A long sigh, his fingers rubbing the soft fur of the stuffed wombat, Captain Peter Crittenden remembered the golden vision of Clive Hayworth dressed in the same red Chinese silk robe that now slithered over Crittenden's white thighs raising goose flesh and ripples of desire in his groin. They were far out to sea. In the Gunroom, Jonathan Riley dreamed of another fresh creamy youth. Peter had chastised his lieutenant for his attentiveness toward midshipmen. Yet, the image of Hayworth, honey sweet and smooth as milk, tormented the Captain.
Before meeting the youngster, Peter had always liked forceful men, like Horatio Hornblower, coming straight at him, wrestling him to the ground and boarding him. Now, feeling Hayworth's pliant form under his own filled Peter's dreams and his waking hours too. Yet, how could he get past the dragons guarding the charming young man? Kennedy watched him by day and Hornblower by night. Ah, a cutting out expedition! It just might work...
AZARAD
Wombat Nights.
By JJ
A knock on the door roused Peter from his fantasy. It was late, but the soft knock on the cabin door was unmistakable. Peter Crittenden removed the wombat from his lap and looked up. There was only one man who would come creeping to the captain's cabin at this hour. Jonathan Riley.
"Come," Peter Crittenden whispered, his lips breaking into a sensuous smile. He adjusted his red silk dressing gown, pulling the sash a little tighter, slipped off the desk and went to meet his visitor.
"I can't sleep," the young redheaded Lieutenant declared before he had barely closed the door. "I was thinking of Ned." Jonathan looked agitated. He was clad in only his shirt and breeches. His hair was loose.
"Oh?" Peter raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips. "And what do you expect ME to do about it?" he asked, hand on hip.
Jonathan blinked his blue eyes, startled by his Captain's unexpected manner. "I, er...I thought perhaps you might be in the same frame of mind."
"Did you?" Peter crossed the cabin to stand in front of Jonathan. "You thought that I might be thinking of Ned Grayson too?"
"Not likely!" Jonathan grinned, a boyish smile breaking out on his face. He shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant."
Peter looked into those transparent blue eyes and knew exactly what Jonathan meant, what he wanted, what he needed. He turned away. "Actually, I was thinking about Clive Hayworth."
"Hayworth?"
Peter didn't need to see Jonathan's face to know what he thought of that announcement. His tone of voice spoke volumes.
"That...boy?"
Peter turned back and raised one dark eyebrow. "If I remember rightly you were contemplating a similar cause of action not long ago. I do not see why you should find MY interest in him so surprising."
Jonathan laughed. "Well he is hardly the sort you usually chase. I mean, you usually go for older, more experienced, more...dominating..."
"Perhaps I am broadening my...horizons, Jonathan," Peter interrupted. He watched the play of emotions across Jonathan's face.
Jonathan snorted. "And perhaps you are simply planning revenge because you are jealous? Revenge on Archie, revenge on Hornblower, revenge on ME!"
"You? Ha." Peter dismissed that suggestion with a flick of his slender wrist. "Why would I be jealous of YOU, Jonathan?"
"Because you want me, Peter." Jonathan sounded far too smug.
Peter frowned. "That's Sir to you, Lieutenant," he said softly. Peter saw the change in Jonathan's eyes, saw him rise to the challenge and knew he had won. He closed his eyes as Jonathan's arms caught him roughly around the waist. He held his breath as Jonathan's lips and teeth assaulted his neck. A strong lean body pushed him backwards until he came up hard against the desk.
"My bed..." Peter gasped as Jonathan began fumbling with the tie on his sash with one hand and the buttons of his own breeches with the other.
"No time," was the breathless reply. Frenzied hands hauled the silken robe down from Peter's shoulders, fingernails scratching along his arms in the process. The combination of sensations was exhilarating. His back grated against the table.
"Not on the desk," Peter cried out. His back had taken too much punishment in the last few days to stand another round. He'd prefer something softer this time.
Jonathan hauled him off the table and pulled him across the cabin to where the tiger skin rug was spread on the deck. Peter was turned and pushed to his hands and knees, his head was forced down and his hips were pulled up. Jonathan knelt behind him, one hand holding him still while the other sought admittance. Peter smiled; Jonathan never worried about oil. He was happy to make do with a bit of spit.
"Wait! Get the Wombat!" Peter called suddenly. The movement behind him stopped and Peter looked over his shoulder. "To lean on," he added when he saw the look of disbelief on Jonathan's face.
The wombat was retrieved and Peter placed it beneath him, resting his groin against the rounded haunches, lying down along its broad back. He leaned on his elbows, arse in the air and braced himself.
It was fast, it was furious. Jonathan's powerful thrusts drove Peter's erection hard against the creature's rump. The velvet fur tickled, teased and rubbed along his cock and stomach as Peter moved with the same wild rhythm. As Jonathan rode him, Peter ground himself against the strong furry back. His fingers curled on the tiger skin beneath him, his legs trembled under Jonathan's assault. Teeth on his shoulder; a fist tangled in his hair. Pleasure and pain, fur and friction, prick against prostate, again and again and again.
Deep in his throat, Peter Crittenden growled.
He came, his seed showering the beast beneath him as he slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest on the black and gold tiger skin. Only Jonathan's hands on his hips and the bulk of the wombat beneath him kept Peter from collapsing.
A few more thrusts and Jonathan was jerking too, his breath a hard wheeze from between his gritted teeth. They fell together, side by side. The wombat a sticky presence between them.
"So that's what you do with it." Jonathan finally asked when he had caught his breath.
"It's a versatile animal, Jonathan, although Sir Joseph Banks warned me never to try that with a live one."
Jonathan leaned up and touched the sticky fur. "And how do you clean it?"
"A little soap and water. No mystery there."
"Hmm, well I am sure young Clive Hayworth will be doubly intrigued when you show him THIS. You know he fancies himself something of a naturalist."
Peter closed his eyes. "Who?" he asked with a smug grin.
"Hornblower's prot�g�, Clive...Oh Peter! You just told me you wanted him..."
Peter laughed. "Now what would I want with a virgin, Jonathan? Honestly, they are more trouble than they are worth!"
"Good!" Jonathan lay back, his arms folded behind his head. "Then you won't mind if I have a shot at him? If you ask me that boy needs a damned good..."
"Jonathan!" Peter slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Jonathan grabbed the small hand and pinned it to the floor. He leaned over Peter's supine figure. "I take it you're ready for another round?"
Peter put up a half hearted struggle before surrendering. His dark lashes fluttered. "If you put it like I can hardly refuse."
"Good," Jonathan grinned. "Because it's my turn to have a go at the wombat."
The End.