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riptide_asylumTitle: Voyage of the Crimson Dawn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A simple trip on board a borrowed boat brings up memories of the Riptide's true beginnings.
They've been taking good care of the Markhams' boat on the trip up from Mexico. At Cody's insistence, Nick goes over the Crimson Dawn's engines a half-dozen times in the first two days, even though everything had been in top condition when they'd pulled out of Puerto Vallarta, headed out on the wide blue sea.
The Crimson Dawn's bigger than the Riptide and newer too: an '84 Chris Craft something something...something. Nick quit paying attention to the details Cody rattled off and just contented himself with listening to the sound of his partner's voice, low and smoky and excited. Sat there and watched the gleam in Cody's eye as he read Markham's offer letter: bring up his brand-spanking new boat from below the border and get a thousand dollars, hard cash.
Nick figures he could name at least fifty worse ways to make that kind of money.
And even if he couldn't, one look at Cody's face as he listed off all the Crimson Dawn's amenities made the decision easy. The Riptide Detective Agency was going on a working vacation.
They flew commercial out of Burbank only to find no sign of Rob or his lovely wife, Susan once they deplaned in Puerta Vallarta. A note left with the harbormaster explained the couple had been called away on business but their offer still stood and the Crimson Dawn sat bobbing placidly at her slip, nestled between the Matador and La Dolce Vita. Keys were even in the ignition.
The next few days passed in a haze of fresh fish and fresher tequila. Nick had no head for the stuff but Cody could put it away like a champ. Didn't help his Scrabble skills any, though.
And throughout, Nick carefully cleaned the galley after every meal, and Cody faithfully slopped all traces of fish guts off the decks in front and back. They'd even brought their own towels to use in the sinfully large master bath. The big pleasure cruiser was just as spotless and gleaming as when the two of them had first stepped aboard. Hell, it should be, the money Rob was paying them to bring it back to King Harbor.
The fourth day out, after a brief dip in the water to cool off, Nick lingers topside a couple minutes longer, eyes searching the late afternoon horizon, just checking. A flyboy's habit, maybe, or a soldier's, but one he's loathe to break. It takes only a minute or two to put his mind at rest. Nothing but ocean and sky as far as the eye can see.
He climbs carefully down the ladder and goes below. A trail of wet footprints in the lush blue carpet helpfully pointed the way Cody had gone, and just as Nick starts looking for a towel to blot them up with, he catches a glimpse of his partner through the open door to the big master stateroom.
As if in a trance, Nick stumbles forward, coming to rest against the doorframe.
Cody is lying completely naked and artfully sprawled on the wide, round bed that dominates the Crimson Dawn's master stateroom. Gold-furred thighs spread wide, he has his rigid cock in hand, stroking, and as Nick watches, Cody's gaze travels the length of his body, then over to Nick, then back.
Cody's a helluva sight and he knows it. They both do.
Nick folds his arms across his chest. "How long you been layin' like that, man? I've been up in the salon at least ten minutes. You stay like that the whole time?"
Cody's brows lower. "Nick! You--"
With a grin, Nick charges the bed and leaps, bearing Cody down against the pillows, keeping those beautiful fucking thighs spread wide. He smothers his laughter against Cody's skin, nipping at his partner's neck and shoulders, letting his hands roam and squeeze and knead, until all Cody's attempted protests die away into pleased gasps and moans.
Nick grabs himself a handful of ass and squeezes, hard enough that Cody arches off the bed, groaning Nick's name, long and loud.
"Oh yeah, baby. Love it when you talk dirty." Nick thrusts his groin against Cody and rocks, enjoying the heat of Cody, the shape of him Nick only dimly feels through his thin nylon swim trunks.
Cody whines and spreads his thighs farther, grabbing at Nick's hip.
Panting, Nick rolls back on one hip, fumbling with the drawstring of his trunks. "Need you, Cody. Need you--fuck, right now." His fingers tremble and slip.
Cody swats Nick's hand away and deftly undoes the knot, then grins and shoves Nick's trunks roughly down his hips. "Love you too, Nick. Now help me with your shorts." He grapples with thin web of mesh cradling Nick's balls, tugging and yanking it down.
"Will you calm down already--hey, hey! Hey!"
Cody's excited shoving results in a tearing noise and Nick barely gets his hips off the bed fast enough to avoid worse damage.
One pleasurable tangle of hands and thighs later, Nick winds up on his back, butt naked. He pulls a grinning Cody on top of him.
The magic of the two of them together--skin on skin, heat and sweat and hands and mouths--all of it drives Nick wild. But not half as wild as when Cody works his way down to lie between Nick's spread thighs, blue eyes predatory and anticipating.
Cody takes Nick in his mouth and Nick yells, bowing up off the bed.
With one hand flat on Nick's stomach and the other wrapped around the base of his aching cock, Cody draws Nick in, moving enthusiastically up and down the shaft.
Grimacing and panting for breath, Nick watches Cody hump his ass against the bed, the movements matching those of Cody's eager mouth and tongue. Nick looks away quickly, trying to concentrate on the Cubs' batting average and when that fails, the independent rear suspension on a '63 Sting Ray, but nothing ever works against Cody's sweet and sun-kissed magic.
Nick rocks his hips into Cody's mouth and bites back another yell. Cody just arches a wicked eyebrow, lips stretched wide around Nick's cock. He groans happily and takes Nick deep into his throat.
Nick lets go and comes like a freight train, nearly knocking them both to the floor. The violent rightness of the two of them has always astounded him, and he's constantly amazed that touching Cody doesn't cause the jetstreams to reverse, maybe make the whole planet spin a little different afterward.
By the time Nick falls back against the coverlet, spent and exhausted, he isn't sure he'll ever move again. Lying there, boneless and throbbing on the wide, soft bed, Nick revels in the weight of Cody, crushing one thigh. He manages to raise a hand to Cody's cheek and finds the sun still warm on his lover's skin. It's like Cody carries a little bit of the sun with him sometimes.
And then Cody is gone, pulling away.
Nick whines until he feels Cody return, two slippery fingers clumsily probing his tight entrance. "Nick," Cody pants. He made a strangled noise Nick recognized as raw need. "Fuck," Cody whispers. One fingertip slips in. "Fuck, Nick."
Nick grips the coverlet in each hand as Cody adds a second finger right away, plunging them both deep, twisting. Nick's body is one big nerve still, and looking down between his spread thighs, the sight of Cody kneeling there, fucking Nick with one hand and stroking himself with the other is making all kinds of things throb. Cody licks his lips, the wicked light still gleams in his eyes and Nick knows that's all the prep he's gonna get.
"Need you, buddy." Cody slides his fingers out and gets up on his knees, grabbing hold of one of Nick's legs on the way. He leans forward, leaning over Nick's body with an expression of intense concentration, one hand holding his cock steady as it probes Nick's hole.
Nick takes a deep breath.
The pain is brief, glassy, then Cody begins working his cock inside Nick with short, eager thrusts. Nick sobs with pleasure, squirming and rocking until he feels Cody's balls lying heavy and soft against his asscheeks.
"Move," Nick whispers. "C'mon Cody, fuck me."
Cody nods, panting.
And he does just what Nick tells him to.
Afterward, the two of them lie together in a tangle of hot sheets and warmer skin. The boat rocks gently on the evening tide and the only sound other than their contented breathing is the slap of waves against the hull. With Cody's back flush against his chest and belly, Nick buries his nose in Cody's thick blond hair, smelling salt and sweat and just a hint of suntan lotion. In other words, Cody.
"Hey, Nick?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Y'ever think someday we'll own a boat like this?"
Nick snorted. "Yeah sure. Maybe if we win the lottery or some celebrity swings by the Riptide and decides our boat'd look better in their living room than out in King Harbor. Or if the Army calls and tells us they screwed up our pension by a couple zeros." Nick thought about that for a second. "They'd probly charge us for having had them store the cash for us, though."
There's a long pause. Then: "You'd sell our boat?"
Nick stares up at the ornately decorated skylight above the bed and tries to figure out where he went wrong. There's a solid brass border around the skylight, and a lock, but Nick's sure you could still open the light from the outside pretty easily. "I would, Cody, if it got you something like this."
Cody rolls over in Nick's arms. "You'd sell the Riptide. The boat we rebuilt from the waterline up. Just the--our boat, Nick?"
"Hey what's with you? You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. Now you're acting like I've just tossed a sack full of kittens down a well. What gives? I thought you like this boat. You've been acting like it's the best thing since sliced bread since Markham made us the offer. This boat is all you've talked about for the better part of a month, buddy. Since we got here all you've done is practically float from one deck to the other and every time I turn around, you're telling me about this that or the other feature on it. I think at one point you followed me into the head to point out the automatic bread-slicer next to the toilet paper."
Cody's silent for a minute and Nick continues to be flooded with confusion. He keeps his gaze on the skylight. Maybe they'd be safer sleeping in the aft stateroom. It doesn't have a skylight, just a door where you can wedge a good old-fashioned chair under the knob.
"Nick, you remember when you won our boat? Back when she was still in Baton Rouge?"
Nick returns his attention to Cody in a hurry. "Do I ever? That was the best poker streak I've ever been on. Best one I've ever heard of. I should've taken the cards with me when we left. Put 'em in a museum somewhere."
"You remember what she was called?"
"The Gypsy Moth. I'm gonna remember that forever, baby. Now you gonna tell me what's eating you?"
"What's the first thing you said when you saw her?"
Nick frowns. He's fairly sure it was 'Aw, fuck', but he's even more sure that's the wrong answer.
"You said, 'She ain't much, but she's all ours.'"
"...So?" And then the penny drops. Nick slips an arm round Cody's waist and pulls him closer. "And you said 'She's a helluva lot more now you're aboard.' Cody..."
"Remember all the work it took just to get her out of Baton Rouge? Three months in dry dock in the middle of a Louisiana summer."
"Hottest summer since...some time in the twenties, wasn't it?"
"Nineteen-twenty-three. It took all our savings just to get the hull seaworthy, and we decided to chance it with a tarp over the hole in the salon roof because you--"
"Knew a guy in Reseda who owed me a favor. Yeah, I remember, Cody. And by the way, it wasn't so much a hole in the roof as a hole where the roof was supposed to be. Kind of two different things, you know? Man, she was in rough shape, wasn't she? The wheelhouse didn't have any doors, but you told me--"
"The way we were headed, all the spray'd be goin' in the opposite direction. I remember." Cody grins. "And I was right! We wound up puttin' it on Lazy Earl's flatbed and riding it all the way across three states! Remember?"
"Four, genius. Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California. That's four. Hey, I wonder what ever happened to Lazy Earl."
"Look, forget about Lazy Earl, willya Nick?"
"Guy gave us and our boat a ride across four states, Cody. The man deserves a little remembering now and again."
"Nick! Will you just forget about Lazy Earl for a second?" Cody rolls on top, pinning him. "What'd you just say?"
Think, Nick tells himself sternly. Get this wrong and you'll swim home.
He leans his head up and claims a kiss from Cody, then another one.
After the second one, Cody pulls back and glares, one eyebrow raised.
"Our boat," Nick answers promptly. "She was our boat then, is our boat now. Even with doors on the wheelhouse."
"Exactly, buddy. Exactly. Blood sweat and tears went into making that boat our boat, Nick. Into making her the Riptide."
"Well my blood and sweat."
Cody pinches Nick's thigh. "Jerk. My blood's there too."
"I never did get how you managed to nail yourself to the forward bollard. Cody, nail guns come with the dangerous end labeled. That's usually enough warning for most people."
Cody pinches Nick's thigh again.
"Ow," Nick says agreeably. He notices how they both skipped over the tears part of the equation and just lets it lie. "You know," he says instead, "you might be onto something here."
"Yeah?" Cody kisses him, light and sweet. "What's that?"
"The Riptide. She's our boat all right. Sure, she's not the fastest, maybe not the best-looking, and I still can't figure out how to get the salon door to lock, but she's ours, man. All ours. Not too shabby for two GI's with barely a couple bucks between 'em."
"Our boat," Cody echoes.
"That's right." Nick kisses him back, a little longer this time, and Cody settles happily. He does this thing with his knee when he's utterly content and he was doing it right now, rubbing against Nick's own knee and lying atop Nick's chest. Each soft breath coasts over Nick's skin like the long, light fingers of a zephyr, the western wind that smooths the air, and an augur of smooth flying. Nick lies in the wide, round bed, so much larger than their cramped bunks back home, and holds Cody tight, his eyes going once again to the skylight above the bed.
Through it he can see only a sliver of the night sky, barely a bruise worth. Somehow that's worse than not being able to see it at all.
That and the brass-toned lock, that Nick is sure now, is decoration.
He lies in the big, unfathomably comfortable bed, holding Cody and his contented knee, and thinks of their stateroom back home on the Riptide, where the ceiling is whole, and the windows--ones he and Cody found at a dump in Rosewood--are double-paned and have a catch-lock at the bottom of each frame. The frames they'd found at the dump were flimsy and, Nick remembers now, brass-toned, so he made new ones to fit the windows in what would be, eventually, their room.
He nudges Cody with his shoulder. "Baby?"
"Mm?" Cody breathes.
"You think..."
Cody lifts his head off Nick's chest, eyes open and focused.
"You think you wanna try out those bunks in the other stateroom? The one up front?"
Cody follows Nick's gaze and glances up over his shoulder at the skylight, then turns back and nods. He pries himself up and off Nick, and heads naked for the door.
Nick follows, rubbing the back of his neck where it's kinked. "Hey Cody?"
"Yeah?" He's at the door already.
"You think we should clean up in here maybe? Before we go?"
Cody yawns. "Nah. We'll get to it eventually. C'mon, Nick. I don't know about you, but I'm bushed."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Nick flicks off the light in the master stateroom and leaves the room with the sheets tumbled roughly about, and the remains of his damp swim trunks on the bed. The still air is heavy with the smell of their sex.
He follows Cody through the darkened Crimson Dawn and into a small bunk in the smallest stateroom, in a bunk not much bigger than their own. And once Cody's knee assumes its most contented position, Nick finally lets himself fall asleep, to dream of the hottest summer in Louisiana since 1923.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A simple trip on board a borrowed boat brings up memories of the Riptide's true beginnings.
They've been taking good care of the Markhams' boat on the trip up from Mexico. At Cody's insistence, Nick goes over the Crimson Dawn's engines a half-dozen times in the first two days, even though everything had been in top condition when they'd pulled out of Puerto Vallarta, headed out on the wide blue sea.
The Crimson Dawn's bigger than the Riptide and newer too: an '84 Chris Craft something something...something. Nick quit paying attention to the details Cody rattled off and just contented himself with listening to the sound of his partner's voice, low and smoky and excited. Sat there and watched the gleam in Cody's eye as he read Markham's offer letter: bring up his brand-spanking new boat from below the border and get a thousand dollars, hard cash.
Nick figures he could name at least fifty worse ways to make that kind of money.
And even if he couldn't, one look at Cody's face as he listed off all the Crimson Dawn's amenities made the decision easy. The Riptide Detective Agency was going on a working vacation.
They flew commercial out of Burbank only to find no sign of Rob or his lovely wife, Susan once they deplaned in Puerta Vallarta. A note left with the harbormaster explained the couple had been called away on business but their offer still stood and the Crimson Dawn sat bobbing placidly at her slip, nestled between the Matador and La Dolce Vita. Keys were even in the ignition.
The next few days passed in a haze of fresh fish and fresher tequila. Nick had no head for the stuff but Cody could put it away like a champ. Didn't help his Scrabble skills any, though.
And throughout, Nick carefully cleaned the galley after every meal, and Cody faithfully slopped all traces of fish guts off the decks in front and back. They'd even brought their own towels to use in the sinfully large master bath. The big pleasure cruiser was just as spotless and gleaming as when the two of them had first stepped aboard. Hell, it should be, the money Rob was paying them to bring it back to King Harbor.
The fourth day out, after a brief dip in the water to cool off, Nick lingers topside a couple minutes longer, eyes searching the late afternoon horizon, just checking. A flyboy's habit, maybe, or a soldier's, but one he's loathe to break. It takes only a minute or two to put his mind at rest. Nothing but ocean and sky as far as the eye can see.
He climbs carefully down the ladder and goes below. A trail of wet footprints in the lush blue carpet helpfully pointed the way Cody had gone, and just as Nick starts looking for a towel to blot them up with, he catches a glimpse of his partner through the open door to the big master stateroom.
As if in a trance, Nick stumbles forward, coming to rest against the doorframe.
Cody is lying completely naked and artfully sprawled on the wide, round bed that dominates the Crimson Dawn's master stateroom. Gold-furred thighs spread wide, he has his rigid cock in hand, stroking, and as Nick watches, Cody's gaze travels the length of his body, then over to Nick, then back.
Cody's a helluva sight and he knows it. They both do.
Nick folds his arms across his chest. "How long you been layin' like that, man? I've been up in the salon at least ten minutes. You stay like that the whole time?"
Cody's brows lower. "Nick! You--"
With a grin, Nick charges the bed and leaps, bearing Cody down against the pillows, keeping those beautiful fucking thighs spread wide. He smothers his laughter against Cody's skin, nipping at his partner's neck and shoulders, letting his hands roam and squeeze and knead, until all Cody's attempted protests die away into pleased gasps and moans.
Nick grabs himself a handful of ass and squeezes, hard enough that Cody arches off the bed, groaning Nick's name, long and loud.
"Oh yeah, baby. Love it when you talk dirty." Nick thrusts his groin against Cody and rocks, enjoying the heat of Cody, the shape of him Nick only dimly feels through his thin nylon swim trunks.
Cody whines and spreads his thighs farther, grabbing at Nick's hip.
Panting, Nick rolls back on one hip, fumbling with the drawstring of his trunks. "Need you, Cody. Need you--fuck, right now." His fingers tremble and slip.
Cody swats Nick's hand away and deftly undoes the knot, then grins and shoves Nick's trunks roughly down his hips. "Love you too, Nick. Now help me with your shorts." He grapples with thin web of mesh cradling Nick's balls, tugging and yanking it down.
"Will you calm down already--hey, hey! Hey!"
Cody's excited shoving results in a tearing noise and Nick barely gets his hips off the bed fast enough to avoid worse damage.
One pleasurable tangle of hands and thighs later, Nick winds up on his back, butt naked. He pulls a grinning Cody on top of him.
The magic of the two of them together--skin on skin, heat and sweat and hands and mouths--all of it drives Nick wild. But not half as wild as when Cody works his way down to lie between Nick's spread thighs, blue eyes predatory and anticipating.
Cody takes Nick in his mouth and Nick yells, bowing up off the bed.
With one hand flat on Nick's stomach and the other wrapped around the base of his aching cock, Cody draws Nick in, moving enthusiastically up and down the shaft.
Grimacing and panting for breath, Nick watches Cody hump his ass against the bed, the movements matching those of Cody's eager mouth and tongue. Nick looks away quickly, trying to concentrate on the Cubs' batting average and when that fails, the independent rear suspension on a '63 Sting Ray, but nothing ever works against Cody's sweet and sun-kissed magic.
Nick rocks his hips into Cody's mouth and bites back another yell. Cody just arches a wicked eyebrow, lips stretched wide around Nick's cock. He groans happily and takes Nick deep into his throat.
Nick lets go and comes like a freight train, nearly knocking them both to the floor. The violent rightness of the two of them has always astounded him, and he's constantly amazed that touching Cody doesn't cause the jetstreams to reverse, maybe make the whole planet spin a little different afterward.
By the time Nick falls back against the coverlet, spent and exhausted, he isn't sure he'll ever move again. Lying there, boneless and throbbing on the wide, soft bed, Nick revels in the weight of Cody, crushing one thigh. He manages to raise a hand to Cody's cheek and finds the sun still warm on his lover's skin. It's like Cody carries a little bit of the sun with him sometimes.
And then Cody is gone, pulling away.
Nick whines until he feels Cody return, two slippery fingers clumsily probing his tight entrance. "Nick," Cody pants. He made a strangled noise Nick recognized as raw need. "Fuck," Cody whispers. One fingertip slips in. "Fuck, Nick."
Nick grips the coverlet in each hand as Cody adds a second finger right away, plunging them both deep, twisting. Nick's body is one big nerve still, and looking down between his spread thighs, the sight of Cody kneeling there, fucking Nick with one hand and stroking himself with the other is making all kinds of things throb. Cody licks his lips, the wicked light still gleams in his eyes and Nick knows that's all the prep he's gonna get.
"Need you, buddy." Cody slides his fingers out and gets up on his knees, grabbing hold of one of Nick's legs on the way. He leans forward, leaning over Nick's body with an expression of intense concentration, one hand holding his cock steady as it probes Nick's hole.
Nick takes a deep breath.
The pain is brief, glassy, then Cody begins working his cock inside Nick with short, eager thrusts. Nick sobs with pleasure, squirming and rocking until he feels Cody's balls lying heavy and soft against his asscheeks.
"Move," Nick whispers. "C'mon Cody, fuck me."
Cody nods, panting.
And he does just what Nick tells him to.
Afterward, the two of them lie together in a tangle of hot sheets and warmer skin. The boat rocks gently on the evening tide and the only sound other than their contented breathing is the slap of waves against the hull. With Cody's back flush against his chest and belly, Nick buries his nose in Cody's thick blond hair, smelling salt and sweat and just a hint of suntan lotion. In other words, Cody.
"Hey, Nick?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Y'ever think someday we'll own a boat like this?"
Nick snorted. "Yeah sure. Maybe if we win the lottery or some celebrity swings by the Riptide and decides our boat'd look better in their living room than out in King Harbor. Or if the Army calls and tells us they screwed up our pension by a couple zeros." Nick thought about that for a second. "They'd probly charge us for having had them store the cash for us, though."
There's a long pause. Then: "You'd sell our boat?"
Nick stares up at the ornately decorated skylight above the bed and tries to figure out where he went wrong. There's a solid brass border around the skylight, and a lock, but Nick's sure you could still open the light from the outside pretty easily. "I would, Cody, if it got you something like this."
Cody rolls over in Nick's arms. "You'd sell the Riptide. The boat we rebuilt from the waterline up. Just the--our boat, Nick?"
"Hey what's with you? You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. Now you're acting like I've just tossed a sack full of kittens down a well. What gives? I thought you like this boat. You've been acting like it's the best thing since sliced bread since Markham made us the offer. This boat is all you've talked about for the better part of a month, buddy. Since we got here all you've done is practically float from one deck to the other and every time I turn around, you're telling me about this that or the other feature on it. I think at one point you followed me into the head to point out the automatic bread-slicer next to the toilet paper."
Cody's silent for a minute and Nick continues to be flooded with confusion. He keeps his gaze on the skylight. Maybe they'd be safer sleeping in the aft stateroom. It doesn't have a skylight, just a door where you can wedge a good old-fashioned chair under the knob.
"Nick, you remember when you won our boat? Back when she was still in Baton Rouge?"
Nick returns his attention to Cody in a hurry. "Do I ever? That was the best poker streak I've ever been on. Best one I've ever heard of. I should've taken the cards with me when we left. Put 'em in a museum somewhere."
"You remember what she was called?"
"The Gypsy Moth. I'm gonna remember that forever, baby. Now you gonna tell me what's eating you?"
"What's the first thing you said when you saw her?"
Nick frowns. He's fairly sure it was 'Aw, fuck', but he's even more sure that's the wrong answer.
"You said, 'She ain't much, but she's all ours.'"
"...So?" And then the penny drops. Nick slips an arm round Cody's waist and pulls him closer. "And you said 'She's a helluva lot more now you're aboard.' Cody..."
"Remember all the work it took just to get her out of Baton Rouge? Three months in dry dock in the middle of a Louisiana summer."
"Hottest summer since...some time in the twenties, wasn't it?"
"Nineteen-twenty-three. It took all our savings just to get the hull seaworthy, and we decided to chance it with a tarp over the hole in the salon roof because you--"
"Knew a guy in Reseda who owed me a favor. Yeah, I remember, Cody. And by the way, it wasn't so much a hole in the roof as a hole where the roof was supposed to be. Kind of two different things, you know? Man, she was in rough shape, wasn't she? The wheelhouse didn't have any doors, but you told me--"
"The way we were headed, all the spray'd be goin' in the opposite direction. I remember." Cody grins. "And I was right! We wound up puttin' it on Lazy Earl's flatbed and riding it all the way across three states! Remember?"
"Four, genius. Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California. That's four. Hey, I wonder what ever happened to Lazy Earl."
"Look, forget about Lazy Earl, willya Nick?"
"Guy gave us and our boat a ride across four states, Cody. The man deserves a little remembering now and again."
"Nick! Will you just forget about Lazy Earl for a second?" Cody rolls on top, pinning him. "What'd you just say?"
Think, Nick tells himself sternly. Get this wrong and you'll swim home.
He leans his head up and claims a kiss from Cody, then another one.
After the second one, Cody pulls back and glares, one eyebrow raised.
"Our boat," Nick answers promptly. "She was our boat then, is our boat now. Even with doors on the wheelhouse."
"Exactly, buddy. Exactly. Blood sweat and tears went into making that boat our boat, Nick. Into making her the Riptide."
"Well my blood and sweat."
Cody pinches Nick's thigh. "Jerk. My blood's there too."
"I never did get how you managed to nail yourself to the forward bollard. Cody, nail guns come with the dangerous end labeled. That's usually enough warning for most people."
Cody pinches Nick's thigh again.
"Ow," Nick says agreeably. He notices how they both skipped over the tears part of the equation and just lets it lie. "You know," he says instead, "you might be onto something here."
"Yeah?" Cody kisses him, light and sweet. "What's that?"
"The Riptide. She's our boat all right. Sure, she's not the fastest, maybe not the best-looking, and I still can't figure out how to get the salon door to lock, but she's ours, man. All ours. Not too shabby for two GI's with barely a couple bucks between 'em."
"Our boat," Cody echoes.
"That's right." Nick kisses him back, a little longer this time, and Cody settles happily. He does this thing with his knee when he's utterly content and he was doing it right now, rubbing against Nick's own knee and lying atop Nick's chest. Each soft breath coasts over Nick's skin like the long, light fingers of a zephyr, the western wind that smooths the air, and an augur of smooth flying. Nick lies in the wide, round bed, so much larger than their cramped bunks back home, and holds Cody tight, his eyes going once again to the skylight above the bed.
Through it he can see only a sliver of the night sky, barely a bruise worth. Somehow that's worse than not being able to see it at all.
That and the brass-toned lock, that Nick is sure now, is decoration.
He lies in the big, unfathomably comfortable bed, holding Cody and his contented knee, and thinks of their stateroom back home on the Riptide, where the ceiling is whole, and the windows--ones he and Cody found at a dump in Rosewood--are double-paned and have a catch-lock at the bottom of each frame. The frames they'd found at the dump were flimsy and, Nick remembers now, brass-toned, so he made new ones to fit the windows in what would be, eventually, their room.
He nudges Cody with his shoulder. "Baby?"
"Mm?" Cody breathes.
"You think..."
Cody lifts his head off Nick's chest, eyes open and focused.
"You think you wanna try out those bunks in the other stateroom? The one up front?"
Cody follows Nick's gaze and glances up over his shoulder at the skylight, then turns back and nods. He pries himself up and off Nick, and heads naked for the door.
Nick follows, rubbing the back of his neck where it's kinked. "Hey Cody?"
"Yeah?" He's at the door already.
"You think we should clean up in here maybe? Before we go?"
Cody yawns. "Nah. We'll get to it eventually. C'mon, Nick. I don't know about you, but I'm bushed."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Nick flicks off the light in the master stateroom and leaves the room with the sheets tumbled roughly about, and the remains of his damp swim trunks on the bed. The still air is heavy with the smell of their sex.
He follows Cody through the darkened Crimson Dawn and into a small bunk in the smallest stateroom, in a bunk not much bigger than their own. And once Cody's knee assumes its most contented position, Nick finally lets himself fall asleep, to dream of the hottest summer in Louisiana since 1923.
