Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #18 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

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* * *

When next Aneen woke, he was back in the belly of the ship. He tested his motion, and found that he hadn’t been shackled — he’d killed the first mate of the Opacare, but the navarchus hadn’t thrown him over the rail.

Instead, he’d been treated to the kind of medical care he knew was reserved for officers within the pirate crew, not just swabs and powder monkeys. Fresh bandages had been wrapped around much of his exposed skin, and he could tell in many places, he’d been stitched closed, black thread marring several of his intricate tattoos.

He moved to sit up, but then simply cried out; if he’d been on some sort of pain drug, he was sadly lacking, now.

“Seruate,” came the voice of the navarchus. “You required many stitches, Aneen. I may change your name to pannumpoppa,” he sighed.

“Doll,” Aneen said quietly. “Rag doll,” he sighed, closing his eyes against the stinging tears born by his many wounds.

“Yes. Rag doll,” the navarchus murmured. “Tell me, Aneen — do you know the Ilonan high speech or not? You seem to know many of its words, and yet–”

“I do not know what I do not know,” Aneen whispered, looking up at the man he’d nearly died for.

“Of course you do not,” Lorem sighed, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “For how could life ever choose to be easy for any of us, ah, Aneen?”

“Navarchus?” Aneen said, frowning slightly. It pained him to think hard — some things always seemed just out of reach, in the back of his head, held away.

“Worry not, boy,” Lorem said. “Rest here. Let your stitches heal. I’ll come back to visit you,” he promised.

Aneen nodded, exhausted, and laid his head on the cot’s pillow. He was asleep again in moments, the faint lines on his face smoothing out into something resembling an expression of peace.

He dreamt of flying, of falling, and red curls.

* * *

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Jules woke, disoriented. She sat up, panting, looking around in confusion, and in her movement, she disturbed her bed partner, who uttered a low mumble of sleepiness, and rolled over. Blankets fell from them both, and Jules was rendered speechless from her own shock at being naked, and then breathless as she glanced at Coryphaeus’s naked form.

Scarred, he wore marks of battles fought on and off the field; his body was a study in change, in transformation. The taste of aetheris was still on her tongue, while the pulse of her drunken activities still throbbed between her legs.

“Fuck, Jules,” she whispered, putting a hand to her head. “What did you do?” She remembered, somewhat, mostly even, but a part of her shied from that truth, preferring to focus on her hangover.

Coryphaeus mumbled something unintelligible, and rolled over again. She could not help but let her eyes traverse the muscled lines of his physique; she had been within that body, had felt its heart give out.

But that was only a vision.

There was another whose heart had ground to a halt, though. In vision, and then in truth. She thought of Nathan, and how he would never put his arms around her again, never kiss her again, and her heart beat in her chest hard enough that she thought it might tear through her ribs and bloody the bed in which she’d betrayed the memory of him.

That’s not fair, said his voice in her head. My Jules — would I ever cage you? Would I ever want you miserable, even without me? You know my heart better than that. How many lovers have we both had, through the years?

“Hush. Now I’m just using a dead man’s voice to justify acting selfishly,” Jules said to herself, glancing down at Coryphaeus, who slept on, seemingly at peace.

Maybe, the voice answered. And maybe you knew me better than anyone else. I will still be loving you long after down is up and up is down and the seas have boiled and the sun has gone out. Nothing can stop me. Nothing will ever stop me.

She remembered, just then, the feel of the air between them, the heat of the sun, the groan of the deck, the rattle of the chains, the hum of the engine, the details that had surrounded them, the day she promised him forever. Sha recorded their oaths and handled the paperwork. Abe had given her away. They’d been barely children.

She remembered the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands in hers. They had not waited for the official benediction, but had kissed one another throughout the ceremony, laughing and joking, the occasion never solemn, but utterly irreverent, as the both of them so often were.

I will love you forever, Juliana Vernon. Nothing can stop me. Nothing will ever stop me.

And I love you. Always.

She came back to the present, tears stinging her eyes as she looked at the man she’d begged to bed her. In truth, she had had several lovers after she’d married Nathan; being faithful to him wasn’t about never having pleasure with anyone else, so why did it matter this time?

“Because he’s gone,” Jules said. “And everything feels different now.” It was then that she realized Coryphaeus’s eyes were open, and watching her. There was neither smile nor sadness to his features; he seemed to be gauging her reaction, perhaps in order to reconcile his own. “Oh shit,” she breathed, grabbing a fistful of sheets and pulling them up to cover herself. “You’re awake.”

* * *

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This is Issue #17 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

The kiss was pleasant, but it was also short, and he held her shoulders firmly, pushing her back, turning away from her, flushed even as he was saying, “You’re drunk, Commander. This isn’t–”

“Shut up, Legatus,” Jules said, reaching up to turn his face back to hers. She leaned into him, pressed against him, walked him back to the table with their dinner on it, put one hand behind his head and pulled him down to kiss her. “Isn’t this what you want? It’s what I want. Right now.”

With each successive kiss, his resistance fell. Coryphaeus could feel the desire to deny himself, the willingness to push her away melting quickly from the heat of her presence.

She could feel the way his heart sped up, the way his skin flushed, the way he struggled to stop himself — until at last he was kissing her with just as much ferocity as she’d hoped for. Maybe it would drown out the sound of her broken heart’s ragged tattoo: he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.

Stop. Stop this. This is beyond madness. You’re Ilonan. She’s a Westlander. If you thought your family hated you before, that is nothing compared to the shame of what you are doing now. Coryphaeus’s mind wouldn’t stop; he pulled Jules against his chest and kissed her in earnest, fingers reaching to play with the red curls haloing her face. “We shouldn’t,” he gasped against her lips.

More than that, though, was the knowing it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last. She would blaze through him, seeking to heal her own heart.

She doesn’t love you. She won’t want you. Don’t fly too close to this sun; you’ll get burned.

Jules gave in, gave up, and let the last few weeks fall away, let everything simply fall to the background, except for the way the aetheris seem to buzz like white noise through her, erasing everything except its own warmth. “Shut up,” Jules murmured, biting his lips.

Coryphaeus turned, guiding Jules, then, picking her up by her hips to set her on the edge of the table, and step between her legs. He kissed her warmly, thoroughly, but let her direct him, let her set the pace of her own needs, lest he push too hard, too fast — though, some part of him noted, she was pushing hard and fast, all on her own.

Jules opened her robe, and reached for Coryphaeus’s hand, to pull it against her skin, arching herself into his touch, pulling him close, demanding his attentions, nipping at him, dragging her nails over his skin.

He slowed, beginning to pull back, but she pressed herself to him more completely, panting, “Don’t stop–”

“Jules,” he gasped, his cheek against hers, his breath hot in her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you–”

“Then don’t stop,” Jules demanded, turning to nip his earlobe.

When she took his hand and pulled it between her legs, he nearly flinched, nearly laughed, but instead, it came as a groan, quiet and needful, to be demanded of so intimately.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she promised, not knowing how those words struck him like blows. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just need to forget. I need to feel something that isn’t this. Let’s not make it complicated,” she whispered.

Each individual sensation was nearly too much; Coryphaeus shuddered in Jules’s arms, his breath warm and heavy, panted against her mouth. He shifted her, his hand between them, fingers pressed to the apex of her thighs, moving urgently, and held her as she rocked against him, her cries growing louder, insistent. “It doesn’t mean anyth–” she breathed, and Coryphaeus silenced her with his kisses, working against her faster and faster.

Jules bucked against him, feverskinned, until she hit the peak she’d been aiming for; she ground herself against him, trembling, and he could feel the release move through her, a convulsion of pleasure that left her momentarily spent, gasping for breath, clinging to him.

Once he was certain she would not simply tumble off the table, Coryphaeus carefully withdrew his hand from between her legs, pulling back to look at her.

Her expression was glassy, but mischievous, and he was startled when she slid from the table, and turned him to lean back against it. She kissed him again, and then pulled open his robes, and slowly kissed lower and lower, lips touching scars without hesitation.

When she reached the downward trailing scar below his navel, and her fingertips found the waistband of his braccae and began to undo its ties, he seized her wrists, looking guarded. “I don’t –” he began. “I’m not–”

“Shh,” Jules whispered, leaning to kiss his hands as he held her. “It’s all right,” she said, pale eyes bright, bitten-lips promising. “It doesn’t have to m–”

“–mean anything?” Coryphaeus laughed darkly. His eyes were on hers, piercing and merciless.

Jules felt her heart in her throat; had she gone too far?

“It doesn’t have to mean a thing to you, and I won’t make it,” he said quietly, looking to her. “But it does to me, Jules. It means a lot to me,” he said, and he carefully released her, but snagged the ties of his pants and closed them carefully. He reached down and took hold of her wrists again, standing her back up, putting her back against the table.

One hand lifted to take a fistful of her curls at the back of neck, while the other hand slipped inside the waistband of her braccae.

Jules moaned as he slowly bent her backwards, her eyes fluttering shut.

“I’ll spread you across this table and I’ll do everything I can to make you forget,” Coryphaeus whispered lowly. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said, once she laid to the glossy wood.

“Please,” Jules breathed, trembling as her clothes were untied, opened, and pulled away. She spread her thighs and lifted her hips in offering to Coryphaeus, who brought his mouth to her flesh, and was true to his word —

–she forgot herself, and everything else, entirely.

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This is Issue #16 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

Sour-faced, irritable that the Legatus would take the side of the insistent her, in her head, Jules said, “I need a drink. Give me five minutes to clean up and — do you even have any clean clothes that would fit me?”

“They’re in your room,” he said, gesturing through the other doorway.

“My room?” Jules said, looking baffled.

“That’s what it’s called for now, yes. You’re living here, with me; that’s your room. Unless you wanted a different one?” His voice was mild; the question was sincere — he would move her, if she wanted to.

Frustrated, Jules sighed, “I don’t know how to act around you.”

Coryphaeus shrugged, saying, “Neither do I. I suppose we have a great deal to learn that we simply don’t know about, yet.”

He got up and left her to her own devices once more, and when she walked into the dining area, scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothes, he was seated at a table bearing an array of food, re-dressed and reading a book, picking at things on his plate.

He smiled at her, tentatively, and Jules smiled in return, pained, but it grew warmer to see the way he rose from his chair to pull out one for her.

“Thank you,” she said, moving to sit down with him.

They began their meal in silence, but then Coryphaeus said, “Would you like to talk?”

“…about?” Jules wondered, cocking her head to the side. Small talk seemed a strange thing to engage in, but perhaps it would ease the awkward feeling of the situation.

“Perhaps about how you’re feeling? Your loss? You have gone through something terrible, and I–”

“No,” Jules whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t want to think about him right now. It’s too much. I don’t really want to be thinking about anything. I want to be numb for awhile.”

Coryphaeus nodded, rose from the table, and returned with a bottle of something silver blue and half-glowing. He opened the seal, poured some out, and set it in front of her. “This will get you numb. Fill your belly first, then have some.”

Jules, not one to ever be in the habit of listening, picked up the shot and tipped it entirely down her throat.

Eyes bulging, Coryphaeus took the glass from her and said, “Some, you fool! You’ll make yourself sick!”

“D’y’think I’ve never drunk before, y’irksome, mule-headded git?” Jules laughed ruefully. “I’m aiming for unconscious. I don’ want t’die yet. I know that much. But I need a little more help with living.”

Frustrated, Corypheus set the bottle aside and said, “Eat, please? More than the few bites you’ve had?”

“If you’ll drink,” Jules said, challenging. “For all your status as some monstrous rebel, Legatus, I have a feeling you live for rules, and love to follow them.”

“So what if I do?” His voice was indignant, higher than he’d spoken before, irritated. “We have rules for a reason.”

“To keep the beasts in line,” Jules said, her pale eyes flashing. “That’s all. Now drink with me. I’m fucking done with everything, and if you give half as much a shit about me as you say you do, you’ll take me at my word and stop trying to save me from myself, yeah?”

“Guardian preserve us,” Coryphaeus sighed, pouring himself a shot. He drank it, grimacing briefly, then coughed, and laughed when she thumped him on the back. “Enough. You don’t know how potent this is–”

“Stop,” Jules said, yanking the bottle from his hands. She put it directly to her lips, tipped her head back, and took four full swallows before he had enough thought to tip it down pull it away from her mouth. “See?” she laughed, blinking tears from her eyes. “It’s just aether whisky!”

He shook his head, disapproving, and opened his mouth to chastise her.

She pushed the bottle toward him. “Keep up, comrade. Come on, Legatus. Now you.”

Sighing, Coryphaeus looked at the bottle, looked at her, and shrugged. “Tomorrow, we will regret this.”

“Better to regret doing something than regret doing nothin,” Jules proclaimed.

Coryphaeus drank from the bottle, letting it sear a line of electric fire down his throat to his belly. He wheezed, shaking his head, and looked at her, expectant. “Better to live to regret, than not,” he quipped, once he finished swallowing.

“I’m fine. I’ll live,” Jules said, letting him keep the bottle as she got up and paced the room like an restless lioness. “I’ve got a tolerance ten times better than yours, I’m sure.”

“Is it the Krieg in you?” Coryphaeus wondered.

“More likely the Celd,” Julianna answered. “They’re a drunken lot,” she laughed. “But you — do you drink much?”

“Hardly any,” Coryphaeus sighed, shrugging. “But when I do, I’m not prone to excessive drunkenness, or–” He paused when Julianna chuckled, and turned to look at her. “What?”

“You’re talking with your eyes closed,” she said. “I think you’re probably headed toward excessively drunk right now. And… You’re not wrong. This is a fuck of a lot stronger than I’d imagined,” she murmured. “Gonna be an early night for you, I think.”

Blushing, Coryphaeus sighed, saying, “I’m not ready for bed just yet. You’re mocking me as though you’re not also about to simply fall over.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Jules said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You are!” the Legatus said, frowning and then laughing at the picture of Jules, angry, sulking even, with her wild red curls.

“You stop laughing at me right now,” Jules demanded.

Coryphaeus couldn’t help it; he wasn’t able to restrain the giggles at all. “Could you give your left foot a little stomp?” He teased. “It would complete the whole image for me–”

“Damn you!” Jules said, and did stomp her foot, right down against Coryphaeus’s instep.

He yowled, pained, and skittered back from her, gasping. “Commander!” Coryphaeus shouted, pulling his foot up, looking shocked.

And that is when Jules burst into laughter, drunken and giddy, clapping her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide over her fingers as she looked at Coryphaeus. “You should see your face!” she giggled, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen someone’s eyes get so wide! Commander!” Her voice mocked his; she pretended to push hers deeper, then hopped about on one foot, clutching the other in a dramatic display.

Her play acting was so ridiculous, Coryphaeus couldn’t help but laugh, but then he stood up and went to her, saying, “Stop hopping around like that — you’re drunk, Commander–”

“You’re drunk, Legatus,” Jules retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Jules,” he sighed, catching her as she fell into his arms, clumsy and still laughing.

“Don’t–” she whispered, shaking her head, and then she was looking up at him with those fierce, pale eyes.

He moved to let her go, his eyebrows raised, concern on his face, but as he pulled back, she pressed forward, and kissed him once more.

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