Kane, Samantha - Brothers In Arms 4 (8 page)

Perhaps it was standing on the cusp of a new life that made him look back at the past. He had few regrets. Derek was one of them. He often wondered if he’d done right by the young soldier who had suddenly appeared at his side one day and never left. If he had pushed him away, if he had never made Derek his in every way, would he be happier now? Would he have a wife and children, a home of his own, a profession? He owed Derek more than just his love and adoration. He had, in his own selfish way, ruined Derek’s life. He’d stolen his future, his peace. But he was going to give it all back to him.

He thought back to those early days, trying to figure out when the decision had been made, if it ever really had. Was there one moment when he said I can either love this boy or I can send him away? It seemed as if they had drifted together until being lovers was simply another step, another part of who they were. And one day he’d woken up and thought
I can
’
t live without him
.

* * * * *

1811, Torres Vedras, Portugal

“Who the hell are you?” Ian was tired and dirty and in a foul mood. He’d been

slogging through the mud for days on patrol. Ever since Fuentes De Oňoro, he’d been unable to sleep, again. Christ, would this war never end?

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“Lieutenant Knightly, Sir,” the gangly youth replied, staring at him. He was

ungodly tall and nearly as dirty as Ian. He was also blocking the way to the officers’

tent where Ian had every intention of sleeping until doomsday or the next engagement, whichever came first.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Lieutenant,” he snarled, shoving past him. “Whatever you want can wait. I’m tired.”

“Yes Sir,” was all he said, and Ian forgot about him. He stumbled into the tent and fumbled out of his wet, grimy boots and damp jacket. He put his rifle under the cot before he fell on it and soon the blackness of utter exhaustion took him.

When Ian awoke he was disoriented. Where was he, what day was it? He swung his

feet over the side of the cot and sat up, rubbing his face. He could see sunlight through the tent flaps. So it must be day, he thought, scratching at his naked armpit. Naked?

What the fuck? Ian looked down at himself. He still had his breeches on, but was naked from the waist up. He never completely undressed so he’d never be caught unaware if called to battle. Quickly he looked around and had to look twice before he could believe what he saw. His shirt and jacket were draped across a stool next to his cot and they looked dry and clean. His boots were next to them on the floor, looking dry and so highly polished they shone in the weak sunlight.

Ian grabbed his shirt and started to put it on but hesitated when he got a good whiff of himself. It seemed a shame to put clean linen on when he was ripe as bad cheese. No sooner had the thought entered his head than he saw a chipped basin covered with a thin cloth under the stool. He pulled it out and removed the cloth to find clean water.

When he dipped the cloth in he was startled to find the water not hot, but still warm.

When he found the sliver of soap on a piece of paper next to his boots he was beyond shock. It seemed only natural that where there was water, there must be soap. He scrubbed his face and hair and torso with the thin soap and rough cloth. The water was nearly black by the time he was finished, but he felt like a new man. He pulled on his shirt and jacket, delighted at the feel of dry clothes after weeks of damp, dirty wool. His boots were dry as well, and that actually made him whistle with delight.

“Captain.” Someone greeted him from behind and Ian swung around to find Major

Richards eyeing him speculatively. “Clean clothes? And those boots, good God, old Boney will find us just by their shine. To what do we owe the welcome relief of your improved toilette?”

Ian laughed, and it sounded rusty even to him. Major Richards’ eyes went wide. Ian shrugged good-humoredly. “Apparently someone found my stench so offensive they

went to the trouble of cleaning me up while I slept.”

“Sir.” The voice at Ian’s back sounded vaguely familiar. Ian turned and saw the young officer he had barked at the day before.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Ian asked impatiently. The fellow was certainly persistent.

“Request permission to transfer to your command, Captain.” The request surprised Ian. He’d never seen the young man before, and not many men wanted to ride with Ian.

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He had a tendency to take every suicide mission that came along. It was that bloody rumor, that ridiculous tale that he couldn’t die. It was as if Ian had to test his mortality every time he went out. He knew it was folly, but he wanted to get shot. He wanted everyone to stop looking at him as if he were the second coming. It was sheer luck he hadn’t been wounded yet, not divine intervention.

“I’m not shorthanded right now, Lieutenant. I don’t need a new officer.”

“With all due respect, Sir, your appearance yesterday indicated that you do.”

Ian started with surprise. The boy actually had the audacity to sound amused at Ian’s condition the day before. “Well, as you can see, today I’m fine.”

“And how do you suppose that happened, Sir?” the young lieutenant asked wryly

with a raised eyebrow.

Ian was getting pissed. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he forced out between gritted

teeth, “but you are an officer, not a batman.”

“Well, word is you haven’t got one.” The lieutenant had the effrontery to lean

against the tent pole with his arms crossed aggressively.

Ian glowered at him. “He died.”

Lieutenant Knightly spread his arms. “Well, here I am.”

“As I said, I haven’t need of a new officer.”

The young man stood and narrowed his eyes at Ian. “I say you do. Most of the men in your command can’t wipe their own arses, much less cross enemy lines on patrol or find simple supplies for you.” He walked over and picked up what was left of the soap.

“This was not bartered for gold, Captain, but close to it. You owe me.”

Major Richards stepped into the conversation. Ian had forgotten he was there.

“Whose command are you in now, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Knightly looked at him, his posture improving at the major’s rank and demeanor. “Crossingham’s, Sir.”

“I’ll speak with your commander. Unless there is some impediment you are

unaware of, consider yourself assigned to Captain Witherspoon.”

“Major!” Ian exclaimed, aghast. “Perhaps we should discuss this further.” He

looked at the smirking lieutenant. “Privately.”

Major Richards looked at him from his impressive height, his lips pursed in

contemplation. “I don’t think so, Captain. The lieutenant is correct. Your men need a kick in the arse and, apparently, someone to teach them how to wipe it after. Your young lieutenant looks like he could do it.” Richards turned and walked to the tent entrance. Turning back he added with a grin, “And I think we all owe him a debt of gratitude for the soap. You were worse than ripe, Captain.”

Ian glared at Lieutenant Knightly. “You sorry little son of a bitch. Trust me, you will regret this.”

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“No more than you, Captain, I assure you,” the lieutenant replied sarcastically.

“And I had no idea you knew my mother.” His reply surprised a laugh out of Ian. The lieutenant smiled wolfishly. “Now, give me a list of things you need. I’m a bit of a collector, you see, if you don’t inquire too closely how I acquire them.”

It didn’t take long for Ian and his young lieutenant, as everyone called Derek

Knightly, to become the scourge of camps on both lines of battle. Derek was almost as good as Ian at sneaking around across enemy lines, sabotaging French camps and

gathering information. He was even better at collecting supplies from around the British camps. Ian was living like a king, as were most of his men. Hot food, clean clothes, wine, women—Derek acquired it all for them. Ian knew Derek gambled for quite a bit of it. The boy had the devil’s own luck. Somehow, and Ian wasn’t sure when it had happened, they’d become friends; more than friends, actually. They were damn near inseparable. It became commonplace for people to see them together everywhere.

If they weren’t, people asked where the other one was. They shared a tent, food, liquor and women.

The first time they shared a woman was similar to their friendship, somehow it just happened, without a plan or discussion. Derek showed up at the tent one night with a rather pretty Spanish whore, still young if a little jaded. When Ian got up to leave the tent, Derek stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Don’t go, Ian.” Ian looked at him inquiringly. “Just shut the flap and douse the lamp.” He’d done as Derek asked.

“Now what?” Ian asked, but he knew, and he wanted it. He’d heard some of the

other officers talking about sharing women. He wanted to do it with Derek. No one else, just Derek. It seemed a natural progression of their friendship somehow.

“Now we fuck.” Derek’s matter-of-fact statement made Ian laugh.

“Well, that sounds good, but how?”

As his eyes adjusted to the dark Ian could see Derek’s perplexed look. “What do you mean how?” The whore was hanging on Derek’s shoulder, caressing his chest

through his open jacket. “We could take turns, I suppose. Or she could suck one of us and fuck the other.”

Ian thought about it. Yes, both of those were options. But if they were going to do it, they might as well do it right. “I want to fuck her together, at the same time.”

Derek’s eyes widened at Ian’s suggestion. “Can she do that?” His voice had a little boy quality to it, as if he’d just found out girls were good for something after all. Ian found himself smiling widely in anticipation of Derek’s reaction to what he was going to say next.

“From what I’ve heard,” Ian told him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he circled the girl and assessed her attributes and willingness, “one of us fucks her cunt and one of us fucks her ass.”

“Christ Jesus,” Derek whispered in awe, “that’s bloody ingenious. Who thought of that?”

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Ian burst out laughing. “I’ve no idea, Derek, but it sounds pretty damn good to me too.” The whore had figured out what was going on, and she was standing there sizing the two of them up. She held up two fingers and pointed at both of them. Ian nodded and she made a gesture for more money.

“Well, it looks as if she knows what she’s doing,” Derek said cautiously. “I say let’s give her a go.” Ian pulled the money out of his kit and handed it to the whore, who counted it carefully. Then she took off her shoe and stuffed the money in the toe. She then proceeded to take off the rest of her clothes.

Ian looked at Derek and he shrugged as if to say why not, and then he began to

undress as well. Ian found himself anxious to see Derek nude. He was so big, tall and rawboned, with a thick pelt of hair on his chest. What did the rest of him look like? So as not to be obvious, Ian also undressed as he divided his attention between Derek and the whore. She finished first, and Ian was impressed.

“How the hell do you get all the young, pretty ones, Derek?” he asked

conversationally as he watched her get comfortable on his cot.

Derek sat next to her and kissed her on her shoulder while he pried off his boots.

“I’m young, clean, good-looking and I’ve the blunt to pay them. Why wouldn’t they choose me over some old, fat, smelly officer?” The whore responded to Derek’s

attention with a smile and she came up to her knees to caress his muscular shoulders and back. She slid behind him and rubbed her large breasts against his back and Derek closed his eyes and smiled. “Is there anything better than the feel of a woman’s naked breasts against you?”

Ian had his own boots off and was taking his breeches off, careful not to be too rough as he was pushing them over his erection. The thought of what they were going to do had him hard and aching. “Probably, but I haven’t found it yet,” he agreed. When he was nude he looked over at Derek and found him openly staring at Ian’s cock.

“Bloody hell, Ian, how do you walk around with that beast between your legs?”

The knowledge that Derek was looking at him and admiring him made Ian’s cock

quiver, and he felt a small drop of liquid leak out. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but it doesn’t look like this all the time,” he told Derek wryly, trying not to let the other man see how his attention was affecting him. God, he hadn’t thought that it would be Derek and not the whore who would have him so hot to fuck.

When Derek stood up and pushed his smalls off, finally standing nude before him, Ian was shocked speechless. He was absolutely beautiful. He was sculpted of thick muscles from his shoulders to his legs, his torso and hips lean, his buttocks firm. His cock was as hard as Ian’s, although Ian had to admit not as big as his. Ian had never really compared his penis to another man’s. If Derek’s was any indication then he supposed he was rather large. His hand actually itched to bury itself in the thick bush of hair surrounding Derek’s cock.

Christ almighty, what was wrong with him? He had never been attracted to another man, never. It must be their friendship. He cared very much for Derek. He was

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probably the best friend he’d ever had. Ian had realized some weeks ago that Derek’s appearance in his life was fortuitous. He’d been the lowest he’d ever been, and those suicide missions had been just that—attempts at suicide by enemy fire. Because of Derek’s friendship those dark days were over. These feelings, whatever they were, must be attributable to that. With everything going on, the whole bloody world turned upside down with this war, was it any wonder he’d confuse friendship with desire? The thought reassured him.

Ian moved to the bed where the pretty whore was sitting waiting patiently and he sat next to her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, and she frowned at him, not understanding.

“She’s pretty and clean, but she doesn’t speak English,” Derek said. “I’m good, but I can’t work miracles.”