---

Disclaimer:No rights infringement intended
Warning: Mature Adults only

IF I WERE KING

by

Susanne L. Lambdin

---

~ If I Were King ~

By the glow of yellow candle light, Sir Edward Pellew, Captain of the Indefatigable, was reading Shakespeare out loud from a small booklet of edited prose, upon the hairless, muscular chest of his first mate. Preston's white torso was the shade of alabaster, contrasting sharply to the dark tan on his face, neck and hands. The typical coloring of a seamen in the Royal British Navy. The largest man on board, standing at 6'5", every inch of Preston's hard, muscular frame was cramped inside the captain's berth. Knees bent, hands behind his back, with his head on the pillows, his lover lay at a 30 degrees lay across his middle. He was covered with a rumbled white sheet, while Pellew was stark naked. His posterior, round and firm, was cast in a golden sheen from the light filling the captain's luxurious quarters.

On deck, a sailor played the violin. The night watched paced on the deck overhead, young Midshipman Hornblower, each footstep falling to hard it rattled within the captain's room. In the quiet moments of around midnight, Captain Pellew entertained the one man he trusted most above all others. It was an intimate affair, held after dinner and a board meeting with the upper officers, followed by a game of chess and brandy for two. Served in the comforts of Pellew's expensively built private room, located at the stern of the vessel, it was easy to forget the war.

From ceiling to floor, mahogany wood shined with a luster from the moonlight coming in from the windows. The ship creaked and groaned, moving nowhere upon a windless sea, temporarily delaying them from their mission. For it was a game of cat and mouse upon the high seas, the search for French naval craft conducting piratical attacks which they'd recently unleashed upon the startled English navy, with excellent results. Out for two weeks, the Indie had taken only two French fifth class frigates and one ship-of-the-line. All had expected better results.

"Robert, listen to this line. It's so appropriate on how I feel about women," said Edward, clearing his throat. He paused, his finger on the very printed words he wanted to memories from Mid Summer's Night Dream. But, before the captain could launch into another dramatic speech, he felt a hand hit him square on his bum. He let out a sharp gasp, jerking his head up as his ass cheeks quivered, knocking off his bifocals onto the young man's lap. "Now what in the devil was that for, you thoughtless sea rogue?"

Grinning, Preston picked up the eye glasses. "I believe these are your's, sir," he said, rather saucily. "You know, if I wanted to stay up and read, Edward, I could return to those bloody maps on your desk and chart us a new course that will put us right smack dab in the middle of the area of operation of the French corsairs. You didn't even consider my plan. And, if you must read to me, I told you before that the only Shakespeare play I like it Titus."

"Well, I don't. It's too bloody," Edward said, snapping his book closed. His thick black eyebrows pushed themselves together over the bridge of his sculpted nose. "You are serious about this, aren't you, Robert? I don't approve of acting the part of a fish in distress to attract a pack of sharks. By now you should know the Articles of War from front and back. Page fifteen, article fourteen...."

Another slap to his rump silenced Edward. Wrinkles lined his handsome fiftyish face, his manner inquisitive but also laced with anger as he regarded the twenty-nine year old officer.

"Enough. My orders stand, Robert. Do not assume you can seduce me into changing my mind either. You'll not get your way this time. I sometimes think that the only reason you agreed to come to my bed is so that you can command the Indie."

"Poppycock!"

Edward finally looked please about something. "At least that's an improvement from your usual tasteless anachronisms. For a man born into nobility, with a link to the royal throne, I should think you would behave like a gentleman at all times."

"You can be so priggish with so little effort, it's amazing," said Robert, rolling his cerulean blue eyes up to the white ceiling. He absentmindedly played with one of his nipples, however, his movements were keenly watched by the captain.

"And you can be such a spoiled child. I haven't come this far at the age of fifty-three to throw is all away to amuse a pretty boy whose oldest brother is an earl."

"Yes, but my middle brother is a cardinal."

Edward stilled the other's hand on his chest. He could no longer stare at the taut nipple and think clearly. "I'm not amused, Robert. I am not going to change my mind and play sitting duck to see what fox comes along to take a bite. We'll patrol as we've always patrolled, up and down the most used route, until we find what we're looking for."

"Then read your damn Shakespeare. I'm going up on desk to stretch my legs. This is three night's in a row that you've ignored me and I'm tired of coming in second to Hamlet."

"Hornblower is Hamlet. You are General Titus."

Preston threw a pillow at the captain, ignored his outcry of indignation, and threw his long legs off the side of the bed. He shivered in the cold October air, only then feeling the breeze coming in from an open window as he pattered across the floor and shut the window. His erection shrank as he poured himself a glass of brandy and drank it before returning to bed.

"That is costly brandy. You drink it like tea."

Edward was already lying back, covered to his chin, leaving no room for Preston to join him. Preston stood beside the bed, finding his place monopolized and suddenly grabbed hold of Edward's chin with a large, long fingered hand and squeezed hard.

"I'm starting to lose my patience. I mean it, Edward."

In size, Preston dominated Pellew, as well they both knew. The young first mate stood a foot taller than the older captain, and weighed seventy pounds more. All muscle, for Preston kept in shape by exercising while Pellew seemed content to age gracefully. But it was Pellew who possessed the shrewder mind, and this Preston was also aware of, being a man motivated by raw emotions and gut instincts. Edward lived and breathed `by the book'. He was navy through and through. Professionally and personally. Preston tolerated the rules Edward made in the relationship, abiding by each and every one because he loved the man, immeasurably.

But the womanish manner in which Edward Pellew had recently started to display behind the scenes was starting to wear thin on Preston. Such arguments frequently caused him to sleep in his own bed, left sexually unsatisfied, smarting from words hastily spoken in anger. He anticipated Edward's next move and readied for the verbal attack that came seconds after, as anticipated.

"Don't treat me like one of your boy's. You think I am not aware of your late night actions! Rutting about with the midshipman below deck. Even Hornblower walks about with that damn doe-eyed look on his face whenever you're on deck. You've charmed everyone on board this ship."

"That sounds like very much like jealously, Edward. Why to you always accused me when I am innocent of such charges? Who has been filling your head with such deceit and lies?" Preston spun around when Edward only scowled at him and threw his arms into the air in frustration. "Lord, now I'm sounding like one of those fictional nitwits. If you'd stop reading that romantic nonsense and make nice with me, then maybe we can salvage part of the evening."

With a sniff, Edward returned his glasses to his nose. His manner and expression suddenly struck Preston as pompous. Their battle for dominance was ongoing. And exhausting, thought Preston. Changing tactics, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back until he was lying against Edward. He gazed over his shoulder at the captain and smiled. Then pointed to the growing mast between his legs. His member took the large hands of a full grown man, held side to side, to cover the length of his shaft. He lifted his eyebrow at Pellew and wiggled the tall mast at him.

"Come on, love. Don't play coy with me. Not now."

"You may call me `captain'."

Edward pushed Preston away and retreated across the bed. He assumed a cross legged position, using his book to discreetly cover his own genitalia. To test the waters, Preston tried to playfully remove Shakespeare's plays from Edward's hands, but was unable to grab away the manuscript without being swatted away.

Flinging himself off the bed, Robert stood there, in all his naked glory, hands on his hips, glaring down at the man he loved dearly. "Very well, Captain," said Preston, with snarl. "Stick it in your own arse then, sir."

"How dare you speak to me like I'm some cabin boy," huffed Pellew. He flushed bright read. "You damn bull elephant! If god had given you brains instead of a trunk between my legs, I doubt we'd have any debate on what strategy is best to take."

"I'm not upset about your plans for the French. You are the finest captain in the fleet and I have nothing but admiration for you professional." Preston grabbed his britches off a hook and slipped them on. "But personally, in the bedroom, you can be a real bitch, Edward. It's not the books I mind. Not the poetry you quote, or the psalms you read, nor the countless naval articles you cite while we are in bed. I do object though to having to beg."

"It's simply that I'm not used to an ongoing relationship, Robert. I've not been involved before. Not like this. I fear the men know and that somehow the Admiralty will hear of this, and it's the fear that gnaws at me day and night, until I either submit or send you away. Either way, my belly is still filled with fear."

Shrugging on his uniform jacket, then his shirt, and having to stop and start over again in his dressing, Preston let out a frustrated growl. He threw his clothes on the floor and pointed an accusing finger at Edward, gaping at him behind his spectacles, his book held out before him like Lancelot's shield.

"Not once have I strayed since I said I loved you." At Edward's sigh, Preston rubbed his hand across his face and into his hairline. He shivered in the cold air but Edward made no offer to have him return to the warmth of the bed. "I took you at your word, Edward. A lifetime companion, you said. You say lots of pretty things when your legs are up in the air."

"Get out," snapped Edward. Preston stared at him, not believing his ears. Not even when the door was pointed out to him. "I'm dismissing you, Commander. We either speak as gentlemen to one another while in my quarters, intimately, or we'll not speak at all. Sometimes you are nothing more than a cave man."

"You never complained, before now." Preston sounded hurt.

"I apologize if this comes as a shock," said Edward, doing his best to mollify Preston and not give up his pride. "I expected it would, that's why I had hoped to discuss this with you over dinner, but your mind was not on conversation. I am not naturally submissive in the bedroom, but you have cast me in that role, and until tonight, I was content to play the part, but it is now clear that if I continue to do so, you will always believe you are superior to me. I fear that more than I do the Admiralty learning of our indiscretions."

While a cold smile spread across his face, Preston picked up his jacket, removed a cigar and rummaged until he'd found a match to lit it. Smoke billowed above his head with several hard puffs, as he watched Edward squirm uncomfortably under the sheet. A few more seconds of searching in his jacket and Preston found a small jar of cream he used as a lubricant. He tossed it on the bed.

"For your use, old man. I seriously doubt that your little prick will reach your own arse." Preston smiled cruelly as Edward looked absolutely mortified. "Isn't that gentlemanly enough for you? No? Well in my defense, do you think I like to hear that each time we've enjoyed one another's bodies, that I have done nothing more than rape you? I actually allowed myself to think we had a healthy relationship and now you tell me that you don't like playing queen to my king. How else should I feel?"

"You're taking this all wrong. I simply would like to have the choice on whether I'll be receiving or giving," replied Edward, in as stern a tone as he could muster. "To hell with Shakespeare, and to hell with you, you conceited prick." He glanced down at his book and threw it aside. Then he turned a shoulder toward Preston and said gruffly, "Close the door on your way out. I'll not be needing your services further."

Robert swore softly. "God's Trousers. Should I go out and drown myself like Ophelia? Or maybe I should go find Hornblower and invite him to a game of jack-off at the bowsprit? We haven't done that in ages. But of course, you don't believe that."

When no reply was forthcoming, Preston took the opportunity to dress, and quickly. The last thing he put on was his shoes and hat. He returned to the bed to pick up the jar of cream, only to find Edward's hands at his lapels, jerking him with all his might onto the bed, acting as dominant as any bull elephant. Preston looked up with surprise to find himself laying belly down across Edward's lap.

Both men looked at the same time at the jar of cream. A hot match of wrestling for the item broke out, eventually, after much grappling and cursing, the victor ended up on top. Preston lay full on top of Pellew, squashing him into the mattress. He lifted up the jar, while the other man's eyes widened, then slid it into the side pocket of his coat and climbed off the bed.

"We're not through," growled Edward. He grabbed Robert's arm and pulled him back. "I want to talk to you about this. I didn't mean to offend you. I only meant that there is a time and place for...for, you know very well what I mean, and I can't always make myself available to your...your needs."

"And your needs are not being met, is that it?"

"Yes," sighed Edward, ashamed to admit it, for he knew he'd sailed into dangerous waters and was about to scuttle out. "You have it now, Robert. I would like to be king occasionally."

"God, you're insufferable!"

"Will you or will you not submit?"

"What was taken by force by another years ago, will never be used by another man. Not even if that man is you, Edward."

Preston didn't wait for a reply. He stalked over to the door. On his way out, he noticed the unfinished game of chess, which the usually started during dinner and finished before climbing into bed. It was his move. He always stopped the game on his move. And his reason was obvious, he didn't like beating Edward, but as usual he'd left his queen vulnerable. In one move, Preston took the queen off the board with his knight and threw it right at Edward.

"You're move, Captain!"

With that, Preston stormed out, but quietly shut the door behind him. He went to his own room and sat down at his bed. A tap on the wall between his room and Pellew meant he was forgiven and to return promptly. He let Pellew tap until Robert lost count and finally the knocking stopped. He didn't go back.

* * * *

Her British flags flapping in a strong easterly breeze, the Indefatigable closed in on her prey, spotted first thing that morning, and coming about port side, she fired. The French frigate, Fleur-de-Leus, shuttered as cannon fire struck the first two masts, splintering them like matches. The mainsail and foremost sails and rigging were destroyed.

"Bring us into the wind, if you please, Mr. Bracegirdle," said Captain Edward Pellew in a commanding voice that brooked no delay.

Pellew cast dark eyes upwards, a hand to his gold trimmed navy blue hat, and the other used to grip the railing, where he oversaw the battle from the bridge. Anxious eyes dropped from examining the sails, once he was assured that the ship was handling properly despite partial damage to the foremast from grape shot fired from the French ship. He found the figure he wanted most to see, Lt. Commander Preston, standing like a titan of blue steel near the bowsprit, a half dozen seaman armed flanking him. All were armed with sabers and several pistols.

The stench of gun powder and burning lumber crossed the prow of the Indie, while the British frigate, moving fast to take advantage of the French ship's wake, to curl back around the stern of the enemy, then turning hard to starboard. With the prow of the Indie kissing the backside of the French frigate, the boarding crew led by Lt. Commander Preston, swung across on cut lashings and landed. The Indie turned hard to port in the strong breeze, moving clear away from the French ship, exposing her starboard side and all cannons loaded.

Shouting at the top of his lungs, Commander Preston charged toward the barrel of a lowered musket, and sweeping his saber wide, he lifted the gun upwards, right out of his opponents hand and caught it himself. He used the stock of the gun to strike his opponent across the forehead and, as he crumpled forward, he hefted his right arm upwards, piercing the man's exposed stomach with the tip of his sword. The Frenchman stumbled forward, impaling himself fully, striping the saber clean from Preston's hands.

With a quick eye, Preston examined their close quarters, seeing Midshipman Hornblower and Kennedy, in support of the English Marines accompanying them, holding the French back at the two stairwells leading up to the poop deck. At Preston's feet lay the dead captain, slain by his own hand when first boarding, and his second lieutenant, recently dispatched. The first mate cowered before Preston, his hands up to his face in prayer fashion, muttering words he knew not the meaning for. But the pleading tone he knew quite well and is brought a curl of disdain to Preston's upper lip. He kicked the man backwards on to his haunches with a well aimed foot.

"Stay down," snarled Preston, pointing to the deck. The Frenchman fell face down. Preston placed his boot in the middle of the man's back, took the musket and fired at a French officer pressing up on the stairs, backed by a number of the enemy.

Suddenly, for the hold of the French ship, an explosion below sent flames erupting on the centerdeck and foredeck. The ship was shook violently from prow to stern, cracking the hull, sending a mass of debris flying upwards, where it mingled with black and grey billowing clouds.

"She's broke her back, sir," Horatio Hornblower shouted over his shoulder. His large brown eyes were filled with excitement. "Subdue those French and put out the fire!"

"We can't save her, sir! She's too far gone!"

Over the crackle and snap of the growing fire on deck, the trap door to the captain's quarters opened directly behind Commander Preston. Hornblower was the first to notice and with a lusty scream, he charged forward with raised saber. Preston stepped before him, caught Hornblower's arm, whipping him about and thrust him toward the now rising French first mate. Hornblower stumbled into the fellow, crashing hard upon him with his arse, knocking him clean senseless.

"Good, lad," said Preston, laughing loudly.

He spun around and pointed his ivory handled pistols directly at a beautiful dark haired Spanish lady and his two companions. A British lord dressed richly in gold velvet, and his companion, a dandy straight from the royal English court, as gawky as he was clumsy.

"I believe this is where you are rescued, my lady," Preston remarked as though it was a descent day for a picnic on deck.

"Please, sir," said the lady in flawless English. She came forward in a red and black dress fit for a ball, rubies glittering at her throat, wrists and ears. She clung to Preston's army, pressing his gun down, while her male companions joined them, frantic to leave the burning, and sinking, French frigate. "You must save us! Please, sir! I am a Catholic!"

"Oh, in that case, I'll do so forthwith, ma'am." Preston smiled, cutting two dimples into his tan cheeks. "Mr. Hornblower, see the rest of our men off this wreckage. All those who can't swim better learn and quickly. We've no time to launch a tender." "What...what about the prisoners?" Horatio asked with a gasp. He turned around, counting nearly a dozen who surrendered and lain down their swords on the stairs. The fire was coming closer and the Frenchmen cowered at the feet of the victors.

"If they can't swim, they'll die. Now over you go, lad."

Preston put his pistols away and lifted his right arm up in the air, aware the gun fire behind him had ceased and a general panic was sending men from both navy's diving over the sides of the ship. Considering the odds, Preston did the only then possible. He grabbed the lady around her middle and ran with her to the side of the poop deck, threw her over the side and with a quick shout to, "Abandon ship," he went over with her.

The nobleman and his companion came next, coming upon Preston as he brought the lady to the surface and ripped the dress from her body. He tossed it aside, letting it sink, holding her close until he realized she could swim.

"Save my fiancé, I beg of you," she pleaded, kicking strongly in the water. She caught hold of a wooden plank and commence to swim away from the sinking ship, toward the Indie as she came back towards them. She was joined by Hornblower, having found a tender and filling it with his sailors and several surviving French, and without pause, she was brought aboard.

Preston swam over to where the nobleman was floundering in the water, doing his best to drown his own man. He grabbed the bearded young lord about the shoulders. A struggle ensued between the two men, while the other Englishman was scooped into the tender by seaman Matthews and Midshipman Kennedy. Without exerting too much primitive force, Preston managed to jerk the nobleman's arms behind his head, keeping his head out of the water by jamming his knee into the man's back and lifting him upward. He flayed the water with his muscular arms, keeping both afloat in this manner, and took the opportunity to glance back at the sinking French ship.

Only her top mast could be seen as she was sucked hungrily down by the sea. Preston and the nobleman had floated well out of the pull of the under current, along with the tender, leaving only burning wreckage and dead bodies floating in the sea. He was soon met by the tender. The nobleman was brought in first, then Preston and, assuming command, he headed back toward the waiting English ship, ignoring the praise from the Spanish lady and the garbled muttering of the shaken English nobleman.

"I don't think you realize, sir, but you have saved the Duke of Arrendale and his fiancé, Countess Marie Consuela Ramirez," said the gawky young man to Preston, where he took his turn at an oar. "The Duke is a very powerful man. You will be well rewarded for your heroic efforts. If I may have your name?"

"Lt. Commander Robert Gawain Preston, first mate on board His Royal Majesty's Indefatigable...Sir Edward Pellew commanding. On his behalf, I'd like to be you all welcomed aboard, the finest frigate in the royal navy."

Bowing his head, Preston was unable to miss a pair of heaving breasts in his line of few. Left in only her shift, stockings and shoes, the Spanish lady cut an attractive figure. Her long black hair was braided down her back. Her rubies gleamed in the sunlight. Preston took her hand and kissed it.

"I do apologize that you have lost not only all your luggage, but the only dress it seems you own."

Sitting back, Preston quickly removed his jacket and helped her into it, buttoning it closed to keep her bountiful attributes hidden from the crew. All the while her fiancé glared at him. Preston regarded the duke, astutely guessing him to be in his mid-thirties. Despite his arrogant demeanor, he was an extremely handsome, for a bearded fellow, though Preston. The duke's hair was brown and his nose was sharp and angular. His blue eyes were the shade of shallow Caribbean waters. Preston found himself far more attracted to the duke than the lady, but not wanting to give himself away, he kept darting his eyes toward her lovely face and smiling.

The ship came alongside and the crew on the tender were brought aboard, one at a time, starting with the countess, then the duke. Preston came up after the nobleman, cutting off his companion for the simple reason that he was rude and had never made the effort to introduce himself. Once on board, he found Captain Pellew already having blankets shown around the couple and ordered them to be taken to the first and second mates quarters.

"Well done," said Pellew, coming over to pat Preston on the back. He allowed him to do so, then took a step away. Pellew noted the gesture and saw to his other men as they came on board.

"Take me to the duke at once," said his male companion, coming up beside Preston. "You, Commander. You will show me the way." At Preston's chuckle, he snapped, "I am not a simple nobody. I am Sir Reginald Sinclair. I hope you will make every attempt to accommodate our needs."

"I saved your life," growled Preston. "That's good enough for starters." He lifted his hand in the air. "Someone take Sir Reginald down to his room. He can make himself at home in the hold in eighteen inches of briny bilge, for all I care."

Preston promptly turned away and left the fellow gasping like a fish out of water, and pushing through the crew, he found his way to his room. Within Countess Maria was already making herself at home, searching through his closet and drawing out a ruffled silk shirt to wear. Preston came right in, giving the Marine guarding the door a quick wink, then shut the door behind him with a kick of his heel. The lady gasped and fell onto his bed, holding the shirt before her. His recently shed damp jacket was hanging from a peg on the wall. He muttered an apology and went about packing up a few things. She waited until he looked at her to speak.

"This is your room then, Commander?"

"That's right, my Lady. But you are welcome to my bed."

She battered her eyelashes at him. "Has it been a long time?"

"Whatever do you mean, senorita? That it's been a long time since a lady was in my bed?"

"Oh, sir! You are so vulgar. What a cad you are."

Preston laughed, his arms filled with clothes and an extra pair of shoes. "I have heard that before."

He paused to admire her beauty, noting the mahogany shade of her eyes and the redness of her full lips. She looked to be in her twenties and he wondered if she was a rich widow. Otherwise, why would such a powerful man as the Duke of Arrendale wish to marry a Spaniard.

"While I'd love to stay here chatting, I'm sure the Duke, your fiancé, would prefer that I go about my own business."

"Richard won't mind. He hardly notices me," she said, looking at Preston in a wanton manner. "It's all his fault that we were taken prisoner by the French. He is the one who insisted we go for a sail in his new cutter. We were captured in the English Channel and were transferred to this ship."

"Lucky for you, we happened to be in the area," said Preston. He was surprised when the lady jumped up, her dark eyes gawking to see the size of his manhood, outlined in his tight, white britches. She sighed and placed her hand over her heart.

"Oh, I see that I have made a new friend. You mustn't mind me, senor. But this marriage to the Duke is one of convenience, and it is not convenient to me. The Duke is...is very small. I do not like small men. Surely we can come to an arrangement?"

"Yes, you're using my room, while I'll have to hang a hammock from somewhere. So glad we have that settled." Preston gave her a sharp looking, not at all approving of her flirtatious manner or salacious eyes. "If you need anything, ask the midshipman I'll post at your door. My duties require me to be elsewhere."

"You are such a prude. Like all the English."

"Thank you. I model myself after my captain."

Preston pulled away from her, still feeling the softness of her breasts where they'd pressed against his chest. With a flip of his head and blonde pigtail, he opened the door and marched out of the room. When the lady started to speak to him once more, he closed the door in his face. He sent the Marine to find the first midshipman on desk he saw, and shortly, the sweet-tempered Archie Kennedy appeared and was ordered by Preston to see to her needs.

As Preston could think of no place to go that was not already occupied, he went into Pellew's quarters with the intent of temporarily stowing his gear there and changing clothes. Inside he found the Duke of Arrendale going through the captain's maps, rough handing them for he did not understand what he was looking at, but apparently he expected to find something of interest.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Preston walked into the room with his hands crossed over his chest. The Duke stropped the maps and looked up, caught red handed. He had shed his velvet coat and britches, along with his under clothes, and stood shaking in anger and from the cold with only his hands to cover his manhood. Preston noticed that the nobleman's prick was not at all unimpressive, for what it lacked for in length, it made up for in width. Surrounded by dark, curly hair, the penis was a sleeping lion. He smiled at the Duke, noting he'd blushed at the close scrutiny. A good sign he preferred men, thought Preston, tossing his clothes into a nearby chair.

"I suppose we should share what I have brought. Captain Pellew is particular about who wears his clothes. In fact, he is the only one who is allowed to wear his pants. So, I suggest you put on my clothes and then we'll find you another room to inhabit, my Lord. But it certainly won't be this one. I should think the second mate's cabin will do you just fine."

"You are insolent, young man. I happen to be a close adviser to the King. Mind you keep a civil tongue in your head, Commander, or I could have you whipped."

Preston rounded the table and came upon the Duke so quickly that the bearded nobleman grabbed the nearest chair, taking a seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "Not only did I save your miserable life, you little snail," snarled Preston, towering over the seated Duke, his temper unleashed, "but I also happen to be bearing dry clothes. Now, get up and cover your skinny little arse and stop looking at me like I'm the enemy or I'll throw you back into the sea, my Lord."

"How dare you?"

"I dared to save your life. That means you owe me a boon, my Lord. And I will expect payment, I assure you."

Catching hold of the Duke's bright blue eyes, Preston never looked away, making what he expected as payment very clear as he started to remove his clothes. As he was about to shed his britches, the sight of his lean flanks and manhood bringing the Duke to his feet with a glazed look in his eyes, the door opened.

Captain Pellew, followed by several officers, entered. Pellew took one look at the situation, and finding two nude men together and not knowing the circumstances, he took a step back, shocked, and closed the door. Preston looked over at the duke, tossed him a shirt and started to laugh. The nobleman looked down at his own state of undress, threw the shirt on the table, and placed his hands on his hips, immediately joining in and laughing heartily.

"That was well worth it," replied the Duke of Arrendale. "Never have I seen a ship captain so surprised, either by enemy forces or from seeing the white arse of his own first mate."

"Let's not discuss the captain," said Preston, growing serious. "You'd best dress, my Lord. Without delay. They'll be back and I doubt your fiancé would be as understanding as the captain and the officers. I do apologize for compromising you, my Lord. I'll explain everything just as soon as I'm dressed."

"Buggery in His Majesty's Royal Navy is frowned upon, yes, I know," replied the nobleman, as if he'd written a book on the subject. He thrust out his hand, not at all bothered to still be nude, wanting to shake his savior's hand. "Look here, I'm Lord Richard Grey, Duke of Arrendale. I'd appreciate it if you called me Richard when we're alone together. I didn't get a chance to thank you before for saving my life and those of my friends, but I'd like to do so now." They shook hands. "You are a gentleman of the first class, sir. Well done indeed. You are also a good sport. I like the cut of you."

"I'm not at all cut," replied Preston, revealing his enormous erection which he'd kept hidden being the pants he was about to put on. He laid the pants over the table. His erection leapt upward and moved in the cold air like a charmed king cobra. "You may call for the guard, if you like, my Lord. Or I can leave."

Lord Richard shook his head, wetting his lips with his tongue. "No, I...I think I'd like for you to stay. It's not every day that a man meets a whale face to face." He laughed and held up his own stout manhood. "Look, a cannon!" He pulled on it until it grew long. "I'm at attention, Commander Preston. What would your captain say now?" He laughed low and thickly.

"He'd think I was about to bugger you, I should think, my Lord. Are you....shocked?"

"Hardly. I'm enchanted. Nay, I'm overwhelmed, and in a most delightful way. I say, I'll dress and watch you, you know, play with it, while I put on my pants. I'd hate for anyone to catch us in this manner, though it is tempting. You are quite beautiful."

No wonder the countess was not satisfied, thought Preston, in half a mind to invite them both to his bed. He put on a dry shirt, buttoned it, then removed his cock from under the material, stroking it until beads sparkled on the top. He continued to massage the massive cock while the Duke dressed, never once removing his eyes off of Preston. Finally, Preston stopped his administrations to his own cock and was about to get dressed, when Lord Richard came over, dropped to his knees, and taking the large cock in two hands, he promptly swallowed it down his throat.

"I think you've just repaid me for saving your life."

Preston groaned as he felt the duke's mouth work wonders on his cock and as a shock wave of pleasure rolled over him, he thread his fingers through the man's silky hair. Holding him firmly by the head, Preston groaned while the duke suckled, slurped and slobbered over the entire length of his cock. He worked it like a piston with two hands. His beard tickled the sensitive flesh. Lord Richard kept at this game until the behemoth spat fully into his mouth. He swallowed the cum with relish, then wiping his hands across his pants, he stood and watching appreciatively as Preston dressed. When finished, the Duke came over to the commander, put his arms around his shoulders and kissed Preston on the mouth.

Marveling at the softness of the duke's lips, Preston could do no less than humor the nobleman and return the kiss. The lord sunk into his arms. Preston supported him, cradling Lord Richard as he would a woman, kissing him hard and lingering, while he slid his hand down the back of the man's pants. At the touch of his fingers tapping at the entrance to his puckering lower mouth, the lord practically swooned under this new assault. All he had do was yank the man's pant's down, bend him over and the deed would be done, for he was ripe, gaping, and ready.

"I'm your's," said the Duke. "Utterly and completely." He kissed Preston again. "God, man. I feel as though I've stumbled upon Adonis himself. Blonde, muscular, and hung. Your fingers work at me like you're playing the harp. How I'd like for you to unleash your Olympic passion upon me."

Preston knew then that Lord Grey of Arrendale preferred being on the receiving end. It was a match that could not have pleased Preston more, for having been denied such pleasures for days with Sir Edward, and desperately requiring an appropriate release for his built up passions, his prayers seemed to have been answered. He withdrew his hands and found a kerchief handed to him, with that of Lord Grey's initials, and wiping his fingers clean, he found it usurped by the lord who favored it with a sniff, before pocketing into his pocket.

"This will be our little secret," said the Duke, finally drawing back and straightening his rough attire. He no longer looked noble but as casual as a sailor, and the very sight of him stirred Preston's cock to a new state of arousal. Richard noticed. "Though I dare say it isn't little at all. In fact, I would like for you to see me later, Commander Preston. This cabin suits my needs. I'll stay here. I'm sure Captain Pellew will not mind. After all, I am the King's most trusted adviser." He smiled. The smile was laced with a threat. "Can I expect you to come?"

"Several times, my Lord. As long as you'll agree to the terms. I'll do the fucking, Lord Richard. If you've no problem with my size, then I'll be glad to accommodate you later."

"Done," said the duke.

* * * *

Supper was served promptly in the officer's mess. Seated at the head of the table was Captain Pellew, looking across at the handsome Duke, still dressed in Preston's oversized clothing. The Countess wore the wardrobe of a cabin boy, for she was petite, and the striped shirt heaved outward from the two bulges made by her large breasts, and the tight britches became her slender, long legs. Much to the distraction of the lower officers, only Captain Pellew seemed unaffected by the company of the beautiful woman.

"It was fortunate that we found you when we did, Lord Richard," replied the captain. He took a sip of hot tea. "You have Commander Preston to thank entirely. In his anxiousness to take the French ship as a prize, he instead rescued you and your lovely fiancé. As well as your secretary, my Lord. We took eight Frenchmen as well which we'll deliver to the authorities at port in Plymouth as soon as possible."

The Countess remarked in Spanish, then clarified herself. "You mush be very grateful to have such a man such as Commander Preston in your service. When we arrived in London, I assure you, the King will certainly here of his heroics."

"I cannot take all of the credit," said Preston. "Midshipman Hornblower was clever enough to find a tender and draw you aboard, Countess Maria. You have him to thank as well." He pointed out the tall, handsome young man standing in the wings shyly with a bottle of brandy ready for the seated officers.

Horatio merely nodded at the lady when she looked his direction. Sir Reginald glowered at the young midshipman, seated beside the Countess, completely ignored by her and the Duke, and turned to his turtle soup without interest once it was served. Lt. Bracegrytle and Lt. Bowles however stared across the table at the Countess Marie, both obviously smitten by her. At the captain's signal, the midshipman served the main course, which was comprised of the finest hard tack stored on the vessel. The addition of fresh biscuits did much to offset the taste of salted fish.

"Tell me, Captain Pellew," said the Duke, "exactly what are your orders concerning the French? If you can tell us? Some of the crew have said you've been hunting for French quail for well now over a fortnight, with no success until you came upon us."

Pellew nodded. "It was been a bit overdue for a battle. The French patrolling these waters have taken a number of British merchant vessels over the last few weeks. It is the Indie's task to locate these piratical operating captains and send them to the bottom of the sea. Whether we take a prize or not, is optional."

"Well put," said Lord Richard. "Precise and to the point. I like a man who is humble about his annual earnings. But you see, Sir Edward, I happen to know how much every popular captain earns in His Majesty's Royal Navy. And you sir, are very popular."

"I wasn't aware of this," replied Edward. "In fact, it's too high of praise. If I have pleased His Majesty, I mean of course the performance of the Indie and her crew, that I am content in the knowledge that I have served my country to the best of my ability."

The Duke waved his hand. Captain Pellew bowed his head. Preston wanted to laugh at the parlor games, but he reassessed the situation as a pair of narrow toes wiggled their way between his thighs. He looked across the table as the toes struck their intended mark and brushed across his balls. His cock stirred to life. He picked up his glass, no reaction made to betray himself, and without looking at the Spanish lady, he concentrated on looking back and forth from Captain Pellew to Lord Grey.

"But you without the French ship, you will not be paid a reward, am I right?" Asked the Countess, her toes keeping Preston are of the conversation, as well as her movements. The captain nodded, not realizing anything peculiar was occurring under the table. "Richard, do you hear this? They have lost their prize. Surely there is something that can be done about rewarding the captain and his crew for their services?"

"That is not necessary," replied Pellew. He noticed his officers glancing in his direction and lifted his napkin to his mouth, hiding a smirk. It was obvious Preston had impressed both the Duke and his fiancé. Something would come of it all. He allowed himself to hope it would be a profitable mission after all. He lowered his napkin at last. "It is payment enough to see you all safely on English soil."

"Still," Lord Richard said, savoring his glass of wine, poured by a very fetching blonde lad he'd seen earlier outside his fiancé's door. A midshipman still wet behind the ears. Yet, it was the proud commander that he looked at most readily. "I am sure Commander Preston would not mind a metal from the King himself. Or perhaps even a captaincy."

"Sir," said Preston, bowing his head. "You favor me too much. I would be pleased, however, for any honors to go to my captain and the crew who boarded the frigate." He did not mention that it was luck that had saved their lives, not him.

"I was not aware there was such humility in the Navy. I am doubly impressed, Captain Pellew. However, I happen to hold that it was your first mate who saved the day. And I'll hear no argument concerning this, for my mind is made up. I will arrange for everything when we arrive in England." The Duke set aside his plate, having consumed a goodly portion of the fish and stewed vegetables without relish. "I understand from your captain that you are of noble blood. Who is your family, Commander?"

"My uncle married Lady Margaret Sinclair," said Preston. It was all he needed to say, for the duke's secretary seemed to know everything and took great pleasure in spouting off Preston's lineage as though it was a dinner menu.

"I believe, sir, that you are a relative mine," said Sir Reginald, though he was not amused by this information.

"When the grand dame died, without leaving an heir or designating one in her will, Commander Preston's father, the deceased though distinguished Admiral Montgomery Tristan Preston, inherited her titles and lands went. These, of course, went to the eldest son, Lord James Arthur Preston, Earl of Gloucester. The second son, John Galahad Preston, is the Cardinal of Salisbury. You will note of course," said the secretary, "that the men in the Preston family all have the middle names of those knights found in the legends of Camelot. It's been this way for five generations, has it now, Commander Preston?"

"Yes. So it has," said Robert. "But you seem to know more about my family than I do, cousin. You should have welcomed me when you came on board with a kiss." He smiled stiffly, duplicating the state of his cock and took a long sip of wine. As his relative did not respond, he laughed. "Come no, Sir Reginald. You have been pulled from the sea by your cousin. What a story you'll have when you return to court? You'll be the envy of all."

"So I shall. I never thought of that. So I shall!"

"Indeed," said Lord Richard, interrupting. "I know Cardinal Preston very well. And while I've seen Lord James at the House of Lords, we have never spoken. I understand he is something of a sword fancier. What is it now, over five duels fought since Easter, and I hear they've all concerned married women? Oh, well. I supposed a title can go to a man's head, if not venture further into his bed." He laughed softly. "I am a bit of a poet."

"Indeed," Pellew said, stifling a yawn.

The Duke put his hand on his fiancé's arm. Her foot stilled its torment of Preston and he managed to push it away from him without anyone being the wiser but the lady herself. "It is remarkable though," replied Lord Richard. "But you don't resemble either of your brothers. Perhaps the color of the eyes. What do you think, Sir Reginald? You were second for Lord Dunstan when he fought Lord James recently in a duel? What say you?"

"I'd rather not," said Reginald. He eyed Preston with open hostility. "James Preston is a baboon. And Cardinal Preston is slighter more evolved. As for you, Commander Preston...."

"Yes, I do seem to favor my mother," Preston said, grinning. The effect of his smile, he noted, brought about a responsive smile from those at the table. "My mother was very tall and blonde. Norwegian in fact." He demonstrated with his brown hands, showing the height differences between his parents. "The Great Dane and the crusty old sea barnacle. A pity my brothers favor the old barnacle. They have the wealth and fame, and I have good looks."

The group broke into laughter, apart from Pellew who merely sipped on his tea, taking it all like a sponge absorbing plankton. Once dinner ended and the officers broke out cigars, Contessa Marie made a great show of retiring, offering Preston little else to do but be the one man at the table to offer her a stroll about deck. He was amazed none other, not even the Duke, tried to replace him, and with great show, he escorted her from the table, never once looking to see if Pellew approved or not. He took her topside, holding onto her hand, pointing out constellations, while the lady hung upon his every word, as well as his arm.

"I wish Richard could hear you speak. You are so eloquent."

"Your English is very good," said Robert. "Tutors?"

"Until I was eighteen. I married then, a count, who was so young and beautiful. He died in a duel fought over me. I will never forget it. My heart broke that day. I might never have married again, but Lord Richard came to court, that was over five years ago, and I knew then that we were meant to wed. For the last few months, I have been living in England, waiting for a Christmas wedding day. But you, sir, while you act so humble and proud, I can tell that your heart is that which I've searched for all my life. You remind me of my late husband."

"I never fight duels."

"Not even for a pretty woman? Or for love, senor?"

"Well, perhaps for love. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, contessa Maria. I tend to look beyond our outer shells and take pleasure in what is inside a person's soul. That is something not easily done. It takes a concentration and the belief that you can read another's mind. Do you do that, I wonder?"

"Constantly. I always try to read Richard's mind. But he is cold. So very cold. So unlike Rafael. Oh," she said, with a sniff, "I should not say it, but though it's been ten years, I still miss my darling Rafael. I know I offended you earlier, and I do apologize, however, when one knows what to expect on the wedding night, a woman who has been so cloistered, like myself, cannot help but throw herself into the arms of the first golden god she sees. You are so lovely. And I think you shall break my heart."

Preston stopped, took her hand, and kissed it as gallantly as any Knight of the Round Table. He stood with her near the main mast, while the night crew mulled about, watching curiously as the couple pressed close together. Any rumors about Commander Preston's preference in his quarters ended with the kiss to the Spanish lady's knuckles. Only Horatio Hornblower knew to the contrary, and standing on the poop deck with Kennedy, having their smoke outside, he was startled to see how well Preston played the role of a doting suitor. He nudged Archie and flicked his eyes toward the couple as a swell brought the Indie bounding upward over the wave, a rouge at eight feet. When the ship came down, hard, the jolt sent the lady tumbling full into Preston's outstretched, waiting, arms.

"He's so smooth," said Archie Kennedy. "I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world. She must only be twenty-five. I don't think she's been with a man. She looks so virginal."

"Archie, she is practically throwing herself as Robert. Just look at her," moaned Horatio, not approving. "You'd best keep your eye on them and at any sign of trouble, go break it up."

"Like what? What do you mean, Horatio?"

"She is a woman. They all play games, Archie. I thought you knew better. Mark my word. She intends to draw Preston into shallow waters and club him over the head like a seal. I think I should say something to Captain Pellew."

Midshipman Kennedy gulped. "I think not, Horatio." He drew away, leaning over the railing and sighed. "They are taking a walk. She's only holding onto his arm now. See? There's no reason to worry. Commander Preston is a gentleman. I know some of the men say things about him. But he knows how to treat a lady."

"That's just it, Archie. God, you're so blind." Horatio joined him at the rail, sucking on his cigar. "She's not at all a lady. She is a trickster. Did you see how her eyes lit up when they mentioned dueling? She is another Guenevere." He suddenly sighed, seeing Preston showing off another constellation, while swells lightly showered the deck. The lady never left his side. "I don't trust her. A Spanish contessa marrying a powerful English duke. It makes no sense. Not in these dire times of war. There must be some political intrigue involved here. She will be his doom. I'm sure of it."

"Then you'd best tell Captain Pellew."

"I think I will."

While Preston took another turn with Contessa Maria around the deck, neither was surprised to find Lord Richard waiting for them. They walked over and joined the duke, seated on the side of the ship, smoking the stub of his cigar quite contentedly. The lady ran to his side, kissing Lord Richard on the cheek, but his eyes were only for Preston. With a salute, Preston came to attention, intending to leave the scene and flicked his cigar prematurely into the water.

"Oh, don't tell me you're off to bed, Commander?" Asked the Duke. "I left Sir Reginald below with your rather dull Captain Pellew. As for me, I couldn't listen to another story about this ship. While I am impressed, Commander, there is more to life than tales of the sea." He kissed the lady's hand. "I think you should retire. We have another three days at sea, so the captain says, before we see land. You mustn't wear yourself out."

"I was going preparing to do so," said Contessa Maria, purring at her fiancé. "Commander Preston was about to escort me to your room." She laughed as the duke laughed and put his arm around her, snuggling against his strong shoulder.

"That is for me to do," he replied, whisking her away.

Preston finished his stroll about the deck, waved up at Archie Kennedy, and went to below to find out where he'd been sleeping. He ran into Hornblower coming out of the officer's mess and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt when the other would have gone by without speaking. He thumped Horatio playfully in the chest and ruffled the lady's wavy brown hair. Horatio looked away.

"Come on, boy. What is this? Didn't you get enough scraps at dinner tonight?"

"I ate well."

"And?"

"You seemed to get on well with the Contessa."

"So, that's it? You're jealous? Oh, do grow up!"

"I'm concerned, not pissy about it," said Horatio. "The Contessa strikes me as the next of kin of a snake. She'll twist herself around you and the air right out of your lungs. Stay away from her." He glanced toward the officer's mess. "You'll sleep in here tonight. You, Bowles, and Bracegrytle. The captain has appropriated Bracegrytle's room, leaving Sir Reginald no other place but to join you in the mess."

"I like not the sound of that. I'll sleep in your hammock before I sleep one foot near my cousin. That liver spotted owl. Is he in there already? I swear I can smell his cheap cologne out here."

"Then you should keep your voice down. He probably knows you're out here as well."

Preston paused, his gaze reflective. He suddenly wrinkled his nose and drilled his index finger into Horatio's shoulder. "You're to be up on deck. It's your turn at the watch. What did you do, Horatio? Go tell the captain I was fawning over the Contessa?"

Horatio shuffled his feet. "I...I told him something of the kind. He is as worried as I am." The midshipman fell silent as the Duke and the Contessa came down the stairs. He stared at them while Preston dragged him down the hall and into the nearest room, a broom closet. He look startled as the door shut upon them. "What are we doing in here? I can't breath."

"Calm down, you little toadie. First, I don't appreciate you going behind my back to talk to Edward. And secondly, I have no intention of seducing the lady. What do you take me for?"

"I know you like women. You have one in every port. In fact, you sometimes have more than one."

"Not the fiancé of a powerful duke. You baffle me, boy," whispered Robert. "I thought you had faith in me."

"I saw how she stared at you."

"Worry about Lord Richard, not the Spanish tart."

Horatio gulped. The door opened. Preston was finished and wanting to leave. He shut the door, putting an end to their light, and returning to the stuffiness of the closet.

"What about the Duke?"

"I'm to see him later. Tonight. He's asked me to."

"You won't go? You certainly won't jeopardize your career by bedding down with the Duke?" Horatio groaned. "I thought it was bad, but this is beyond reason, sir."

"And you talk above your station, brat."

Preston caught hold of Horatio between his legs and painfully squeezed his balls. When the young man let out a woof, he grabbed him in his arms, kissed him on the mouth, then threw open the door and tossed him out. Horatio stumbled out in a clumsy manner and recovered his balance by the time Preston glided out, a hand pulling at the front of his jacket. With a cutting look at Horatio, he headed back toward the mess hall, bypassed it and went straight to the board room.

"Sir...sir?" Horatio waved at Preston. He waved back, mocking the lad and entered the room.

Whereupon Preston found Captain Pellew engaged in a game of chess with Sir Reginald. Both were smoking cigars and drinking a glass of port. The amber color of the liquor alerted Preston to the fact that they were drinking the cheap stuff. He wouldn't have touched it even if Edward's ass had been in the offering. He hovered in the door, waiting to be recognized, and when only Sir Reginald looked and him and blustered a phoney smile, did he turn promptly around and shut the door behind him. He spotted Horatio off to the side, sulking. He had no time for him. He considered retiring for the night, when he heard "Good night, my love," coming from the Duke. The nobleman backed out of Preston's room. The door shut, Lord Richard turned toward him and waggled his finger in his direction. Then he pointed at the captain's room.

Preston nodded. He followed the duke and entered the room. Once the door was closed and locked, Preston grabbed the ridiculously dressed duke and disrobed him as he would a whore. He indicated by pointing to the wall that the Contessa could hear, and taking a seat, Preston wiped out his cock, applied it with the cream and stroked it until it was hard. The Duke said nothing, looking eager but amused, and when Preston seemed ready, he turned his ass to his lap, bent so he could touch the floor.

"I'm not in a mood to be gentle," said Preston, warning the other. He reached out, grabbing Richard by a hip, pulled him back, then applied his fingers right up his rectum. Three in all, slipped in easily with the lubrication, and as he fingered His Lordship, making the man groan while preparing for his grand entrance. When he gaged the man ready, he caught him by both hips and lowered him back, impaling him on his full erection.

"The chair will creak," groaned Lord Richard. He sighed when he felt the entire length enter his body. "To hell with it. Do your worst, Commander Preston? I'm about to cum."

"You're right. No noise."

Lifting himself out of the chair, Preston put on hand over Richard's mouth, as he bent him over, assumed a more workable position and then started to pump him from behind. The duke took each thrust silently. His body shook each time Preston slammed into him and he came in his own hand within seconds. Preston stifled the scream behind his hand, not breaking his stride, pulling himself in and out, working hard at the hard muscled buttocks, until the duke came a second time. Then a third. And finally, with sweat glistening their brows, and enough teeth marks in Preston's fingers to cause concern, he came forcibly into the Duke, catching the man quite unprepared.

Preston withdrew and sank into a jar, his sides aching. He felt relieved when the Duke hurried to get soap, water and a cloth and commenced to bath himself, then Preston. Afterwards, the Duke pulled him out of the chair and forced him to embrace in the middle of the room. Preston held him tenderly, while the duke hugged him around the middle as though he'd been sequestered from sex for months, if not years.

"I...I feel so complete," said the Duke, at last. He stood up on the tips of his shoes and kissed Preston's jaw. "You are a miracle worker. I am completely rejuvenated."

"You'll be wiping yourself for weeks. It's been a while."

"I can't imagine, sir. If I were my lover, I'd never let you out of bed. In fact, I want you to seriously think about coming to court. You'd be so very popular. And when your older brother gets himself killed in one of his infamous duels, you'll be there to assume your rightful title as Earl."

"Cardinal John...."

"Will never be more than a cuddle fish. He will stay a cardinal."

"The Navy suits me. I'd rather be an admiral."

"You'll need a full year's serve as a captain first."

"So be it."

"My," sighed the Duke. "You are quick to seal a bargain. Then it shall be as you want. As we both want. I'd like for you to be an admiral. You'll be on shore more often than you think, and that way, for once married, I'll want the company of a man. You are that man, Robert. Will you not take me again?"

"You are not satisfied?"

"Oh, I am, trust me. But you are not. You're a bull."

Images of Edward Pellew swarming about his mind like a pestered nest of hornets, he couldn't shut out his lover as he laid Richard upon the bed and fucked him with his legs high in the air until the man lay whimpering beneath him. He kissed Richard afterwards, sucking his tongue practically out of his skull, then tucked him in with a brandy when he was close to swooning. He waved farewell at the door and left, feeling more guilty than triumphant. For while he might gain command of his own ship for his actions, it might also mean that it would be an end to his affair with Edward Pellew. That idea, left Preston sick to the gills.

After throwing up the contents of his meal into the sea, Robert sat back on the side of the ship, listening to the wind in the sails and the creaking of the oaken planks. He was surprised when Matthews appeared, handing him a cup of warm rum.

"Too much rich food. And company."

"You're right, Matthews." Preston drained the cup and handed it back to the wrinkled old sailor. "I'm a fool. I was born under Ares, with Pieces rising. Both confident and self-depreciating. I can hardly stand my own company at times. Like tonight."

"You are feeling guilty, sir. No wonder. She is a beautiful woman, that Contessa Maria. I am told by the crew that she does not love her fiancé. He is a sour faced man under the wooly mammoth's attire. I never trust a man with a beard."

"Matthews, you surprise me," said Preston. "Do you really think the Duke is more deceitful than his fiancé?"

"We'll be at sea for three days. Best be wary, sir."

"I will, Matthews."

Footsteps interrupted them. Matthews and Preston looked up to see Captain Pellew strolling toward them. The sailor slipped away. Preston stood up and linked his arms behind his back. He turned away to gaze out at the moon-less sea, dark beyond the light of the lanterns, while waves trembled beneath the hull. The odor of Pellew's cigar, clenched tightly in his mouth, assailed Preston's nose and he glanced over his shoulder, nodding when the other joined him.

"You missed the dolphins. So I was informed. Mr. Kennedy saw them from the top deck. Seven in all. Wonder if it's a sign?"

"For what I don't know," said Pellew. "You look a bit done under, Robert. Tired from the battle?"

"The entire evening, actually, sir."

"You didn't enjoy dinner?"

"No more than any other. Less in fact. I don't like turtle soup."

Edward sighed. "I thought we might talk."

"What about Reginald?"

"I could say the same about Contessa Maria, unless it's Lord Richard I should be concerned about? Do I have cause for concern, Robert? You seem very far away this evening."

"I'm sleeping in a hammock tonight," said Robert. He grimaced as the captain brushed against him, shoulder to shoulder, with a few inches of discrepancy. Suddenly, he wanted to confess and draw Edward into his arms, but the time was wrong and he'd already committed the traitorous act.

"That's not what I meant." Edward eyed him thoughtfully. "I could have you stand the watch this night. Pull a double shift and sleep the morning away. You can miss tomorrow's supper. I shouldn't think the Contessa will become too fond of you."

"Hornblower was worried as well. I'm not interested."

"Not in a rich Spanish lady? That's not like you."

Preston looked down at Edward. "You know what I want, surely. You know how I feel, if you've been paying any attention at all. If you think I'm happy, you're dead wrong. But I won't apologize."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You should."

Edward lifted an eyebrow. He threw out his cigar and watched it fizzle in the water below. "What does that mean?"

"Only that you have every right to hate me."

"Robert, I don't....why do you say that?"

"You won't apologize for last night, will you?"

"Don't answer a question with a question. No, I won't."

"Then I won't speak, as I don't feel like a gentleman. In fact, you have every right to believe I'm as wicked as you think I am. You might even put me in the brig. You will tomorrow."

Adjusting his hat, keeping his voice low, Edward said, "I don't know what game you're playing at, but I warn you. Contessa Maria is as good as married. And the Duke, I know his kind, he'll promise you the moon and deliver only raw oysters, not pearls. You should avoid them both as I am."

"I saw you with my cousin."

"Jealously doesn't become you," said Edward. He put his hand on Preston's arm, then removed it. "I'd like to say more. I would. You are hurt and I have caused you to feel this way. You need reassurance and I cannot give it to you. You are responsible for whatever it is you do, Commander. If you lie with sharks, you'll most likely be devoured. Do I make myself clear?"

"No. But that isn't usual." Preston pointed up at the sky. "That's where you belong, Edward. Better that I sail by you guiding my way at night, than to set my sights on you in the day, for you are ever elusive. You break my heart with your will-o-the-wisp ways. Never knowing if I'm coming or going into our life, that's how it feels. I feel lost at sea this night."

"Robert," sighed Edward. He patted him on the back. It was not intimate, for he might have done the same to any subordinate. "I do apologize, man. I had no idea I'd sink you this low. I'm not accusing you of anything. And if you think I'm interested in that fool, Sir Reginald, then you don't know me like I think you do. I was but playing host. You should have stayed to play chess."

"You make it hard for me to know the next move."

"You always know when to take the queen."

"But the king is the point of the game. To checkmate the king. Isn't that what this is all about, Edward? Isn't that what started all this and caused events to unfold as they have?"

Pointing upwards, Edward replied silkily, "I'm constant like the North Star. Don't forget that, Robert. I'm predictable. I'm moderate. I'm old school. And I'm utterly undone by you, sir. In short, you have my heart on a string, Robert. Don't gamble with it. Not when you've so much at stake. But hold fast to it. Do you understand me this time? Do I must myself clear to you?"

"Aye, that you do, Edward." Preston cared not what any man thought and put his arm around the captain, giving him a one armed hug, then dropped it to his side. He might have cleaved Edward to his chest, he wanted him to dearly. But he said, "My true blue captain. You'll be well rid of me when I'm gone. That you will. And in November, the Scorpion King will rule the sky. Three days, Robert. We'll see by then which stars I next set my course for."

Edward swallowed hard. "Robert, is there anything you should tell me tonight? I won't hold you responsible, lad. Not if you come clean and tell me what's really on your mind."

"You are, Edward. Like a harsh leeward breeze that turns my face to salt, you are always on my mind." Looking upward, Preston didn't realize he was crying until the droplets slid down his cheeks. He knew he looked guilty, and by the expression on Edward's dear, wizened face, he knew he'd worried the captain. Not that, but worried the lover, the private man, the one he loved best, and like a condemned criminal, he knew he'd be blamed for his falseness and pay the highest price possible.

* * * *

The morning brought a clear sky and the out cries of a woman. Onto the desk came running Contessa Maria, while above, Preston took tea with Hornblower and Kennedy. A secret custom between them, and something the captain would never allow. The tea cups were drained and hastily handed to Styles, who nearly dropped them, as he quickly put them behind his back and turned to face the stairs as the lady came up them in a bluster. She arrived in a huff, in the apparel of a cabin boy, and with an arm flung out before her, she pointed at Preston and again screamed.

"What is wrong with her?" Asked Archie. "She's insane."

"He did it! That's the man! I demand that he be arrested!"

Feeling the finger was on him, Preston placed his hands on his chest and backed up. On either side of the top deck, Marines stormed up in two separate lines, carrying muskets, and in unison, they formed two walls on either side of Preston. He remained stone-faced as the lady sank to her knees, muffling her screams behind her hands, while Hornblower saw to her needs, only to need to call upon Kennedy soon after. The two men tried to calm her, while Captain Pellew, followed by Lord Richard and Sir Reginald came following behind them directly.

"More dramatics," sighed Robert, comfortable yet in his British naval uniform. He was not about to retire. Not for any reason. He saw before him unfold the play of Titus, the tragic Roman general condemned for his nocturnal deeds, the lady in question sobbing upon her knees, while her fiancé looked up, both shocked and worried. "Is this scene one, act three?"

"Please, Robert," said Horatio, looking up from where he fanned the lady's pale face. "It's very serious."

"I'm afraid extremely," offered Pellew, by reason of a quick and painless prelude into the investigation. "Take Commander Preston into custody, Captain Miller. He'll be under arrest until we reach England. To the brig he goes."

"Absolutely not," snarled Commander Preston. He lifted his hands, warding off two sides of Marines coming full at him. They held back, fearing his large ham-sized fists, and with cold blue eyes, he glared down at the lady. "So, this is your concoction, is it, little witch? What are we brewing today? Tell me?"

"He...He raped me, sirs. Last night."

Hornblower and Kennedy anticipated this, believed it, and shielded her eyes from the horrid spectacle of the dashing and handsome Commander Preston. While he cast his arms into the air, muskets were pointed at Preston's chest. As he met Pellew's gaze, the captain looked away, supremely disgusted. The lady cried and was soon comforted by Sir Reginald, leaving the Duke of Arrendale to grin at the top of the stairs, while he deliberated what next to do. He came forward, pushing his way through the soldiers, and came right up to Preston and adjusted the officer's lapels.

"You don't seriously think I'd let her continue much longer?" Lord Richard sighed and patted Preston on the shoulder. "Come now, Captain Pellew. My fiancé is Spanish. She prays to god on the house and like every good Catholic girl, she thinks of sin every minute. Had Commander Preston been to her bed last night, I assure you, she would not be complaining for now. And for the simply fact that I know that my fiancé was not raped, I think you might have spared us all this and enjoyed your cup a tea a bit longer."

"What are you saying, my Lord? That Commander Preston is innocent of the charges pressed upon me by Contessa Maria? Explain yourself, sir," demanded Captain Pellew, his face pulled so tight together that he looked as though he'd sucked a sour lime.

"Indeed he is innocent," said the Duke. He stepped forward, looking dapper in his fine velvet suit, gold in color, and dried and brushed until it looked quite new. His beard was clipped to a point and he looked extremely handsome in the morning light. He enjoyed every man looking at him as he bent over his fiancé, amused though contained, and pointed his finger at her. "The Contessa could not possibly have been with the Commander, for he was me most of the night. We played cards and drank. I found him this morning in a chair, snoring away. So you see, Captain Pellew, the only alibi afforded to you on this ship comes from me. I give you my word, as a gentleman, that Commander Preston did not lay hands upon my fiancé." He caught the lady by the chin. "My dear, I'm half a mind to cast you adrift."

She let out a wail.

"Now tell the good captain that you were but dreaming. If Commander Preston visited to you, you dreamed that he did, for he could not possibly be in two places at once." Lord Richard released her when she nodded. "They didn't hear you. Once more and with gusto, my dear."

"I...I must have been dreaming," said the lady.

Every officer and crew member on the ship sighed with relief. But no more than Commander Preston. His patience was short-lived and he thrust the muskets way, glaring at the captain of the marines as though he'd repay him soon enough. With a stern eye that finally rested upon the Countess, he bowed low. Then he turned to confront his captain.

"It is as Lord Richard says, sir. We played cards through the night. And if I happened to fall asleep, I do apologize."

"No need," said the Duke. "All is forgiven. I forgive my fiancé for her outburst over a bad dream, and I'm sure you're captain will be most lenient, as you are an innocent man accused. I hope there will be no further need of guns, Captain Pellew?"

"Stand down," snapped Captain Pellew.

The Marines turned and formed two lines on either side of the bridge. They marched down and followed their captain below deck. Disgusted by the entire affair, Commander Preston gazed from the woman, to the Duke, then finally to his captain. He spread out his hands wide and bowed low. Only the Duke of Arrendale laughed.

"Good god, Preston. What balls you have!"

"You are dismissed, Commander Preston," countered Pellew. "Retire to the officer's mess until I call you. That will be quite enough." He turned toward the Duke. "Midshipman Hornblower will find you new quarters that will be quite suitable. I find that I have need of my own room. I'm sure you understand, my Lord?"

"Of course he does" laughed Lord Richard. He lifted his hand as his secretary came rushing up the stairs to join them. "Sir Reginald, please see my fiancé to her room. And remind me that I am not at all happy. I will speak to her later." He waved the man off, along with the Spanish lady, then addressed Preston. "Leave everything to me. I will explain everything to your captain."

"Thank you, sir."

Keeping his head high, Preston took the other exist, avoiding the lady and the knight, as well as a final look from Pellew. He passed the Marines, snubbing them rightfully, went down the stairs and stormed into the officer's mess. He threw off the dirty pewter goblets from the table and tossed the plates to the floor. He tore down the hammocks and didn't stop until the captain of the marines, a Scotsman, appeared at the door.

"Don't say a word," snarled Robert. "Not one word, Ian."

"You are dismissed, Captain." Pellew appeared at the doorway. He slipped past the marine and shut the door behind him. "Do you want to explain, sir? I have heard the Duke's explanation. You'll be poked and prodded with so many ribbons when we arrive at Plymouth, that I doubt you'll head will remain on your shoulders. It will spin clean off. Fortunately, the Duke has made it clear that his fiancé suffers from certain illusions. It's not compliment and I'll admit I'm very embarrassed to hear of it. The lady is fragile. Her condition is serious."

"Unleash your disapproval on her then, sir."

"It's directed at you at the moment, Robert."

Preston crossed his arms. "Disappointed, aren't you?"

"Extremely," said Edward. He removed his hat and threw it on the table. "Not because of her, but because there is not doubt in my mind that you and Lord Richard were together last night."

"Playing chess."

"His queen to your king."

"Well, I did checkmate him several times."

"You scoundrel. You depraved dog. I should have you court-martialed and drummed out of the navy."

"And you would. I have no doubt you would if you had cause."

"If I did," Edward countered. He dropped his eyes and slumped into a chair at the end of the mess table. "These charges were not made idly. I fully believe the Countess wants revenge upon you. I wasn't there last night, so I don't know what happened. But if you tarnished my reputation or this ship's by acting anything less than a gentleman last night while in the Duke's company, I dare say, I'll never speak to you again, Robert."

"My...you are angry."

Edward threw himself out of the chair, his anger making him violent and exceedingly manly, as he walked over and struck Robert in the face. Not once, but several times with the flat of his hand, until Preston tasted blood. He spat onto the table before him and looked up with narrowed eyes at the captain.

"Feel better, you hypocrite?"

"Don't talk. I don't want to hear your voice unless I ask you a direct question, is that clear, Commander Preston?" Pellew suddenly looked at his hands, seeing them tarnished, and placed them behind his back. He refused to meet Preston's eyes. "I am sorely disappointed in you, Robert. I'm quite certain that the Countess has heard the same scurrying rats that I have frequently heard while you entertain others in your quarters."

"That was Hornblower, and that was weeks ago."

"Pipe down. I don't want to hear it." Edward walked to the window, opened it and breathed in a full draft of sea air. He glanced behind him, completely dejected. "I can't put this on report, you know that. But I can request that you be transferred."

"Do it then."

"Let me speak. I can request it, but I may waive my decision. However, my dear, it depends on you. While anyone on this ship can say without prejudice that you're the bravest man among us, I also doubt that any would argue that you are also the great liability. You follow a caprice wind, Robert. You let your prick dictate when you should be listening to your head. Duke Arrendale proved that he is a gentleman at the heart by standing at your side. It is his word and his word along that stands between you and the gallows."

"I know that."

"You sounded worried. Good. You should be."

Preston glowered up at his captain and turned to look off in another direction. He was prepare but made no move when he was rushed upon once more and boxed about the ears. He took the beating, even when his lip was cut and bleeding, then when Edward stood back, finished and appalled, he looked off into space, as though unaffected. This time, instead of a fist to his jaw, he received an embrace from behind that left him close to sobbing in his chair. Edward's arms came around him, he felt a kiss to the top of his head, then he was shoved away.

"You have ruined everything. You know that. It can never be the same between us. You have betrayed us and let another in."

"Well, crucify me if you must, Edward. I still love you."

Dark brown eyes regarded Preston with mistrust and pain. But another side of Pellew was also present, in the company of the grieving betrayed lover was the angry captain, it was he who hit Preston aside the head again. "You'll not soften my heart with your clever words. Don't even look at me. I'm sick at heart. You shame me and the crew and this proud ship, and yet you hold your head up and act the part of a saint."

"I saved those people. I kept your crew from burning up on that inferno, like I always do, and you always jump at the chance to think the worst of me. I can never please you. You can't be pleased. I want nothing more than your respect, and I know once asked, it can never be given. So then, if not that, you go on and hate me, Edward. Hate me until I burn up in the intensity of it."

"If that is what you want..."

Preston glared at Pellew. "Be a man and say it. Say how you really feel. Just this once, Edward. Just say how you feel."

"You'll stay in here until we reach Plymouth. All meals will be brought to you. A slop bucket will be provided. No duties and no fresh air. And no contact with our guests. If you are found outside your room, it will be presumed that you are guilty and a full board of inquiry will immediately be formed on this ship, until such time as an inquiry by the Admiralty may be carried out once we arrived in Plymouth. If for any reason you have found conversing with any of the guests during your quarantine, or any of the crew or her offices, you will be locked in the brig, going without food or water until we reach Plymouth. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm full of you, Edward. Stuffed, peppered and cooked."

"If that means you understand me, you sot, nod."

Preston did so. He looked down at the table, thinking that if he'd the chance again, he'd have allowed the Duke and his heathens to die aboard the French frigate. And for that matter, he'd have taken Edward when the prissy bastard had his pants off. He could well imagine how he was enjoying gloating over it all. But at the signs of tears in Edward's eyes, Preston knew he'd gone too far and he regretted with all his heart fucking the Duke.

"This is going on my report?"

"Without a doubt. I have to, Robert. Unless your friend, Richard Grey, Duke of Arrendale, can think of a way to get you out of this mess, then I'm afraid you'll be discharged. An allegation has been made. The lady's mental comprehension is challenged. I must make a full report upon landing. I'd like for you to make it easier for me and agree to stay here, under arrest, until we reach shore. I'll escort you myself to headquarters. You know that."

"Oh, you're without tar or feathers, as always, Richard."

"I'm doing this, because I...I care for you, Robert."

"Can't say it. Won't do it. What is left? My going down to the bottom. Always the bottom with you. Well, I'm there, Edward, and I can't say that I like it. Thanks for being so supportive. I fucked the Duke but I did not rape the Contessa. There! Satisfied. You have it out of me. But he did enjoy it, that he did, and not once did he complain about being a bottom."

Preston hated the way Edward was looking at him. He hated his golden braids adorning the navy blue uniform and the superior rank he saw before him. But he hated most the way he felt, wanting to cry and throw himself at Edward's feet. He couldn't do that. He couldn't lose his self-respect. He expected he would be cuffed again. What he didn't anticipate was Edward saying nothing else and leaving the room.

Nor did he expect company that night, let alone dinner and, guessing his sentence, he spent the next day waiting for company. It came as food. Served twice by Matthews, of water and bread. The night followed. He heard sounds and voices, but it made no matter, not while and he played chess and drank the last of the liquor left in the mess by himself. The next day he figured they were close to the British isles and that he'd be greeted by soldiers at his door. He'd imagined many people sneaking in to see him, but the one he did not expect was the one he wanted most.

Dressing formally, in his best uniform, as though he was to attend a funeral, Sir Edward Pellew came to his first mate early the morning land was sighted. A short sail would bring them to Plymouth, where they'd dock, and if Lord Richard was unable to obtain the King's pardon and a metal for Preston, a formal inquiry would be initiated. The Navy would not wait. They'd insist on a trial and once more it was the Duke or nothing. He hoped as he entered the officer's mess and found Robert standing at the window, unshaven, leaner, and looking stone-faced that the Duke would save the day. There was always a chance. Lord Richard was a descent man, but it was obvious, after two days without Preston to distract everyone, that the rich widow from Spain was absolutely stark raving mad.

"I wanted to tell you something, Robert. May I come in?"

Preston shrugged. He took the nearest seat and pushed the trash away from him with one arm.

"I could get you tea and a few biscuits." Edward noticed the plates of food, not touched, the food gone to mold and scuttled with cockroaches. He shivered. The room stank of body odor and rotting food, but Robert didn't seem to mind. "We'll be in port in a few hours. I will make available to you my own wash room."

"Stop it, Edward. Don't codify me with scraps of kindness."

"I am trying to find an amicable way through all this."

"You wanted to fuck me, Edward. You're doing a mighty grand job of it. Do you know what I've learned about you? You love to make misery when sunshine should blossom in its place."

"Is that from Shakespeare?"

"It's me saying for the love of god, Edward, I didn't lay a hand on that raving mad bitch. I might have cheated on you and had my way with Richard, but if I'd not, he'd have found some way to harm us all. It was a threat from him. I could not back down. Yes, I enjoyed it, but it came with a high price, and after all is said and done, I'm sorry I was born with an elephant's trunk. If I was half the man you were, then I wouldn't be where I am."

Edward gasped. He misunderstood and took offense. "I...I really do think I hate you, Robert. The size of my...my cock doesn't have anything to do with this."

"I didn't mean that you were...Christ, Robert. Twist my words around to suit your purpose. You are leading me on a fine and merry chase. I give you my heart, you rip it out. I save three people's lives and you decide I'm unworthy because of a mad woman's cry of rape. You think I'm not embarrassed? You think I enjoy being arrested on my own ship?"

"I had no choice."

"You're the captain. I serve you. It's your duty to protect me, Edward. And you know me. Better than any man. You know I prefer the company men. Yet, you believed her. Let the Duke change his mind, and I'll challenge him to a duel. Have me stripped of my rank, and you'll have broken the last pieces of my heart. I might be a sodomist, but I am not a hypocrite. Oh, I'd say that you'd fucked me very well, Captain."

Edward dropped his head. He said nothing and merely cried. He did so for several minutes. Preston did not come to his side. He offered no shoulder, though he wanted to. He had no kerchief, so he could do nothing to stop the tears. His hands were dirty and he felt like a beast, leaving him no recourse but to stay away from Edward, least he offend him by sheer body odor. But inwardly he wanted Edward to hold him and assure him all would be well. It was then that Edward Pellew put his arms around his first mate.

"Forgive me." His heart on his sleeve, Edward placed his cheek agains t Preston's. "Say you do and I'll move heaven and earth to make it all right to you, Robert. I never meant for it to go this far. I'm behind you, you must know that, should any charges be filed against you. But I'll file no report. As far as I'm concerned, you are an officer and a gentleman."

"What?" Preston trembled. He wasn't hearing right. He was suddenly being kissed, but yet he could not feel what he was feeling. "I must be seeing things, because you hate me, and yet, here you are...and what you're doing not allowed." He grabbed Edward's arms, stood up, and pushed his captain up against the wall. He took Edward by surprise and had him penned in seconds. "You either let me walk out of here with my head held high or you turn me over to the authorities. Either way, is it over, Edward?"

"All this for a position in bed," grumbled Edward.

"Not on the bed, but on the board of life." Preston pushed away and walked across the room. He suddenly caught his own odor and grimaced. "All those fancy words you read in Shakespeare, still you don't understand a bit of it. I've not betrayed you in the attempt to win your throne. I love you, damn you. You wouldn't so I found someone else who would. You think a lady would want it that way, the way I like it? Then you're as daft as she."

"If I put you back on the duty roster, if we put all this behind us, provided the Duke and Countess make no fuss, what then, Robert? If Lord Richard gets you a ship, you'll be leaving. If not and he turns upon you, then it's only me that you have?"

Preston's heart jumped to his throat. "Jesus, Edward. I only ever wanted you. I am a man. And I have needs as well. But you are the captain and you see things as a captain should. Especially when it comes to us. You can't just be Edward and Robert. I can. I'm not in competition with you. I told you before that I don't want a ship, but if it comes to that, if that's what this nightmare brings, then yes, I'll accept the position. I'll be a captain and then I'll be your equal. Maybe then you can love me."

"Is that what you think this is?"

A sudden rap at the door brought Pellew spinning about, his arms locked behind him, while Robert made himself comfortable in a chair and placed his hands before him. Lt. Bracegrytle came in, saluted, and suddenly let loose with laughter he'd not been able to contain behind a serious mask. Both Pellew and Preston stared at him, dumb-founded. The officer came to attention and fought against smiling.

"Sir, we have spotted land. It's Plymouth.

"And that is cause for such levity? Explain yourself, man."

"Captain Pellew, a tender has already been lowered for the Duke of Arrendale, the Contessa, and Sir Reginald. I have in my possession a letter from Lord Richard that I have read with his permission, and sirs, if ever a finer letter was written about the character of man, I have not seen it. Lord Richard has invited you both to London to meet the King himself. You are to join him within four days, at which time, you will be his guests at his town house in London."

"Are you serious?" Asked Preston, standing up and grabbing the portly officer by his arms. "Let me see the letter." It was immediately thrust into his hand. He read it and handed it over to the captain. "I am to be rewarded for my heroic service in His Majesty's Navy. It says so. No reference at all is made of the incident with Countess Marie. In fact, he states...."

"That he regrets she must return to Spain. There will be no wedding," said Edward. "Apparently, she is quite mad."

"And we are going to meet the King of England," Robert said, laughing afterwards. He kissed Bracegrytle on the cheek, sent him out the door, shut and locked it. Then turned to Pellew. "Well, we are going to London. Are you happy or not?"

"I've been broadsided," whispered Edward.

"Is that all? I know I'm a bit scruffy and all...but dear lord, Edward, come kiss me and say that you love me."

At once, Edward was up and throwing himself into the arms of Preston. He hugged him tight, not wanting to ever let go, but still could repress a chuckle of his one. Preston brought Edward's face up, a hand to his chin, kissed him several times. But no till Edward kissed him back, tenderly and a bit breathless, did the pain fade from Preston's blue eyes. He then held Edward close, kissing the side of his turned head, and buried his nose behind his ear, breathing in deeply of his scent.

"He didn't say good-bye," said Edward. "I mean the Duke."

"We'll see him later." Preston squeezed the captain and kissed him on the lips. "My darling captain, if you don't act more excited about all this, then have me transferred. I said before that it was your move. It is but for now or a lifetime?"

"I do love you, Robert. God knows I do." Edward put his hands on Preston's chest, pushed him back an inch and looked up at him, his face both grave and filled with hope. "Until we are parted, I shall love you and you alone. And when you sail out on our own ship, as captain, I'll still go on loving you. Until I meet you on the shores, when neither of us can walk anymore, our legs so bandy from the rolling of the deck, it takes a cane to propel us along, when we both retire, or go on loving you." His dark eyes shined with love. "Does that answer your question?"

"Only one," said Robert, kissing him again. "I'm going to bathe, and when I return, I hope to find you in your cabin, waiting for me. Then you can answer the second question." He reached out and cupped Edward's prick, found it hard, and pulled the man into his embrace for a passionate kiss.

"A game of chess and the winner calls it," Edward countered. He reached up and wiped away a tear of his own. He blushed when Preston caught him at it and smiled thinly. "Agreed?"

"Agreed, Captain."

Robert put distance between them in order to salute. He suddenly wondered if and when he'd be called away, assigned to another ship, as her captain. If Pellew had retired that day, he would have followed. But that was not in either of their cards. Strangely, he suddenly wanted to lose at chess. In fact, his smile should have but did not give him away, for as he kissed Edward once last time and proceed him out the door, he saw clearly written on the captain's face that he would fight his hardest to win at chess. Robert didn't want to spoil it for him, but if it took losing his queen and his command in bed to appease his lover, then for the sake of their love, he'd consent. After all, he could not deny that he was a queen first, and an officer second.

THE END

---

Horatio Page | Horatio Adult Fiction Page | Sharpe Page | Sharpe Adult Fiction Page | Lair

---

This page presented by: