Chapter Six
After two months at sea, Colin had become accustomed to the constant hunger. Their rations were enough to keep them alive and in what Dr. Fairfowl referred to as “satisfactory health.” But there was never enough food to fill Colin’s belly and sate his appetite.
When he remembered the veritable feasts he’d enjoyed at home, Colin realized he’d never begun to appreciate his good fortune. The last meal he’d had with his family, the night of the fateful party, had been an exquisite roast beef. He wished he’d savored it more. He was determined to savor life’s little pleasures whenever he could.
Breathing the salty air deeply, Colin leaned on the ship’s rail. The endless ocean surrounded the Lady Harewood. As Patrick came to stand alongside him, Colin suppressed a smile. Although—much to his disappointment—they’d had no further physical relations, they were certainly on friendlier terms. For the most part, Patrick passed the time with his Irishmen, and Colin spent his hours alone or with Reverend Sewell, who had become a friend of a sort. But at times Patrick and Colin would converse, just the two of them.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Colin asked.
“What?”
“This.” Colin waved his arm. “The ocean. The vastness of it all. England seems such a speck in comparison.”
“Aye. It does.”
A woman’s gay laugh wafted down from the upper deck. Colin watched her contentedly. She was petite and blonde, older but still beautiful. She’d attracted the attention of many of the convicts, whose gazes were hungry. A man Colin assumed to be her husband appeared to be telling a humorous tale.
Colin mused aloud. “I wonder why they’re going to Australia. They’re not prisoners, clearly.”
Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the couple. “Probably think it’ll be a romantic adventure. Taming a wild land.”
“Perhaps it will be.”
Patrick scoffed. “Life doesn’t generally turn out the way you’d imagine.”
“Really? I hadn’t realized,” Colin noted dryly.
“They’re fools.”
Colin looked back. The man kissed his wife’s cheek affectionately. “They’re in love.”
“Love. Spare me. Love is a game people play to get what they want. Nothing more.”
“Such a cynic!” Colin had to laugh.
“A realist, Lord Lancaster. Naught but a realist.”
“And what do you know of love? How can you be so sure?” A thought occurred. “Have you ever been in love yourself?”
“Of course not.” Yet Patrick wouldn’t meet Colin’s eyes.
“You have!” Colin could hardly believe it.
Patrick stared out to sea and didn’t answer.
“You must tell me now. You brought it up.”
Patrick shrugged. “I was young and foolish once too.”
“And?”
“And I learned love is nothing more than an illusion.”
“Well, go on. We’re at sea for two months to come, and there’s precious little else to discuss. Might as well fill the time.”
After a few moments of silence, Patrick relented. “He was the blacksmith in our village. Outside Belfast. He took me on as an apprentice when I was seventeen. Soon he was teaching me a sight more than just shoeing horses.”
The thought alone made Colin’s breeches tighten. “And then?”
Patrick stared out at the waves. “He filled my head with nonsense. Told me he’d leave his wife and children. That we’d go to England together.”
Colin felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of Patrick with another man—another man he cared for. “Did you?”
“No. I went to England on my own.”
“He couldn’t go through with it? I imagine leaving one’s children would be—”
“For God’s sake, he was never going to leave them.” Patrick laughed bitterly. “All his talk of love was simply to keep me pliable and willing. He never meant a word.”
“I’m sure he did. He must have.” How could he not?
“Really? You’re so positive?”
“I…” Colin faltered.
“I had to leave my position, of course. Once I confronted him and realized it was all a lie. A year of training and strenuous work in that smithy, all for naught.”
“Couldn’t you have apprenticed elsewhere?”
“If the bastard hadn’t told everyone I was a lying thief. Couldn’t get a job anywhere after that gossip made the rounds. Figured I might as well go to England.” He absently twisted the tarnished metal band on his right ring finger.
“What did your parents think?”
He shrugged. “What could they say? My older brother was a successful stonemason with a wife and children. I was a bitter disappointment.”
Colin motioned to the band of metal on Patrick’s finger. He’d wondered about it before, surprised the guards had allowed him to keep it. “Was that from him?”
Patrick blinked in genuine surprise. “God, no. Wouldn’t want a thing that charlatan had touched.” He opened his hand, gazing at the band. “It was my grandfather’s. Little more than tin, really. He gave it to me just before I left. Said he knew I was no thief, and that I’d make something of my life.” Patrick scoffed. “Glad he can’t see me now. Glad none of them can.”
“It’s not too late. To make something of your life. And to…find someone. Someone who’ll love you as you deserve.”
Patrick shook his head. “One day you’ll learn, just as I did. Everyone lets you down sooner or later. There’s no love for our kind. We men take our pleasure and move on. If you want sonnets and rose petals, you’d better find yourself a wife.”
With that, Patrick strode off, his long legs taking him swiftly across the deck. The woman laughed again, but Colin kept his eyes on the horizon. Perhaps Patrick was right, and love was something Colin would never have. He was quite sorry he’d brought it up.
As they sailed down the African coast after stopping briefly in the West Indies, the weather had become unaccountably cold. In the early morning, Colin shivered in the darkness, unable to go back to sleep. The belly of the ship was either freezing or sweltering, and no happy medium seemed possible. As they crossed the ocean, the weather had varied considerably. With well over a hundred men living atop one another, the stench in the heat was unbearable.
Yet as the chill seeped in, Colin wished fervently for warmth, no matter what unpleasantness accompanied it. Colin couldn’t imagine how convicts had survived the journey in years past when they’d been confined below for the entire voyage. As it was, they spent countless hours locked in the ship’s hold.
The crew and passengers slept in cabins on the mid deck, and Colin wondered what their quarters were like. The thought that he’d be without privacy for years to come was not a happy one, to say the least. He didn’t dwell, however. There was nothing he could do to change his circumstances, and he would make the best of them.
Colin switched to his other side on the hard bunk, curling up to retain what heat he could. The worn blanket did little to provide comfort or warmth. Even after lights blazed, signaling morning, he remained abed. A few minutes later, a guard’s voice bellowed through the barracks. “Yer stayin’ in today. Too cold up top.”
This news was greeted with some grumbles, but like Colin, it seemed most of the other men didn’t fancy being outside in such dire temperatures. The wind could be heard howling, and Colin could only imagine how frigid it would be on the main deck.
Although he had never really liked his lessons with old Mr. Wheeldon, on the ship he’d often wished for his textbooks to read. At least outside, the passage of the hours was tolerable. Stuck in the hold, the minutes crawled by.
The thought of textbooks brought the painful realization that William would be matriculating at Cambridge now. Colin had never felt so removed from that world. It amazed him to think he would be there too, if things had gone differently. If he’d held his tongue.
Yet no matter how bad things were as a convict, so far Colin still felt relieved that his secret was out. He wondered how he’d feel in a year’s time, and what his life would be like. He couldn’t even begin to imagine—it was a blank in his mind.
After breakfast, many men slept, while others played invented games with buttons as playing chips. A few others got into a brawl and had to be separated by the furious guards, who promised them punishment would be coming. A few men had gotten the lash already for stealing extra rations. All the convicts had been forced to watch, and Colin had felt sick to his stomach at the horrifying and bloody display.
Still others came together furtively to slake their bodies’ desires. Their couplings were swift and harsh from what Colin could tell, carried out in the ship’s darkest corners, as far from the guards’ eyes and ears as possible.
Colin wondered if they had any affection for each other. Were they like him and Patrick, and would choose men over women in any case? Or were they just taking what they could? He suspected it was the latter for most.
When he woke the following morning, Colin’s teeth chattered. There would be no going outside on this day, he knew. Nature called, and he reluctantly thrust his blanket aside and clambered down. He often tried to make it to the water closet before the others woke. While he was used to the utter lack of privacy, he certainly didn’t like it.
The water closet was a foul-smelling part of the hold no matter what the temperature. There was no screen, simply a low, wooden partition and a seat over a stained bowl that led to the sea. Colin did his business quickly and returned to his bunk. He wasn’t sure of the time but hoped it wouldn’t be long before breakfast, as his stomach rumbled. Without seeing daylight, he found time began to play tricks. For all he knew, it could still be the middle of the night.
Carefully, Colin placed his boot on the edge of Patrick’s bunk. Once he’d trod on Patrick’s hand, which had not been appreciated in the slightest.
“Bloody freezing,” Patrick whispered.
Colin always felt a silly little thrill when Patrick initiated a conversation. Although there had been no rancor between them as the voyage had gone on, it seemed to Colin as if Patrick was determined to keep him at arm’s length.
After a moment’s consideration, Colin snatched his blanket from his berth and gave Patrick a nudge. Surprisingly, Patrick shifted over without comment. They spread both their blankets over them and huddled underneath, bodies pressed close. “At least it’ll be hot in Australia,” Colin said. “So I hear.”
Patrick chuckled. “Aye. Too bad we’ll be digging ditches in that heat.”
Colin had assumed they’d be kept away in cells. “Labor? We won’t simply be locked up?”
“No. From what I’ve heard, they’re using prisoners to build their towns. Digging, clearing rocks, constructing roads. It’s a vast land with hardly any people. Not compared to home, at least. We’ll have our work cut out for us.”
Colin pondered it. “It’s better than rotting in a cell, I think.”
“That it is. I just hope there’s food. I’m starving on this damn ship.”
“What I wouldn’t give for an apple. Straight off the tree.”
“Stop; we’ll both jump overboard and swim for the nearest land if we think on food too much.”
Colin chuckled and inched closer to Patrick. He longed to be touched again, to feel Patrick’s hands and mouth on his flesh once more. He boldly reached down to stroke Patrick’s thigh. “So cold.”
Patrick’s voice was low and went straight to Colin’s cock. “Guess it won’t do any harm to warm ourselves up.”
Before he could answer, Patrick urged Colin to lie atop him, pulling him close. Colin’s heart pounded as he settled on Patrick, their bodies lining up. Patrick’s cold hands stole down the back of Colin’s trousers, which had loosened as he lost weight due to the paltry rations.
Colin ground down, thrusting his pelvis as Patrick squeezed Colin’s ass. Although they were separated by the coarse fabric of their uniforms, the friction was delicious. Soon they were both hard as they rocked together, breathing fast as the pressure built.
He sought Patrick’s lips, but Patrick turned his head sharply. After the flash of disappointment, Colin contented himself with kissing Patrick’s neck, sucking the tender skin at the crease of Patrick’s shoulder as they rutted against each other. For so long, Colin had yearned to be with another man—to be with Patrick. The heat of Patrick’s body and the sound of his harsh breaths and grunts aroused Colin to new heights.
They writhed together, bucking and straining, their breath frosting the frigid air. Colin came first, his face buried in Patrick’s neck as he moaned. He knew his trousers would be uncomfortably sticky, but it was worth the small price for the intense pleasure. Patrick tightened his fingers on Colin’s buttocks, and he thrust upward until he groaned and spilled. They both breathed heavily, limbs tangled in the cramped space, Colin splayed on Patrick, flushed and content.
After a few minutes, Patrick withdrew his hands from Colin’s trousers and gave his rear a pat. When Colin didn’t move, Patrick prodded him lightly. Colin wished he could stay and curl up with Patrick, but he knew he was being dismissed. He longed to hear some kind words—or any words, really.
Finally, Patrick spoke. “We’re warmed up. Better get back to your bed.”
“But we’ll be cold again in no time.”
Patrick laughed quietly. “I’ve created a monster.”
Colin moved to kiss Patrick, who dodged again. His smile disappeared. “If we’re cold later, then we’ll find other companions when the guards aren’t looking. There are plenty willing here.”
“Have you? With others?” Colin was struck with hurt and jealousy.
“Of course,” Patrick answered quickly. “It doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.”
“But…”
Patrick grasped Colin’s waist with his strong hands, and he lifted him off. Colin grabbed hold of his blanket and escaped to the upper bunk. He scolded himself for being a fool. Of course it meant nothing to Patrick. He just wished it was nothing to him as well. Instead it felt like everything.
After four freezing days and nights trapped in the belly of the ship, Colin thought he’d go mad from the boredom and claustrophobia. He and Patrick had barely spoken, a new rift between them. He didn’t care if it was arctic outside—he needed fresh air. Needed to get outside and see the sun. The convicts were restless without their daily exercise, and tempers flared.
By midday, Colin thought it seemed a bit warmer, but wasn’t sure if it was his imagination. However the next morning, they were finally allowed back up on deck in shifts to bathe. It was still brisk and the bathwater was glacial, but Colin reveled in being clean again.
In the following days, the prisoners’ routine returned to normal. Colin walked with Reverend Sewell, who insisted that Colin call him by his given name of Richard when they were alone. He talked of his plans for eventually building a new church in the Australian desert. Colin enjoyed listening to Richard’s grand ideas. He hoped they’d come to fruition.
When Colin woke one morning later that week, he found the heat had most decidedly returned. Or that the ship had sailed into it, more accurately. Everyone had begun to stir, and Colin hopped down from his bunk. Patrick murmured and kicked at his blanket, which was already balled up and tangled around his feet.
“Guess we shouldn’t have complained about the temperature,” Colin noted wryly.
There was no reply from Patrick, and Colin sighed, frustrated. “You can’t even speak to me at all now?”
Only silence. Colin leaned down and gave Patrick’s shoulder a forceful shake. He touched fevered, slick skin, and his breath caught. “Patrick?” Colin tried to rouse him, his alarm growing with each moment, but Patrick only muttered, eyelids fluttering. When Colin pressed the back of his hand to Patrick’s forehead, his stomach twisted into a knot.
Colin darted up the narrow aisle to the bars separating the barracks from the guards’ station in the center of the deck. “You must fetch the doctor! Hurry!”
The guard manning the watch was Ford, who strode to the bars. “You speak only when spoken to!” he barked.
“Please. I’m sorry. My friend is ill. He’s burning up.”
Ford lowered his voice. “Half the crew and settlers are ill. The doctor will be down when he’s seen to them. Don’t hold your breath.”
Colin’s panic deepened. “What is it?”
“Looks like typhoid.”
Colin’s heart thumped painfully. Oh, God. No. “How?”
“However it happens. I’m no doctor. Now get back to your bunk and stay there. No one’s going up today.”
“Please, when the doctor comes, send him right over.”
There were footfalls on the wooden stairs from the deck above, and Ford stepped away from the bars. “Get back now or he’ll be the last one the doctor sees,” he hissed.
Colin dashed away. On his way back into the barracks, he looked closely at the other convicts, noting several other men who appeared sickened. Patrick remained in the grip of the fever, seemingly unaware of Colin’s presence. Colin had a small portion of his water ration from the previous day remaining, and he tried to tip it into Patrick’s mouth. Most dribbled down his chin, but Colin hoped he swallowed a little.
Colin belatedly realized that the water could be the source of the illness. He didn’t drink any himself, although he was powerfully thirsty. Word of the outbreak spread rapidly, and no rations came that day. Patrick’s temperature soared so frighteningly high that Colin feared it would kill him.
As the day dragged on, Colin stayed at Patrick’s side, perched on the edge of the bunk. He’d stripped off Patrick’s shirt and trousers to make him more comfortable, leaving him only in his drawers. He spoke to Patrick in low tones, hoping the other man could hear him. He talked of nothing, really, just rambling nonsense and stories and whatever popped into his mind. He was afraid if he stopped talking, Patrick would simply slip away in the silence.
Dr. Fairfowl finally appeared late in the day. He was utterly exhausted, and dark circles stood out under his eyes. He conducted a cursory exam of Patrick, who was still lost to the fever world. Colin hovered nearby anxiously.
The doctor straightened and spoke to the guard accompanying him. “Another one. No food until the fever breaks.”
Colin waited for the doctor to administer some kind of medicine to Patrick, but he didn’t. Colin was speaking before he knew what he was doing. “That will cure it?” Colin was shaky and parched and couldn’t imagine how weak Patrick would become with no nourishment.
Dr. Fairfowl glanced at Colin. “Perhaps. There’s no treatment to speak of. It spreads through the water or food. Some won’t get sick at all. Some will die. Some will live. If he’s strong, he might be one of the lucky ones.” With that, he turned away.
Colin clasped hold of the doctor’s arm. “Wait! There must be something you can do!”
The blow landed so suddenly across the side of his head that Colin was on the floor before he could process it. The guard towered over him, his face a twisted snarl. “Touch ’im again and it’s the lash for you.”
Colin’s ear rang for the rest of the day. He stayed by Patrick’s side until exhaustion and hunger forced him to take to his own bunk to rest. The heat in the barracks was oppressive, and sweat dripped from every man, not just those trapped in the throes of the fever.
They were told the water supply was being purified. Colin’s tongue became swollen in his mouth, and his throat felt as if it had been coated in sand. He fervently hoped the water ration would come soon.
Just before curfew, they were allowed a small amount of water each. Colin told himself to sip it, but he couldn’t help but gulp greedily. Patrick remained unconscious, moaning and thrashing from time to time. Colin sat by his side, talking to him once more in a low voice.
When no one seemed to be looking, he stroked Patrick’s hair, which was soaked with sweat. Colin had never felt so helpless in all his years. He’d felt similarly when he’d feared for Patrick’s life after Patrick was discovered as a sodomite, but at least then he’d been able to do something to help him.
He still couldn’t explain the hold Patrick had over him, but it had only grown stronger. Especially after the intimacies they’d shared, even if Patrick declared them meaningless. Colin didn’t seem to have the ability to separate his emotions from the physical acts. He wondered if he’d feel differently with another man, but the thought of being intimate with anyone but Patrick was both frightening and unappealing.
The lights were doused, but Colin stayed perched on the edge of Patrick’s bunk. With no one able to see them, he boldly took hold of Patrick’s hand, squeezing tightly, hoping to penetrate the feverish haze. “You’re strong. You’re going to make it.” You must. Colin stroked the dull metal of the tarnished ring Patrick wore on his right ring finger.
For a moment, Colin swore Patrick’s fingers tightened on his, but it passed and Colin could invoke no further response. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Patrick’s flushed forehead. Then, unable to resist, Colin brushed their lips together, the barest touch.
The bobbing lantern of a guard on rounds appeared, and Colin quickly hoisted himself up onto his own bed. He fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of riding, Patrick’s strong arms around him.
When Patrick’s fever finally broke, Colin could hardly believe it. For the first time in endless days, Patrick gazed at him with clear, focused eyes. It was midmorn, and most of the other convicts were on the main deck for their exercise. Those that remained in the barracks were the ill, save for Colin and the guards. Colin had ventured above decks a few times but had worried too much about Patrick and had returned swiftly.
Patrick blinked dozily. “Are we there yet?” His voice was barely a croak.
Colin’s heart soared at the attempt at humor. “I hope so. It’s certainly hot enough.”
Patrick tried to reply but wheezed instead. Colin helped him lift his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders before tipping a flask to Patrick’s lips. He choked at first but was able to get some of the water down before lying back, seemingly exhausted by the effort expended.
Patrick soon slept again and woke only to drink more water and then sleep again. His skin cooled somewhat, and Colin breathed a deep sigh of relief. The next morning, when the lanterns were lit and Colin hopped down from his bunk, he found Patrick sitting on his berth, leaning back against the wooden hull.
“Morning.” Patrick’s voice was markedly stronger.
Colin grinned. “Good morning. You seem much improved.” He sat on the side of the bed.
“Aye. What was it? This sickness?”
“Typhoid. It was in the water, they think. Everything’s been boiled now, or so we hope.”
“Jesus. No wonder I feel as if I’ve been dragged behind a stallion for days.”
Colin had heard whispers of the number of dead and had noticed several bunks were now empty in the barracks. “You’re lucky to be alive. Some of the settlers and a few of us weren’t so lucky. A couple of crew members too.”
“I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
“Me?” Colin shrugged. “You fought it off yourself.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“No need.” Colin found he was blushing under Patrick’s gaze.
A guard shouted for the men in Colin’s group to assemble for their march above decks to bathe. With a parting smile, Colin fell into step with the others. He imagined he could feel Patrick’s gaze on him all the way up to the main deck.
Patrick’s health improved with each passing day as they neared their destination. They had stopped at the Cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa, but the men had not been allowed above decks while in port, much to their disgruntlement. Now they sailed across the Indian Ocean, ever closer to Australia.
There was still a sense of the absurd to Colin’s life on the ship. As much as he’d become acclimated to his uncomfortable and at times menacing surroundings, he’d catch himself imagining he’d see William or his family again soon. He couldn’t even conjure up an image of what Australia might be like in his mind. It was a complete and utter mystery.
His life in England seemed years behind him. Colin wondered how Will was enjoying Cambridge and if he’d made the rowing squad. Rebecca would be doing her studies and obsessively planning her society debut, although it wouldn’t happen for at least another year. She’d designed her dream gown countless times and likely would countless more before the event.
Too many thoughts of home drew Colin into a funk, and he tried to keep his focus on the future. Of course, too many thoughts of what might await him in an unknown land didn’t do much to improve his mood. Reverend Sewell advised him to keep his mind on the present, but considering he was living in fetid, deplorable conditions, it wasn’t much comfort. The heat was extreme, the air in the barracks stifling.
All in all, thirty people had died from the typhoid, and they’d of course been buried at sea. The prisoners were only present for the service for the group of convicts who had succumbed, although Colin noticed several settlers watching from the upper deck.
As the reverend spoke of eternal life, Colin’s attention was drawn to the blonde woman he’d noticed previously. Her face was pale and grim, and she wore black. The man he’d seen teasing her so joyfully was no longer at her side. Although Colin didn’t even know her name, he felt a pang of sorrow for her loss.
Once the bodies were overboard, the ship returned to its normal schedule of daily activities as if nothing had happened. Colin wasn’t sure if God was listening, but he said a silent prayer of thanks that Patrick wasn’t sinking into the abyss of the ocean.
That night, the ship lurched from side to side on the heavy seas, and Colin was grateful his stomach had long become accustomed to the motion. Still, keeping his footing was a challenge, and he stumbled in the narrow passage between the rows of bunks. Before he could crack his knee on the sharp wooden corner of a berth, strong hands caught him about the waist from behind.
For a moment, Colin thrashed, terror flooding his veins, but he realized it was Patrick. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.” He staggered again as the ship rode another wave.
“Lights out!” The guard’s yell boomed through the hold, and a moment later the lanterns were doused.
In the darkness, Colin stumbled forward, the only light coming from the guards’ station beyond the iron bars in the center of the deck. Patrick’s hands stayed firm on Colin’s waist, and when they reached their bunk, instead of letting go, Patrick unexpectedly pulled Colin down with him onto his narrow bed.
A thrill of desire and excitement set Colin’s heart racing. “You are feeling better.”
Patrick’s breath warmed his ear. “Still alive. Might as well celebrate, eh?” Their bodies pressed together, but Patrick seemed to be waiting for a response.
Colin whispered, “Yes.”
As soon as the word was uttered, Patrick roamed his hands over Colin’s body, snaking beneath his clothing, undoing buttons. With so many men around them and the guards on watch, Colin was careful to keep quiet, even as Patrick squeezed Colin’s cock with his warm palm.
Colin’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, but as Patrick tugged his hips to the edge of the bunk, he realized Patrick had gone on his knees on the floor in the narrow aisle. Any man up after the lights were out would walk straight into him. Patrick spread Colin’s legs, and the wet heat of his mouth covered Colin’s cock.
Reaching out, Colin’s fingers tangled in Patrick’s hair as he jerked in delight. As opposed to the first time Patrick had pleasured him like this, there was no gentleness. Patrick’s mouth suctioned tightly, and he bobbed up and down, squeezing and twisting his hand around the base of Colin’s cock as he sucked forcefully.
The roughness was a new and powerful sensation, and Colin couldn’t stop a moan from escaping. It had been a revelation that men pleasured each other with their mouths, and now he was learning it could be as carnal as he imagined it would be to have Patrick inside him, riding him.
Colin thrust his hips up into the heat of Patrick’s mouth, his entire body ablaze. He bit his lip to remain silent. Sweat dripped down his neck, and he struggled to breathe in the muggy air as Patrick took him deep into his throat. Being pleasured like that, his legs spread wide, Colin felt utterly wanton. When Patrick touched Colin’s bollocks, he spilled his seed in a rush of intense pleasure. Patrick swallowed every burst, milking Colin until he was empty.
Panting, he lay back and promptly thwacked his head on the rough, wooden planks of the ship’s hull. As Patrick joined him on the narrow bunk, he stifled his laughter and rubbed the back of Colin’s head lightly. Colin had to smile himself. When the pain receded, he shimmied down to the end of the bed, eager to taste Patrick in turn. He’d imagined it for weeks on end, and no headache would make him pass up the opportunity.
With several yanks, Patrick’s shoes and pants came off. Colin could see outlines in the dark now, and Patrick bent his legs, spreading them wide with his feet flat on the hard bunk. Although Colin had just spent himself, desire rippled through him anew.
Heart thumping, he took Patrick in hand, stroking him tentatively, reveling in the sensation of the heated flesh of another man beneath his touch. After a deep breath, Colin bent down and sought Patrick with his mouth. His teeth scraped the sensitive flesh, and Patrick hissed. Colin slowed himself and took care to cover his teeth with his upper lip as he tasted Patrick again. He explored tentatively, tracing the contours of Patrick’s thick, throbbing cock with his tongue.
The musky scent and taste were as intoxicating as any wine Colin had tasted. Patrick lightly guided Colin’s head lower. When Colin went too far and choked, Patrick brushed his hair back and murmured something Colin couldn’t make out.
After a deep breath, Colin explored farther and tried to establish a rhythm with his mouth and tongue. He hoped he was catching the hang of it and thought Patrick’s increasingly erratic breathing as the minutes went by was a good sign. He could feel Patrick’s pulse thrumming through his cock, and it filled Colin’s senses.
When Colin increased the pressure of his lips, Patrick bucked up. With one hand, Colin massaged Patrick’s bollocks as he sucked harder. After a few more seconds of this, Patrick pulled Colin’s head up and came, splashing his own stomach and Colin’s chin.
Colin darted his tongue out to taste the droplets near his mouth, and he decided that next time—because there had to be a next time—he would like to swallow every last drop. Patrick’s legs flopped down, and Colin fit himself against Patrick’s side.
Suddenly a gruff voice came from across the aisle. “If you’re done wit’ him, I’ll take a turn.”
Patrick’s body tensed. “You’ll take a step closer to a watery grave,” he growled.
The man chuckled. “Never hurts to ask, does it?”
Colin waited for Patrick to send him back to his upper bunk, but instead he wrapped his arm around Colin’s shoulders. A few minutes later, Patrick snored lightly, and Colin grinned into the darkness.