Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (10 page)

He frowned. “Never? Then how did you learn it?”

“Phillippe. I have not thought of him in a long time. He taught me to use that technique upon him. Gods, I remember how he thought me quite the bumbling and arrogant youth. He probably thought I had difficulty pleasuring myself without mishap. Yet, he was a mere two years my senior. Of course, he had been practicing his profession for a good six.”

“He was a whore?”

I shrugged. “Not precisely, more of a courtesan really. No one paid him; they did him favors and gave him gifts.”

“Phillippe? French?” His interest seemed genuine and not born of jealousy.

“Oui.” I said. “When first I left England, I vowed two things. One, that I would learn the blade such that I could return to England and kill Shane, and two, that I would never be with another man. Thus I went to Paris to seek a sword master. All of the bored English nobles sent to France during the Reformation spent their days practicing the sword and trysting. I did not wish anyone to know who I truly was, so I assumed the identity of a distant cousin and joined them. To convince all, including myself, that I had no interest in men, I seduced every woman I could find. I thank the Gods I ran into Madam Dupree, a wealthy widow in the courts, who was willing to teach a fool English whelp how to please a woman. I had been quite the ham-handed rutting bull prior to that. And so, I spent my days sparring and my nights trysting, and not with the men I was sparring with. And I came to the attention of Phillippe.

“Phillippe was effete to the extreme, and pretty. His clothes were the height of fashion, his every move was practiced in front of a mirror.

He was not the type of man I have ever been interested in. He was very honest about his preferences, and though he was discreet with his patrons, I feel he harbored great ill will over the matter that he should be labeled and reviled for being a sodomite and they should not. As he was not a woman, he often was about in the practice yards and saw me in what might have been considered my native element, which is associating with other men. Thus he saw through my guise of womanizing and knew me for a fellow sodomite. And as I was not one of his patrons, it irked him to see me doing so much to be something I was not. Thus he set about to seduce me.

“As I was not attracted to him, I did not sense his intent. In fact, I pitied him. When he finally made to strike, I nearly killed him. With a blade at his throat, I explained that I did indeed favor men, yet I had been abused by one such that I had sworn off them. At which point he took pity upon me, and his interest in me transmuted into one of sincere altruism. He decided I should be taught how to enjoy men, and give them pleasure if I wished. I finally allowed him to pleasure me and I realized I could not deny my nature. And so I learned. He was the first man I bestowed myself upon. I never divulged the nature of Shane’s abuse, but I think he was wise to it. And I never allowed Phillippe to bestow himself upon me, not that he was interested in doing so. I would not now call what we shared love, but it was filled with mutual respect and fondness, and I missed him sorely when my other trysting led to my having to depart Paris after a duel.”

Gaston was watching me thoughtfully. “You have led a fascinating life.”“And you have not?”

“I have never been seduced by a courtesan,” he said.

I shook my head. “Well, as I have on occasion trysted in order to put food in my belly, or keep a roof over my head, you have. Not that I am proud of it.”

He reclined on the sand and studied the sky for a time. My concern over his lack of a response was interrupted by Julio arriving for another pail. To distract myself still further, I commented on the progress being made, and Julio spoke of it being an easy day’s work compared to some.

When he at last left, I hazarded a glance at Gaston, and found him watching me.

“You should not be ashamed,” he said.

“You had to think on it, did you not?” I sighed.

“I can think of worse things.”

I shrugged, though I felt no nonchalance. “Name them, and I have probably done them for money.”

“Have you lain with your sister and then killed her?” he asked without any trace of emotion, as if he were asking me what I ate for dinner.

I laughed. “Non. And did you do that for money?”

He grinned. “Non. So performing the ugly thing for money is the issue?”

“I feel it is. Doing ugly things for love is not so very horrible.”

He regarded the sky again with a bemused smile. “I must think more on it.”

I thought on it while stirring the tar. I was far more ashamed of the men I had killed for money than the women I had bedded for it. But as killing men for gold was much of what we were involved in amongst the buccaneers, I felt it best not to dwell upon that, lest I find myself in such a moral quandary I must abandon the endeavor.

“How could you bed the women if you did not care for them, if you do not favor them?” he asked.

I frowned, and regarded him curiously. “I do not find woman onerous. Occasionally, I find them quite fetching. And my manhood cares not, once it is thrust into a warm hole.”

“So, you did not truly do it for the money alone, but for the pleasure as well?”

“Oui.” I grinned. “I have never bedded a person I found distasteful for money. In truth, I have never bedded a person I found distasteful.”

“Then you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he pronounced.

“Thank you for that exoneration of my sins.”

“It is the least I can do. You always exonerate mine,” he whispered.

I ignored the tar to regard him again. “Oui.”

He was studying me with thoughtful eyes. The change in his mien was such that I knew the Horse to be wandering about again. I held out my hand, and he took it.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I never wish for you to have to exonerate me again,” he said solemnly. He sat up without releasing my hand. He cradled it in his lap, and seemed to be searching for words.

“You have only been penetrated by the two, have you not?” he asked abruptly. “The Damn Cousin and the Spaniard?”

“Oui.” I breathed. I felt discomfort at this turn of the topic, but I was curious.

“How long ago? With the Spaniard?” he asked.

“The night I left Florence. That was September of last year.”

“Am I correct that you will need a great amount of preparation if I were to… be able to?”

“Is that imminent?” I asked cautiously.

I thought of the feel of him pressing behind me two nights ago. He had said the Horse was capable.

He did not flinch from my gaze. “You said you would have welcomed me if I had but woken you first?”

“Oui, I would,” I whispered. “And oui, I will require a great deal of coaxing, even as much as I want you. Even with the Spaniard I found it uncomfortable and I bled. I am sure it will be easier with you, for several reasons, but initially I am sure it will be difficult for me. I fear Shane ruined me there, and that it will never be as it should.” I had been dreading someday having to say those words, but now at least they were out. His eyes had narrowed, and his grip on my hand was nearly painful.

“How many times? With the Spaniard?”

I frowned. “Twelve, perhaps.”

He appeared surprised. “And the Damn Cousin?”

“Nine,” I whispered.

Shame flooded my cheeks. I had never admitted the number of times I had allowed it to continue before.

“You have been penetrated only twenty-one times?” he hissed. “Pete and Striker do that in a week.”

I was surprised enough at the trail his mind was following to be amused. “And well I know it,” I chuckled, “but only on their particularly amorous weeks. Generally they seem to keep it to only once per day.”

He ignored my aside. “Was the Spaniard larger than I?”

I had only seen Gaston the once, and I had to think about Alonso.

“I feel he was longer. You are wider in circumference, surely, and better formed.”

Gaston snorted. “Will, I am not seeking flattery. My being wider does not bode well for the endeavor.” He sighed. “Am I as large as you?”

“Non,” I grimaced with discomfiture. “Not in length. In girth, oui, more so I feel.”

“Good,” he said distractedly, and then he was intent on his next quarry. “Why ever did you allow him if he made you bleed? The inconsiderate bastard. I shall kill him.”

“I feel if I answer that, you will merely wish to kill him more,” I sighed.

The intensity of my matelot’s gaze told me that would not suffice.

“It was a thing he insisted upon on occasion,” I said. “He would not allow for me to penetrate him. He wished to bestow. And I wished to be bestowed upon, and I cared for him, deeply, and I thought that perhaps it was time I chanced it again. So I allowed it. But I do not believe it was his fault. I am damaged goods. But all will be well. Why are…?”

He was on his feet and pulling me with him. He stooped, and pulled the pot of salve from his bag next to where we had sat, and then he was towing me across the sand. I yelled to Liam and Otter, who were the closest to us, to see to the tar, and they watched us leave with bemused looks.

“You realize you are giving them all the more reason to stare?” I teased.

“To the Devil with them,” he muttered.

I was curious and actually a trifle fearful of Gaston’s intentions.

“What are we doing?” I asked, when at last we stopped next to a slanted palm far up the beach and he released me.

“Performing an examination,” he said briskly, and dropped his breeches.

For the first time in our history, I was pleased to see his member was quite flaccid. He greased his finger in the salve, and then with a quite comical expression of intense concentration, stuck it up his own arse and probed about. I sat on the palm trunk and smiled.

When he had determined whatever he was trying to ascertain, he removed his finger and turned to me. “Now drop your breeches and bend over.”

As I could guess what he intended, I complied. As expected, he inserted the same finger in me. Thankfully, he was gentle about it.

Still, I gasped, and had to battle a battalion of emotions, the most discomfiting of which was my manhood’s interest in the proceedings.

“You are scarred all about, on both rings of muscle,” Gaston pronounced when he withdrew. “There are ridges where I am smooth.

But the scarring does not circumnavigate your anus; they run into it. This means that you can accommodate me, but it will take time to get you to open properly, as the scars will not stretch, therefore the undamaged flesh around them must be coaxed to stretch twice as much. I suggest we embark on a regimen of exercising your opening and inuring it to entry.”

He refastened his breeches and strapped his weapon belt back on.

Bemused, and with my breeches still around my knees, I turned to face him. “I hesitate at the word regimen, but if you wish to stick your fingers up my arse on a daily basis, you are welcome to do so. However, you had best be kissing me first.”

He glared at me with annoyance until the humor of the situation won through. Then he grinned and was upon me before I had time to laugh. He set to tickling me, and I set to stopping him, and we wrestled about in the sand until his superior skills at pugilism won out and I found myself pinned on my face with my arm behind my back.

The familiar panic struck and I gasped, “Get off me!”

He did not, instead he released my arm only to throw himself fully atop me, and wrap his limbs about me as much as he could. I was not pinned, just weighed down.

“Will, I love you,” he whispered. “I will not hurt you.”

The panic began to abate, and I took deep breaths until it passed.

“Are you angry or afraid?” he asked.

I examined my feelings curiously. “Neither, now. What are you about?”

“Always before, when you have panicked thus, I have drawn away. I thought perhaps to try another tactic. If we are to… You need to become accustomed to my weight upon you, as you have become accustomed to my being behind you.”

I nodded as I was able. “Oui, I can see that. So you wish to add lying atop me to the daily regimen?”

He sighed, and moved to lie beside me and meet my gaze. “Will… I am unsure how to convey it. The Horse is capable, I am not. The Horse is not patient. When desire strikes, it will wish to chase it down and…”

“I had best be prepared,” I breathed.

He shook his head and pushed up to his knees. “I will not allow myself to hurt you.” He clutched at the sand and would not regard me.

I now saw the winding trail he had been following.

“So it would be best if I am pliant and prepared when the mood strikes you,” I said gently. “Your Horse is not one for prolonged seduction.”

“Do not… You are too kind.” He shook his head bitterly and stood.

He walked into the surf and hugged himself while glaring at the water swirling about his knees.

I rolled on my back and pondered the sky and far darker things.

The breeze whispered of something, but I could not apprehend it. I merely knew I did not like the smell or taste of it. There seemed to be an implication presented between this discussion and last night’s that his Horse did not care if I were willing or not. How was I to accept that? Did I wish to become inured in any manner to such a possibility?

I heard someone running up the beach. Gaston was still in the surf.

I tensed, and got to my knees. Our weapons were strewn all about, and my breeches were lying somewhere near, but were not upon my person.

Thankfully, the interloper was Striker. I expected to be teased for abandoning the careening to tryst, but instead he was quite agitated.

He ran to Gaston. “Please come. Pete is wounded and we’ve made a right mess of it.”

Then I saw the blood all over his hands.

“What…?” I began to ask, but Striker was already running back down the beach.

Gaston glanced at me. I waved him off, and he followed Striker at a run. I set about donning my breeches and gathering our things, and then jogged down the beach well in their wake. I found them next to Gaston’s medicine chest with a dozen others clustered about. Pete was apparently wounded in the right hand, as that was the appendage Gaston was examining intently in his lap.