An Officer's Boon Read online

  Vivienne Cox

  An Officer’s Boon

  A M/M Historical Drama

  Copyright © 2020 by Vivienne Cox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Also by Vivienne Cox

  Preface

  This is the tenth instalment in the Pirates and Play series. It’s strongly advised that you read the first novel to become familiar with the characters and their relationships.

  Chapter 1

  The sun had already set when the Athena put into port. Algeria. Even in night’s darkness, the docks were filled with bright colours, some children and citizens assembling to watch the majestic ship sail into the harbour.

  When the freshly minted Lieutenant James Thomas set foot on the gangplank, he drew in a sharp breath. The docks positively reeked; of dead fish that had been lying in the sun for too long, of sharp spices and perfumes, of things he decided not to examine too closely. He wrinkled his nose, quickly passing by several outstretched hands that grabbed at him, at his uniform. There was not much they could steal from him. Most of his money he had spent on his new, pristine Lieutenant’s uniform whose brocade was stiff with his pride. He had served as acting Lieutenant for seven months before, but now he had passed his exam and truly wore his rank.

  They had set sail the day after, patrolling the Barbary coastlines in a stifling routine mission of nearly six weeks. The Athena had been escorting the East India Company’s trade vessels, and no brigand had dared to attack the proud ship of the line. They had been on constant alarm, but nothing had occurred, which left James with all the built-up tension of an expected fight which had never come. His mood was restless for this long-desired shore leave in which he could celebrate his promotion, alone. With his 18 years, the other Lieutenants considered him too young for this responsibility, and to his former Midshipmen colleagues he had suddenly become a strict and feared superior.

  Impatiently, he made his ways through the masses into the narrow alleys of the port, searching for a tavern that suited his mood. The pouch with the meagre remains of his last prize money was safe from grasping hands, firmly attached to his belt.

  When he pushed open the door of a tavern called the “Black Tide”, the sound of drunken laughter and brawls greeted him. It reeked even worse than the docks, but it was one of the establishments his Captain had suggested to his officers, one that was catering to the English sailors, serving the liquor they desired even against their local law, as long as the amount of coin was right. If James did not celebrate with other officers, he would not forgo his drinks as well.

  He made his way to a secluded table in one of the darker, shoddy corners, where a barmaid took notice of him. He ordered a tankard of rum and ignored her winks and the fleeting touches as she brought it, merely paid and drank deeply. He definitely was in the mood for company tonight, he mused, but neither her heaving bosom nor her painted face and her faked smile had caught his fancy.

  So he drank quickly, with an almost grim determination, and when she passed by again, ordered a bottle rather than another tankard.

  If no one would drink with him, then he would have to do his best on his own. Over the course of nearly an hour, the bottle diminished, and when he rose to his feet, the better part of it was gone. The burn down his throat had done nothing to quench the burning restlessness inside him. Still, he remained steady on his feet, only his head mildly whirling as he passed through the tavern with sharp, measured steps, the night already pitch dark as he walked out and stretched.

  Outside of the tavern, a few lanterns swayed in the sea breeze tiredly, their lights low and guttering. The docks were far from empty, and this side of them, frequented by foreign sailors, remained busy most nights. To be sure, there was always the threat of the Sultan’s laws, but Algiers was first and foremost a den of opportunity and the Barbary Corsairs weren’t above flouting any law if it meant profit. It was muggy-hot, sticky and stinking of bilge and rotting fruit. And sandalwood, pouring from a brazier in front of a one-eyed man, cackling to himself as he offered his incense to any who passed him. There were sounds in every dark corner; soft laughter, moans, sometimes a low cry. The new lieutenant’s gold braid gleamed in the dim light. There was a soft shuffle, then a small hand was thrust under his nose, fingers grimy and jewelled, henna black-red on the palm. “Baksheesh?” a low voice behind him to the right murmured.

  Then there were eyes, huge and dark, ringed in smoke. Almost a head shorter than the Englishman, they floated like black moons above a thin tunic of flame-coloured silk that fluttered like a drooping sheet.

  Taken by surprise, James pulled his head back sharply, and then turned on his heel, staring at what had to be one of the local women. Golden skin, gleaming against the silken tunic, dark hair and darker eyes, lit with a strange fire that seemed to resonate in James’ gut. A fine-boned face was hidden beneath the braided hair, red silk covering the lithe body. “What do you want?”

  The lips quirked into a gold-toothed smile. “Ahhh…a drink?” The eyes were dancing, light refracting off the bracelets on the slender wrists. The tunic sleeve flapped faintly as the outstretched hand moved in an oddly graceful gesture of pleading, like a bird frightened from a branch, then easing into flight.

  Without hesitation, James pressed his bottle into the slim fingers. He had already had quite enough, in any case. The hands were as filthy as the whole port seemed to be, but strangely, this time, it did not disturb him. He was used to tar and dirt aboard a ship, and a brief touch of the calloused fingers to his sent shivers through him. His teeth bared into one of his quick grins, and had he seen it, he would have called it predatory.

  The braids and tangles of thick hair tumbled as the bottle tipped back. “Thank you.” That smile flashed, the fingers weaving invisible webs in the air. “Fine uniform. You…want?”

  The dim light caught in sloshing amber liquid and golden teeth, thrown back at James from this surprising exhibition of a certain wealth. If his own interest was any indication, her trade was going well enough. “Perhaps. What are you offering that you think I could want?” Better to be certain. It would not do if he simply fell for the trick of a very ambitious pick-pocket.

  A slow wink, long lashes dragging down over gleaming eyes, and one hand stole from under the cover of its scarlet sleeve to barely brush against his breeches, then disappeared as quickly. “Whatever ya like, love.” The smile was inviting enough, despite the glittering teeth against dark skin. God only knew, the local women were a brutish crew, hardly fit for any decent man, but at least this one wasn’t babbling in her foreign cant.

  His breath drawn out in a sharp hiss, James had to suppress the shiver running down his spine. This was positively mad, burning like rum and twice as inebriating, but he was beyond caring, slightly drunk, reckless and painfully aroused. He shifted his stance and eyed her coolly. “How much?”

  A shrug. “Cross my palm with silver once.” The hand was held out, dark eyes anything but coy. “You got a room or here?” There was a challenge in the expression, almost amusement that seemed out of character. Most whores wheedled or bargained, playing at flirtation as a sop to a customer’s conscience. This one was bold as brass.

  The coins clanked as Ja
mes lifted a good part of the meagre contents from his pouch into his hand, letting the light catch on them before he stowed them away once more. He might be rash, but he was not stupid enough to pay in advance. “A room.” He could not afford soiling his new and expensive uniform by dallying with a whore in a dirtied dockside alley. Only a few yards away, there was one of the many inns, filthy on the outside, but hopefully cheap and at least somewhat clean. “Follow me.”

  Chapter 2

  The slight figure fell in step behind him, jingling faintly. When they reached an establishment that the Navyman thought appropriate, a gold-bordered veil was draped over the face, leaving nothing but black eyes, smudged in antimony, that watched from a shadowy corner before ascending the stairs.

  They creaked with every step, and James feared the door would fall from its hinges, so much did it protest against opening, but there was a window overlooking the docks and the bed at least did not attempt to crawl away.

  His breath had accelerated, sharply aware of any sound in the dim room. Pinioning his companion against the door, he withdrew the veil and brought his lips against the exposed throat. Moaning, he brought one hand up to tangle in thick hair, the other stroked up from lean waist, over the protruding hipbones, when, instead of soft breasts, his fingers found hard pectorals. He froze and drew away. “You are no woman!”

  “Never said I was.” A breath of laughter, then a very sharp blade at his throat. “An’ if you are disappointed, don’t try t’take it out on me.” The knife disappeared back to wherever it had been hiding under the scarlet silk, one arm still wound around his neck. The light was enough to make the features out better than in the street: long throat arching from the rounded collar, the face remarkable.

  For a moment, James merely stared, painfully aware that the man, whoever he was, could have killed him before he even noticed. He had been so certain, mainly because he had not expected to be approached by a man. Yet, the painted dark eyes, the fine cheekbones and the elegant bow of red lips still held the same allure, even now, even knowing.

  Even knowing that he could hang for this. In truth, that merely added to his excitement. He was not blind, nor deaf. He knew what men did with one another belowdecks once night and silence fell.

  Curiosity as to what they risked their lives for got the better of him and he reached a decision. “And I never said I was disappointed,” he hissed and renewed his touch, firmly gliding up the planes of muscle.

  The slender body relaxed against him, hands wound in the hair that strayed from under his wig. “Oh good. Then let’s make you a bit more comfortable, eh?” The fingers danced up the elaborate braid admiringly. “Must be such a brave ‘un, ain’t ya?” The lips teased along his jawline and it was only when the creature was suddenly shorter that James realised he’d been standing on his toes. He unwound the veil from his shoulders, and opened a few buttons of the brocade waistcoat.

  “I will have you know, my name is James.” The uniform suddenly seemed even more stifling, far too hot and heavy. Wrenching himself away from the tight embrace, James untied his cravat, and took a moment to smooth it carefully before draping it over the back of the single chair, then unpinned his wig and set it down. The last buttons of coat and waistcoat followed urgently.

  Clad only in his shirt and breeches, he turned, his companion right behind him, and finally he could no longer resist the long stretch of golden skin, biting down at the side of his throat. “And what is yours?” His breath was hot against the arched neck.

  Another soft laugh in his ear and long, clever fingers worked at the collar of his shirt. “Oh, whatever you like, love. Or just Alexander. Don’t matter t’me.” Alexander’s dark eyes stole a glance down at the shoes. Damnation. No boots. And they’d be too big anyway. The lieutenant was a sight bigger than he by far.

  “Alexander” wheeled away from James and checked the washbasin with one finger, wrinkled his nose and held up one hand. “Let me take care of this.” He wound the veil around his head once more and disappeared out the door, returning some minutes later with a fresh basin and towel. “Now, let’s get you nice and relaxed.” He let the veil flutter to the ground and, for the first time, James could see he was barefoot, his ankles chiming with geegaws that glinted in the light. He set the basin on the floor and knelt down beside it. “Go on and sit down, love.”

  James’ mouth opened for a second to insist that, since he was the one paying here, he should issue the orders, yet, the first hint of cleanliness in this port intrigued him and so he complied, settling back as comfortably as he could with his breeches protesting against the strain. “If you give me Alexander as your name, I will call you by it.” He shifted a little, eyes locked intensely on the figure kneeling before him.

  He got another silvergilt grin as his shoes and stockings were removed and Alexander proceeded to soak the towel in the water and gently washed his feet, lingering over the high instep with a smile. The breeze from the window picked up the scent of attar of roses from the water and sent it swirling around the figure in red, intoxicating and elusive.

  First one foot, then the other, then Alexander reached back and let the rest of his hair loose. It was absurdly long, woven into many braids and black as tar. He flipped the whole heavy mane forward over James’ white feet and ran his hands up into it, drying them.

  At first, James tensed at the tickling touch, but he barely noticed, captivated. This was not at all what he had expected from being with a man. He had expected need, hard and furious, not care, not this gentle, peculiar washing and drying of his feet. Not the coarse texture of hair dragged up over his heel, the barest of touches but so very stimulating. And he certainly had not, at this point, expected his thoughts to turn towards the Holy Book, to the sinner washing the Saviour’s feet, and certainly not with himself in the role of the latter.

  Alexander sat back on his heels and reached up to unbutton the tunic. The silk slid off one shoulder and he leaned forward, pressing the barest of kisses against the bulge in James’ breeches, his fingers working them open and easing them off his legs with apparent practise. He sat back again and smiled. “So, James. Wot exactly do you want?” his voice was low, hair tumbling about his face, curling where it was damp.

  For a moment, James found no answer. He had hired the whore on the whim of a moment, had wanted relief and release, but knew not what exactly he wanted. Although he had never been with a man before, he was aware of the possibilities, and the sheer thought made him lick his lips.

  He pulled Alexander up to face him, let his hands explore the now-bared skin where before he had recoiled in surprise, dragging the calloused pad of his thumb hard over the lines of firm muscle. Then, he brought his lips again to the pectorals, slow and exploring, before he withdrew and voiced the first thought that came to his mind. “Your mouth. I want you to suck me.” For a moment, his face coloured in a faint blush, but need quickly overcame his awkwardness. He was paying for this, after all.

  Alexander hid another smile under his hair. The young lieutenant was adorably shy. And more than adorable, even without the blush. He ran his fingers into the tousled hair and trailed kisses down the firm chest, pausing to lick delicately around his navel, then down further, lips and lashes flicking against the hard prick. He settled himself on his knees between James’ long legs, his fingers grasping and pressed a kiss to the very tip of the hard shaft before taking it gently into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head.

  Chapter 3

  The cry James bit back became a long, strangled moan as he was engulfed. Knuckles white, his hands gripped the sheets tightly, and, for a moment, he was surprised he did not simply fall back onto the bed. Torn between closing his eyes tightly and staring at the dark head between his legs, James gritted his teeth to stop the embarrassing whimper that escaped. His breathing was harsh, coming in gasps, trembling as his body did with the effort of holding still. “Oh God!”

  Alexander’s head bobbed as he picked up a rhythm, lips closing tigh
t, then loosening as he warmed to the task, one hand braced against James’ hip, the other rolling his balls gently as he let his throat open.

  James was trembling, shudders running along his thighs and Alexander glanced up at him, sternly suppressing another smile.

  Black eyes caught green ones the moment Alexander sucked him in whole and James threw his head back, squirming and spasming as he spilled himself into the accommodating heat. He shuddered, spine arched and mouth open as he greedily drew in deep breaths.

  Alexander continued to lap at him until James was thrashing beneath his tongue, his fingers still fondling below the softening cock. The taste was almost sweet-salt and the flush on those pale cheeks was delicious. Alexander gave one last lick and sat back again, smiling. “Like that?”

  He used the towel to clean James up, his hair falling forward between his thighs once more.

  James laughed breathlessly. There was not much he could have articulated at the moment, but this he knew for certain. “Oh yes.” He was still so very sensitive, first the towel and now the coarse hair, relentless between his legs, making him squirm. “Have mercy. For a while at least.”

  In no battle had he ever asked for this, but he was not certain if he could suck in enough air if Alexander continued this sweet torture now.

  Alexander slithered to his feet, letting the silk tunic fall away. His bare chest was smooth and unmarked, arms slender and sinewed, chiming with bracelets. He let the laces of the baggy purple trousers with their funny drawn-up hems slide free and kicked them aside as he straddled James, his hair falling to shadow the pale face. “Ain’t you just sweet, love. Mercy it is, then.” His lips travelled from one eyelid to the other, then retreated.

  Normally James would have protested at being called sweet, but he did not. Instead he watched Alexander strip with a smile on his face; instead he stared into black eyes for a while, twin darkness with the lure of a syren. Again his hands mapped the smooth skin, up along the well-defined collarbone, a curiosity to his touch as he took note of even slightest reaction.