By Jonathan Riley
He hated Christmas. Hated how the memories could even now leave him sickened and shaking and weak. He tried to think beyond that fateful day, back to Christmases spent at home with his family, the feasting, the gifts. But now even those memories were tainted by the unspeakable.
Ned Grayson tightened his grip on the foremast, closed his eyes and fought down the rising panic that had threatened to unhinge him all day. At least Captain Hornblower had the sense not to insist upon his presence at the lavish dinner that he had laid on for the officers and midshipmen. The other mids were near bursting with excitement at the thought of such fare but nothing could have induced Ned Grayson to enter the great cabin that afternoon. It was hard enough to listen to the crew as they got steadily drunk. Listen to them singing and dancing on deck. Listen and remember and pray that nothing would happen and that the nightmare would not start all over again. He'd sat alone in the gloom of the cockpit counting the minutes as they passed;, listening to the bell that sounded through the wooden walls marking the changing of the glass. Listening and waiting; wondering if he could hide in the claustrophobic atmosphere, until the echoing sounds of drunken revelry had become too great. Then he had fled. Fled to the safety of the open sky and the solitude of the foretop where the fresh air and salty breeze would hopefully blow the cobwebs of memory from the corners of his mind. It hadn't worked.
The Medusa moved lazily through the water, the breeze barely rippling her sails. The helmsman and the mate of the watch were perhaps the only men on deck who were still entirely sober. The rest of the crew and probably most of the officers were well into their cups in the time honoured tradition of celebrating Christmas.
He was safe for the moment, away from prying eyes and questions he did not want to answer. No one would bother him up here; none would brave the climb aloft when they were three sheets to the wind.
Five years and still he could not put it from his mind entirely. Of late, he had managed to do almost that; to go days, even weeks without the nightmares or the thoughts of darkness. He no longer wished for death. But now Christmas had come around again and with it, the spectre of that Christmas past; the Christmas that had changed his life forever.
Perhaps if he could stay here and wait it out then once again he could put on his mask and try to pretend that he was whole and solid and clean.
"Do you want some company?"
Ned sat up with a start. A familiar dark haired figure hauled himself up, wound his legs around the yard and sat down. Henry Wellard.
"Have they finished then?" Ned refused to look at Wellard nor make him welcome. Company was the last thing he felt like.
"No, Mr Kennedy has decided to put on a play and Clive and Laddie are arguing over who shall play Juliet and wear the dress. I thought it time to leave."
Despite his bleak humour Ned couldn't hide his smile. Somehow Henry Wellard had a way of cheering him up no matter how black his mood. "And how did you escape being dragged into the performance? I am sure Mr Kennedy would have wanted YOU for Romeo!"
"I asked the Captain if I could be excused to see how you were. He thought it was a good idea."
"Huh!"
"Captain Hornblower IS concerned Ned. And Clive and Laddie could not understand why you were not present at dinner. They thought you were being punished."
Punished...it was almost fitting.
"It's a wonder our dear Captain did not stand and make announcement of the reasons for my indisposition right after the toast to the King!" Ned spat. "What did he tell them?"
"He said you were feeling ill." Wellard edged a little closer. "It was today, wasn't it? I thought at first that you were merely missing your family or Mr Riley, but then I realised, that today...it's they day it happened, isn't it."
Ned nodded. He couldn't speak.
"Then you should not be alone up here, Ned. You should be with your friends."
"I am all right, Henry. But I can't stay below with the men drinking and singing and dancing. It's just as it was and I can't face it." From the deck below, the thin whining of a fiddle playing a haphazard jig lilted towards them. "If I can just stay here for a while until it is all over, I will be all right." Ned declared.
"I'll stay with you then." Wellard's face, serious as ever, allowed no disagreement.
"I'm not very good company."
"I always enjoy your company."
Strange, but Wellard's presence was suddenly very welcomed. Ned smiled. "And I yours, Henry."
An awkward silence fell between them. Since that fateful night when they had shared a hammock and one brief innocent kiss, Ned had been aware of Wellard's growing attraction to him. It was becoming harder to ignore. Yet Wellard had not spoken of it and Ned had kept silent too, vowing he would not make a foolish mistake and alienate another friend. More than anything he wanted Henry's friendship. It could not be gained by seduction, only by respect.
"We'll be rounding Cape Horn soon." Wellard was saying his voice suddenly tight. "It's a dangerous passage and it is you and I who will be called upon to go aloft with the men should we need to reef or splice the sails. Clive and Laddie are too inexperienced for such work and I doubt the Captain would risk them anyway. He knows their fathers well."
Death was no longer something to be feared, for Ned had looked it square in the eye and sought it, not once but twice. Although he no longer pursued such a drastic end to his hurting, death had become an absent friend, one to be welcomed should it finally coming knocking. But he was not so jaded that he could not understand Henry's fears. "Is this your way of raising my spirits Henry?" Ned asked jauntily, one eyebrow cocked, hoping instead to raise Wellard's own.
Wellard blushed. "No, I was merely thinking aloud. It's been on my mind for some time now and I have been thinking of how little I have experienced, how I have barely tasted life and how I should hate to die without...without..."
"Having a woman? You've left it a little late to decide THAT, Henry. There are none out here." Ned waved his arm towards the endless stretches of blue.
"I don't want a woman. That wasn't what I was thinking."
"Oh?" Ned looked into the dark eyes, bright with embarrassment.
"A man then? Perhaps Mr Kennedy or our famous Captain Hornblower? Are you another who falls moon-eyed at their feet and worships them and would do anything for a moment of their attention?" Ned didn't mean the words to sound so bitter but he was tired of Clive's and Laddie's constant harping on the many graces of their Captain and First Officer. One would think they were Gods rather than men.
"There was a time when I would have gladly given my life for either Mr Kennedy or Captain Hornblower," Wellard said seriously, "But now I have more reason to live. I have things I dream of and that I hope one day to repeat."
"OH?" Ned could not hide his surprise. "What HAVE you been up to Henry Wellard? Has one of them seduced you and left you craving for more? I must say I AM surprised!"
"NO! Nothing like that. I was thinking of you and that time we kissed," Wellard swallowed, struggled with his words for a moment and then pressed on. "That's all, honestly. I'd just like to do that again."
Ned said nothing but watched the emotions play over his friend's face. Uncertainty, embarrassment, fear.
"You must think me...cruel to say this to you now; today of all days. I am sorry...forget I ever spoke of it." Wellard turned away. "I'll leave you now."
"No, don't go." Ned reached out and touched his friend's arm. He couldn't bare to see the hurt in Wellard's big dark eyes. Couldn't, wouldn't turn him away. Not when he could remember having feelings like that too. He remembered listening to Pip and Charlie telling of the women they'd had in Portsmouth and wondering if he would ever do that too. And he remembered wanting Jonathan, wanting him so badly that it hurt, because everyone thought him still a child and Jonathan never noticed him unless he was in trouble or did something foolish. It had all seemed so innocent back then, before...
Ned pulled his thoughts up quickly. No need to go there now. Wellard was still paused, waiting, one foot on the ratlines.
"Don't go, Henry," he said again. "Please?"
Wellard climbed back up and sat down.
"You'd never kissed anyone before that, had you?" Ned asked gently.
"How could you tell?"
Ned reached out one hand and touched Wellard's cheek. "By your innocence."
"I..." But Ned silenced any further words from Wellard with his lips. Tentative, uncertain, their kiss blossomed into something more, a warm exploration of lips and tongues and mouths until Wellard suddenly let go his hold and grabbed Ned with both arms. They teetered precariously on the yard until common sense prevailed and he let go.
"Have you no sense? We'll land on our heads on the deck if we try to do that up here," Ned said. His smile took the sting form the words.
"I just wanted to hold you, that's all," Wellard said forlornly.
"Well you can't do that here. You'll break both our necks!"
"Let's find a place then, come on."
Ned laughed, his voice a little hysterical. "Where? We'll get caught, Henry. Have you lost all senses?" He'd never seen Wellard like this, all bright eyed and eager. For a moment he wondered if Henry was drunk, but his mouth had held no taste of wine or rum or brandy. No taste and no smell...nothing to remind him of...
Wellard took Ned's hand. "The cockpit. No one is there. The others will be hours doing Shakespeare. No one will bother us or come looking for us. We can kiss as much as we like down there."
Wellard was probably right. On this of all days, no one would be bothered about two absent midshipmen.
"All right then." Ned wondered at his sudden change of heart, wondered why he needed Wellard so much that he was prepared to follow him into the very fires of hell that awaited him below. As they climbed to the deck, Ned wondered too, where this was leading. It was doubtful Wellard had thought that far ahead, but Ned knew passion had a way of getting out of hand despite the best intentions. How far did either of them WANT it to go?
No one paid them the slightest attention on deck and they slipped below into the gloom and the stuffiness and made their way forward to the cockpit. It was deserted as Wellard had foretold. But their hammocks had been hung by some overzealous servant in anticipation, no doubt, that he would be too drunk to do so by evening.
They looked at each other in the half light, looked and waited, nervous now, not knowing how to start. Ned's heart was pounding but it was not fear or panic that assaulted him this time. Henry Wellard had somehow washed away those cloying memories with his innocent offer.
"Perhaps we should take off our coats and shoes and vest and then we could share a hammock for a while like we did that other time?" Ned suggested. He'd have to take the lead or they would stand there until the second dog watch.
Wellard nodded eagerly, the indecision vanishing from his eyes. "Yes and that way we can hold each other while we kiss."
"Kiss, yes." But there would be more, of that Ned was certain.
They tumbled together into the hammock, a mad flurry of arms and legs until they righted themselves and fitted together, side by side, chest to chest, legs entwined, arms around each other. They kissed and kissed and kissed, a meeting of mouths that found common cause and refused to be separated until Ned thought he might die from lack of oxygen or else be crushed by Henry's arms. It was delicious torture but it could not last forever.
Frustration grew. Neither made any attempt to hide their growing arousal and in time Ned felt Wellard's erection rubbing steadily against his hip. Their clothes became an inconvenience. And so Ned slid his hand to the buttons of Wellard's breeches and slipped them opened. Wellard's low moan vibrated him his mouth as he thrust against the welcome hand. "Can't we take them off too," Wellard moan in frustration.
Ned halted. "No. At least if we are still mostly dressed and anyone comes in, we might get away with it."
Wellard accepted Ned's directive without question and proceeded to undo Ned's breeches with his own trembling fingers. And then there was no more thinking, just sensation and hard friction and sweaty hands and hot breath and wet kisses and gasping and joy.
As they lay together afterwards Ned snatched a blanket from the floor and threw it over them to hide the evidence of their passion that had splattered their shirts and breeches. Wellard dosed in his arms and Ned was reluctant to move. Perhaps they could rest like this for a while. Surely no one would object if they were still dressed.
"Do you think this means I am not a virgin anymore?" Wellard's sleepy voice sounded content.
Ned kissed the dark head against his shoulder. "I suppose you could look at it that way since it is the first time you have done this."
"But not the last? Please say that you and I might do this again?"
Ned hesitated. What they were contemplating was dangerous, despite Captain Hornblower's apparent understanding. "I don't know, Henry. The risk is too great."
"Not here then, but ashore when we have time to ourselves? What do you say?"
"All right. Yes, I'd like that. And perhaps with time and privacy at our disposal I would could show you a few more things too." Ned's kiss held the promise of things to come.
"I'd like that very much," Wellard kissed him back enthusiastically and before long they were at it again, hands and mouths, sweat and heat, clothes pulled this way and that, hair tangled, bodies alive.
"I will never forget this day and the precious gift you have given me, Ned." Henry Wellard whispered when they had pulled their clothes to rights again and settled down in each other's arms beneath the blanket
"Gift? What gift?" Ned asked. Perhaps his brain was too tied to think straight anymore.
"Yourself." And as his breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep, Wellard whispered one more thing. "I love you."
Ned closed his eyes as the words played over and over again in his heart. Yes, he would remember this day also. Remember it fondly and without regret. For Henry Wellard had given him a gift too. Not only had Wellard shared with him his introduction into the ways of passion, but he had given Ned his heart and with it a hope and purpose that Ned had long thought lost to him forever.
"I love you too Henry Wellard," Ned whispered before going to sleep.
The End