"A Thousand Points of Light"
Author: carmen_085
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters from James Cameron's Titanic, not any real people. I do not own Titanic or any characters from the movie. I do own all original characters.
Summary: Fifth Officer Harold Lowe and Titanic's Nurse Clara Barnett lives become intertwined on the ship's maiden voyage when a young drifter is brutally beaten.
Mature Content at the end of the chapter !
Chapter Two
The bed was one of the most comfortable he'd ever known on a ship, brand new down mattress, fresh white sheets, and a soft flannel quilt. The wood furnishings mahogany, the walls white and freshly painted. It was a far cry from the forecastle hammocks of his adolescence; cramped and unsanitary the crew quarters on schooners often leaked letting in the blinding humidity of summer and the icy chill of winter. Those days never far from his mind, the Titanic felt like heaven on earth. More creature comforts than any man, especially any sailor, could ever want. And still he tossed and turned; caught in the throes of a fitful sleep if ever there was one.
"Why can't I go with you ?" His back turned, George filled the knapsack with a snack, the copy of Tom Dickens that he'd been thumbing, and a brand new pair of binoculars. The sky outside the grand bay window darkening. Neither of them should be going anywhere. George, seventeen and the picture of youthful strength, cut a sharp contrast to Harry, thirteen slight and awkward. Slinging the sack over his shoulder, George turned, eyeing his brother with an air of superiority.
"Because you're still a kid, and I'm not watching you." Harry rebuffed the insult forcing his small frame more erect.
"Bollocks !" George smirked, such tough words. Taking one last look around the study he shook his head. Harry could bluster all he wanted, he wasn't tagging along- not this time anyway.
"Play with Ada, I'll be back before dinner." Harry cast a glance at his younger sister on the floor, doll in hand. Frowning, he looked back up just in time to see George's back disappear through the front door.
"You can't even swim !" His older brother offered no response, the door slamming he was gone. Dejected Harry moped over to the overstuffed chair in front of the window. Penrallt, meaning house carved from stone, stood atop a bluff overlooking Aberamffra Bay. From his seat, Harry could see the gray water sloshing down below.
Two days past Christmas, the holiday had been an ordinary affair in the Lowe household; his father quartered in the shed with a bottle and a paint brush, his mother too exhausted to leave the bedroom. Leading up to the holidays, to supplement their quickly disappearing inheritance, Harriet Lowe rented out rooms in the house turning their home into an inn. Harry didn't mind helping his mother although he'd much rather be out in the punt exploring the bay. Together they'd change the sheets every morning washing them afterward. It was hard labor and he hated seeing his mother working so hard while his father indulged in regular flight of fancy. It just didn't make any sense, and the more he thought about it he felt his eyelids begin to droop.
Harry must have fallen asleep because it was nearly dark when he heard the back door slam. Looking around he saw that he was alone in the study now, Ada having tired of him and gone to her room. Normally he would be excited to see his brother, going to him and chattering endless questions. How far ? What was the wind like? The water, the currents ? He was still angry, though, chastened by their early exchange. Feigning sleep, Harry heard his brother's foot steps slow before changing direction and stomping up the steps.
For years afterward he would question that moment. It was ten or eleven that night when Ada began wailing. George was missing, he'd gone back out to secure the punt and hadn't returned. In short order the entire family filed out into the cold, dark night searching the grounds, the house, and everything in between. Surely George hadn't gone back out onto the water, the current strong now with the tide having come in. All the while looking, Harry couldn't help but be irritated. So smug this morning, now the bloody idiot had them out searching in the middle of the night. Surely just another demonstration of how he could take care of himself. When he saw him he would punch him square in the chest for this and congratulate him on being nothing more than an asshole.
In the end it was George's friend, Morris, who found him floating face down near the punt. Secured with a single rope, the boat bobbed at an odd angle. It was dark and easy to miss but as Morris got a closer look he saw a body in the water. They carried George Lowe Jr back to Penrallt. Harry stared as they placed him on the settee in the front room. Soaking wet, cold, and lifeless he struck a sharp comparison to the youthful happy young man who had taunted him only hours ago. He stood staring not understanding at all. His mother wailed, his father fell into a stupor, and Ada crawled into his bed sniffing against his chest. He was gone…the sea had just reached up and taken him.
Come September of the next year, Harry was desperate to prove to himself and everyone else that he was stronger than his brother- the sea wouldn't get him. Purposefully selecting a day with rough currents, Harry set out for Penrhyn Point. Halfway across the bay, the boat capsized the boon hitting him and tossing him overboard. He was soaked to the bone and shivering so bad he could barely walk, but he made it back to shore. No worse for wear.
That night as he lay in bed, his backside aching from the lashing his old man served up just hours ago. He thought the image of George laying dead would be erased from his mind. Instead it was more clear than it has ever been. His blue lips, his cold unseeing eyes, and shriveled white skin on his hands and feet. His imagination took over from there, leaning in close Harry heard a bubbling. Water spurted from George's mouth filling every corner of the room drowning him in an ice cold torrent.
He woke, sitting bolt upright in bed, chest heaving with fear. Looking around, it took him a moment to realize that he was was in his bed on the Titanic. Safe and dry he swung his legs over the side and took a deep breath. He'd not had that dream in years- successfully locking it and the rest of his boyhood trauma away. His undershirt stuck to his back, wet with sweat. It was the ship, this whole situation had him off kilter and more anxious than he'd been in years.
Rising to his feet he took a few unsteady steps toward the window of his quarters. Unlike most other ships, the Titanic had actual windows in the Officer's quarters and not merely portholes. Shedding his shirt on the floor, Harry shivered against the April chill as he leaned against the glass wearing nothing but his pajama pants. He was still thin and small for his size, the last vestiges of his adolescence unwilling to fade away. While he projected an air of swagger and airy confidence, he was anything but. Confident in his skill as a mariner, absolutely- he'd come up the hard way and it showed. Confident in himself as a man, not completely, the night his brother died robbing him of something he could never get back.
Down below he could see men scurrying about, not even yet day break, and they were hard at work loading cargo into the bottom of the ship. Not for the first time he wondered if he had made a mistake and bitten off more than he could chew. That notion, if it indeed held any water, would soon come to light. They were leaving at noon, bound for Cherbourg and then Ireland before heading out into open ocean. He'd made the Australian run several times, most recently with a mutiny aboard, and had returned each time unscathed. Before that on a square rigged vessel around Cape Horn and to the western coast of South America. Harry was no stranger to long, difficult voyages leaving home for months at a time. But somehow this was just different.
The first light of day crested the horizon, and he knew then that he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep. Maybe if he could lie back down he'd get his heart to stop racing and his stomach to stop churning. He'd think of her, perhaps, although those thoughts had kept him from falling asleep for hours last night . He was painfully aware of how pathetic he was, fantasizing about a woman he'd just encountered in passing. He didn't know a thing about her, didn't know her name or if she even worked on the ship. He assumed she looked like a stewardess but again he had no idea. If she was on the ship he would find out soon. Before they were to start boarding passengers the entire victualing crew, in their fresh white uniforms, would line up on deck for a ceremonial inspection by the captain and his officers. Purely for show, there were many more crew members who had much more responsibility. Nobody wanted to see a blackened stocker or greasy engineer however and below decks is where they would stay.
If it wouldn't have been for the chance at seeing her, he would have been entirely irked by the need to put on another show. Exhaling, his breath clouded glass. There was quite literally no hope for him. Even if he did find her, he had no idea what he would say or do. Harry closed his eyes deciding to get ready for the day. He was on the bridge for the send off and then would be off until the dog watch from 6-8. A nap was what he intended to do as the first real rest of his appointment would come when they docked in Cherbourg. Resolutely he pushed off the window, if he found her it was meant to be; if he didn't well she was most likely better off without him. Either way it was shaping up to be a long day.
If there was one thing Clara wanted to see, it was the ship casting off from Southampton. Through the cracked porthole of the infirmary she could hear the thunderous cheers. Surely it was a sight to be seen. An unfortunate immigrant had fallen between the gangway and the ship, however, and lacerated his leg badly. He looked Scandinavian to her and spoke very little English. His yelling echoed through the small ward, the fresh white sheets already stained with blood. Stitches had been something that she'd only leaned last week. Not usually in a nurse's purview, Dr. O'Loughlin had deemed it necessary "just in case". She'd tried to summon him from the boat deck but apparently he was busy posing for photos with the Captain and his officers.
Well, all but one officer. A steward had found her an hour or so ago, and exclaimed breathlessly that she needed to come to the third class gangway at once. There she found her patient, and a young officer who couldn't have been more than twenty. He had an open sweet face and big brown eyes. Not the man from the boat deck who had occupied the forefront of her mind for the last twelve hours but someone else. This man, while friendly enough, didn't have the same edge. He looked at her but that's all there was, just a glance… an acknowledgement.
Clara needed to stem the bleeding before she could close the wound. Using all her weight she leaned forward putting pressure on the man's thigh. The steward had gone to fetch another officer to stand watch at the gangway leaving her alone with the man whose uniform said Moody.
"Would you mind lending me a hand ?" She heard his footsteps hesitate and then appeared beside her awkwardly putting his hands next to hers. For a second it looked like their redoubled efforts were working, but then just as quickly as he come he was gone, staggered backward. She heard him exhale fast and suppress a gag.
That just figures.
Clara tried to get more pressure, but she was using all her body weight. From behind her she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry miss." He leaned against her, more than what was comfortable, but she reasoned he was probably still queasy and not entirely in control of himself.
"It's alright…" Nodding her head toward the kitchenette she pointed out something of use. "There's ginger on the counter. Cut a small piece and chew it, that should settle you." The young officer, grateful for a distraction more than anything else, nodded quickly. Not before leaving her side however, he removed his White Star Line issued belt and handed it to her.
"Might this help ?" She quickly took it and with little effort maneuvered it around the man's leg. While not totally occluding the blood flow it slowed it enough. Clara breathed a small sigh of relief actually having worried that the immigrant would bleed out right in front of her.
"I think it's working…thanks…" She cast a glance over her shoulder. He was slumped against the counter savoring the taste of the ginger in his mouth, his hat discarded and his hair damp with a fine sheen of sweat. Clara's lip twitched up into a smirk. "You alright over there ?"
His was a bit shaky when he spoke. "I don't know how you can look at that and not be sick."
She offered a light laugh in return. "I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I couldn't." He forced a chuckle from his own lips although she heard no humor. "You can lie down over there if you need to."
He quickly shook his head. "I can't. If someone saw me…" The upright and authoritative posture of the command staff was to be maintained no matter what. She thought she remembered something like that from training. She didn't push it further and turned her attention back toward the young immigrant. The bleeding had finally stopped as his yelling tailed off to a slight whimper. She'd given him morphine before beginning to suture him back together. Busy preparing her supplies, Clara was surprised to find the young officer standing before her back together, posture stiff and upright.
"Thank you miss." She shook her head.
"Clara….Clara Barnett." Wiping the blood from her hands with a rag she extended one toward him.
Normally Moody would have pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand. Forgoing the custom in favor of retaining his breakfast he took her small, delicate albeit strong hand in his own and squeezed tightly.
"Sixth Officer Moody, James." She smiled and nodded, the Brits were so tense about every damn thing, titles most of all. His face cracked and his youth broke through as he offered her a genuine smile. "Jimmy."
Clara's edges softened, the first actual person with feelings she'd met thus far. Squeezing his hand back she returned the genuine sentiment.
"A pleasure." She looked back to her patient now passed out. "Thank you for the belt. I'll return it cleaned and in order." Quickly he held up his hand.
"No !" It came out more forceful than intended. Again his face dissolved into a grin. "It's yours now. I have plenty more." Clara suspected that he'd allow his pants to fall down before he'd willingly lay eyes on another speck of blood. Nodding his head to the man he moved toward the door. "I'll leave you to it." Turning just before he disappeared around the corner he threw her an earnest expression. "Clara….thank you again."
He was gone before she could reply. Setting herself to the task at hand she felt the floor vibrate as the ship pushed away from the docks.
She wasn't there. His heart fell into his shoes when the victualing staff were dismissed below decks. She must have been someone from Southhampton, contracted to prepare the ship before sailing. It was his job to look forward but as the Titanic pushed away from the docks the only thing Harry could do was look back.
Per usual he'd screwed up. Blubbering like an infant not even able to ask her name. Now she was gone forever, fading into the crowds of those wishing them well. That, along with the lack of sleep, had soured his mood considerably. On all of his other postings he'd either been on duty or off, manning the bridge alone for his shifts or making his rounds. This, the day the most famous ship in the world set sail on her maiden voyage, every officer and helmsman was crowded onto the bridge. Along with them Mr. Ismay, Thomas Andrews, and several other rich nabobs had jammed themselves into the small space as well. Had this been his watch alone he would have told them to go to hell. That wasn't how things worked though, which he was quickly finding out.
" , tea for the Captain…." Lightoller turned around looking down his nose. It took everything Harry had to keep an impassive face and a compliant tone. Not trusting his own tongue, he simply nodded and turned toward the Officer's Galley. "Oh and Mr. Lowe, I've switch you to passenger boarding tonight. Mr. Moody made quite a mess of the task this morning." Harry had no idea what that meant but the news did absolutely nothing for his attitude. Greeting and glad handing the Toffs; just what he wanted to do.
Harry squared his shoulders and marched off like the dutiful soldier he was only to slouch and toss his hat onto the counter when he reached the mess. Running an agitated hand through his hair he yanked at the tea kettle a bit too rough, scalding water overflowing and burning the fuck out of his hand.
"Goddamnit." His outburst prevented him from hearing the door open.
"Easy old man. We're barely out of port." Moody entered behind him, closing the door as he sensed this moment needed a bit of privacy. He was silent deciding how to proceed before casually asking, "What's eating you." Despite being junior to him, Moody had always addressed him more as a friend than a superior. Perhaps it should have irked Harry, the informality, but he actually didn't mind at all. In fact it was refreshing to have someone around who didn't have a stick up their ass 24/7.
"All these goddamn people on the bridge. Can't get a single thing done." Exhaling a frustrated sigh he set about pouring the Captain's tea- piping hot with nothing but a slice of lemon. Jimmy looked over his shoulder his lips twitching up.
"Ah…Lights has you making the Captain a cup of tea." Harry couldn't stop the smirk from coming to his face, the crosses a junior officer had to bear. Besides his genuine nature, the other thing that he liked about Jimmy was his innate ability to lighten the mood.
"How did you ever guess ?" Harry stirred the tea. "Guess what else the bastard has me doing…" Moody leaned against the counter crossing his arms over his chest.
Rolling his eyes he snorted a laugh. "I couldn't even begin to imagine…"
Turning to look at him with a pointed stare, Harry made no attempt to hide his disdain, "I've got to go down and load the toffs in at Cherbourg. Apparently you cocked that situation up earlier." The smile faded from Moody's face as he visibly paled shaking his head. It only was then that Harry noticed he had no belt on. "My God what happened to your belt, your pants are about to fall down."
"A man fell between the gangway and the ship. Quite literally a blood mess." Scrubbing his face with a hand he shook the memory away. "Wasn't much help to the nurse I'm ashamed to say. Blood has always been a weakness for me." Harry hummed his understanding not being able to say the same. He'd seen blood and a lot worse on a schooner for months at a time. "The nurse they hired is something else though….saved the man's life all on her own." Harry raised an eyebrow. The ship had several doctors, all of which had been lollygagging about the decks, shaking hands and smiling for photos. That figured. "She's a looker too. Course it took everything I had to keep my breakfast from splattering on the floor." Harry rolled his eyes this time, Moody was a nice guy but in many ways he was still such a kid. Coming up in a sailing family, he went through officers school to fast track his certifications setting straight off to a steamer the minute the ink was dry. He hadn't been hardened by months adrift in the open ocean.
Pushing past him, Harry carefully balanced the cup of tea while throwing the young man a wry glance. "You best get your eyes checked as well. I've not seen this Nurse but I know the type." A life at sea for medical staff was not as glamorous as one may think. Near constant work, the only benefit was the pay- at least he heard. He himself tried to avoid the infirmary, not willing to admit to himself or anyone else that he ever needed help for a damn thing. Injuries and illness, for the most part, could be weathered mostly in silence. "And it's not bloody likely." Opening the door, Harry was grateful for the distraction- however silly- as his mood had lightened just a bit. Hiking his pants up, Moody shook his head letting out a scoff. He knew what he saw.
Morning faded to early afternoon as the bridge eventually cleared out and Harry felt like he could breath for the first time today. He'd be off at two and back to his bunk for a short nap and then the dog watch from 6-8. As the hours drug by he began to accept that the girl, whoever she was, was long gone. He'd encountered a lot of women in his life, some had even piqued his interest, but none of them had stopped him cold. Occupied his thoughts for hours on end. Made his head spin and his legs shake.
And he couldn't even fathom how. How in the world something so be brief could have such a powerful effect. He was at a complete loss. And would apparently stay that way as the girl and everything she did to him were long gone. He should have been in his rack, sleeping and readying himself for the drudgery of tonight, but instead he was walking the boat deck hands in his pockets thinking harder than he wanted to.
Was this all his life would ever be ? Going ship to ship; port to port. It was the life he'd chosen long ago and the sea would always be his first love. But at some point he'd thought that he'd have a home and someone to come back to. A steady beacon on shore, always calling him home. He sighed knowing he had precious few hours before he would need to be up and ready again. Turning back to his quarters, Harry resolved to forget her, lest he drive himself absolutely insane.
"Get him out of here now." Clara stared dumbfounded between the doctor and her patient. After spending the better part of the day hob knobbing, Dr O'Loughlin returned to the infirmary upset to find a third class passenger laying about dirtying the sheets. It had taken quite the effort but she'd managed to stitch and bandage him back together. Now, resting comfortably, she was keeping a close eye on his wound.
"I'm still monitoring his wound- for bleeding, infection." She wondered if talking back to him would be the end of her, but still she needed to take a stand for her patient. He shook his head, jamming his finger into the air.
"Third Class passengers recover in their staterooms. You'll check on him once a day- that's it." Clara opened her mouth and then shut it. Idly, she wondered what would happen to her if she challenged him and called the officer of the watch down here. She'd not have a job much longer most likely. Casting a glance toward her patient she reasoned that her work was solid; the stitches would hold and she would slip down more than once a day to keep an eye on him. It was, by all accounts, the best that she could do.
"Alright." It was stiff and bitten out like a curse. Satisfied with her apparent compliance he nodded. Eyeing the man in the bed, he sighed with obvious disdain as he left the infirmary presumably headed to another social engagement.
They had a high backed wheelchair made of wicker, but afraid that his leg would rip open once bent Clara made the unpopular decision to have him carried back to his quarters. Three stewards and herself muscled the man down the stairs to E Deck and then along Scotland Road aft. The stewards were stunned by her physicality but she quickly brushed them off. This was her patient and she had no intentions of sitting around. At every turn or major adjustment she forced them to stop so that she could recheck his leg. He wasn't terribly large, but they nonetheless groaned. She was helping them carry so she didn't feel totally awful but still she offered an apologetic smile.
It felt like an age had passed by the time they got him back into his bunk. Roomed with a group of Swedes; one of my them graciously gave up the bottom bunk. All of the men were throughly taken aback by a woman doing such work clamoring in whispers that she couldn't understand. The stewards, relieved to be finished with such a task, quickly left as Clara inspected the bandages and stitching one last time. Exhaling she nodded more to herself than anyone else, her work was good- it would hold.
"We watch." One of men stepped forward, his attempt at reassurance better than nothing.
She smiled nodding her understand. "Clean." She pointed to the bandage. Nodding they all contributed their agreement.
"Yes..yes." Sighing she reasoned that was it, and she'd done all she could. A few more men had gathered at the door, keen to see what all the fuss was about. All in all it had been an eventful afternoon for Clara and she needed a coffee desperately having not even had a moment to appreciate the fact that she on a ship that was about to make history. The kind of history she could never guess. In less than a week's time all the men around her right now would be dead.
Harry handed over the bridge to Boxhall, a man with the personality of a doornail and the expression to match. Dreading what was to come next he took his time making his rounds through the kitchens which were hard at work scrubbing the remnants of the ship's first dinner service away. From there he breezed through the infirmary which was empty again, a roll of bloody sheets in trash validating Moody's tall tale. The boiler rooms were as they should be and the mail room was as dull as usual. His desire for a last minute diversion had evaporated and he now found himself standing at the first class gangway door waiting for the Nomadic to drop anchor.
The Titanic was much too large to port in Cherbourg and dropped anchor in the harbor on his watch. The first real task the crew had to navigate, Harry was grateful for his Elder-Dempster days porting in the shallow waters of Northern Africa. Murdoch had subtly slapped him on the back, offering a smile and a nod for a job well done. Although Harry wasn't in it for the praise, it did feel good to be recognized as competent. His father had told him time and again that he'd never become anything. If he could have two wishes right now the first would be the find the girl, the second would be to tell his father to kiss his ass. It would be so sweet but much like the first wish he knew it would probably never happen.
"Good Evening Ma'am, Welcome to Titanic." Smile and nod, smile and nod. He hoped nobody asked him for a goddamn thing. Group after group processed in; with more luggage than he had possessions on this entire earth. Servants trailing behind with bewildered looks on their faces, marveling at the grandeur of the ship. It had not been lost on Harry that most of the maids and butlers had been booked on third class tickets while their employers traveled in accommodations that rivaled Buckingham Palace. Shaking his head he bit his tongue, well that just fucking figured.
"Welcome aboard." Smile and nod, smile and nod. "Welcome to Titanic." It seemed as if there would be no end to line of passengers pushing their way aboard. She saw him before he saw her. Harry's sharp, dark features matching perfectly to the rich mahogany wood behind him. Licking her lips she took an extra second to make sure that her hair was still perfectly coiffed and her bosoms were pushing out of the top of her dress. Her mother was behind her but she was't paying a lick of attention. The men in front of her moved aside, and it was only then that she saw the rest of the sailor; fit and trim- surely chiseled beneath his smart looking uniform. Her fingers itched at the mere idea.
She'd been walking in heels since she was twelve and had never even twisted an ankle. Her mother would wonder but everyone else would be none the wiser. Wedging her heel between the ramp and the ship she pitched herself straight forward.
Harry looked up just in time to see a young woman catapulting in his direction. The tickets in his hand fluttered to the floor as he reacted instinctually and reached out to catch her. She fell right into his chest almost knocking the wind out of him, a mess of brown curls and beads he could do nothing but keep the both of them upright. A chorus of gasps broke out around them as the girl's mother shrieked in surprise. Thankfully, one of the stewards was quick to the drop the luggage he was carrying and intervene. A quick twist of her shoe released the young woman as all her weight fell against him. Harry still hadn't quite comprehended what was going on all he knew was this girl was doing nothing to help herself. Struggling against him she made no effort to support her own weight. Using all he had he lifted up and right her on her feet. Confident that she was now safe, he took a deep breath and straightened his uniform. It was only then that he realized she was staring at him with large blue doe eyes.
"Are you alright, Miss ?" She smiled a practiced grin that didn't reach her eyes. He thought she was no more than twenty five although her face was worn around the edges in a strange sort of way. One of the stewards had collected the scattered tickets and Harry nodded his thanks. There was still a line of people waiting to get on.
"Just fine…thanks to you, sir." He supplied a curt nod as he turned back to the task at hand. What a strange and uncomfortable situation that had been. He wanted to get this over with already. Thankfully the young woman had disappeared, ushered ahead by an older woman he could only assume to be her mother and a train of servants.
Putting the whole situation out of his mind, Harry continued on about loading passengers greeting each with a smile and nod. He was't much for keeping up with celebrity, but even he knew who John Jacob Astor was. The richest man on the ship, and in most every other place he went, he had recently taken his eighteen year old bride on a tour of the world. That kind of sensational behavior reached even the most ignorant of men. Nonetheless the man warmly embraced his hand upon entering, shaking it and offering a heartfelt. "Thanks you for your service."
He could have said nothing like every other toff, seeing him as simply the hired help. But he didn't and Harry returned the gesture in kind. It was a high point in an otherwise regrettable posting. When the last passenger had been loaded and he secured the gangway door, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. His next watch wasn't until 6 am, and he could get a full night's sleep- his last for the rest of the voyage.
"Mr. Lowe, sir, I have a message for you." One of the First Class Stewards handed him a folded piece of paper. What now ?
Please come to my suite, B-58. I have something for you
He nearly groaned. Letting the steward know that the message was received he reluctantly headed in that direction. Hopefully it was nothing important and whatever this errand was could be resolved quickly.
She didn't think he would actually come, but when the knock at the door sounded she was quick to to draw the flaps of her kimono together. Her mother had gone down to the purser's office, and wouldn't be back for a while. That meant she had the suite all to herself. He couldn't hide his surprise when the door opened, his dark eyes going wide.
"You came." It was a statement and an observation. Reaching out she took ahold of his hand and pulled him into the suite. At this point there should have been no doubt what she was going to give him. Letting the kimono fall open she revealed a set of linguine that she had just purchased in Paris- silk and lace. Licking her lips her eyes settled on his, lust behind them. "I wanted to thank you for saving me."
Harry licked his lips, his brain struggling to catch up with what was happening right now. He was no idiot and knew exactly what this was about. At twenty nine he wasn't married and hadn't had many successful relationships, but that didn't mean he was opposed to physical encounters. Running away from home at fourteen, it hadn't been much after that when he lost his virginity. A nameless, faceless woman in a port town; he paid her a small fee and she let him fumble his way around. There were others after that, casual encounters when he was on leave or in port. He got off- that was it- not a single time leaving him with much feeling afterward. He looked at her in her state of half undress and wondered if this was just what he needed. A mindless fuck to forget the girl and settle his nerves.
Taking his cap off, Harry ran a hand through his hair. God what was he about to do. The White Star Line had strict rules about passengers and crew; fraternization explicitly prohibited. He needed to go back to his cabin and go to sleep. That idea, however appealing it might seem on the surface, conjured a memory of his dead brother- so vivid it seemed real- cold skin, blue lips, unseeing eyes, water and seaweed pouring from his mouth. Suddenly the idea of sleep terrified him, his eyes darting between her and the floor not wanting her to see this moment of weakness.
Seeing his mix of willingness and hesitancy, she advanced toward him her hand running down his chest and settling on his crotch where she grabbed ahold and squeezed. That was it, his undoing. All the anxiety that he'd been stuffing down came unspooled in a torrent of arousal. The girl with her grey eyes, she was long gone in England, and even if he came back and looked for her the chances that he'd actually find her were slim to none. It was a moment in time, a moment that he let slip away. Wanting to forget that and everything else he reached out crushing her mouth to his. A squeal of surprise and then her tongue against his. It wasn't her first time, that was for sure.
A few minutes later Harry had her bent over the settee, his cock full sheathed inside her she groaned loudly. Reaching around he put a hand over her mouth, they needed to stay quiet. "Stop…or that's the end of it." It had been a while since he last had the chance to satisfy himself, and while she wasn't particularly good looking he didn't care. From this angle he didn't have to look at her face anyway.
"Harder…come on, I can take it." Holding onto her hips he closed his eyes thinking.
A ring of light
The smell of coffee and tobacco
Brown hair blowing in the wind and a eyes like morning mist
His heart racing, his mind blank, his knees trembling
He slowed down, already regretting what he was in the middle of. Sensing that something had changed, she repositioned herself thrusting herself backwards toward him. "Don't stop…please…." She was breathy and desperate. Pushing her back down over the settee he took a deep breath. At this point he just wanted it to be over. Digging his fingers into her hips bones he drove into her as hard as he could, the slapping of their bodies and his strained grunting the only sound in the room. The pace unforgiving, he felt her walls begin to flutter as she moaned loudly. The clenching and spasming against his dick gave him an unexpected surge of pleasure as he felt his climax descend. Two more hard thrusts and he was splayed against her back gasping for air himself. "Wow…" They stayed like that for a moment or two before Harry began to realize how disgusted he was. Straightening himself, he buttoned his trousers back up.
The girl, not caring one bit, stumbled toward her vanity. Leaning over the smooth table she snorted a line of white powder. For a moment it looked like she might have seizure, her body shaking from he mix of pleasure and stimulant. When her eyes focused on him again, Harry saw her pupils blown wide open as she sauntered toward him.
"When can we do that again ?" Her hair was a mess, her lipstick partially smeared on her face, and wetness dripping down her legs; and yet she had no shame. Feeling his stomach turn over he shook his head.
"I can't. I'm working for the rest of the voyage." Smoothing his hair he returned his cap.
"Oh come on….you must be off at some point." She licked her lips suggestively.
"No. I'm not." His tone left no room for discussion. For the first time since he'd arrived in her stateroom he looked around noticing a large poster leaned against the wall. In the photo was the woman he had just fucked dressed in a fur coat with a seductive smile.
'The Lucky Hold Up. Starring Dorothy Gibson'
Harry had never heard of her but apparently she was some kind of actress. The entire situation on the gangway dawning on him for the charade that it was. Now he really wanted to throw up.
"Safe Travels Miss." Turning on his heel, Harry exited the stateroom with little more than a nod. Eager to forget what had just happened he put the encounter behind him as an unfortunate mistake. His body's needs getting he best of him he intended to head straight for the showers and wash the scent of her away. Tomorrow they would be out in open ocean and he could focus on nothing more than his work. He couldn't bloody wait.
TBC….
Harry and Clara will meet in the next chapter. Please review and let me know what you think !