The Third Favor
The Third Favor - by ColinCougar - 31/10/07
Few people knew that the one room under the Passing Wanderer's roof was even more exquisitely furnished - albeit sparsely in comparison - than its twenty fine counterparts on the second and third floor. The tavern keeper was very particular about who he granted the privilege to use the room on occasion, and the stairway that lead up to the former attic was usually hidden behind a sturdy oak door at the far end of the third floor corridor. Only a handful of the malamute's closest friends and acquaintances were in on the 'secret'.
Syrell DeMeryyn found the oak door unlocked and closed it hesitantly behind him. The sliver of light from the wall sconces outside narrowed and finally vanished. Near blackness enveloped him in the windowless space. He paused on the foot of the stairs and welcomed the dark. Its cover was a balm, for it masked the look of anguished indecision on his face. The young cheetah knew about the room above; he had spent the night in it once. And he had been asked back by his companion of that evening, a giant brown bear by the name of Trevis Brunn. However, Syrell was still of two minds about the bear's invitation to return.
Invitation. Order. Whatever...
They had met by happenstance. Syrell tried to steal the bear's moneybag in passing and Trevis caught him. Rather than turning him in, Syrell's ursine captor became blackmailer and forced him into a wager. Had the cheetah won the wager, Trevis would have forgotten all about the attempted theft. But he had lost. And losing came at a price. The bear still didn't hand Syrell over to the authorities, but demanded three personal favors to turn a blind eye on his crimes. The first two favors involved the two of them, far too few clothes and far too much intimacy. The third was to meet again, in the very room the bear had abused to snare Syrell in his shameless, immoral machinations, at eight o'clock in the evening two days later.
Which would be just about now...
Every minute of the past forty hours, Syrell had been fighting an inner battle that was still far from decided: should he come back to the tavern to honor the third favor or flee from the island?
He had lost his virginity to the imposing bruin. His ears folded in shame every time the mental image of their writhing bodies crept into his thoughts unbidden. He wouldn't even have considered sex with another male, and to be forced into it... It made Syrell sick, it made him curse Trevis Brunn with every expletive in his vocabulary. All he wanted to do was to get the fastest ship back to England and never lay eyes on this abominable island again.
So why on earth was he here now? Yes, there was the third favor Syrell still owed the bear, but other than his word, there was nothing that bound the cheetah to it. Trevis Brunn no longer held any proof of Syrell's crimes; he could just skip the meeting and sail from the island unhindered. The cheetah had given his word, though. Was it that promise that made him come back? Or did he seek revenge? Did he want to shout his dislike into Trevis's face? Maybe even throw a punch at the massive giant, no matter how suicidal the notion was? Or was it that he wanted to see the bear again...?
There it was, the bitter thought that, over the last two days, had laid siege to Syrell's logic in his waking hours and turned his dreams into nightmares. No matter how hard he tried to suppress it or drown it in alcohol, it would float back to his consciousness, a question as unsinkable as it was bitter:
Did he want to see the bear again?
He growled silently in the darkness. The bear had abused him. Why couldn't he just hate him, plain and simple? Why was his mind one big knot of confused emotions? Hatred. Affection. Anger. Embarrassment. Desire. Disgust. Lust. Revulsion. Need... His feelings kept changing, swinging from one extreme to the other like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.
And he knew why...
Sometime during the fulfillment of the second favor, he had come to enjoy the experience of their lovemaking. He had been... content, glad to have shared the bed with the enigmatic stranger. Wishing for more... Syrell DeMeryyn loathed himself for what he'd felt. For what he still felt; he had not yet managed to extinguish the spark of affection, fickle as it might be.
The thief stoked his self-loathing, kindled it into anger. And as others make a far better and easier target for anger than oneself, Syrell, too, made this transfer, and gladly directed his fury at his forceful lover. Trevis Brunn was to blame for everything! He had cheated on the wager. If not for his foul play, Syrell would have won fair and square and nothing would have happened. Nothing! And he wouldn't have to cope with all these conflicting emotions!
Syrell felt his way up the steps. Yes, he would meet the bear, if only to give him a piece of his mind! He would tell him how much he despised him, see the stunned, maybe even hurt expression on the ursine face and be out of the room again before Trevis could recover. He had to hurry, though. His temper might have lent him the strength and resolution he needed for the confrontation, but he didn't know how long it would last. If his mind became fixed in an impasse again... Syrell didn't even want to imagine that!
Thankfully, he found the door handle almost the instant he reached the topmost stair. He pulled the door open. Blinded by the sudden light coming from within, Syrell more stumbled than walked into the room.
"You tricked me!" he snarled. It came out just how he had hoped - accusatory, but not pouting. "And you should..." his voice trailed off as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright glow from the candles.
Only a few subtle differences marked the passing of time since he had left the room the in the morning the day before. The window was no longer covered with a white linen sheet; Syrell could see the thick bank of black clouds on the horizon, rushing in on the island of Aruun'a. And somebody had changed the pillows on the bed. There were no bite marks on either of them, the thief noted somewhat shamefaced. A bottle of the same expensive wine they had drunk two days ago had been brought to the room, but it stood on the writing desk now rather than on the floor, and the bottle seemed untouched.
The greatest difference, however, was that there was no Trevis Brunn to greet him.
Its target absent, the anger that had fueled Syrell's initiative trailed away and his already brittle plans shattered. Where was the bear? Wasn't it past eight already? He went further into the room and looked around more closely. On the writing desk, next to the bottle of wine, lay one white rose. It was Trevis's trademark; Syrell knew instantly that the bear had left it there for him. He walked over to the furniture and found a letter pinned beneath the flower, written in an elegant hand. He picked up the sheet of paper with trembling paws and began to read:
My spirited young kitten
Events I have no control over demand my immediate presence elsewhere. It is impossible for me, therefore, to be with you as planned. I must apologize for this crude message. Words cannot do justice to the regret I feel over missing our reunion.
If you spare a few seconds to take a look around, you can see that clean sheets have been put on the bed. The pillows have been replaced by new ones, just as the candles have been. With the upcoming storm, it would be a shame to deny yourself the comfort and luxury the room has to offer. Use it to your liking. You should find an unopened bottle of wine right next to this note. Drink to my health and enjoy the night. Perhaps we shall meet again one day.
However, if it was my company you sought, you must find my offer sorely lacking. At nine o'clock, I will be at the old lighthouse ruins. I cannot promise you the cozy togetherness you might have anticipated. Nevertheless, if you can forgive me this sudden change of plans, do not mind the possibility of getting wet and still wish to see me, I would be most glad of your company and expertise. I will wait for you at the ruins until quarter past nine.
Know that I consider your last favor to me paid, irrespective of your decision. The fact that you are reading these lines tells me that you kept your word, which many a lesser man would not have considered necessary. For that I thank you.
T.B.
Syrell felt his mind go numb. He had thought entering the room would finally put an end to his everlasting dichotomy. He had been wrong. Not only was his inner torment still existent, it was stronger than ever before. On the one hand, his third favor was paid and he could leave without a bad conscience. On the other hand, the bear wished to meet him again, and a part of him yearned...
The cheetah threw his head back and let out a long and haunted scream.
He was hastening down the weathered pier to the ominous rumble of thunder. If not for his superior feline eyesight, the darkness around him would have been complete. Whatever light the silvery moon and the stars in the sky might have provided that night was now hidden behind the storm clouds. Rain would begin to fall every minute; that was one of the two things Syrell knew for sure. The other was that he was late. Again. It was past nine already. The church tower bells had announced the hour... when...? Five minutes ago? Ten minutes? The quarter of an hour ago...?
His walk to the old lighthouse hadn't been any easier than his visit to the Passing Wanderer. He had fought with himself every step of the way. He had repeatedly stopped in his tracks, stalled for time, turned and turned again, just to be eventually drawn to the shore by the bear's invitation like a moth to the flame. And even now he was part relieved, part sad that - due to his lateness - he might miss the bear. If Trevis was gone already, it wasn't really his fault, right?
Right...?
The planks ended and Syrell stepped onto the small rocky outcrop that had hosted Aruun'a's former lighthouse. Close to ten years ago, the cylindrical tower became the victim of a fire. The new lighthouse had been built on higher grounds, on the island itself, leaving the charred remains of its predecessor quite abandoned. Now its only company was nesting gulls and rats, and perhaps the occasional pair of lovers keen on some solitude and shelter from the winds.
He blushed as his thoughts galloped freely. Certainly the bear hadn't set some amorous ambuscade here, had he? No, Trevis's letter had spoken of events over which he had no control. Definitely no second getting together...
What was left of the lighthouse was half again as tall as he, a jagged, blackened crown of stonework cresting the rock. He walked the ring of masonry hesitantly, biting his lips. His heart was pounding in his chest, his throat too constricted to swallow even if his mouth hadn't been as dry as dust. A full circle seemed to take ages, and when Syrell reached his starting point again, he knew he was alone. Relief and disappointment battled inside him. To his consternation, disappointment won. Maybe the bear was delayed, too... He turned on the spot and yelped as he bumped into something solid.
Before his cry could be swallowed by the storm, a muzzle pressed against his and the cheetah found himself being kissed passionately. Taken by surprise, it took Syrell a few seconds to kick his frozen body into any kind of reaction. Which - when it finally came - was to pull away. Trevis stood before him and there was no mistaking the merry twinkle in the ursine eyes. His distinctive taste was still lingering on Syrell's tongue. It was enough to inflame his anger again.
"You tricked me! You... you had someone steal two of the purses I collected and that is... that is why I lost the wager. Because you..."
The bear was mutely closing in on him, not in any way threateningly, just... resolutely. Unconsciously, Syrell began to back off, unaware that the escape route in his back was blocked by the remains of the lighthouse.
"...because you..."
A wall of stone suddenly pressed into his shoulders from behind. In front of him, Trevis still advanced. The cheetah gulped audibly as he realized he was pinned in between.
"...because you... cheated..." he finished in an almost apologetic tone.
Their bellies met. Trevis's head was only inches away from his own, every line in the calm, authoritative face clearly visible up so close. Syrell began to cower. The bear leaned forward, ignoring the other fur's cringing, and pressed his cheek to the feline's. "Is that the only reason you came here," he whispered into Syrell's ear, "to tell me that I tricked you?"
"Ye-ye-yes," Syrell stuttered.
And jumped as a big paw pressed warmly against his loins.
The bear drew back his head. He fixed Syrell's eyes with that deep gaze one could drown in as he watched the cat tremble. His fingers were tracing the feline sheath through the cloth of his trousers.
"N-n-no."
His breathed, feeble attempt at speech did not stop Trevis's manipulations. If anything, it made the bear move his paw more softly, which in turn made the feelings Syrell was receiving even more intense. His mind was in a daze as the inner battle that had been tormenting him for two days was decided for him. The rubbing his dominant acquaintance was giving him felt unbelievably good. The feline couldn't help it...
He moaned.
Trevis's paw stopped where it was. He gifted the cheetah with a brief smile, then bent forward again, planted a short, sweet kiss on his lover's lips, and stepped back. Syrell could only stare dumbly in confusion at the unexpected turn of events.
"In that case, it has been a pleasure meeting you again, Syrell DeMeryyn," the bear said with the faintest hint at a bow. He began to walk away backwards. His huge, slightly round figure, dressed in his usual black garb, blended in perfectly with its surroundings. Soon he was only a gray outline in the dark, then gone.
What? Syrell's confounded senses snapped back to the here and now. "You... you're leaving?"
Silence.
Syrell was alone, talking to the winds. Again, a decision had been made for him, not by him. Its outcome was a leaden yoke on his shoulders. Though his feelings for Trevis were still a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions, the bear's short teaser had stirred a longing in him that the cat couldn't possibly deny. And he had lost the chance to find out what that meant. Practically wasted it...
"The letter!" he positively shouted as the thought hit him. "What about the letter? Didn't you need my help for something? My expertise?"
A few seconds passed in which the cheetah was sure agony would tear him apart from the inside. Then the veil of blackness parted. Ever so slowly, the ursine form walked back toward Syrell, who had to swallow a loud sigh of relief.
"You made your intentions very clear. You only came here to tell me what you thought of my cheating."
"I... I know..."
"And now you want to help me?"
"I... yes," Syrell affirmed so quietly, he couldn't be sure the bear, only two handspans away, had heard it.
Trevis stood motionless before him, weighing him. "I meant every word I wrote in my letter. I immensely enjoy your company. I wish we could be in our room right now, out of the cold and this gale, without the confines of our clothes. I would teach you a thing or two, and savor your cute blushes while we embrace one another and our bodies become one."
Syrell was thankful that nothing but shades of gray existed in this stormy night. His face felt hot just from hearing the bear's words.
"Unfortunately, like I said I have some unfinished business to attend to, and this business touches more than just the lives of the two of us. Yes, I could need your expertise, and would take it gladly, but only if you are a help to me, not a hindrance. I can't have your indecisiveness, or you turning tail on me in the middle of my plans. I will take you up on your offer, but only if it is of your own free will, without any hesitation and with the promise that you will do what you're told, when you are told, as long as you are told! Did I make myself clear, boy?"
There was a big lump in Syrell's throat. Not unlike his first meeting with Trevis, events were again spinning out of his control fast. But, today, he could still back out. No matter what the bear had planned, he wasn't a part of it yet. He couldn't be forced into anything, he still could simply go away...
Instead, he nodded.
Trevis stepped closer. Once more he pressed his paw unambiguously against Syrell's trousers. "Even if obeying me meant something like this?"
Syrell flinched again at the contact. Their bodies were so close, he was sucking in the bear's exotic smell with every breath. It had grown on him, the cheetah realized. The aromatic flavor was a balm, unique and comforting like the smoke of an open fire at your home in a cold winter's night, like the unmistakable smell of family or... a loved one...
And Syrell knew he would forever regret it if he bolted now.
"Yes, sir," he said at last, "even... even if it meant something like this!"
He waited for the older fur to take the lead from there. He didn't have to wait long. Trevis's face broke into a broad smile and he pushed Syrell against the lighthouse ruins once again as their muzzles met. The feline took a more active part in the kissing now, tonguing the inside of Trevis's mouth as much as the bear chartered his own. When their heads parted, Syrell was very reluctant to voice what was occupying his mind. He needed an answer to soothe the last of his worries, but what if - now that his torment was vanquished - what if his questioning undid everything after all?
"Sir," he said, an edge of uncertainty back in his voice, "Please forgive me, but there is one thing I must ask..." He waited. The bear didn't say a word, and Syrell took the silence as his leave to carry on. "Your plan. Is it anything... bad? Because if it is, I... I must refuse you yet. I won't do anything bad."
He hoped Trevis understood what he meant with 'bad'. It was such a harmless word, but for the lack of alternatives Syrell had used it to comprise everything that was really, really... well, bad. Syrell certainly done his share of crimes himself, being a cutpurse and all, but never had he been engaged in something where people got seriously hurt. Or killed...
The bear licked the cheetah's nose affectionately. "No, my dear kitten, it isn't anything bad. Moderately dangerous, yes, and no doubt some people would consider it illegal, but I swear it is nothing you would object to."
He grinned, showing two rows of sharp white teeth.
"In fact, I think you'll love it: It's not very different from my... cheating... on you. And we both know that that little trick was in the end more liberating than harmful. Tonight's might just as well be, believe me."
He cupped Syrell's cheek with his giant palm and lifted a thumb to stroke his eyebrow, a comforting gesture he had also used two evenings ago. "Does that answer your question, boy?"
"I... Yes, sir, it does."
"No more delays, then. It's time for you to decide, lad. Are you in, or out?"
Syrell looked up and met the bear's gaze levelly. There was something about Trevis that made the cheetah trust him. Perhaps he had always trusted him. Despite the unpredictable turns Syrell's life had taken since he first met him, he doubted he would have ended up in bed with him two days ago otherwise...
"I'm yours, sir," he said firmly.
Leaning forward, the bear nuzzled his ear. "Nicely put," he breathed. "And, thank you. But come now, my dear. Time is a fickle ally, even if she be on our side."
He walked away. Syrell followed him closely, filled with an irrational pride at the bear's words. He expected the older fur to lead them back the way they had come, over the pier and in the direction of the town. Instead, they walked toward the sea, climbed down a crevice in the rock and stepped onto a small rowboat that lay hidden there, swaying gently to the tune of the breaking waves. Trevis sat down on the aft cross thwart and grabbed the oars. He motioned for Syrell to loosen the knot by which the vessel was bound to a rusted iron ring driven into the stone. The feline did as he was told, threw the rope into the boat and sat down on the other thwart, facing his lover. The bear steered them away from the rock. It was hard work navigating the windswept sea, but occasionally Trevis lifted his concentrated gaze from the dark waters and the shallows around them to shoot an intimate smile at the cheetah. Syrell's heart went out to him for it and he smiled back with all his warmth.
The first thick drops of rain began to fall...
Out to sea they went, until every last dim outline of land was winked from sight, and further. Syrell was just about to ask what destination they could possibly have at open sea, when Trevis's regular rowing pattern changed and he used the portside oar predominantly for a while. Soon a series of lightning illuminated the sky long enough for Syrell to barely make out the isle. They were gliding along almost parallel to the shoreline, such a long distance away that they were neigh impossible to spot from land, even by happenstance. They must have been in one line with the far end of the harbor when the bear stopped his rowing. He let the waves carry them into the bay, with only the occasional quiet stroke of the oar whenever they threatened to drift off course. The boat moved practically silently, unnoticed by any eye on the docks. Finally, their trip ended in the shadow of a large galleon, with barely five meters between them and its flat stern.
"See that you keep us at a distance from the hull," Trevis instructed Syrell, handing him the oars. He reached under his seat and grabbed another thick rope, this one with a small but heavily padded grappling hook at one end.
Syrell wasn't exactly familiar with rowing boats, but his amateurish paddling sufficed long enough for the bear to make the best of the situation. He got the hook over the ship's railing on his first throw. He ran the other end of the cord around his thwart once, pulled it tight so that their makeshift ladder trailed down from the ship's deck in a vertical line, and tied it off securely. Next he hung on to the rope with his full weight. It held. Trevis let out a satisfied grunt, lowered himself back into their transport and stowed the oars away.
Above them, the ship's name was painted onto the boards in red color, but even craning his neck the angle was too steep for Syrell to make out the words. Only single letters were decipherable. H. S. O. E. No, it was a D, not an O...
The feline blanched.
"It's the HMS Pride! We're going to sneak onto a Royal Navy warship?" he very nearly shouted. It couldn't be true. If the English caught them, they would...
"That's the plan."
"But... BUT..."
"Boy," Trevis said sternly, "you volunteered for this, remember?" His voice was as calm as ever, yet Syrell detected a slight shift in his tone, so subtle it was easy to miss, but unmistakable now that he had noticed. The bear was disappointed. Maybe even angry...
He had every reason to, the cheetah realized. He had promised not to be a hindrance and here he was, balking at the first sign of risk. Pure shame spread through his veins. He lowered his head in a feeble attempt at an apology and muttered, "I'm sorry, sir. I... I guess I just panicked."
Trevis eyed him for a long moment before he relented. "All right. I admit our target might have come as a shock to you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Still, now is not the time to take leave of your senses, boy. I need you to be focused aboard the ship. Are you certain you are up to the task?"
"Yes, sir."
"You won't panic again?"
"I won't."
"Good. Then let's get this done with."
"Sir, what about the guards? I know there are always crewmen at the dock and on the warships. Won't they notice us when we step onto the deck?"
The bear shot him a quick grin. "The Royal Navy is notoriously undermanned in the Caribbean, especially on Aruun'a. Many of the Pride's crew are taking their well-earned leave in town, enjoying a pint of ale or some carnal diversion to take their minds off their hard work. Security is more lax than you might think. No more than two officers are walking the docks, and two seamen keep a lookout on the ship itself. That's all. Besides, we won't go onto the deck. Our destination lies halfway up that rope."
Syrell looked up to where some dull windowpanes were embedded in the ship's wooden frame.
"The captain's quarters?"
"Precisely." With that, the bear grabbed the rope and climbed nimbly upward. In just a few seconds, he had reached the glass. He retrieved something from one of his pockets, used it on the window and it opened to the outside. He pulled himself through the narrow gap and vanished from sight.
Syrell could only stare after him in impressed wonder. Despite his slightly overweight figure and his protuberant belly, Trevis was at least as quick and agile as he was with the honed reflexes of a cutpurse. Syrell had personally experienced the depth of Trevis's versatility before, his cunning and energy. But only now did he grasp that the bear was actively keeping up the common prejudice of ursine inertia. He wanted people to underestimate him.
With an uncertain gulp, he followed. He would have wagered that climbing the rope was more difficult than it looked. And he was right. The rope was swinging sideways in the wind and to the motion of the waves, and the rain that was by now coming down - still lightly but continuously - had slicked it. Holding on to it was hard enough; the effort it took to pull himself up made Syrell's limbs tremble. He began to envy the bear his sense of balance and was extremely thankful when Trevis's strong arms grabbed him and he was hoisted into the room.
He spent a long moment in his accomplice's embrace to recover. His cheek snuggled comfortably against Trevis's barrel of a chest and the ursine heartbeat drummed steadily in Syrell's ear, hypnotic.
The bear's amused chuckle brought the feline back to the present. "Tempting, but you must bridle your desires until we're finished here..."
Syrell straightened. Although there was nothing to apologize for, he was fighting the pressing urge to do so and glad that the bear couldn't make out the color of his face. More to busy himself than for any other reason, he walked away from Trevis and looked around. While the bear closed the window behind them, muting nature's incessant howl to a buzz, the cheetah let his eye become accustomed to the darkness. The first thing that stuck with him was the space of the cabin. It was huge! For someone like Syrell, who had crossed the ocean in a room in which you could touch two opposite walls simultaneously if you wanted to, and had had to share it with three other occupants too, it looked like a palace. The bed in the corner certainly befitted a king. Of course the captain of a warship would not sleep in a hammock, but still... Syrell had only the bed at the Passing Wanderer for comparison, and this bed was just as large, the mattress just as soft, and the two down-filled pillows were even more voluminous.
Behind him, Trevis stood motionless. His eyes, sharp as they were, weren't as sensitive to light as a feline's, and it was too dark in the room for him to see much beyond the outlines of the furniture. He reached into one of his pockets, took out a glass jar and unscrewed its lid. The bottom inside was filled with a layer of white powder, roughly one centimeter thick, and amidst it stood a stoppered vial filled with some clear liquid. Trevis gripped the vial, uncorked it and poured its contents onto the white powder. He sealed the jar again and shook it. Syrell turned to the noise. The substances mixed before his eyes and began to glow. It was an eerie, yellowish light Trevis's self-made lantern cast, and so dim that it didn't even throw a shadow on the walls, just like a colony of fireflies buzzing in the grass at night. But it was bright enough for the bear to make out the details of his surroundings, and to Syrell's keen eyes it did wonders. The light added contours and depth to the furniture and walls around him, and even gave the room a weak tinge of color.
He made a slow anticlockwise turn on the spot, taking in everything he saw and filing it away. A large writing desk stood before the windows, so that whoever took his seat behind it would have the sunlight in his back. Syrell had passed it unnoticed when he stepped into the middle of the room. It was just the kind of desk he had always envisioned inside a captain's quarters, massive, elegant and polished to a gleam. Not a single scratch marred its even brown surface, as far as he could see. Two maps lay outstretched on it, held down by a golden compass, richly engraved, an equally impressive sextant and a brass looking glass, its large lens covered with a protecting cap made of leather.
From there, his eyes swept over Trevis and the windowpanes behind him to the other wall. This side of the cabin was mostly hidden behind pieces of furniture. A drinking cabinet stood there, three wine casks stacked beside it, followed by a large wardrobe that was matching the giant bear for height and was easily as wide. Then came a globe, a three-dimensional scale model of the planet half a meter in diameter. It showed earth's known landmasses and oceans and was set into a chest-high frame of oak wood by a bolt that ran through the center of the globe and left it by its poles, so that the sphere could rotate freely. To its left, in the corner of the room and placed beneath the picture of Her Majesty, Queen Elisabeth I of England, a book pedestal held a large leather-bound volume. It was the ship's log, he presumed.
Against the fourth wall stood a bookshelf, stacked with more books than the cheetah would most likely ever read in his life. Between it and the door leading outside onto the lower part of the deck, several maps were pinned against the boards, so that the captain and his officers could study them standing there. More pieces of paper hung on the left side of the door; on one worn map Syrell could clearly make out the triangular form of the continent of Africa. And then his eyes fell on the bed again. A chest for clothes stood at its foot, the last item of furniture the room had to offer. His turn was complete.
But the door...
Trevis was suddenly at his side. "Don't worry," he spoke softly, reading his thoughts, "the door is always locked and the guards keep to the deck. We just keep quiet and they won't even notice us. Here's where I could use your expertise: I am looking for a diary. It must be inside this room, kept in some ingenious hiding-place. I was hoping on your criminal sixth sense to lead us to it."
"I'll do my best not to disappoint you, sir."
The bear bent down and brushed his cheek lightly with his palm. "Of that I have no doubt, love. I'll tackle the bookshelf first, you can start with the writing desk."
He walked into the far corner with the light jaw in his paw while Syrell sat down on the chair behind the desk. Deciding to start with the obvious hiding-places first, the cutpurse opened the drawers one after the other and rummaged through them. Once he saw the contents of the lowest drawer, he tensed with excitement.
"I've got it. I've got the diary!" he whispered urgently.
Trevis didn't even turn his head. "That's Captain Mott's diary. I'm looking for some other diary."
Syrell picked up the journal and searched for the inscription of the owner's name. Opening its cover, he found it. In the most precise hand he had ever seen, it read: 'Bartholomew George Mott'.
"How did you know that it was the captain's diary?"
This time the bear did turn, if only to chastise his partner with a meaningful stare.
"Oh... You've been here before?" Syrell half asked, half answered himself. Of course the bear must have sneaked onto the ship before. That explained much, for example how he knew that the door was always locked. Yet Syrell was undecided whether that was good news or bad. What if the crew had found evidence of the bear's first break-in? Maybe they had changed their routine, and would storm in on them every moment...
He flung himself back into his work to clear his mind from the uncomfortable, distracting thoughts. He checked the desk for hidden compartments but couldn't find any. He examined the drinking cabinet next. It wasn't so much a drinking cabinet as a shrine. A total of six crystal glasses were surrounded by many tokens of Captain Mott's former glories. Numerous medals ornamented the satin lining. There was also a dueling sword with its point plunged into the eyehole of a musteline skull, a grizzly reminder that the badger who had drawn the weapon had lost the fight. A faded scroll named the captain the owner of some lands he had won in some affaire d'honneur, though it was not clear from the document whether it was related to the same duel or some other. There was a dagger with several rusty stains on the blade that looked suspiciously like blood, an engraved silver locket and another golden compass. But there was no diary, and no place to hide it either.
The wardrobe and the bookshelf were a waist of time, too. Stuffed to the brim with items they were supposed to hold, they took long enough to search but offered no reward whatsoever. And to crown it all, the light of Trevis's chemical lantern was rapidly dimming. Soon, Syrell knew, Trevis would have to work by feel rather than sight, so he moved on quickly. He put his paw unto the globe and spun it. It rotated smoothly and silently, to his disappointment. A book hidden within would either have rattled inside or caused the sphere to wobble. And the book pedestal was as solid as the queen's portrait was unspectacular. That left only the bed and the chest. As they had by now searched everything else twice, Trevis and Syrell worked together to pull it quietly some few inches out of its corner, and yet nothing was to be found behind it. They lifted the mattress to check beneath and ran their fingers over it meticulously. Syrell, bending low over the bed the whole time, got a good whiff of dog scent, but that was all. The chest, finally, had a false bottom. It hid only dust and a colony of dead sow bugs, though.
Outside, the storm began to peak.
If the diary was concealed anywhere within the captain's quarters, it wasn't in the furniture. So Syrell walked around the room, tapping each floorboard with his boot to find a loose one. No luck there. He knocked against the walls, but could not detect a hollow space behind any. He even fingered the ceiling in search of suspicious fissures. Again there was...
"Nothing! Are you certain the diary is hidden here somewhere?" he asked Trevis rather dejectedly.
"Not certain, no. But if Captain Mott has ever had it in his possession, I am sure he kept it. You have seen his trophy case; he likes to collect souvenirs of his... victories. We must have missed something."
Syrell was inclined to disagree but kept his doubts to himself. Apart from breaking the boards to splinters, they had done everything he could think of to uncover the room's secret. They could search the furniture again and again until Captain Mott walked in on them personally, and still find nothing but dusty cobwebs.
Until he walks in on us...
"The door!" Syrell's voice was a high pitch of excitement. Was the answer to their problem really that obvious? He lunged to elaborate. "What's the first thing anyone breaking into a forbidden room does? He closes its door behind him, so as not to be caught! What if... what if there is a secret compartment inside the door, one that can only be accessed when the door stands open? The door is... what... eight centimeters thick? That's enough to fit a small diary into. And it would indeed be an ingenious hiding-place because nobody but the captain can retrieve something from there without alarming the guards on deck!"
Trevis continued to stare at him with a look that came as close to dumb surprise as Syrell had ever seen on him.
"I hadn't thought of that trick, I confess."
"Well, maybe I'm wrong. We can't check if the diary is really there, because of the crewmembers outside."
"Oh, I am certain you solved our little riddle."
Trevis put down the jar on the writing desk, its contents by now as dark as before he had mixed them and pondered something for a few more seconds; Syrell had no idea what it might be. Then, as suddenly as it was frighteningly, he was at Syrell's side in two long strides and lifted him into his arms. His muzzle darted forward and the cheetah found himself being French kissed the third time (or was it the fourth already?) that evening. Trevis's tongue snaked into his mouth and didn't seem to want to leave its new lair ever again. When it finally retreated, Syrell gasped for breath.
"Wh...what are you doing?"
"Your flash of genius demands for a reward, don't you think?"
"But... but... We're in the captain's quarters of a Royal Navy warship!"
"Boy, I told you the guards won't walk in on us."
"BUT..." he trailed off. The bear was staring at him. Just staring at him! It was uncanny how strong a command Trevis could voice without uttering even a single word. His silence spoke volumes, penetrated Syrell's soul and wiped away every single objection he wanted to raise...
"Yes, sir," he whispered, though his unsteady voice could also have passed as a whimper.
Trevis didn't wait for a second invitation. He put the cheetah down and drove him backward across the room with just their foreheads touching. His paws slid into Syrell's coat, moved up and into its sleeves, tugged. The auburn cloth fell to the floor before the thief could blink twice. Syrell's heels connected with the bed and he nearly tumbled, but Trevis's strong arms were there, catching him, holding him close. They stroked his back, up and down, down and up, grabbed his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers.
In spite of himself, Syrell forgot to worry. There was no place in his mind for reason just now, for logic. Being undressed made for a nice change, and the prospect of what lay ahead was enticing.
He raised his arms to help the bear strip him. Trevis lifted the shirt above his head and the world around Syrell vanished behind white cloth. Strong fingers closed around his wrists and Syrell found himself pinned helplessly inside his shirt. That was strangely erotic, too... Syrell lunged forward for a surprise attack of his own. He missed his target and nearly got his eye poked on the ursine muzzle, but Trevis, chuckling, rectified the mistake for him and kissed him through the fabric. Ever so slowly, he peeled the shirt off him like the top layer of an onion, until it passed Syrell's mouth and their lips united.
He held the shirt there, keeping Syrell blindfolded with his own clothing, kissing him eagerly and being kissed back just as enthusiastically. Though his paw had released Syrell's wrists again, the cheetah showed no sign of wanting to lower them again. He kept them high in the air, curious as to where Trevis's fingers would travel next.
To his waist, obviously. The bear's paw found his belt and grabbed it firmly just beneath his naval. The warm fur of the back of his fingers rubbed against Syrell's naked torso promisingly, hinting at what was to come.
"Kick off your boots," the bear ordered and Syrell made a comical figure as he hobbled on the spot - arms in the air, shirt over his eyes - to oblige the command. Pressing heel against heel, he managed first to get off his right boot, then his left, kicking them far away from him and not caring where they landed with a thud or what they had possibly hit.
And the paw at his belt became active. Trevis worked on the thief's belt buckle with deft fingers and a dire urge so palpable, Syrell could almost taste it in the air. The belt opened in no time, and his gray trousers slid to the floor, leaving him naked from the waist down.
At last, Trevis finished his work on Syrell's shirt and pulled it completely off him. He tossed it carelessly to the floor as he cupped the cheetah's chin with his large palm, lifted his head and looked him deep into the eyes.
"Last chance to stop, boy!" Trevis said. He breathed the words so heavily, it was doubtful whether he would be able to restrain himself much longer if Syrell hesitated on his answer.
But there was no need to worry; Syrell didn't need any more time to make up his mind. He wanted this to happen as much as the bear wanted it. In fact, he doubted he had ever wanted anything more than this!
"I'm all yours, sir!" he said, his voice rich with need and lust.
Trevis smiled broadly, licked his partner's earlobe and pushed him onto the bed while Syrell was still purring his approval of the work of the ursine tongue.
Syrell landed softly on his back. The bed was even more comfortable than it looked. With the mattress swaying gently beneath him, the cheetah waited for the bear to undress and join him. Trevis was in no hurry to follow, however. The bear walked to the foot of the bed and pulled the sheet out of its corners. He extended a claw and used it to make a cut in the sheet, then pulled. A small strip of cloth parted from the sheet with a ripping sound. He repeated the process three times, until he had four strips of cloth torn off and thrown to the floor, each roughly four inches wide and four feet long.
Syrell looked at him quizzically, but Trevis, still smiling from ear to ear, said nothing as he advanced on the cheetah with two of the self-made cords in his paws. One he put down on Syrell's chest, the other...
"Give me your right arm."
"Sir?"
"Your arm, boy!"
Syrell held his arm out toward the bear hesitantly. The bear wound one end of the cloth around his wrist and tied it off with an intricate knot.
"What... what are you doing, sir?"
"I'm tying you to the bed, kid."
"WHAT? But... but why?" the cheetah said slightly panicky.
Trevis casually threw the cushions off the bed with his free arm. "Like I told you, I'd like to teach you a thing or two."
"Yes, but you were talking about ...uhm... sex, sir. What does that have to do with tying me up?"
"It will heighten the level of pleasure you're going to receive, boy!"
"BUT..." Syrell cried out, pulling his arm away in a frenzy, ruining Trevis's attempt to fasten the other end of the cord to the left post at the head of the bed.
"Boy, if you need yet another reason to hold still: you promised to do as you were told. Don't make me regret that I have put faith in your words! Now cease your struggles," Trevis said sternly, his eyes fixed on the cheetah's.
"Yes, sir," Syrell said quietly, surprising himself. He had promised - though he had never thought his words might be used to ensure his total obedience in some amorous escapade aboard a guarded Royal Navy warship! - and strange as it seemed, he did not want to disappoint the bear.
He held still, and Trevis bound his arm to the bedpost. Before the cheetah could change his mind, the bear did the same with his left wrist, tying it to the other side of the bed and making sure that bonds certainly weren't loose enough to shake off, but not wound so tightly that they cut into his flesh either.
Done with all the knots, Trevis licked Syrell's cheek once and stood up, eying his lover warmly. A few feet away, he unbuttoned his coat. Syrell watched him all the while, enjoying the show, the deliberate slowness, the implied tease. The dark piece of clothing landed on the floor and the bear's fingers worked on the buttons of his black shirt. He began with the topmost button and worked his way down, displaying more and more of the lush brown fur on his chest in the process. The first faint tendrils of arousal began to ensnare Syrell's mind, and the bonds around his wrists were forgotten. He had seen Trevis's naked body only once before, on that fateful evening at the Passing Wanderer, but the sight of his impressive torso brought back all the memories, together with the desires Syrell had denied to acknowledge in himself for far too long.
The shirt joined the coat on the floor. The bear knelt, taking off his boots in a more genteel fashion than Syrell had. Still kneeing, Trevis grinned up at Syrell, perhaps because of the fascinated, eager expression he saw on the cutpurse's face, and slowly unbuckled his belt. Three empty buttonholes later he rose. With nothing to hold them up any more, the trousers fell from his waist as he stood. Syrell was rewarded with a full front view of Trevis's magnificent body. His dark brown twin orbs dangled heavily beneath his legs and the tip of his penis - gray in the darkness where it would usually have shone a bright red - was already visible above his massive sheath, indicating that the bear was ruled by passion right now as much as Syrell was.
He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself carefully above Syrell, until their faces were on one level and he could gaze down into his spirited companion's eyes and see the depth, curiosity and expectation that shone in them.
"Tonight I'm going to see your face while I'm fucking you senseless, kitten," he whispered lovingly.
"Yes, sir," Syrell replied huskily and surprised his lover by raising his head to lick the bear's chin.
At once, the bear's unmistakable taste was back on Syrell's tongue. Whatever fur their clothes hadn't protected against the rain was damp from their little rowing adventure, and the complex flavor that defined Trevis was potent on his wet face. The smell of clean mineral earth, of the salty sea, and to some extent of sweat and musk flooded the cheetah's senses, mixed with a myriad of flavors that were almost negligible on their own, but together made up the spicy aroma of Aruun'a itself. The fish market was in it, a hint of the tanner's shop and the armorer, and more than a hint of the Passing Wanderer, of its slightly stale air, heavy with the odor of tobacco and its various brews and burnt down candles. The lighthouse ruins were a part of it, too, the acrid smell of the smolder that had accompanied its destruction ten years past barely noticeable, but clearly recognizable for Syrell, who had a vivid flashback of their meeting at the weathered ring of stone about an hour ago. The island's fauna rounded off Trevis's smell, a sweet concoction of exotic flowers and dry grass, of fruit-bearing trees and blossoming shrubs.
The taste was an aphrodisiac and Syrell lifted his head as far as he could to get more of it. He let his tongue trail down under Trevis's chin, and to the side of his neck, scraping at the fur, sucking in the smell and ever wanting more.
Trevis enjoyed the rasping tongue immensely. A deep rumble broke from his chest, traversed his body and passed into the cheetah, making them both tremble. If he hadn't yearned for a little taste of Syrell himself, the thief's caress might have gone on for hours. Instead, the bear pushed himself up by his arms, giving the bound cat no chance whatsoever to follow him with his head. He slid down toward the foot of the bed, their bodies pressing erotically against each other. Syrell let out a gasp of pleasure as their groins met for a short, sweet moment and their cocks, both fully unsheathed by now, fought a passing duel of the naughty sort.
When his head was directly over Syrell's navel, Trevis dove and closed his lips around the cat's bellybutton, sucking in the fur and the flesh beneath. Syrell shuddered in delight, so the bear put his tongue to work, licking clean the hollow with feverish enthusiasm.
Every time his body wasn't shaken by tremors of joy - which, pleasantly enough, happened extremely rarely - Syrell wondered distractedly what he must smell like to the bear. Even the keenest nose was helpless when it came to identifying the body odors of its owner, blocked out what would otherwise assault it all day long, yet he would have given much to be able to smell what the bear was smelling right now. Was his own taste as multifarious and exotic as the bear's, or just ordinary or even bland? How much of his life in England was still in it? How much did it betray this dire urge that had crept up in him over the course of the evening, the need to be finally taken by his dominant lover?
Trevis's head slithered north, and Syrell's unanswered questions became moot. His tongue performed a long drawn-out curve, wandering from his naval over his chest to his right armpit. It was one of the few spots where the cheetah was really ticklish, and he writhed in his bonds with suppressed laughs, or sobs - they seemed to turn from one into the other and back again constantly - trying to get some words out in between his breaths that would make the bear stop. He didn't manage, though, and the ring of cloth around his wrist made it impossible for him to press the arm to the side of his body like he desperately wished to.
Soon he was panting with exhaustion, unable to offer even the slightest bit of resistance any longer. Trevis ended his torture, now that the real fun of it was gone, and moved to Syrell's shoulder, licking it affectionately, then to the hollow of his neck, where his tongue elicited a purr from a feline throat.
He pushed himself up further, until their shafts united again and his erect cock was aligned with the cheetah's. As Trevis was larger than Syrell by more than a head, that put him into a position in which Syrell was looking up at his upper chest, and the thief spent a few more minutes with his tongue buried deeply in the fur of his lover while their bodies were rubbing sexually against each other.
Throbbing ursine member ground against throbbing feline member, and the constant contact sent both furs spiraling toward the inevitable. Their bellies were damp with precum, their cocks both coated with their mixed juices to their balls. Arousal hung heavily in the air, the smell of musk and wild energy and lust. It covered them like a blanket and turned them on even more.
Trevis readjusted his position on the bed again until he could smile down into Syrell's face.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Very much, sir," Syrell managed hoarsely.
"Want me to continue, boy?"
"If you don't, sir," Syrell got out, "I might cry out loud enough for the guards to hear me."
"Oh, feeling rebellious, eh, kitten?"
"Sir," he just said with a wicked grin of his own.
"Perhaps then I should also gag you," Trevis retorted, which instantly wiped the grin off his partner's face. The bear chuckled, seeing the shocked look that had replaced it. "Don't you worry, lad, I was only teasing. I wouldn't want to close that sweet mouth of yours. After all, I would deny myself this ambrosia, then," he said, stealing a quick kiss from Syrell's lips. "And besides, I want to hear you say it!"
"Say what, sir?" the cheetah asked, momentarily puzzled.
But Trevis considered his words clear enough and said no more, waiting calmly - if with glinting eyes - for the cutpurse's reaction.
Syrell pondered the bear's words. As realization dawned on him, he felt his face go hot. Yet even his blushing could not stay his tongue...
"Sir, please fuck me!"
Trevis nipped the cheetah's burning ear playfully. "With pleasure, boy!"
He pushed himself up and half-rolled, half-climbed from the bed. Syrell watched him walk slowly through the room, his eyes following the thick pole jutting upwards between the bear's legs every step of the way.
"Lift your legs," Trevis ordered. "Higher."
Syrell raised his legs until they hung vertically in the air. There was enough free space at the foot of the bed now for the bear to climb up and to sit down behind his lover in a kneeing position.
"Now rest your legs against my shoulders. Good." His paws closed around Syrell's ankles and pulled them up higher while he waddled forward on his knees, thus pushing the cheetah forward until the top of his skull almost hit the wood at the head of the bed.
Their cocks were touching again. Trevis's thick shaft lay snuggly in the furrow of Syrell's ballsack, between his amber testicles, and its head was petting the cheetah's elonged shaft.
There was a short pause in which Trevis did nothing but look down calmly at the thief before him. This came as close to an wait for an invitation as Syrell would likely ever get from the authoritative bear.
"Sir... Will... will you be gentle?" he asked, implicitly giving the bear the permission to proceed.
Trevis's face lit up with a surprised smile. He recognized the words. Two days ago, at the Passing Wanderer, Syrell had asked them just before Trevis had deflowered him. And he replied with the same words he had given the cat back then.
"I promise I will be as gentle as I can."
He lifted the cheetah by his ankles and after some shuffling on both parts had his cock pressed gently against Syrell's anal sphincter. He could feel the cutpurse tense beneath him.
"Shhh," he soothed, "relax, boy. Just relax..."
"Yes, sir."
Despite the affirmative, Trevis recognized the suppressed uncertainty in his lover and decided to remain inert in this position a moment longer. He caressed the cheetah's legs tenderly, waited for Syrell to loosen up. By and by the stiffness vanished from the feline body and the bear moved his hips forward slowly.
Syrell cried out his pain through clenched teeth. He was dimly aware that the bear did indeed everything he could to enter him gently, but the last forty-eight hours had worked miracles on his bruised rectum. His sphincter held out valiantly - much too valiantly for Syrell's taste - against the thick invader that threatened to conquer it. Thankfully, the ursine cock was producing a copious amount of precum. Trevis's whole phallus was coated with a thick film of it, and even now it throbbed once, smearing a big drop of the clear liquid over the cheetah's rear. And his forward momentum, together with the natural lubrication the pre offered, was enough to overcome its resistance.
With a quiet plopping sound, the ursine cookhead slid past the sphincter. Syrell uttered his loudest moan of pain, but, panting heavily, heaved a sigh of relief, too. The hardest part was done, he knew, and for the moment Trevis was staying where he was, letting him get adjusted to the thick living stopper inside him.
A minute or two later, when the bear was sure that his lover had overcome the worst, he continued. He pushed himself ever so slowly into Syrell's rear, until his cock was buried in the narrow chute to the hilt and Syrell's testicles were a warm cover between his pubes and his naval, then moved back again with the same caring, tender rhythm.
Syrell fought with several bouts of pain during the whole intrusion, but each spike was less pronounced than the one before, and finally there came a point where he felt uncomfortably stuffed rather than hurting. In fact, having to keep his pelvis in the air all the time caused him more discomfort now than Trevis's thick cock in his ass. He almost laughed as he realized that. Obviously, he was on the mend...
Another slow push of the bear's hips later, Syrell moaned again, but it was a pure sound now, the exclamation of rapture, of happiness and joy.
Trevis took the moan as his cue to deviate from the routine. The slow pace had been the key to the forbidden music the two of them were playing, now he was arranging a composition, creating a piece of love. His gentle thrusts alternated with swift, short stabs, glided into brief interludes of livid motionlessness, and peaked in a series of harsh pounding. Notes joined and drifted apart, and with them the rhythm changed as well. No more did the bear rely on simple forward thrusts alone to stimulate Syrell. His hips were gyrating once in a while, and every circular motion brought a tingle to the cheetah's rump and a staccato cry of ecstasy to his lips. Trevis's paws soon found their place at Syrell's side, just above his hips, lifting the thief to his strokes, lowering him, pushing him off his body a bit or pulling him close. His strong arms were restless, and every subtle shift of position did wonders to the sensations Syrell was feeling.
The longer their symphony lasted, the more it became a duet. Both their voices were running swiftly upward in crescendo, fell during the calmer passages, just to be raised in harmony again and again, and it was only because of the guards outside that their growls of animalistic lust didn't gain the volume of a full orchestra.
For Syrell, time blurred. Sometimes he was sure their lovemaking must have lasted hours already, sometimes he could have sworn only seconds had passed since Trevis pushed him onto the bed. But what they were doing was too wonderful, too natural an experience to let time dominate it anyway. He gave himself to the bear completely, oblivious to the world around them. He looked up at Trevis. His gaze was concentrated, his eyes half-closed, but the smile - this knowing, understanding smile reserved only for him - never left his face. Syrell returned it warmly. At the passing Wanderer, Trevis had leaned over him as he fucked him, his chest covering the cutpurse's back and his breath a warm breeze against his neck and ears. The experience had been terrific, too, but tonight was different somehow, tonight was even more... intimate. To be able to lock eyes with Trevis, to see the warmth and compassion he felt himself reflected in them, made the cheetah unspeakably elated.
Trevis's breaths came shorter now, more labored. He wouldn't last much longer, Syrell knew. He felt highly charged with energy himself, filled with the extreme need to let it burst from his body through his loins, and his cock was only passively stimulated. He couldn't even fathom how the bear, plowing his ass with vigor, could still hold out against the pressure that must have been constantly building up in his body, too.
A sly grin spread on his muzzle. He intended to find out how much resistance was still left in him...
He clenched his anal muscles tight and was instantly rewarded. Trevis's eyes snapped open and his breathing turned into a gasped choke. But no matter how much he tried to withstand it, Syrell's unexpected maneuver had slashed the last thin ribbon that still stood between him and his climax. His choking became a guttural moan as he pressed the cheetah's buns firmly against his groin and filled Syrell's bowels with the first jet of potent ursine cum.
Syrell trembled visibly with every strong throbbing of the thick shaft inside him. The bear had strengthened the grip on his hips and was grinding their bodies together unrelentingly as he claimed the cheetah for the second time that week. He released spurt upon thick spurt of gooey spunk into the cutpurse beneath him. He pulled off until only the tip of his penis was still hidden inside Syrell's ass and ended his orgasm with one deliberately slow thrust forward. Inch for inch, he reentered Syrell's rear, and the cat let out another loud gasp as the cock rubbed sensually over his prostate gland on its way back to where it belonged for the moment.
He let his head fall back onto the mattress as Trevis's movements ceased and the last echoes of their combined moans dissipated in the air around them.
Panting heavily and experiencing this wondrous feeling of being truly and ineffably alive, he basked in the perfectness of the moment. His legs still rested on the bear's shoulders, a warm, furry cushion that vibrated gently to the beat of Trevis's quickened pulse. The bear kept close to him, stayed inside him, and his face shone with contentment, joy and affection. Syrell's own look mirrored these emotions, mixed with anticipation. With mounting tension, he waited for the bear to bring him over the edge, too. Trevis's paw moved from his side to his shaft, working it with palm and fingers. The touch was light, the motion so slow and gentle, one could only call the treatment criminal. Yet the ministrations did assault the cutpurse's senses stronger and more memorable than any quick way to release could have done. Step for prolonged step, Trevis let him ascend the ladder toward orgasm, got him gasping, trembling and moaning harder and harder the longer their intimacy lasted. But all good things must eventually come to an end, and there, finally, was the moment when Syrell knew just one more stroke would send him past the point of no return. He sucked in the air through his teeth in the expectation of his greatest climax ever...
When Trevis removed his paw from his cock...
The coldness that played around his erect member directly after the bear's warm touch was almost enough to make him cum. Almost; But not quite! Syrell whimpered in frustration and shot a puzzled look at his lover.
Trevis grinned mischievously. "Not yet, my love, not yet!"
Syrell mewed imploringly, without avail. Trevis did not relent to his pleas. Rather, he lifted the cheetah's legs from his shoulders. He pulled back and the thief felt a great emptiness as the thick pole left his rectum together with a small puddle of bear cum that was quickly soaked up by the sheet.
The bear climbed off the mattress, picked up from the floor the other strips of cloth he had ripped off from the sheets earlier and returned to the bed. There was a questioning look in Syrell's eyes, but Trevis didn't deign to share any knowledge of what he was about to do. Not with words, that is. His intentions became clear once he grabbed Syrell's left leg and tied it to the right post at the foot of the bed with one strip of cloth, then repeated the process with the other leg, leaving the cheetah bound spread-eagled, stark naked and utterly helpless.
He walked to the head of the bed and licked the fur between his young partner's eyes with affection. Syrell purred in return. He had to admit being tied to a bed wasn't as disturbing as he had initially thought. It had definitely added a spicy note to their sex and - though it surprised him - Syrell was curious what exactly the bear had planned that demanded the two extra bonds.
Apparently, whatever it was, it required some clothes, because Trevis walked to where his belongings lay strewn over the floorboards and began to dress himself.
"Sir?", Syrell asked quizzically.
Trevis didn't answer but donned his shirt.
"Sir?" There was a distinct note of uncertainty back in Syrell's voice. For what reason would Trevis change back into his clothes and leave him tied to the bed?
The bear bent down for his trousers, stepping into them almost leisurely. Lastly, he fished for his coat, the last item of his clothes on the floor, finished dressing and walked through the room. Syrell tried to lift his head to see where he was going, but it was a difficult enterprise, with the bounds keeping him down on the bed. Trevis vanished from Syrell's sight and the cat's queasiness mounted, threatened to turn into another fit of panic.
"SIR?"
Again he got no answer. Syrell began to writhe in his bonds. Somehow the whole situation wasn't enticing any longer!
A series of metallic clicks somewhere nearby made him raise his head again. He still couldn't see anything, but even in his terrified state he recognized the noise as that of a lock being picked. A door handle was pressed down and the door to the cabin was slammed open by the force of the elements outside. Under the howl of the storm, a strong gust of wind entered the room, together with the absolute certainty that the guards on deck, too, must have noticed the creaking noise and the motion that came from their captain's quarters.
"Halt! Who's there?" came a shout from the ship. Though the unknown voice was muted by the storm, it did not lack the least in aggressiveness. Syrell became frantic, tried everything he could to free himself, but the bear had done a condemnatory fine job on his bonds; he would not go anywhere anytime soon! Moments later, the yellow-orange shine of a nautical lantern lit the doorway and the cat ceased his struggles in the vain hope not to be noticed.
Two seamen stepped cautiously into the room, sabers at the ready. One was a mole of average height and almost as round as a barrel, the other a lanky hare, who held the lantern high in front of them. The only reason they did not see the cheetah instantly was that the candlelight did not exactly help their eyes to adjust quickly to the darkness. Strangely, both were sniffing the air and passing confused glances at each other.
And then it dawned on Syrell: they were smelling sex! The wind might have dispersed some of the traitorous smell, but the traces of their passionate lovemaking were anything but unnoticeable. A mix of odors, of precum, semen, sweat and wet fur, of wild energy and lust still permeated the air like a heavy perfume. The aroma must be unmistakable...
Involuntarily, Syrell let out a loud and desperate wail.
Both heads swiveled in the direction of the noise and the sailors stepped toward its origin. Syrell's assumption that a mole's protuberant eyes couldn't grow any larger was proven wrong. They positively bulged in stunned disbelief at the sight of him struggling futilely against his bonds on the captain's bed. His partner's eyes, too, were as big as saucers, the dark pupils in danger of rolling up inside the hare's head. Which they did immediately thereafter, though not for reason of shock. Trevis sneaked up on the pair of them from his hiding place behind the open door and forced their heads together with an audible crack. Both furs dropped like stone at the foot of the bed. Their sabers made a clamor as they fell with them, but the lantern Trevis caught before it could break on the boards. He set it down carefully on the floor.
Syrell stared wild-eyed at the bear, quivering, as realization hit him as hard and brutal as a cannon ball.
"You used me! USED ME! As a diversion! AS BAIT!"
"You seem to have enjoyed it..."
"WHAT?!"
Trevis stepped over the fallen seamen and let his forefinger trail teasingly over the cheetah's cock, once, from root to head.
"Standing at attention like a good soldier..."
Well that was completely beyond the point, wasn't it? He tried to tell the bear, but for some inexplicable reason all he managed to voice was silent 'O's, which naturally quelled any decent form of an angry retort in the bud.
"You enjoyed it."
"No!"
"Admit it!"
"NO...!"
Truth was, when Trevis had sneaked off into the dark, his curious behavior had rather dampened Syrell's libido, brought him away from the edge of climax. But now Syrell's cock did stand as straight and erect as when they had stopped their raunchy play, and once again the bear's touch had nearly made him erupt. The prospect of imminent danger that came in the form of two Navy seamen must have sent a charged tingle of excitement through his loins...
"NO...!" he repeated forcefully. Too forceful, perhaps, to be believable.
The bear smiled knowingly, and brushed Syrell's barbs with his thumb, a touch as light as a feather.
"Just admit it, boy!"
"N..." A touch as light as a feather... "Aahhhh," Syrell gasped. His fully erect cock throbbed once, oozing one big drop of precum.
Trevis smirked, removed his paw from Syrell's glans and licked the cheetah's nose.
"Maybe we should do this more often, then."
Before Syrell could protest, Trevis moved toward the now open door, inspecting it closely. Syrell heard a scraping noise, like that of a wooden panel being shifted, and seconds later the bear was back at his side, a book in his paw. Compared to the captain's costly bound diary, this one looked positively cheap, but the way Trevis's eyes glinted, it was the one he sought.
"You did it, my dear kitten!" he said with all the warmth of the world in his voice, and kissed the bound cheetah fiercely, hungrily.
Syrell kissed him back with all his might, proud that his sudden inspiration had led them to the book. He was also more than eager for release, and hoped that the fortuitous turn of events was a good enough reason for Trevis to finish what he had started. His cock craved for the bear's attention; this prolonged time of high arousal was already driving him crazy!
He was disappointed in that respect, though. Trevis left him again, picked up the lantern, put it on the writing desk and sat down behind it. And to Syrell's immense horror, he began to read the diary.
Now that was anything but fair! The pent-up sexual tension inside Syrell had him as tightly coiled as a spring. Why did Trevis choose to leave him unattended in such a wretched state!
"Sir?" he pleaded again. He didn't get any response, just as he had feared. But squirming as he was with the need for release, he knew he would not dare anything that might possibly make Trevis turn away from him for good. So he just watched the bear closely, hoping against hope that Trevis would notice his beseeching mien and relieve him of his bonds and needs. Of course he had no such luck. But he realized something else: The bear wasn't really reading the diary. He was just skimming the paragraphs, beginning with the last entry and turning the pages from back to front. After only three or four pages, Trevis face became the image of triumph and he pocketed the book with a broad smile.
He stood up, walked over to Syrell and raked the claws of his right paw tenderly through the cheetah's chestfur. "This is everything I need, and more!" he told him. "Thank you!"
The paw moved further along Syrell's body, until - claws retracted - Trevis's warm fingers came to lie against his testicles and he began to massage the twin orbs softly.
Syrell mewed in anticipation. And much frustration was in the sound, too. He should have been angry with Trevis for the delay! Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not get himself focused, due to the expert kneading he was receiving. With nothing but his fingers, Trevis had established the control over him again!
The bear untied the cloth on Syrell's right foot. The cheetah willingly obliged Trevis's command to lift it, and the bear crept beneath it with his torso. Syrell could feel his warm breath on his erect member and then the bear's tongue was working on his balls. By now his privates were thoroughly coated by a film of precum. Trevis didn't seem to mind, though. He was licking away savagely, lapping up every wet spot he could find and ever moving on, until he had cleaned every inch within reach at least twice.
The attention wasn't lost on Syrell. Close as he was to the brink of orgasm, he could feel his testicles withdraw within his body, as sure a sign as there could ever be that the finish to their love play would be timed in seconds rather than minutes now.
Trevis's tongue wandered north, along the shiny trail of wetness that had begun on his scrotum and ended on the tip of his cock. He had to get onto all fours to reach his destination, and Syrell's leg was raised high into the air to allow for the movement, but if the position was anyhow uncomfortable, Syrell didn't become aware of it. A wet maw enveloped his cock, a flexible tongue scrubbed his glans and his skin, and the world was just one giant moan of pleasure for him as the bear, his lips closed around the feline shaft, began to suck on its treat.
Syrell was in heaven! A series of expectant purrs was shaking his body as intensely as claps of thunder. Now his patience was finally being rewarded...
As if on cue, Trevis lifted his head from Syrell's dick again. For a brief but horrifying moment, the cheetah feared that Trevis would once more deny him his orgasm, but the look in the ursine eyes put him at rest. Only warmth and affection was in it, and he knew the bear had looked up just to share this intimate moment with him.
The bear bent down again, closed his mouth around Syrell's throbbing member and with four skilled licks sent him over the edge. Syrell positively howled with pure delight as shot after warm shot of cum erupted from his cookhead only to be lapped up by Trevis's restless tongue. Trembling uncontrollably, he let the waves of ecstasy wash through him, over him, until there was nothing more to spend, nothing more to give. Trevis swallowed everything that was offered him and afterwards lifted his head from Syrell's groin. The cheetah's cock was still throbbing, if dryly now, and the cool of the winds in the cabin made him gasp with bliss.
Trevis rose from the bed and gave the thief a broad smile.
"You taste wonderfully sweet, lad," he said. Syrell's mind was still ensnared in the afterglow of what had just happened; his lips stood open invitingly. Trevis used the opportunity for a kiss. Their tongues met and Syrell recognized the faint new taste on the bear as that of his own semen. He blushed at the thought, though - spent as he was - he did not break away but let the bear do as he wanted, for as long as he wanted. Finally their muzzles parted, and Trevis licked the cheetah's cheek once, bent forward and undid the knots on the bonds restraining Syrell's paws.
"Time to get off this ship, wouldn't you agree?" he asked rhetorically.
Syrell said nothing. He was glad that his left foot was still bound to the bed. Loosening the cloth binding himself gave him some time to get his muddled thoughts sorted, and so he worked quietly on the knot, and slunk towards his clothes afterwards, to dress in silence. His feet and paws were slightly numb thanks to his earlier struggling, prickling as if someone was sticking needles into his fingertips and toes. Blood was rushing back into his extremities, causing him some discomfort and not helping with his sense of balance, either. As he was swaying on the spot, clothing himself took much longer than usual.
In the meantime, Trevis pulled the sheet off the bed and walked to where the unconscious sailors lay. He lifted the hare and laid him down on the bed facing the wall. With one of the strips of cloth he had used on Syrell, he bound the hare's paws behind his back in such a way that he still had half of the strip to spare, then did the same with his feet. He carried the second seamen to the bed and laid him down so that the two were lying back to back. He used the free ends of the bonds on the hare's paws and feet to bind the mole's paws and feet in a similar fashion. They were now tied together by the same two pieces of cloth, and Trevis used the other two strips to tie the bond at their paws to the head of the bed, the one at their feet to its foot. It was more than unlikely that they would be able to free themselves from that. Lastly, Trevis picked up the sheet again and tossed it over the pair, screening their view.
He walked to the portrait of Her Majesty and picked up the ship's log beneath. He put it down on the writing desk, took the diary from his pocket and laid it on top of the bigger book. Next he opened the lowest drawer of the desk and added Captain Mott's diary to the stack. Another one of his pockets revealed a large piece of cloth in which he wrapped the three books tightly. This bundle, in return, was wrapped in an oilskin he produced from yet another pocket, to protect its contents from the rain outside.
"I thought you were only looking for the hidden diary," the fully dressed Syrell spoke finally, again dumbstruck by what the bear was doing.
"I was. But now that we have found it, I need all three books for my plan."
"Oh," Syrell simply said, disappointed that Trevis still didn't show any inclination to let him in on this mysterious plan.
Trevis gave him the waterproof bundle. "Can you take this with you into the boat?" he asked, pocketing the glass jar he had left on the desk a long while back.
"Yes, sir," Syrell replied in a deaden voice.
"Good, then go now. I must still shut the door," the bear said.
Syrell opened the window and reached for the rope with his free paw. The storm was breaking, and though it was still raining, it was only a light drizzle. Moving down the rope was easier than climbing it had been. The rocking motion didn't bother the cheetah as much as it had before and the slickness of the rope actually helped him to slide it down quite fast. Once inside the boat, he put the bundle of books beneath his seat. He looked up to watch for Trevis and nearly fell overboard in shock as something hit the water not half a meter to his left with a big splash. Before his eyes could make out what the bear had thrown out of the window, another near miss made him jump again.
The things that had almost sunk their boat, Syrell realized as his racing heartbeat normalized, were two wine casks. They were still floating on the waves nearby as Trevis's voice came down from above.
"Haul in the two casks, boy. There's something I still must do, now that the opportunity has arisen. I'll be with you in a few minutes."
Disgruntled, Syrell did as he was told, but not before he had watched the shine of his nautical lantern fade away in the room above him. For yet another secret reason, Trevis had left the captain's quarters and moved to the deck...
Syrell was left in the dark, both literally and regarding the bear's latest change of plans. A cold anger was slowly building up inside him over the long minutes of his wait. He took the oars and was seriously considering cutting the boat free and trying to row away from the galleon on his own, when Trevis came down the rope with the third cask under his arm. He put it down in the boat with a roguish grin.
"There, now we're all set."
He took the oars from Syrell, loosened the rope from around the cross thwart and began to steer them away from the HMS Pride.
They were rowing back the same way they had come, Syrell was dimly aware, but other than that, he didn't care about much. He might have escaped the danger on the galleon unscratched, but his thoughts were still on the ship.
What had his role in this whole adventure really been? Had it been that of a partner in crime, that of a loved one, or did Trevis see in him but a tool with which to bypass possible problems?
The anger inside him had anything but dissipated. On the contrary, the longer the events in the cabin lay behind them, the more it was on the boil, because he more and more doubted Trevis's motives concerning him. The bear had used him, and no mistake! He had tied him arm-and-legs to the bed just to set the guards up on him.
In Syrell, the belief grew stronger with every passing second: their intimacy - however much he had enjoyed it - had been nothing but a means to an end for the bear!
It was indescribable how much the thought hurt...
Trevis noticed Syrell's pain, too.
"You're awfully quiet, boy."
"I didn't say anything on our way to the Pride either," Syrell evaded testily.
"Not with words, no, but your face spoke volumes. You were curious, attentive to your surroundings and even gifted me with your cute smile occasionally. Now your face is in your lap. You haven't even looked at me once since I started rowing. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he lied.
Trevis put the oars into the boat and fixed Syrell with a deep stare.
"Boy, you know I don't like being lied to!"
"AND I DON'T LIKE BEING PLAYED THE FOOL!" it finally broke from the cheetah. "WHY DID YOU SNARE ME INTO YOUR WEB TONIGHT? DID YOUR PLAN REQUIRE A DUMB HENCHMAN? SOME POOR FELLOW WHO HASN'T GOT A CLUE WHAT'S GOING ON, WHO ACTS AS A DIVERSION ON COMMAND AND TAKES THE BLAME WHEN THINGS GO WRONG?"
He panted heavily after this tirade, but it felt good to shout at the bear, to get some of his thoughts and his insecurity across. Really good!
"I never 'snared' you into anything. It was your choice to accompany me."
"Yes," Syrell spat bitterly, "my choice. You played with my emotions and I was stupid enough to let my loins do the thinking for me. I hope my embarrassment did make for good entertainment, sir, when the Royal Navy was walking in on me tied naked to their captain's bed."
"It did indeed..."
"You... what...?" Syrell spluttered. He had expected Trevis to play down the incident, to shrug it off as a trifle. Instead this cool confession... The brazenness of that bear!
"If there exists anything that will stun someone more completely than the sight of you lying naked, quivering and aroused on a bed sheet, I do not know it."
"You bastard!" he snarled. "So that was the sole reason you took me along, as a diversion? Someone you could first get your pleasure from and then throw to the wolves? Why, then I must thank you, sir, that you took the liberty to neglect your precious plan long enough to blow me and untie me. After all, you already got what you sought, so neither would have been necessary."
"You mean I only fucked you to get the diary. Is that how you see me?" Trevis asked uncommonly quietly, his deep voice more a murmur than a rumble.
"You tell me why I shouldn't! You haven't explained much since we met at the lighthouse ruins. In fact, you haven't really told me anything one would expect a true partner, an equal, needed to know! YOU DIDN'T EVEN WARN ME BEFOREHAND WHEN YOU OPENED THE DOOR AND LET THE SAILORS IN! SO YOU TELL ME, SIR: AM I JUST YOUR TOOL? YOUR EXPENDABLE LITTLE TOY BOY?"
The last sentence hit home. For the briefest of moments Trevis's face slipped. An expression of deep hurt etched into his features before the bear could hide it again behind his usual calmness. The whole thing happened so swiftly, Syrell might have accredited it to his imagination, if not for the fact that some color had drained from Trevis's face.
The reaction should have made him rejoice; Syrell had accepted - no, if he was honest with himself he had even welcomed - the possibility that his words might strike the bear hard. Now, however, the thief felt anything but jubilant. Just... empty. Hollowed out.
"Syrell," the bear said hesitantly. "I never saw you as a dumb henchman, or as a tool. I took you with me on our little raid tonight only - only - because I trust you deeply!"
How he had longed for Trevis to address him by his name! He named him 'boy', sometimes 'kitten' or 'dear' or 'lad', but never had he simply called him 'Syrell'... But now that he had finally used his name, it bounced off the cheetah's hide without any warming effect. Syrell just snorted.
Trevis, however, ignored his skepticism.
"I deem myself good at judging people at a glance," he continued. "And I had more than a fleeting glance at you at the Passing Wanderer two days back. After that evening, I knew I could rely on you. If I hadn't thought you trustworthy, I would never have written the paragraph of my letter in which I told you where to find me. I wouldn't have waited for a second pair of eyes at the lighthouse ruins; I would have worked on my own. Like I usually do."
"I don't believe one word of your story!" Syrell said harshly.
The bear nodded, as if he'd expected the answer.
"If I cannot convince you with words, my only hope is to dispel your doubts with actions. You still have the oilskin bundle. If you are certain that all I see in you is a scapegoat or a fool, throw it overboard!"
Syrell looked at the bear in bewilderment. He bent down, retrieved the parcel from where he had stowed it under his seat and eyed Trevis dubiously. He felt it in his arms. The books weren't exactly light, but not too heavy either. Even sitting, he could throw the bundle far enough from the boat that they'd have no chance to get to it before its weight dragged it under the surface of the water.
Trevis looked back at him, paler than usual, but otherwise as calm as ever. This apparent lack of concern only rekindled Syrell's anger.
"Don't think I couldn't do it!" he said, shooting the bear a furious look.
The bear gave him a wan smile. "I know you could. And you would, too, if you saw fit."
"The loss of these books would destroy everything you worked for!"
"More finally and thoroughly than anything else could, yes. My plan literally lies in your paws, but if I used you and nothing but used you, there is no reason why that should worry you, or stop you from flinging the bundle away."
Syrell didn't know what to say, what to do. His fury hadn't truly abated yet, but he knew how important this ominous plan was for Trevis. And he was willing to give it up just to prove the sincerity of his words...
He decided on keeping the bundle in his lap - for the moment.
"I think I deserve some answers," he demanded.
"I guess you do," Trevis acquiesced. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything! If you really trust me, I see no reason why you can't tell me your plan, what it's all about and what the diaries, the ship's log and the wine casks have to do with it. And you sneaking off onto the deck because 'there's still something you must do', oh, yes, I noticed...!"
"And yet there is a reason: time. Take a look at the sky; it is well past eleven already. If I want my schemes to proceed as planned, I still have an appointment before midnight that I'd better not miss, and telling you the plan and everything that goes with it would take far too long."
He saw Syrell tense at his words and raised his paws in an attempt to placate his partner.
"I will try to explain as much as possible until we reach the shore, and if you aren't satisfied with what I tell you, you can still throw the books away at any time. And whatever part of the plan I must leave out tonight, I will tell you tomorrow, if you let me. You can meet me at Rosevan's, the tailor shop in the north of town, at noon, and you will hear everything, I promise!"
Syrell hesitated for a long moment, but finally relented. "I'm listening."
Trevis, too, needed some time before he could make himself speak.
"Before I tell you anything about the plan, there are three things I want you to know:
"One. I still can't think of any other way by which we could have lured the sailors into the cabin and taken them out with less danger to ourselves than by what I did. Seeing you in your predicament was the least thing they expected; any other diversion might have been ordinary enough to see through, which in turn could easily have earned us a blade in our sides. I don't want that to be my apology, though. If I had confided in you, you might have devised some plan better to my cause, and one less worrisome for you. So there's no excuse I can give - I used you, just like you said. It is an allegation I cannot deny, and if you must be angry with me, or even hate me, let it be on this charge and on no other!
"Two. No matter what you think, I did not fuck you only so I could get some book! When I gave you the chance to stop my advances at the beginning of our armorous play, my offer was sincere. If you had told me to stop, I would have done so and come up with an alternative - if riskier - plan to distract the guards. No, I took you to the captain's bed because I couldn't wait to lay my paws on you again, because I dearly enjoy your company, your body and spirit! I would have tried to seduce you even if we hadn't had to open the cabin door to retrieve the diary. Perhaps not inside the cabin, but back at the lighthouse ruins for sure...
"And thirdly... Syrell - even if you don't believe me a jot - you must know that I have never, ever, thought of you as my expendable little toy boy! NEVER!" he growled the last word challengingly, as though daring the cheetah to disagree.
He gripped the oars rather more firmly than necessary and began to row again with long, powerful strokes, introducing Syrell to his plan almost without pause while their boat ate away the distance to the shore.