captain Franklin nodded. "Mr Groves. You brought your journal? I think," he added dryly, "we can dispense with a review of your certificates."

He'd gone over them carefully enough yesterday. "I have it here, sir." He handed the battered volume over. Had Andrew told him Theo's name, or had he merely remembered it from yesterday? If the former, the Captain's willingness to see him must mean he'd done at least tolerably well on the exams. Either that, or he's so desperate to fill the berths he'll consider anyone. It wasn't a particularly comforting thought.

"With whom have you served, Mr Groves?"

"I was three years with Captain Warton on the Clytemnestra, sir, then four with Captain Jordan on the Leviathan."

"The Clytemnestra, eh?" Franklin's gaze sharpened. "Were you at Drepano?"

Theo's chin lifted a fraction. "My crew manned the number three gun, sir."

"Bad business, that." Franklin turned a page in Theo's journal. "And why do you no longer serve with Captain Jordan, Mr Groves?"

"Leviathan was deemed unfit for service, sir." Theo kept his tone even; he couldn't afford to show resentment. "She was broken up; the captain has yet to obtain another ship." He pulled an envelope from the papers he still held. "He gave me this letter of recommendation, sir."

"Did he?" Franklin read the single sheet inside the envelope without changing expression, then looked up at Theo with one eyebrow raised. "You know our destination, Mr Groves?"

"Mr Gillette told me you were bound for Jamaica, sir." Not we, not yet.

"Ah, yes. Mr Gillette." Franklin laid the letter of recommendation on Theo's open journal. "You and he are old friends, I understand?"

"Old friends, sir?" It wasn't hard to feign surprise; his heart was pounding like a smith's hammer. "No, sir. We only met two days ago." Had it really been only two days? "I'd traveled to Portsmouth for the exams, and put up at the Drake's Head. The landlord seated us together at a meal, and we fell into conversation."

"I see." Franklin steepled his fingers and regarded Theo over them. "The Caribbean is a deadly place, Mr Groves. Fully one third of the men stationed there do not live to return home. Were you aware of that?"

"Not of the precise numbers, sir." Greatly daring, he added, "It is a known hazard of Caribbean service."

"Just so," Franklin said. "Given that fact, I am determined to give preference to passed midshipmen, so that there will be no question of their competency when and if I should find it necessary to promote them."

He's telling me I'll not get the berth because I failed the exam. Theo swallowed disappointment.

"I have, therefore," Captain Franklin closed Theo's journal, "no hesitation whatsoever in offering you a berth aboard the Dauntless."

Offering me a berth? But... if he's only taking passed mids... does that mean I...? Theo remembered to breathe. "Thank you, sir!"

Franklin nodded. "Have you your trunk with you?" When Theo shook his head, he said, "Then I shall expect you aboard the Dauntless in ten days' time. You will be assigned the larboard watch." He handed Theo's journal back to him. "That will be all, Mr Groves."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He started down the stairs, heart pounding in time to the refrain repeating in his head. I passed. I passed. I passed the exams. And Captain Franklin had all but promised him promotion, in due time. I'll be a Lieutenant. With a salary, and my own cabin, and... He smiled at the housekeeper as she let him out, and saw the corners of her mouth twitch up slightly before she closed the door behind him.

"Lieutenant Groves," he said, trying it out on his tongue, and laughed aloud at the sound of it.

"I thought you would." Andrew smiled as Theo took a seat next to him. "Welcome aboard."

Theo nodded. "Did you know Franklin was one of the examining captains, yesterday?"

"No, I'd no idea," Andrew said. "Was it important?"

"Yes, it was. You see, he said he was offering me the berth," Theo couldn't seem to stop grinning, "because I'd passed my exam."

"He told you that?"

"Well, not in so many words." The waiter arrived with their drinks. "But he said he was only filling the empty berths with passed mids, and then he said he'd take me on, so that must mean I passed, mustn't it?"

Andrew nodded. "I'd bet my next prize-money on it. Franklin's a careful sort; he'd never suggest something like that if it wasn't true." He lifted his tankard. "To your promotion."

"No." Theo shook his head, still half-afraid to jinx it. "To the Dauntless."

"The Dauntless," Andrew echoed. "May she have a long, glorious, and," he grinned wickedly, "prosperous maiden voyage." When the tankards were empty, he asked, "What watch are you on, did Franklin say?"

"Larboard." Seeing his friend's smile dim a little, Theo said, "Is that bad?"

"No, not at all. They're a fine set of fellows, you'll get along splendidly. It's just," Andrew shrugged, "I'm on the starboard watch."

"Oh."

The landlord appeared from behind the high-backed settle. "Your bill, Mr Groves."

"Thank you." Theo took it then, seeing Andrew's surprise, explained. "The Captain wants me aboard in ten days, and I've all my gear to get together. I've booked a seat on the night-mail coach, and will have to look sharp if I'm to finish all my business in Portsmouth before then."

"Ah." Andrew's smiled seemed a trifle forced. "I'll see you aboard, then."

That's right, he'd said he was ordered aboard in seven days. Damnation! Theo'd been looking forward to one more night in their room before they set sail, but with only ten days to prepare, he daren't risk delaying even half a day, however tempting the prospect. "And at supper tonight, I hope?"

"I look forward to it."

They never once mentioned Theo's departure, or what would happen when they reached Jamaica.

After, Theo went up to their room to pack his things for the journey. Andrew came along, and sat on his pallet opposite, ostensibly reading the small blue book Theo remembered from their first supper together—but he never turned a page.

He was packed, books and sextant and all.

Theo stared into the bulging portmanteau. "Andrew?"

"Yes?"

"When we get to Jamaica, I'll need to find lodgings." He waited, but Andrew said nothing. "I was thinking," he said slowly, "it would be easier to afford a comfortable place," he gathered his courage, and turned to look at Andrew, "if I was sharing with someone."

Andrew looked up from his book. "What a coincidence." His lips curved into the smirk Theo had come to know so well, and his eyes were warm. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

Theo smiled, and closed the portmanteau.

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