Chapter Two
Thomas was shame-faced when he returned to the deck, knowing his mates were looking at him with pity. A few snickered, some amused remarks about the state of his hide were made, but then business returned to usual. John was happy to see that Thomas went about his work with focused determination. He would never be a sailor, but the boy was at least paying attention. John was glad that the whipping had not been forgotten in the heady aftermath.
It was a mild evening. Thomas had had a bit too much enthusiasm beaten into him, and exhausted himself with work. He removed his shirt to get some cold air on his skin. He slowly became aware that this act caused no little attention to turn to him, though he could not fathom why.
"So, you took it like a child, did you?" a half-drunken settler, Roberts by name, chuckled. He gave Thomas a startling smack on the bottom, making the youth yelp. Roberts laughed fully at this reaction. "Oh, you poor lad. But at least he went easy on you, aye?"
"A-aye," Thomas said, dazed. He moved to rub his backside, but refrained. They had been expecting him flogged. No wonder they had been shocked when he returned to work! By all rights, he should be in the infirmary with blood running down his back. The thought made the normally fair-skinned man go a whiter shade of pale.
"Ye are not so young, are ye?" one man asked belligerently, looking Thomas up and down. "Scrawny, but ye have to be fifteen, in the least."
"I'm sixteen," Thomas said. He turned his back to the deck rail to avoid any further playfully malicious spanks. "It was … Captain Smith was kind enough to go easy on me."
The belligerent man snorted. "Hmph. Ye're a lucky little bugger then."
The man pushed away from the group, muttering. Thomas felt his face burning, and cursed his blush-prone complexion. He adjusted his cap, for lack of anything to do.
"Was he wanting me flogged, then?" Thomas asked, a bit frustrated.
"Don't mind him, lad," Roberts said. "Markham sailed with Smith before, as a lad. He's just jealous of your luck, I s'pose."
"Why?"
"Why, because Smith had him flogged on that voyage, by his own hand," Roberts said, with the attitude of one sharing a well-known story. It must have been, because many of the men around nodded. "Have you not seen the scars on his back?"
Thomas felt his stomach turn over. He had seen them: diagonal slashes of bunched flesh, grayish in color. He could imagine them open and gaping, streaming blood. He tried not to picture John wielding the cat-o-nine, whipping through skin and muscle, but he had seen him ready to do the same to him. His blood felt cold, and he gripped the deck rail tightly.
He was jealous of my luck, Thomas reflected. Well, of course he was. I can't believe … Captain Smith was so kind to me. To think that I tried to assure him that I could stand being flogged! God!
"All right there, lad?" Roberts asked. "You look green."
"I … I think I'll turn in," Thomas said. He tried to smile. "Still a bit sore."
"Of course, lad, of course," Roberts said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And take heart, yeah? Things aren't so black as they seem. Before you know, we'll be landed on the golden shore."
"Yes, right you are," Thomas said. "Thank you, Roberts."
"Twas nothing, lad."
Thomas wandered a bit, debating. He knew that he could not sleep without seeing John again, if only to assure himself of his lenience. It was selfish, he knew, but he needed to see the warmth in John, to dispel the story of the man's flogging.
Lucky … Yes, he was very, very lucky indeed.
"No marks! Not a one!"
John Smith sighed wearily, shutting his eyes. Governor Ratcliffe himself pounded John's desk, but John kept his eyes studiously closed. The Governor's little dog, Percy, leaped from Ratcliffe's arm (no small feat, given the heft of said arm) and landed on the desk. He growled at John, who opened one blue eye to glare at the source of the racket.
"Everyone on board saw the boy's back!" Ratcliffe roared. "How do you think you look just now? I'll tell you what you look, you look a complete and utter fool! Bad enough that you drag him off without any formality, without allowing for an audience to bear witness, but to leave him unscathed?! What were you thinking?!"
"Firstly, he is not unscathed," John said, looking up to meet Ratcliffe's gaze fully. "The boy is sixteen. You yourself called him a child, did you not?"
"I did," Ratcliffe allowed through gritted teeth. "I did not mean to imply, however, that he should be punished as one. Surely, a proper flogging would have done wonders to mature him."
"I think a proper flogging would have undone him," John said. "The lad's not a sailor, he's a settler. He's ill and away from home. All he needed was a sharp reminder of the stakes. I gave him that."
"You gave him a schoolboy's spanking!" Ratcliffe bellowed. "A man of your reputation-"
"I have a reputation for being capable of making my own judgments upon my own men," John interrupted, getting to his feet. "You will be the law on land, sir, but while these men stand upon the sea, they are mine to deliver there. You must trust that I can do so."
"Oh must I?" sneered Ratcliffe.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," John called.
"WHAT!" Ratcliffe demanded, whirling around to confront the intruder.
To both men's surprise, it was the lightly disciplined lad himself. Thomas flinched upon stepping into the tension, and took a step back. He murmured an excuse to go, but Ratcliffe grabbed him by the arm. He pulled him roughly into the room, shut the door, and unceremoniously threw Thomas over John's desk. Thomas had been bent over so many times this day that he did not know whether to laugh or cry.
John seemed about to laugh, Thomas saw when he lifted his head. He tried to stand, but John stayed him with a hand on his back.
"Let's see, then," Ratcliffe demanded. He had taken hold of his dog again, and was rather brusquely stroking his head (much to the little pug's annoyance). "Or shall I simply take your word for it that you gave him a proper beating?"
"You should take my word for it, but since you don't, here." John leaned over and reached beneath Thomas. The closeness was familiar but still new enough to be exotic, and he felt a surge of eroticism. He had the distinct urge to bite the boy's ear or give his neck a kiss, but stifled it. Instead, he unfastened the lad's breeches, and pulled them down just enough to display the effects of the whipping.
The poor thing, John thought, highly amused. The redness had faded, and Thomas' buttocks were mottled with stern purple bruises. A few times, the strap had licked beneath its mark, and there were a few stripes reaching down to his upper thighs. It looked exceptionally painful, and the more appealing for all that. There is nothing quite like seeing a man punished, all his pride and strength stripped away. It leaves a man naked, in a sense, devoid of his necessary armor. Some men face it with heartbreaking dignity and courage. The younger ones sometimes break, as this one did. Such a disgraceful fuss! But he was rather adorable throughout it, kicking and squirming, that neat little target thrust out in such an undignified manner. Still a boy. No man would have dared allow himself to be so unreservedly unseemly.
John could see that Ratcliffe was thinking along the same lines. There was a bit of flush to his face, and his hands curled from the impulse to touch the bruises. Well, that was not surprising, John thought. Ratcliffe had brought his own personal company for the voyage, a scrawny little thing named 'Wiggins'. The unfortunate wretch had absolutely nothing padding his bony backside, but John had heard Ratcliffe whip him on occasion. It gave John a start to realize that even the delicate, fussy Wiggins had never made a spectacle of his punishments the way Thomas had. Well, John thought, trying to defend Thomas, perhaps that Wiggins simply enjoys it. He seems the type.
"Well, he's black and blue enough," Ratcliffe grudgingly admitted. Unable to help himself, he pressed his thumb cruelly into a particularly nasty welt. Thomas gave a boyish cry, and Ratcliffe smirked. "It would have been preferable if you had given him a few stripes on his back for the men to see, but I suppose it's sufficient … this time."
"Th-thank you, my lord," Thomas said meekly.
John was not very happy with his new lover's backside being ogled by the greedy Governor. Hapless as always, Thomas seemed content to stay there with his arse in the air. John gave said arse a smack and ordered him to get up. Thomas hastily scrambled to his feet, bringing his breeches back up, after which he stood turning interesting shades of red and staring at the floor.
Ratcliffe's eyes flicked from John to Thomas, and back again. He seemed to realize something, and his temper was sedated. Understanding wordlessly passed between he and John.
"See to it there is no need for another lesson," Ratcliffe told Thomas. "If there is, I'll expect it to be a harsher one."
"I won't, sir," Thomas said. "I mean, there won't be another one, no need for one, not at all, sir."
"Hmph. See to it." Ratcliffe looked at John knowingly. "Good night, Captain Smith."
"My Lord Governor."
Ratcliffe left, and Thomas let out the breath he had been holding. John squeezed his shoulder, and went to fetch a bottle of his private stock of wine. Thomas collapsed onto a chair, gave a cry of pain, and jumped to his feet again. Laughing, John poured a glass of wine and handed it to him.
"I about died, sir," Thomas said contritely. "I knew the men were all expecting me flogged, but I never thought the Governor would expect it. Is he terrible upset, do you think, sir?"
"I think he understands," John said, pouring himself a glass of wine. More than he should, he added mentally. "Don't you mind him, Thomas."
"He frightens me," Thomas said softly, more to himself than to John. He took another gulp of wine, looking around the captain's cabin. He was spent to the marrow of his bones, but dared not sit. "They told me about the man who sailed with you when he was young, sir. The one with the scars on his back still, sir? That was what everyone expected to be done to me, wasn't it, sir?"
"Yes."
Thomas took a deeper drink of wine, searching John's eyes. "Why didn't you?"
"That was a different situation entirely," John explained. He sat on the edge of his desk. "Markham was not an unfortunate child, not at all. He was a defiant, troublesome man, even at that age. He was the kind of man that starts a mutiny, if they're not put in place quickly. He started a fight, nearly started a panic wrongfully accusing men of having an outbreak of fever and wanting to send them overboard. Every lash was well-earned, never think otherwise."
"O-oh."
"Thomas, I know it seems cruel to you," John said gently. "But would it not be crueler to refuse to lead men, even as they follow another into chaos? Into tragedy?"
"Is it difficult, sir?" Thomas asked curiously. "The flogging?"
"All of it is difficult," John admitted. "But not so difficult as living with the burden of inaction. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," Thomas said after a moment's consideration. "Yes, I believe I do."
"Good lad."
Seeing that Thomas was swaying with exhaustion, John took his empty wine glass from him. Knowing the youth would be sore enough the next day without having to sit down now, he led him to his bed. Thomas lay on his stomach, sighing in pleasure at the fine feather mattress. He buried his face in the pillow for a long moment, nearly suffocating from the feathery odor.
"An actual bed," he said, lifting his face and sneezing. "All to yourself. I've never had a bed to myself before, nor yet one with such a fine mattress."
"There are benefits to being a leader of men," John said with a smile. The scent of feathers and his own body sweat rose from the mattress, mingling with Thomas' younger unique smell. John pulled off his hat, turning it over in his hands ponderously. "Why the cap, boy? I never see you without it."
"I, er, as to that … Well, I had lice once." He scratched a spot in his red hair at the memory. "When it was gone, my parents got me that. It would hardly stay on my head when we first bought it, but I grew into it. Never had the lice again and, well, I suppose I've just gotten used to it. My mother never let me out of the house without it."
Thomas had smiled at the memory of home, but then he grew serious. John was seated at the edge of the bed, and Thomas put his head in his lap. John ran his fingers through his gingery hair. Surely enough, his scalp was free of lice. He doubted even the cap could keep the common nuisances away forever, let alone body lice, but refrained from saying so.
"Will I ever see them again, sir?"
John wished he could tell him that they would be reunited one day, certainly. However, the truth of it was that there was a very good chance Thomas would never see his family again. He might be killed by the New World. His family might die of any number of plagues the London poor suffered. Accidents could whisk life away as quickly as it granted it.
"I don't know, Thomas," John said honestly.
Thomas sniffed, and scrubbed the back of a hand across his eyes. It was moist when he took it away, but his eyes were dry again. John bent his head down to kiss his forehead, swinging his legs up onto the bed. Thomas obligingly pushed over to give him room.
"It's all right, lad, go on and cry."
Thomas looked up in surprise. "But-"
"I was your captain earlier, when I told you to be a man," John said. "Right now, I'm only John Smith. And I know how you feel. I left home very young. No one was there for me, but … let me be here for you. For one last night, be a child. Miss your family and your home, mourn friends you'll never set eyes on again, and be afraid of this journey. Let it all out. You can grow up in the morning."
"Oh sir," Thomas choked, his voice cracking. He lifted himself up and embraced John tightly. All the misery of the past month crashed down on him, and he began to sob into his shirt. "I-I'm just so frightened, sir. I thought I would be stronger. I really did. I thought I was r-ready. But I'm not excited anymore or anything, nothing but-but disappointed in myself and-and-and-"
"Frightened," John provided, patiently stroking his back as if he were a small child.
"I'm a coward!" Thomas wailed, increasingly upset. "And nothing I d-do is right. Nothing. Everyone else is so good with everything, and I'm only small and weak and-and a boy. Just a stupid little boy."
"You are a boy, there's no shame in it," John said with an affectionate smile. He held the slender lad closely, kissing his cheek, behind his ear. He patted his back steadily, a curiously paternal gesture. "It will be all right, lad. You'll get your bearings. You'll learn. I can teach you. I'll make a man out of you if it kills us both."
"It probably will," Thomas said glumly. He slumped in John's arms, resting his head against the man's chest. "I could have killed a man today. All I've thought about since you took me to be punished was myself, but that was the reason for the whole thing. How can I be so selfish?"
"You're not," John said. "You would not be out here risking your life to bring your family a better future if you were selfish. You were simply frightened, and little wonder. Floggings are to be feared."
"And I couldn't even take one, at that." Thomas wiped his eyes. "John? Sir?"
John was beginning to feel drowsy himself. He leaned back against the pillows, yawning. "Mm?"
"You didn't spare me a flogging only because you … well, because you wanted to … have me." Thomas blushed. "Did you?"
"A flogging would have broken you, and I would never break a man," John replied. He caressed the youth's shoulder, and gave the tip of his upturned nose a kiss. "I am very fond of you, however, and I will admit that I was loath to scar you. You have lovely fair skin, like most redheads."
Thomas looked down at the display of said skin on the back of his hands dubiously. Truth be told, he was growing tired of his fair complexion, as it tended to crack and itch when exposed to the sun on a clear day. Not to mention how often his emotion was given away by all that damned blushing! Of course, if it had saved him a flogging, that certainly outweighed the smaller annoyances.
Thomas took John's hand in his own. It was calloused and his skin was tanned from travel and weather, a strong and capable hand. Thomas' own looked small, pale, and weak beside it. He kissed John's thick knuckles, and then moved closer to kiss his neck. The stubble of a day's growth of beard scratched his own smooth skin, and the sensation (so different from kissing a woman!) gave him an erotic thrill. Thomas opened his mouth onto John's, and the captain kissed him back with languid pleasure.
"I was so alone, John," Thomas sighed, sinking into John's arms again. "I felt so alone. Thank God for you, John, even if this is a sin."
John lay down, keeping the lad rested on his chest. Thomas settled down for sleep, pulling the covers tightly over them.
"I had already decided to spank you," John said, back to the point. "I could not bring myself to flog you, before I even knew I wanted you."
"When did you realize that, then?"
John snorted, recalling the unexpected and rude announcement of his desire that his body had made. "It was just then, right when I put you over my knees," he said. "Well, you were essentially naked, and it has been a month since we shoved off. There you were, with that wonderful pert arse of yours completely offered up to my mercy. In all honesty, I didn't even want to whip you."
"You didn't?"
"Not to say I didn't want you punished," John said firmly. "You've put me through absolute hell, you do know that? No, I wanted to hurt you, definitely. But I wanted to use my hand, to get the feel of your bum trembling under my palm. I swear to God, next time, I'll be sure to do so."
Thomas' stomach felt floppy and queer. He did not know whether to dread this scenario or desire it. "I did say that I wouldn't give you cause for another lesson."
"Oh, you will," smiled John. "Not many things are certain in life, Thomas. It's a rare treat to be able to depend upon a prophecy. And I assure you, it can be depended upon that you will earn yourself a smacked bottom or two before this adventure is over."
Thomas buried his face in the crook of John's arm, not knowing what to say to this. John chuckled, ruffling his hair. He reached for the oil lamp on the table and turned it off, leaving them in darkness.
"If you're fond of me, how could you enjoy beating me so?"
John's smile was lost in the darkness. The petulance in Thomas' voice made it clear that he was not too old to sulk.
"There are many more pleasures to be had from sex than you'd know," he said. "There is an order and a violence to it. One gives, one receives. One leads, one follows. It is like discipline in that, and there is pain. You enjoyed that pain, did you not?"
"I did, didn't I?" Thomas marveled.
"You did," John confirmed dryly. "I did not truly harm you, I merely gave you a spanking- a well-deserved one at that. Did you not find something erotic about it? Were you not incited by the arousal of the thing to run into my arms and kiss me in thanks?"
"It-it wasn't in thanks!"
John grinned, a flash of white teeth in the moonlight. "Wasn't it?"
Thomas opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. He frowned deeply, clinging to the man's chest as he pondered his words. Had he been aroused by it? John had slipped his hand under his breeches and was rubbing his sore bottom. The bruises throbbed beneath his touch, but Thomas had to admit that he did not want him to stop. John gave him a little pinch, a tiny twist of fire, and Thomas felt something stir in his loins.
"I was shocked, when you threw me over your lap as if I were no more than a babe," Thomas said softly. "I was frightened, but … I felt odd. Alive, like. I could feel the very air on my skin, and every inch that was exposed. For just a moment, it was almost relieving. I'd been trying so hard to be the man an expedition like this demands, but over your knees, John, I … I was just the child I felt like. It was simple, nothing expected of me but to take my punishment."
Thomas thought back. He remembered the feel of John's legs through his boots, as he clutched at him for some sort of support. The way a shift of John's knee lifted his buttocks humiliatingly. How good it felt to be able to scream and cry, let everything he had been holding in be beaten out.
"Yes," Thomas finally assented. "Yes, I was grateful."
"And quite fortunate," John said. "You don't intend to go on kissing men in that manner, do you?"
"Oh, no sir!" Thomas exclaimed. He buried his face in John's shirt. "I still don't know what came over me. I've never been the sort that- I mean, I'm not a-a wanton sodomite. Or … I wasn't."
John began to shake, and Thomas looked up at him in horror.
"I don't see how it's funny, sir!"
"Ah ha, no, you wouldn't, would you?" John chuckled, trying to suppress his mirth. "Poor lad. Get some rest, you'll need it."
"How can you possibly laugh at-at-"
John gave his bottom a light swat. "Hush, lad. Sleep now. You've had a long enough day."
Thomas was already falling into a doze. He murmured something unintelligible. John stroked his back and patted it alternatively, giving his face and the top of his head little kisses. Within minutes, Thomas' breathing had slowed into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.
John had to admit that he had missed having another in his bed. A longtime traveler, John had long since given up any notion of being choosy about who he chose to share his nights with. Loneliness was insidious, it crept into a man like the chill of a foggy night. Before he even realized it, the cold was rooted into his core, and he felt that he would never be warm again. John usually prepared to fight the freeze of loneliness, but the thought had simply not entered his mind this time. He was excited to be sailing to the New World for colonization purposes, and had been uncharacteristically introspective until now.
John was grateful, as well, though he would never dare tell Thomas that. He was glad the unlucky lad had crossed his path, even in such a tumultuous way. The shock of lust had been so overwhelming that he had been forced to succumb to it, and thank God that Thomas had been receptive. Now he had a warm, neat body in his arms, a shade in the moonlight. The boat creaked and groaned around them, above the splashing of the waves. The sea was a lonely place indeed. There was no place like it to enjoy the merging of bodies, holding to solidity in a world of water.
