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- 03/02/2017
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Predator Prey - 25. Grasped
It took the enormous wave five, perhaps seven, seconds to fully pass over the Feigenbaum. The ship rose sturdily, allowing seawater to wash away and out of the scuppers and back into the Gulf. Its engines turned steadily, pushing forward slowly into the face of the oncoming weather and waves. Nothing terribly remarkable.
But those seconds were easily the longest of his life.
He’d been hit by the wall of water like a full body blow; he felt the sea trying to scrape him off the side of the ship. The first impact knocked his head almost senseless. It was cold; people say the waters of the Gulf are warm, but that moment taught him otherwise. An instant later, he was engulfed by the surge, lifting, buffeting, trying to shake him loose from his precarious hold. All he knew to do was to hang on. He ached, and he felt himself begin to slip. As the wave retreated sternward, he felt its powerful fingers trying to drag him along, down, down into the foam and swirl. Against all reason, he clung to the ship. How easy it would have been to let go. And then the sea was gone, at least for a moment.
He could breathe. He realized he was still there, holding to the ladder. It was a miracle he remained there, a barnacle on the ship's hull. Later, he reflected that he’d been lucky his sneakers were hooked onto its rungs from the inside. If his feet had been washed free of the Feigenbaum, his hands could never have saved him.
But there was no time for reflection just then. He had to climb.
Graham’s sodden form still hovered above him at the rail, staring down in frank disbelief. He wanted to scramble up the ladder, but the best he could do was an agonizingly slow slog, rung by rung. Strong hands grabbed at his shoulders, hauled him up the last few feet, pulling him back over the rail to relative safety.
And then he found himself wrapped in the tightest, mightiest embrace he’d ever experienced.
“You fucking stupid idiot! What the fucking hell, Wally! What the fuck were you thinking, you moron?” Graham shouted in his ear.
Dumbly, he stood there, warmed by Graham’s body, trying to return the squeeze. He could feel the taller man trembling. Amazingly, he still held the stupid collection canister in his left hand.
“I got the sample,” he managed to get out, blinking. A second later, he let it drop slowly to the deck.
“I don’t care about the stupid sample, Wally,” cried Graham, practically sobbing, who released the hug only to grasp his shoulders and search his eyes, “don’t you get it? You could have been fucking killed, for Christ’s sake.”
He felt pierced by Graham’s gaze, pinned down by the weight of the past five years, the hurt he’d caused and the pain he’d endured. He shrugged and dropped his eyes. “No big deal,” he responded, his voice barely audible.
It really wouldn't have mattered if he'd just vanished in the swirl.
He felt a hand lift his chin, forcing him to look into those deep brown eyes. “Yes it is,” Graham said distinctly, an instant before planting a firm, warm kiss on his lips. After a moment’s surprise, he couldn’t help but respond to it, reaching awkwardly around Graham and pulling him closer. He parted his lips so Graham’s tongue could enter and explore. He tasted like warmth and hope.
“Jesus, Wally, please, don’t ever, ever, do anything like that again,” Graham spoke into his ear when their lips parted and they embraced again. “I couldn’t stand to lose you.”
He responded by kissing Graham again.
At that moment, the Feigenbaum shouldered into another wave, they staggered a little, and their feet felt the wash of seawater again.
He barely noticed. He clung to Graham, like he'd hung onto the ship, for dear life. When their lips finally parted, he knew there was something he had to say.
“There’s something you need to know,” he said over the noise of the rising wind and water.
He felt Graham turn and their eyes met again. “Can it wait? We should get inside.”
“No, now,” he returned, shivering. It wasn’t entirely from feeling cold. He was glad Graham still held him close, waiting expectantly. “My name isn’t Wally. It’s Scott. My name is Scott. And…and I think I'm falling for you.”
He’d said it, and meant it. He acknowledged to himself and to Graham that the attraction he’d been feeling was both real and different from so many others that he’d experienced. That something quite new had happened to him.
And Graham hadn’t flinched, either.
Instead, Graham actually grinned, grabbed him by the hand and led him off the deck. They made their way to the interior of the ship, securing the door as they went. It seemed strangely quiet, almost eerie, out of the weather. Graham still held his hand as they deposited their hard-won sample in the deserted lab. The place was deserted.
“Where’s Ellie?”
Graham grinned. “Her stomach was feeling a little blue, so she went back to bed.”
“I’d better get back to the galley.” He’d been gone a long while. He wondered if anyone would complain.
“Not until you get something warm on. We both need to change.”
“I’ll be okay,” he protested. “I don’t want to wake up my bunkmate, Nate. If he wakes up, he’s going to have some very awkward questions.”
“No way,” stated Graham flatly. He tugged his hand. “Come with me.”
He allowed himself to be led carefully down to Graham’s stateroom, which lay farther forward in the ship with the rest of the scientific party.
“What about your roommate?” he asked.
“I don’t have one. He had to back out at the last minute, so I have a single,” Graham spoke softly, standing at the door. “Don’t worry…Scott. Come on in.”
He opened the door, and they darted into the small space.
Graham flipped on the light.
"Nice place you have…" he began, but Graham's kiss interrupted him.
It took all of a couple of seconds for the taller man to have him pressed up against the door, their lips locked together. In another lifetime, he would have been the one to take control from Graham, dictating the pace and timing and direction of the encounter. But now, he just contentedly accepted Graham’s kiss, his searching, probing tongue, the warmth of his body against his. Their embrace could go wherever Graham wanted.
The deck under their feet rose sharply and shifted them against the door.
“Shit, sorry,” Graham said softly, releasing him again.
He looked up, trying to find Graham's brown eyes.
“I didn't mean to…" and then the taller man smirked adorably. "Actually, I did mean it."
The only reply to such a confession was another kiss, longer, warmer. But despite the warmth, he shivered involuntarily.
Graham couldn't help but notice. The tall man let him go, and turned away. "Clothes. Dry clothes.” He knelt, and dragged a duffel out from under the bed. “Here, you’ll want this.” A towel was being handed to him.
He welcomed the chance to dry off. He really was getting chilly. He started undoing his jeans. Getting the cold wet cloth off would help. He worked the wet denim off his legs with some difficulty, followed by his clinging boxers.
“I’m sorry these are kind of dirty, but at least they’re dry. I need to do some wash.” Graham held out a sweatshirt and pants, dry socks and a t-shirt. Graham's eyes widened a little when he saw him naked from the waist down. “Um. Er, sorry I don’t have spare shoes, but I don’t think mine would fit you, anyway,” Graham’s voice faltered.
A long moment passed. He could take command right then and there, and it would feel incredibly good, satisfying both himself and Graham. He had no doubt of that. But that wasn’t what he wanted; he wanted something better, something to satisfy a deeper, more insistent hunger.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and took the clothes. “That’s okay, I’ll be warm just the same.”
Graham stood and began trying to pull his own soaked tee over his head. It appeared to be a struggle.
“You need help with that?” he asked.
“No, you’d better not,” Graham croaked. Was Graham feeling the same kind of turmoil as himself?
A few minutes later, he was dressed in Graham’s offerings, dry and warming. No underwear, but he could risk freeballing for a few hours. Admittedly, they hadn’t been washed, but the clothes smelled pleasantly of Graham. And he’d gotten a few glimpses of Graham naked. The man was beautiful, in a lanky, sinewy kind of way. Every muscle looked corded and defined, without being bulky.
It was enough to feed his imagination with wicked ideas. But he wouldn't act on them. No. Not now.
He picked up the soggy bundle of his wet clothes.
“Here, give them to me. I’ll dry them and get them back to you tomorrow,” Graham offered softly.
“You don’t have to.”
Graham gently relieved him of the bundle, and stood closer. A long, slim finger traced a line delicately along his lips and chin. “Wally…Scott…please, let me do this for you.”
Again, they kissed, but this time the initiative was mutual. He felt his body respond and gave into it, allowing himself to melt into their embrace. A part of him wondered momentarily why he had decided to get dressed. He wanted Graham, no question. If Graham couldn't tell that, the man's powers of observation did not bode well for the future of science. Yet what he himself wanted most could not be seen so easily. For the first time, he wanted another man not for his own gratification – not for his own possession or control - but because he felt the pull of his heart.
When the kiss broke Graham asked, “So do I call you Scott or Wally?”
“Scott,” he answered without hesitating. “Everyone else can call me Wally, but I want you to call me by my real name.”
“Okay. Scott. Um, Scott…Graham began, then faltered. "I…I really don't want to screw this up. I think maybe…"
He waited. Clearly, Graham was struggling to say something. God, he hoped the man wasn't going to start telling him this was some kind of mistake. It would hurt – badly – but he'd understand. Or at least, he'd try to.
"Scott…what you said on deck…" Graham started over.
He nodded. He remembered. And he still meant it. He’d never felt like this before, not about anyone. Not Andy, the tennis pro. Not even Marc.
“I just have to say this…I think I'm falling for you, too, Scott.”
Graham kissed him again. He shivered.
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