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They have rules: darkness, and silence. There is too much at stake, no matter how dearly Thomas would like to see the smooth arch of Edward’s back gilded under lantern light, or hear him gasp and beg. Instead, they learn each other by feel and by breath, fingers fumbling for buttons and stinging with the force of teeth clenched down around a moan. It must be enough. Discovery is unthinkable.
Tonight Thomas has him flush against the wall of the lower deck, whiskers catching on the rough grain as Thomas teases him with slick fingers. It has been too long since they have been able to sneak away like this, unnoticed and unencumbered by duty. Edward had whimpered pitifully when Thomas had first closed his hand around his cock, rutting back against Thomas’ burgeoning hardness instead. Greedy thing. Don’t worry, I’ve got you, he thought as loudly as he could, biting his lip against the words as he loosened Edward’s stock just enough to press a handful of it into his mouth. Now, he can feel saliva dampening the fine silk where he still holds Edward’s face with one hand, the other deftly working him open.
Thomas has another rule, one to which he has not seen fit to make Edward privy, falling as it does on his own shoulders. He must never allow himself to become so consumed that he might miss a telltale sign presaging discovery. He will keep Edward safe and held and pleasured, and once that is accomplished, his lieutenant soft and shaking in his arms, relieved however briefly of the momentous weight of his station, Thomas will see his dashing uniform put to rights, smooth his unruly hair down, and send him back upstairs. Thomas will remain, breathing through his arousal until it will no longer besmirch the cut of his neat trousers. Later, once his duties are fulfilled, the captain abed, he will retire to his tiny berth and bring himself off to the thought of Edward splayed out in the sunlight, choking out pretty cries as Thomas fucks him. This, if he does not fall directly asleep, exhausted.
Even now, three fingers deep in Edward and straining against his own trousers, he forces himself to pull his face away from the sweet, sweat-damp nape of Edward’s neck and look towards the ladder. Darkness, still, and silence. All well. He twists his fingers again, feeling rather than hearing the rasp in Edward’s throat. He is just about to bury his face in Edward’s hair again when he sees it – a warm, wavering light, growing intrusively brighter as it nears the top of the steps. He is immediately on guard, heart beating staccato, but no, he mustn't freeze, mustn't give the man pressed against him a reason to do something so silly and ruinous as panic. He wills himself still, relaxed even, and slows his movements, petting Edward inside and out as he strokes his neck, his hair, keeping him calm as one would a small, precious creature. He waits, and watches. Perhaps –
But no luck. Two sets of footsteps approach, one tread heavy and one light and skittering, still barely audible over the groaning of the ice and timbers and the ubiquitous chatter of the men above unless one were listening intently. Two silhouettes against the orange glow of a lantern come spilling down the ladder, wasting no time merging into one. Thomas breathes, steady, steady, neck kinked at a painful angle to keep his eyes on the interlopers. They are making a pathetic effort to keep quiet, hands rasping too roughly against clothing, the click of the lantern being set down a discordant note in the ambient soundscape. Edward, bless him, is too far gone to notice anything amiss. In the scant illumination reaching their little corner, tucked amongst the crates, Thomas can see Edward’s eyes shut tight, a deliriously pained set to his brow. It nearly punches the air out of Thomas, being able to look upon his face like this, and he unthinkingly pushes himself closer to Edward’s back and flexes the fingers still buried inside him. Edward convulses. Thomas curses himself and wrenches his gaze away.
The light catches on a flash of scarlet, a Marine’s coat, stark against the backdrop of aged wood. Thomas is profoundly grateful for the drab coloring of his own uniform, shielding both Edward and himself, merging them with the shadows. It picks out highlights on a head of messy black curls as it sinks downwards, an ink blot against the scarlet and then just a subtle shine against dark trousers. Pale hands tangle and tug, utterly ruining the clean lines of red and gold. The soft fumbling of fabric, a rough intake of breath, the wet slide of a tongue - these are all too loud in Thomas’ ears. Too bright, too loud, eminently unwelcome.
Thomas’ first reaction is scorn. That these two care so apparently little for each other’s well-being to expose themselves like this...it is unfathomable to him. Never would he allow himself to jeopardize the standing or relative safety for which both he and Edward have worked so hard. Quick on the heels of that, however, is a mean and wild envy. He wonders how many times the Sergeant has watched those wide blue eyes as he took his pleasure, how many different sounds he has wrung from the steward’s body and memorized. How dare they be so free with each other, so reckless, while he and Edward must sneak and skulk, stealing their moments together like base thieves, like something shameful…
As if out of spite, a wet, high keen echoes through the room, followed by a harsh groan. Thomas only realizes he had been thrusting into Edward almost roughly, a hand tight around the base of his neck, when Edward freezes, clenching down. His dark eyes are wide and flitting about wildly, his shoulders drawn up tight against Thomas’ grip. He is shaking, nerves and suspended lust reverberating through him, through Thomas’ fingers up his arm and sharp into his heart. This present animal fear, the constant stress of command only alleviated by their rare and furtive fumblings - it is not to be borne. God, how Thomas tries to be an anchor for this man, a safe harbour, the welcoming embrace of a wife. Edward deserves these things and more, and yet here he is, trembling and terrified against a wall in the damp hold of a ship. No, Thomas will not stand for it. Edward deserves to bask in light, and he deserves to cry his pleasure from the maintop.
Thomas reaches up and tugs the stock from Edward’s mouth just as he curls his fingers mercilessly. Edward shouts.
Thomas is already watching as two faces snap towards him. Solomon’s expression of shock quickly turns into something harder. It would look like fury if Thomas was not so familiar with the look of someone desperate to protect. Tommy is obviously mortified, eyes huge and shining. Thomas holds Sol’s gaze, watching as it shifts from caution to confusion and finally to curiosity the longer Thomas remains silent. Regardless of the crates obscuring most of their bodies, Sol must certainly notice the second dark head of hair in their shadowy corner, and even if he doesn’t, there can be no wholesome explanation for any of this. Edward has his face turned away, buried between the wall and his own shoulder, gasping with shame and yet still making abortive little twitches back onto the fingers inside him.
Sol seems to reach a decision. He pets Tommy’s curls, sushing him softly, gentler than Thomas had thought him capable. He spreads his legs a little wider, locks eyes with Thomas, and guides Tommy back down with a strong hand on the back of his neck. Tommy goes easily, seemingly ready to place his trust in whatever Sol intends.
Thomas, in turn, winds his fingers in Edward’s hair and urges his head up and out of its hiding spot, places a hand on his cheek and turns his face to the light. Thomas can feel Edward’s shock like a living thing between them as he realizes what is happening, has been happening, and will continue to happen only scant meters from them. His breath turns ragged as Thomas redoubles his efforts below. Thomas, for his part, is enraptured watching Edward’s face, his tongue as it wets his lip again and again, the shadow of his eyelashes elongated and dancing on his cheek in the unsteady illumination, so much so that he nearly misses the moment of near awe when Sol lifts his gaze from Tommy’s mouth on his cock and realizes just who Thomas has against the wall. He curses, guttural, at the same moment Thomas curls his fingers again and Edward chokes out a moan.
Thomas is painfully hard, and the tension that had wracked Edward’s body is ebbing steadily under his ministrations. Thomas withdraws his hand, keeping Edward tight to his body as he walks them both out from behind the crates. Edward whines and squirms against the arm locked around his chest, and Thomas breathes a steadying noise into his ear, not unlike Solomon had done to Tommy. Now fully in the circle of light, Thomas hooks his chin over Edward’s shoulder and takes him in hand, watching intently as the flush on his cheeks and neck deepens. Beautiful, he thinks, and then stills for a moment.
“How beautiful you are like this, darling,” Thomas murmurs, so quietly he’s sure only Edward can hear, voice catching on the broken pieces of their painstakingly kept rules. Edward gasps, grinding himself desperately against the aching stiffness in Thomas’ trousers.
“Thomas, please…”
And how can he refuse? How could he possibly, when Edward is so pliant and needful and trusting, even in these strange circumstances? When Thomas can finally hear the taut thread of desperation in his usually steady voice, see the slick shine of his own fingers wrapped around Edward’s cock…no, he will savor every moment of this bizarre, heady, illicit dream. He will be greedy and selfish and indiscreet, and by doing so he will give Edward everything he desires, everything he deserves. He cannot in this moment conceive of anything less.
Thomas gives Edward one last tug and then turns him bodily, maneuvering him over a crate with his chest pressed to the wood, trousers sagging artlessly around his knees. As he frees himself from his own clothing and aligns himself, he hears a breathy gasp. He glances over to see Tommy, cheek resting against Sol’s broad thigh, stroking him languorously with one hand and pressing the heel of the other to his own groin as he watches, rapt. Above him, Sol’s eyes are dark and his breathing heavy as he tightens a hand in Tommy’s curls. Good. Let them watch. Let the entire crew and the admiralty and God himself watch. Let them see how lovely his Edward is, and how well Thomas cares for him. Let them hear testimony in the sounds he will bring forth from Edward’s throat. In the end, though, it matters nothing to Thomas who bears witness, so long as he himself may.
Gathering a handful of Edward’s arse, he presses in, marvelling at the sight of himself disappearing into the shadows of Edward’s body. He slips a hand beneath the worn linen of Edward’s shirt as he begins to thrust, fingers finding rows of fine, familiar stitches, and rucks it up, exposing a pale expanse of skin, shadows rippling dreamlike between a shiver at the sudden chill and the flickering lamp light. The warm hue burnishes the flush across Edward’s cheek a deep rose, and Thomas curls himself over the beloved body beneath him to kiss the warmth there, to run his tongue over the delicate shell of Edward’s ear. Even as he finds Edward’s mouth in a messy kiss, Thomas keeps his eyes open, determined to commit every bit of this fantastical moment to memory.
Edward’s limbs have begun a steady tremble, coiling tighter as his hips roll back, meeting Thomas’ every thrust. Little punched out moans escape him on every breath, and he instinctively reaches up to stuff a hand between his teeth. Thomas will not have it, not this time. Insinuating an arm around Edward’s front, Thomas drags him up onto his elbows, reaching a hand down to grasp his length roughly. Edward wrenches his hand from his mouth and clings so tightly to the sharp edge of the crate that Thomas can see the whiteness in his fingers where blood cannot reach.
“Let me hear you. I want to hear you.”
Thomas is immediately rewarded with a long, breathless moan, like something mournful. Nothing so loud as to truly call attention, but thrilling nonetheless. It is the most gorgeous sound Thomas has ever heard. He snaps his hips hard, feels Edward’s cock twitch once, twice against his palm, and then Edward is looking back at him, neck straining as he meets Thomas’ gaze and comes, mouth wet and red and open. The furrow in his darling brow is so similar to the one he wears when he worries that it breaks Thomas’ heart and dooms him to forever recall this moment whenever he sees Edward in the wardroom or the Captain’s cabin, weighed down by some new and terrible burden.
For now, though, Edward is loose-limbed under him, brow smooth, a fine sheen of sweat gilding his skin and darkening his hair. Thomas could look at him like this forever, heedless of the need still thrumming within his own body, but a rasping growl and a wet choke remind him of their company. With an arm still wrapped around Edward, supporting him, they both watch as Solomon thrusts deeply into Tommy’s mouth, teeth gritted as he spills. Although Thomas feels certain he had been watching the two of them, in this moment Sol only has eyes for the man on his knees in front of him. What he sees there, Thomas will never know, turned away from them as Tommy is, but Sol regards it with something akin to wonder.
Edward shifts, and Thomas rocks into him once more before leaning back, a battle raging in him between his unspoken rule of self-denial and his agony at the thought of leaving the perfect, hot grip of Edward’s body. The decision is made for him when Edward arches his spine, reaching back to dig shaking fingers into his hip, urging him closer. He turns again to peer at Thomas over his shoulder, gaze heavy with want.
“Please, not yet. I want you to…inside…”
Thomas is weak, ruined, utterly despicable and lost. He grips Edward’s slim hips hard enough to bruise, gathers him close, and slams in hard. A flurry of motion across the room and Sol is hauling Tommy to his feet, arm tight across the lad’s narrow chest as he gets him in hand and strokes, a mirror image of their own earlier position. Thomas is distantly pleased at Sol’s reciprocity, but all thoughts of the other couple are chased from his mind as Edward clenches around his cock. With a groan Thomas pitches forward again, unforgivably clumsy as he covers Edward’s hand with his own, fingers entwining and scraping splinters from the shoddy wood. Edward keens, oversensitive and used and yet still so welcoming, so good for him. Untangling their fingers, Edward brings Thomas’ hand to his mouth. At first Thomas thinks he’s going to muffle himself again but then Edward’s tongue darts out, licking messily, and Jesus Christ that’s his own spend he’s cleaning off.
With that, Thomas is finished. He buries his face in Edward’s neck, panting, greedily breathing in his scent, as familiar and beloved in the light as it is in the dark. With a bone-deep, rolling shudder, Thomas tenses, spilling helplessly inside Edward. This, this is what we deserve, Thomas thinks wildly, all of this and more, every day of our lives, and although he cannot draw breath to form the words, the fact that he might now allow himself to speak them makes him smile into Edward’s hair. Yes, love, I will tell you all about how I plan to fill every room you inhabit with candles, how I will wake you at dawn with tea and bring you your coat and walk with you to watch the sunrise, how I would set the whole bloody fleet on fire to see it paint you gold. I will breathe into you so you may use my breath to cry out, I will teach my hands to play you as a virtuoso does his instrument, I would cut out my own tongue before ever bidding yours be silent again.
Despite the warmth of these thoughts, the ever-spiteful cold creeps inexorably back in. Edward shivers beneath him, sweat cooling, and whines softly when Thomas withdraws. Across from them, Sol has Tommy tucked under his chin, sleepy-eyed and still gasping, uniform hanging open heedlessly. Thomas ignores them for the moment, intent only on getting Edward comfortable and put to rights. He has a raw pink mark across his cheekbone from the grain of the wood, and Thomas touches it with careful fingers, apologetic but secretly, selfishly pleased. It looks enough like the ruddiness brought on by the frigid temperatures abovedeck that no one will think anything of it, but Thomas will know.
In the guttering lamp light, Thomas finds Edward’s gleaming buttons easily. In no time at all he has his lieutenant immaculate, stock pulled tight and only a little damp. He makes to step away and reach for his own buttons, but Edward’s hand stays him. With fingers still just this side of shaky, Edward does him up, perhaps stroking over his ribs more than strictly necessary as he smooths his shirt down, brow wrinkled adorably as he struggles to tie a stock from this new angle. Thomas is sure he will have to give himself a proper once over before returning to duty, but as Edward carefully tucks that forever-errant lock of hair behind his ear, Thomas finds he does not mind at all.
Sol and Tommy have meanwhile likewise reassembled themselves, although Thomas’ sharp eye immediately finds the tiny but incriminating smear on Tommy’s dark coat. Leaving Edward’s side, he approaches, feeling oddly like he is crossing some indistinct boundary, especially as Sol straightens and steps forward proprietarily. Thomas pays him no mind, coming to a stop in front of the little steward and cocking his head consideringly. He reaches out, plucks the handkerchief from Tommy’s breast pocket, and wets it in his own mouth. Leaning close, Thomas carefully dabs at the small stain. Satisfied, he holds the soiled handkerchief out between two long fingers and gives Tommy his best enigmatic smile. Perhaps the lad will be more careful next time. It wouldn’t do for any of them to call attention to these sorts of assignations, particularly now, as inexorably bound as they are.
He turns back to Edward to find him and Sol watching each other, straight-backed and wary, but as Thomas takes his place at Edward’s side, Edward relaxes minutely, and Sol’s posture follows suit. He gives them both a short nod, then cracks a wry and sudden grin before turning to lead Tommy up. As he makes to grab the lamp, Edward steps forward, hand outstretched, mouth opening as if on a question. Sol regards him for a moment, then shrugs, placing it back down on the crate. Moments later, their boots have disappeared up the ladder, and Thomas and Edward are once again alone.
Thomas, curious, allows Edward to pull him closer to the lantern’s glow. Edward seems almost shy, but as he lifts his hands to gently cup Thomas’ face, running calloused fingers over his cheekbones, his jaw, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that he has resignedly watched grow deeper with every day of this godforsaken journey, Thomas understands. Edward kisses him, sweet and deep, and as Thomas’ eyes fall shut he allows himself to believe for a moment that someday, perhaps, he will open them to the sight of Edward’s beloved face, watching him in turn, both of them illuminated by the soft fingers of the rising sun.