Lilies

Lilies (Part 2 of 2) copyright 2015 Seth Kirkcauldy seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net

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Lilies (Part 2 of 2)

They spent the first of November in Puerto Vallarta, entranced by the intricate observances of Dia de los Angelitos. It was All Saints Day on the Catholic calendar, but the day in which the Mexican people remembered their lost children. Christian had joined Sawyer and Lizbeth for the day, and strangely there had not been even a single comment from Sawyer's friend about it. The first officer kept shooting her worried looks until Sawyer shrugged and squeezed his hand.

"Your NSA dossier must have been clean."

"Well, I did have an arrest once when I was in college. It was for a protest..."

"No one holds those things against you," Lizbeth replied loudly from in front of them. "Look, Sawyer! Lily would have loved these!"

They were Catrina dolls, stylized skeletons dressed up in elaborate gowns embroidered with gemstones and flowers. The laughing skulls were cartoonish rather than frightening, a perfect effigy of Posada's etchings. They lay upon a bed of marigold heads, the white figures stark on the saffron canvas.

The marigolds were everywhere. The resort city was awash in the Flor de Muerto. Huge archways of the blooms curved over the streets, golden garlands outlined many of the shop doors, and there were pathways of gold where the blooms had been mulched into soft carpeted avenues, leading living pilgrims to cemeteries.

"I don't understand this," Sawyer whispered. He fingered one of the beautiful dolls and watched the celebration around him at a loss. It was a party to celebrate dead children.

An old woman glared at him and muttered some rapid Spanish. Christian's hand was suddenly upon the small of his back and he leaned in to whisper, "Do you understand?"

Sawyer shook his head.

"What would you have us do," Christian translated. "Should we die with them? Or maybe we should forget them?"

The old woman watched Sawyer's reaction - his wide eyes and bloodless lips - for only a moment before her weathered hand grasped his, and her brown eyes softened. Her Spanish came much more slowly and gently.

"We celebrate them, senor," Christian said softly in his ear. "We celebrate. You go put a doll on her ofrenda to show her that you are not afraid of her death, and that she should not be either. Make a heap of sugar skulls to show her sweetness. Give her marigolds so that she remembers beauty."

The woman scooped a handful of the sugar skulls and filled Sawyer's hands with them.

"But I AM afraid of her death," Sawyer whispered. The old woman looked at Christian who translated dutifully.

She nodded and gripped his closed hands. She looked him in the eye, her dark irises boring into his, and whispered something back to him.

"We must do things for our children that we cannot do for ourselves."

Lizbeth's hand was over her mouth, and her eyes were shiny. She watched the scene warily, like a bodyguard unsure if there was danger.

Sawyer nodded, his countenance very pale, and then he hid his face in Christian's shoulder while the man's strong arms squeezed him. Lizbeth moved forward to thank the woman, and she bought a doll, another scoop of sugar skulls, and a very large bouquet of the marigolds.

They experienced the rest of the day with very different eyes. Lily seemed to be there with them as they watched the men dressed as clownish skeletons towering above them on stilts, and the bizarre parade to the cemetery where small tombstones were decorated with flowers, toys, and loaves of bread shaped like animals. Christian reached out again to hold Sawyer's hand when he noticed it flexing, as if searching for the small hand that once filled it. Sawyer just nodded gratefully and watched the proceedings. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.

They ran across the Taylor family when returning to the ship, and stopped for a long while so that Ralph and Lizbeth could dance with a band of skeleton musicians. It was the only time that Sawyer smiled on that day. Mr. Taylor looked a bit confused at Christian's and Sawyer's clasped hands, but his wife smiled softly at them and then returned to watching her son dance horribly, but energetically with Lizbeth.

At dinner that night, the guests were subdued. Christian looked out over the silent heads at his table while they studied their plates of food, and he cleared his throat.

"Sawyer and I had a discussion about age yesterday. We talked about growing older, the things we liked and did not like about it. Since we have an array of ages at the table, I wondered: what are your thoughts?"

Mr. Taylor speared an unidentifiable vegetable and then peered at it with distrust. "I'm all for growing older. It beats the alternative."

"Agreed," chuckled Christian.

"Hmmm," Sawyer opined, noncommittally. He speared a vegetable of his own and examined it suspiciously. "Why do we insist the alternative is worse?"

"Youth are the future," Romano responded with conviction. "In nature, the old and the sick get culled from the herd."

There was a long silence before Gabi finally looked around the table at the two seniors and the three middle-aged diners among them. Then she spoke directly to the elder Taylors.

"Youth iz wasted on de young, no?"

Lizbeth burst out laughing at Roman's scowl, and added her own view, "Mark Twain said: 'Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.'"

Everyone but Sawyer chuckled at that.

"That's nonsense, though." said Mrs. Taylor softly. She looked around the table at all of them, as if gathering her courage. "Getting old is the slow process of realizing that you can no longer do the things you spent your whole life getting good at."

She blinked rapidly at all the eyes that turned toward her, and she blushed. "No, it's not funny. It's not self-affirming. But it is the truth. Why pretend that it is anything other than what it is? You don't have to pretend that things aren't what they are in order to be happy."

She took a forkful of the mystery vegetable and chewed it purposefully.

Sawyer nodded.

They walked side-by-side down the hallway toward the elevators, looking like a mismatched pair: Christian dressed in his uniform and Sawyer in casual jeans and shirt from their day visiting cemeteries.

"I thought maybe we could spend the night again," Christian murmured as they walked.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"No. I think it's a horrible idea. I think it's going to hurt like hell to watch you leave even now, but I'd just as soon make it as bad as possible."

"I don't really understand. I keep crying all over you; there's no way you find that attractive."

They reached the elevator and paused there, neither completely sure where they were headed.

"I think sometimes that the right people meet at the wrong time." Christian paused and bit his lip, seemed to consider something, and changed direction. "You and Marc were together for twenty years? Did you ever cheat on him?"

"No!" Sawyer was incensed. His anger creased his brow and he scowled into Christian's guileless smile.

"Yeah, I thought not. You're built for commitment too. You're the right person, Sawyer, even if it's the wrong time. I want to hold you; we don't have to do all the other stuff..."

"Yeah, I remember exactly how that went..."

"Good. I'm not going to forget it either. No promises this time about what won't happen between us, just good intent."

"We all know where the path of good intentions leads."

"Your bedroom? I really do have to work early this time. I'm out of favors."

"Yes. My room. Lizbeth will probably be out dancing until long after you leave anyway."

Christian smiled, showing his very white teeth and hit the elevator button to ascend.

They left those good intentions in the hallway outside of Sawyer's door, which the man had kicked closed while Christian was plundering his mouth. Sawyer pushed him away only slightly, and while studying the frown he'd put on the first officer's face, called out tentatively:

"Lizbeth?"

The silence in response returned Christian's expression to an avaricious grin, and he leaned forward again to capture Sawyer's mouth and swallow down his moans.

"You. Bedroom. Now." Christian grunted between kisses.

"You know there's really no verb in that sent..."

"Now!"

"Yeah, okay."

Sawyer grabbed his hand and led him into the master bedroom, closing and locking the door. When he turned around he found Christian studying the shrine on the bedside table. The boxes that held the ashes were surrounded by marigolds and sugar skulls. The Catrina doll Lizbeth had purchased was propped upon the smaller of the two chests. There was a loaf of pan de muerto squeezed in, and the overall effect of the table was a carefully heaped mound of color and tastings.

"It's beautiful. You did a nice job. Is this going to be okay with me and you and your ofrenda in here together?"

Sawyer thought about that a moment and then gently extricated the two boxes of ashes from the altar and took them out into the sitting area to leave them.

"Thanks," he said, locking the door again. "I guess it's weird having their remains sitting right there while we do stuff. "

Christian stepped forward and kissed him lightly. "'Stuff'? Is that the scientific term for what I want to do with you?"

"It's slang, actually; as in: 'I want you to stuff me full.'"

Christian huffed. "I love how you tease; you have a quick mind. But I'm just not sure... do you mean that?"

Sawyer's face was flushed with color, and for the first time that day he did not look like a corpse himself. He bit his lip, looked Christian in the eye, and nodded.

"Before last night I wouldn't have thought I could do this. But I really like you; and I'd forgotten what being held felt like. There are some other sensations I don't want to forget."

Christian nodded his head slowly, and then reached for Sawyer's shirt while leaning in for a kiss. "I've got a single condom in my wallet. You got slippery stuff anywhere?"

"Yeah. Let me clean up just a bit from the day, okay? Ten minutes, I promise no more than that."

"Let me shower with you," Christian murmured, planting another kiss.

"After," Sawyer said, pulling away. "Ten minutes."

He pulled away and closed himself in the bathroom, took a very deep breath, and stared at himself in the mirror.

"You really gonna do this?" He asked himself quietly. He shivered as he recalled the warm body and rough hands from the previous night, the feel of Christian's hardness pressed up against him in the dark, and the strength of the arms around him.

He watched his mouth turn up slowly in the mirror, as if it belonged to someone else.

"Okay, I'm going to do this," he answered himself in a whisper. "I think Marc would kill me if I didn't."

And as that truth settled inside him, he stripped. He launched into his preparations and quick shower, and was back in the bedroom before nine minutes had passed.

"You're early," Christian mused. He was sprawled out on his back, naked and slowly stroking his dick. The muscles in his right arm bunched and relaxed as his hand pumped the organ with exquisite languor.

"I... uh, didn't want to miss anything. Fuck, that's hot."

Christian shrugged, his muscles rolling beneath the expanse of his tanned skin. "I was just thinking about you in there and got a bit excited." The rhythm of his motion never changed. It was a slow, steady pump, and the leaking fluids from the circumcised crown created a slick lubricant and an erotic squelching sound.

"This is how I prefer to fuck, by the way. Very slow, full strokes. At this pace, I can go a very long time."

Sawyer whispered a curse. The towel he'd slung around his hips in self-conscious modesty was tenting in a ridiculously obscene way. He didn't notice his own display, though; he was riveted upon Christian's slowly moving hand.

Christian's whole body seemed to point to his rigid cock: an inverted triangle of broad shoulders and strong chest tapered down to a soft, flat stomach and compact hipbones, and then a sparse trail of blonde hair like a spreading arrow touching the base of his engorged organ.

Marc had been dark-haired, just as Sawyer was, and so the wheat-colored thatches on Christian's chest and groin were exciting to look at; not just different, but new and alien. Sawyer could feel the beat of his pulse in his throat, it seemed double-time to the slow pump of fist on cock. Sawyer's eyes wandered a reverse exploration, from the leaking tip, down the thick shaft, across the blonde arrow, up the stomach, chest, and shoulders, to meet Christian's grey eyes that suddenly looked like steel and storm.

"Suck me," Christian rasped, and Sawyer found himself scrambling to obey.

He knelt on the bed between Christian's thighs and looked up at the man while he lowered his mouth to the crown and sucked on it. Christian's lips twisted into a satisfied smirk, an expression so sexy on his kind face; yet his fist kept pumping that cock slowly but surely, as if he siphoned from an internal spring and was feeding Sawyer from it. The thought made Sawyer groan and he swirled his tongue around the tight flesh, eyes locked with Christian's.

"That is so hot," Christian panted, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the mattress so that Sawyer was walled by his muscular thighs.

"My balls," he gasped, just to watch Sawyer's head drop down in compliance. Sawyer gently tongued the orbs, and then sucked the soft sac into his mouth to bathe it carefully. He closed his lips on it and nuzzled affectionately, his eyes now riveted on the column of flesh that towered above him, and the slow fist that slicked up and down it.

"That is amazing. God, do whatever you want, Sawyer. I'm yours." Christian released his cock from his fist, and Sawyer was immediately up and on it, groaning as he lapped at the stickiness streaking the sides, ran his lips up and over the crown, and then sank his mouth down so that the shaft was embedded in his mouth and throat. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the simple pleasure of providing pleasure. He bobbed his head, dropping habitually into the rapid pace that Marc had always preferred.

"Go slow. Real slow."

Sawyer obliged by pausing; then using the tip of his tongue, he traced a prominent ropey vein that circled the shaft like a mooring cable, stopped to place a kiss on the slit in the crown, and then laved around the circumcised head, flicking his tongue against the frenulum rapidly until Christian groaned deeply and his legs began to vibrate.

"You better stop." Christian told him tightly. "I'd really like to be inside you."

Sawyer raised his head, a thread of saliva connecting him to the crown of Christian's cock. "You have that condom you promised?"

Christian held it up in the fingers of his left hand, eyebrow quirked. "I was a very good scout."

"Thank God. Give it here."

The package was ripped open and the condom unrolled on Christian's thick shaft. Sawyer looked up at him in abashed apology while he used his fingers to smooth down the latex. "I'm sorry; I don't like the taste of latex, and we're not yet..."

"It's fine. It's necessary. You have the slickery stuff?"

"I'm, uh, all 'slickery' inside. I made good use of my ten minutes."

"You won't need more? It doesn't hurt?"

Sawyer blushed as he turned around on his knees, so his ass was facing Christian like he used to do for Marc. "I... I really like the burn. Not pain, but... I like..."

"The stretch. Feeling full of someone else's body. His cock."

"Yeah. God. Exactly. Please, Christian... just..."

"No. Not like that. I'm sorry, but it's not my style at all. Come back around here like we slept the other night. Remember how we... yeah, like that. Oh, God... yeah. Just like that."

Christian held Sawyer in his arms again, spooned together with the cheeks of Sawyers soft buttocks pressed up against his throbbing dick. It only took a simple wiggle for the head to insinuate itself directly to its target. It pressed up against Sawyer's opening and teased him with its caress.

"Please . As hard as you want."

"I hope we're a good match, Sawyer. We're about to find out. I don't do hard and fast."

There was something in Sawyer's brain that liked being at the mercy of another man. Marc had fed this need with brutal, punishing sex, fucking Sawyer ruthlessly over couches, on tables, or wherever he found Sawyer's ass conveniently presented to him. There was nothing in Sawyer's experience that prepared him for the gentle entry of Christian's body into his, the considerate and tender slide that stretched and filled him, but did not abuse him in the way he felt he needed.

He grunted in pleasure and disappointment, but Christian chuckled as if it had been encouragement.

"I think you're going to learn something tonight," he whispered in Sawyer's ear, seating himself fully inside his body and tugging on his ear with lips and a bit of teeth. "You like it really hard?"

"Yeah," Sawyer gasped, heart starting to beat faster.

"I don't do hard. Do you like it really fast?"

"Yeah... please..."

"I don't do fast." Christian eased his cock back until only the head was clasped by Sawyer's body, and then slowly glided it back in again. He steadily repeated this motion until his hips were at the same pace that his hand had been when he'd slowly jacked himself in front of Sawyer.

"Please... God, please, Christian... I need..." Sawyer trembled in his arms.

Christian tightened his grip around him, his hips never slowing, and he gathered Sawyer's hands in his own, removing them from where he was stroking himself. He stretched them away from Sawyer's body.

"I will give you what you need. Whatever I give you is what you need. Have you ever had an orgasm without touching your cock?" Christian's hips slowly gyrated, a smooth, pumping rhythm, slow and sweet.

Sawyer was gasping for breath. "I can't cum that way. I can't. We... you know, we tried... God. Uh. I can't stand it, Christian. Please..."

"You don't want to see what I can do to you? You want me to just give you what you want?"

"God... I just don't think I can wait..."

"You can. If I make you wait."

Sawyer's profound, cavernous groan was an exhalation of ghosts. "Whatever you want. I'll do it."

Christian's clasp on his hands tightened, and then he wrapped his arms around Sawyer's chest so that they were both hugging him tightly. The slow grind of his cock against Sawyer's prostate was an excruciating torture. He trembled in the arms of the man behind him.

"If I fuck you too hard, you can't think about what I'm doing to you," Christian murmured in his ear. The deep timbre shivered up Sawyer's spine just as the thick cock scraped across that tight bundle of nerves again.

"Uh!" Sawyer grunted.

"I don't know what that means, Sawyer. Speak to me. What do you want? What do you need?"

"Uh! Oh God. Please... just... uh!"

"Like that? Nice and slow?"

"Fuck! Fuck! Please... harder! Fuck me harder!" Sawyer squirmed, looking for leverage to push back against the man holding him.

"No." Christian rolled, trapping Sawyer beneath him, keeping their fingers entwined, stretched above his head on the pillows. Christian's strong body held Sawyer down on the mattress.

Christian ground his hips down slow and hard, punishing Sawyer's prostate with a maddening, pleasurable glide.

"Ahhh!" Sawyer cried as colors blossomed again on the back of his eyelids.

"Not yet," Christian slowed his stroke further, and didn't press as hard. "Not nearly enough for me yet; I need you longer than this."

Sawyer was now just a cluster of sensation. His need to be controlled, to be used, was being met in a way totally alien to him; but there was no question that it was being met. His arms were stretched and his hands held tight; his body was powerless beneath the bulk of the first officer's body, and his ass hungrily welcomed each tortuous stroke, each rasp of cock against prostate, each plunder of that wicked tongue in his ear. He squirmed and groaned and cursed as tears overwhelmed his eyes and soaked into the sheets. He could not take this torture.

Yet he did. Stroke after agonizing stroke, he pushed up to meet Christian's slow invasion, and then rubbed his own cock against the sheets beneath him.

"Hold still. No cheating. If you get to come at all, it will be from my cock in your ass."

Sawyer groaned in frustration, shivering and spasming with panic and pleasure. He couldn't keep doing this. He could NOT.

The slow, tortuous fuck continued, not battering his body as he was accustomed, but invading it slowly, languidly, as if Christian had every right to it. Sawyer lost all track of time, squeezing his eyes shut as hot breath scalded across his cheek and blonde curls and tight scrotum mashed up against his perineum.

"Squeeze my cock, Sawyer. Work your ass muscles for me."

Sawyer's brain simply exploded. The words, the sensation, the weight, the control, the need, the desire, the slow torture. It became too much for him to hold inside, and he screamed his defeat into the pillow, spasms wracking his body as he arched his back, lifting them both into the air, before he slammed back down to the mattress, emptying himself with frantic expulsions into the sheets. Christian's warm laughter did not help things, nor did the suddenly swift, hard slamming of hips against ass, then the swelling organ inside him that emptied itself into the condom with spastic and scalding jets of fluid.

Christian lay upon Sawyer's back, panting heavily and softly kissing his neck, shoulders, and ear. His lips nuzzled Sawyer's flesh; the scrape of his whiskers a suddenly uncomfortable abrasion.

Dopamine suffused him, casting its chemical spell to transform tension to relaxation, need to satiation, and heat to warmth. The extraction of Christian's body left Sawyer feeling empty and alone. The handsome man brushed a gentle kiss upon Sawyer's shoulder and then went to take care of cleaning up; his withdrawal from the bed made Sawyer feel the growing ache within himself acutely, and he wrapped his arms around his chest. He didn't want the sobs to claw out of his throat again.

The receding tide of sexual need left nothing behind but guilt. It smothered him. The premeditated nature of the sex made it seem much different than their former fumbling in the dark. He knew that Marc would not have accused him; yet he was feeling remorse all the same.

Christian returned with a warm cloth and tried to bathe Sawyer, but that suddenly seemed too intimate, and Sawyer took the cloth self-consciously, trying not to look at the other man while he mopped himself up.

"Are you all right?"

Sawyer nodded but still did not meet his eyes.

Christian sighed heavily and sat on the bed beside him, his shoulders suddenly tight with tension. "Is it post-coital guilt?"

"I know that it wasn't wrong; but it suddenly feels like I cheated on him. That was more than just sex."

"It wasn't wrong. We both really needed that, and we're allowed to have it. Could I hold you?"

Sawyer winced.

"Fuck. All right; I'll go."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Christian muttered. "I was stupid. I knew exactly what would happen. It always does."

He started pulling on his clothes. "I just thought you wanted this."

"I did; I just..."

"You came. So now you don't." Christian laughed, but there was no humor in it. When his slacks were on, he pulled on his shoes, snapping one of the laces as he yanked it. "Damn it."

"Christian..."

"Just don't, okay? It was fun; let's just leave it at that." He shoved his shirttail into his waistband, scooped up his watch and wallet, and stalked out of the bedroom.

Sawyer rolled onto his side as the door to the suite closed, and he stared at the wall.

The next day was Dia de Muertos, the Day of the Dead; and Lizbeth and Sawyer spent it together in Acapulco. Although the streets were filled with dancing skeletons, vendors, and colorful parades, Sawyer peered blankly into the distance. He did not seem to notice any of the spectacles as they wandered through the decorated streets. Lizbeth occasionally touched his elbow to steer him out of the path of a reveler.

"You look like a zombie."

"Uh huh, thanks."

She rolled her eyes, and then squinted up at him. "I'm in a sexual relationship with an alien overlord."

"Really? Again?"

"So you ARE listening. What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"What's the..."

"Jesus. Are you five? I just had a bad night."

"Well then, if you don't want to talk about it, ask about MY night."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid you'll tell me, and I'm just not into tentacle porn."

Lizbeth laughed and then tried to take his arm. Sawyer wriggled free, looking harassed while Lizbeth looked amused.

"Ah," she said knowingly.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you kicked Christian out after you got what you thought you wanted, and so now you feel guilty about both sleeping with Christian and not sleeping with Christian."

Sawyer stopped in the middle of the street with his mouth hanging open. "How can you possibly know that?"

"I've been your friend for thirty years. I know you."

"I see; you got back early last night."

"Yeah. I snuck in between 'fuck me harder!' and Christian's walk of shame."

"Oh, God. Did he see you?"

"Of course not; I was in my room. With my ear pressed up against the door."

"Great. I love that my best friend got to hear me be an asshole."

"Sweetie," She took his arm again and patted it consolingly, "I get to hear you be an asshole all the time."

He laughed and rested his head against hers. "I don't know what to do; I'm just not ready."

Lizbeth shook her head, her dark almond eyes meeting his. "It's fine to not be ready for Christian; it was just a bit of fun anyway, right? I'm sure he'll have another guy on the next cruise in just a couple days."

"It wasn't like that; HE'S not like that..."

"Really? What is he like?"

He glared at her, and then sighed; pulling her over to a vendor stall so they could pretend to be looking at sombreros while they talked.

"Nicely done. Yes, I felt a flare of jealousy over that. I don't like the thought of him with someone else."

She shrugged. "That doesn't change the fact that you're really not ready."

"I know you just as well as you know me. This is about seeing a grief counsellor again, isn't it?"

"Let me ask you this: do you wish that you were ready for Christian?"

He hesitated, but then nodded.

"Then do something about it." She gestured her hand to the city around them. "These people have discovered an enchanting way to claim their dead so they can simultaneously let them go yet keep them close. Death is not the opposite of life, Sawyer; the opposite of life is waiting."

Those words wormed their way into his brain and would not leave him. They whispered their truth as the two friends wandered through the city shopping and eating. Sawyer still found himself thinking about them as they slowly made their way back to the ship at the end of the day. This was their final port day; the ship would begin the journey back to San Diego that evening, spending a full day at sea before they arrived home. He had one day left.

Sawyer skipped dinner that evening; not in a cowardly avoidance of Christian, but for a confrontation of a different sort. He stood resolute against the railing of the ship, watching the sun set. It painted the sky with breathtaking strokes of indigo, orange, and yellow, blending them together before they dripped into the ocean like watercolors. The air smelled of fish and salt, redolent of the ocean's unique blend of teeming life and watery grave.

He had found a spot that was somewhat sheltered from the wind, and from the eyes of all but Lizbeth who stood a deck above watching him carefully. He was unaware of her vigil, but would not have been surprised if he'd discovered it. Unlike Sawyer, she didn't seem to notice the sun, the colors, or the water. She concentrated only on the man, watching for danger while he bared his heart to the elements.

Although he was a tall man in good shape, Sawyer nevertheless felt small against the broad horizon, and weak against the enormity of his task. He sighed deeply and squared his shoulders.

He opened the boxes with trembling fingers, peering into the powdery remains of his family as if to augur his future; however, he was now certain that the boxes did not hold it. He tipped them slowly over the rail; and as the ash spilled toward the sea, it was caught by the wind and lifted up and over the waves in a long streamer.

The contents from the boxes blended together, swirling and dancing just as the father and daughter had often done in front of the television. Marc would swing Lily off the ground in exaggerated dance moves, and Sawyer could hear her bright laughter ringing in his head as he watched them twirl toward the horizon, entangled.

He shielded his eyes and witnessed the sun sink into the ocean, dousing its light and turning the sky deep purple. The banner of ash looked like steam rising from that marriage of fire and water.

As he stood there, the breeze filled with the fragrance of funereal lilies, sweet and cloying even in the open air. He glanced around, and found her standing quite closely behind him.

"I wondered if I'd see you again before I left."

The ghost regarded him with no expression except the sadness that had been carved on her wooden features in the entry of the ship. She took a step forward and joined him at the rail.

"You're Lille, aren't you? That figurehead is you."

The woman responded by looking out to sea, silently keeping him company while they grieved their respective husbands. She seemed more solid, more present than she had previously. Her attire was no longer gauzy and grey, but had gained sufficient color to reveal it was a black mourning dress. It did not even stir as a zephyr snuck around the side of the ship to tangle Sawyer's hair.

He shivered in the wind, and then squinted at the disappearing smudge in the sky. Almost gone.

The thought of relinquishing them forever caused a small explosion of panic in his stomach. He gripped the rail in both hands and gasped at the unexpected terror that burst within him.

Her pale hand upon his arm was colder than the sea air, causing his muscles to ache where she touched him. Her Nordic face was still impassive, but her eyes held infinite misery as they regarded the endless horizon. She stood tall, a royal beauty as stiff as her wooden counterpart, her silent and frigid contact a comfort while they stood there and watched his family disappear.

"I'm not ready to be without them," he whispered.

She didn't look at him, but he saw her give a slight shrug. Who is?

"I've even got a chance with someone else; a real chance at it all again. Who gets that? But I've really messed it up; pressing hard on the one button he told me he has."

Her pale forehead creased in a questioning frown.

He told her about it, then; the way he felt guilty about how much he had needed to be with Christian, as if twenty years of love with Marc was not enough. She listened stoically, her ageless visage as placid as ever. Sawyer wondered if she even understood his murmured words.

"But twenty years really isn't enough," he stressed quietly.

She seemed to sigh, but it was silent. Her eyes flicked to the deck above and behind him, and a small smile flitted across her lips at whatever she saw there. Sawyer was just about to turn and look at what had caught her eye, when she suddenly pointed to the water beneath them at the edge of the ship. So he leaned forward instead, trying to see where she indicated. She jabbed her finger meaningfully and he bent further over the rail, squinting hard at the area that she signaled.

He was focused on the waves when he felt her icy hand close on his belt and heave him forward; he cried out in surprise as he went up and over the railing.

Sawyer heard only the rushing wind as he somersaulted, and then Lizbeth's recognizable scream before he plunged into the sea. There was searing pain in one arm at the impact, and then the water closed over his head as he sank into cold darkness.

He awakened slowly to the gentle stroking of a finger on the back of his hand; and that hand was clasped in the hand of another. He blinked dazedly at the view of the small infirmary, the cast on his left arm, his right hand engulfed in Christian's left, and the first officer sitting in a chair beside his bed mindlessly stroking his skin while gazing sightlessly at the wall.

"Hi," Sawyer tried to say, but his throat and chest burned with salty fire in the attempt. He coughed violently and Christian jerked his hand away guiltily.

"Hi," Sawyer tried again, this time getting the word past his lips and the burning inside him.

"Hi," Christian returned softly, and then looked miserably down at his hand. "I didn't mean to take advantage while you were sleeping. I just wanted you to know you weren't alone."

Sawyer reached out his hand and grabbed Christian's again, bringing it down to the mattress. They were quiet for a long moment, fingers entwined.

Christian cleared his throat. "Was the sex really so bad that you had to throw yourself into the ocean?"

Sawyer huffed at first, then laughed, then choked; which led to a horrific coughing fit, complete with a bit of fluid searing his lungs and throat.

"Sorry. You tried to drink half the ocean, but they got most of the seawater out of you last night. You'll find breathing an uncomfortable task for a while, though. You also broke your arm when it hit the water."

Sawyer nodded. "Lizbeth?"

"She went to get something to eat. She'll be pissed you woke when she wasn't here. She's the one who sounded the alarm. She was watching you illegally scatter the ashes. She said the fall was an accident, that you lost your balance while leaning over the rail looking at something."

His grey eyes pierced Sawyer. "Was it on purpose, Sawyer? Are you that unhappy?"

Sawyer grimaced, but shook his head. "Not on purpose. It's illegal to scatter ashes in the ocean? I thought people did it all the time."

"You have to be out of territorial waters for a start."

Sawyer was silent for a moment, and then just shrugged. He glanced up at Christian with a wry appeal.

"What day is it?"

"Last day. You disembark tomorrow morning. But it's only late morning now. We have all day long for you to apologize to me."

Sawyer suppressed his chuckle, not wanting another coughing fit; but he grinned at the first officer.

"I really am sorry."

Christian shrugged. "I am, too. I knew you weren't ready, and then I had the audacity to be mad that you weren't. It was very unfair. I'm an idiot, sometimes."

"Yeah."

"But you're a bigger one."

"Yeah."

Christian blinked a few times and let out a deep breath. "Well, that was easier than I figured it would be. What do we talk about now?"

This time, Sawyer's laughter couldn't be stopped, and he coughed for a good five minutes, extricating his hand from Christian's to try to muffle the hacking. The ship's doctor came in and checked all his vitals and gave him something to drink that was very soothing on his throat. He found he could breathe and swallow much better after that.

"My father was a doctor," Christian announced as the physician departed. "He was a lot like Mrs. Taylor, though, growing up in the Great Plains just as she did. He had the same practical regard for everything. Sometimes when she's speaking at dinner it sounds like his words, said in that same unfailingly down-to-earth way."

"I've been terrified of doctors since I was fourteen."

"That's a very specific age. Why the terror?"

Sawyer's skin prickled with heat; he felt his embarrassment spread over the bridge of his nose to burn the tips of his ears.

Christian laughed with delight. "You're blushing. This must be a very good story."

Sawyer tried to wave the topic away but the handsome officer was having none of it. He recaptured Sawyer's dismissive hand and grinned at him mischievously.

"Come on now. What did you get it stuck inside of?"

Sawyer laughed in spite of his embarrassment, grateful that it didn't lead to more coughing. "There's no possible way you guessed that," he murmured.

But Christian nodded conspiratorially and leaned forward, "I was fourteen once. My dad had all these plumbing pipes in our basement, and there was one plastic one that I was sure was the perfect fit. Luckily, having a doctor as a father came in very handy, and my mother never found out."

Sawyer chuckled at the mental picture, but flushed again. He licked his lips nervously and leaned forward, too.

"It was the vacuum cleaner," he said, closing his eyes against Christian's warm, rich laugh. "It was one of those old-fashioned canister vacuums with the hoses; and that hose just looked like the perfect size. Plus... well, you know..."

"It could suck."

"Exactly. Both my parents tried everything to get me extricated, but it wouldn't budge. They had to take me - vacuum cleaner and all - to the emergency room. My mom wouldn't let my dad cut the hoses; and since they couldn't be removed, my dad carried me in with my mom coming behind us pulling the vacuum cleaner. I can still remember the loud squeaking sound it made as it rolled past all the people sitting in the hospital."

"What did your dad do?"

"Well, he sort of held the hose while the doctor..."

Christian collapsed into laughter. "I meant what did he do for a living?"

"Oh. He was an auto mechanic; he worked at a dealership. He retired when all the cars needed to be hooked up to a computer in order to troubleshoot them. He found all of his skills suddenly pretty worthless. But it was just the turning of the giant wheel, you know? I was a computer nerd and wrote code in my bedroom while he was in the kitchen bemoaning computers to my mom. In my adulthood, I started and sold a couple of online companies. Now I just fool around a bit with different ideas."

"You're independently wealthy."

Sawyer suddenly wouldn't meet Christian's eyes. "I'm comfortable."

"Did Marc work?"

"Yeah. Since I could stay home with Lily, he pursued his passion. He was a fireman."

"Of course he was. A hero. Quite handsome, I imagine?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me he had a bad habit. He chewed his toenails or fucked squirrels or something..."

"He snored. God, he snored so loudly. Sometimes I had to sleep in the guest room just to get some sleep."

"That doesn't count at all because it wasn't his fault. And I don't snore."

"I noticed. " Sawyer swallowed loudly, wincing at the burn in his chest. He bit his bottom lip, and then offered: "I said goodbye to him, Christian. I let him go."

"I know. That doesn't mean you're ready for me, though. I know that, too. Tell me about Lily."

"Lily?"

"Yeah. I feel like I know Marc, he's sort of always in the room with you. Don't look at me like that; I don't mean it in a bad way. But you don't talk about Lily much. Tell me about her."

"I didn't want her. She was for Marc."

"Oh. God. I guess I..."

"Let me finish. I'm not quite the asshole it makes me sound. I just never really NEEDED a child, you know? I meet all these people who hear the ticking of a biological clock; they seem to have this genetic imperative to stamp their likeness upon another human. I've never felt that. I'd always rather liked children, but in an abstract way. With Marc, the procreative necessity was apparent from the first. He made it very clear he wanted children. His children."

"So you used surrogacy?"

"Yes."

"That can be so challenging. I've looked into it, you know? I would really like a family of my own, and thought to start one even without a mate. Finding the right surrogate can just be a nightmare. Where did you find one?"

Sawyer smiled. "Where do you think?"

There were exactly three heartbeats of silence.

"God. She must hurt as much as you do."

Sawyer nodded. "Of course she does; but she's different from me. She seems to be able to care about me while she hurts. I've been a bit incapable of caring about anything else. Lily was yet another gift from her to me; I've had a lifetime of gifts from that woman I could never repay. She gave me a little girl I could love completely: a mix of the man I love with the woman I love? You can't imagine how amazing Lily was."

"I bet she was a beautiful pain in the ass."

Sawyer laughed, his eyes sparkling with tears. "Thank you for knowing that. Yes. She was a spectacular, beautiful pain in the ass."

"I think I could love you if I had the chance." Christian flushed at his admission, but then lifted his chin. Sawyer tried not to wince at the awkwardness he felt at hearing that way too soon. He knew already that Christian had a habit of falling in love while his partners were merely falling in bed.

He let out a slow breath and met Christian's stalwart gaze. "I'm going to get some grief counselling. I'm going to try a few things to help me get ready for something like that. I'd very much like to give you the chance, but I need more time."

The severe set of Christian's mouth transformed into a tentative smile. "Really?"

"I know I shouldn't ask you to wait, not after the way I treated you..."

The sentence was cut off by Christian's mouth upon his. The handsome blonde had risen from his chair and leaned over the bed, lips meeting lips in grateful acceptance.

"You promise that you won't decide on trading your clothes for sex with a boy?" Christian rasped against his mouth.

"He was twenty, not a boy; and if I have sex with anyone, it will be with an insecure first officer. But... but maybe not for a while; although I will admit that men are pigs."

"I come back to San Diego doing this loop for the next six months."

"Good. I'd like to see you... but we need to go slow."

"Just tell me what you have in mind; whatever works for you, I'm there. You can wait, too? This is important to me: As we work through this, it'll be just me?"

"Oh. Well, see... I sort of still have my parent's old vacuum cleaner, and I thought..."

The next kiss was so thorough that all thoughts of home appliances fled Sawyer's mind.

Disembarkation was quite early the next morning. Sawyer thought to loiter, but didn't see any reason in it. Christian had duties to perform, and he'd lost track of Lizbeth, who seemed to disappear after she'd made sure he would survive. He'd spent the final night in his suite, being held tightly by Christian, spooned together in the sinuous entanglement of elegant belonging; but the first officer departed in the wee hours of the morning. Lizbeth had never even returned to the room.

So it was with an odd feeling of aloneness, and the gentle rightness of being okay with that aloneness, that he approached the gangway to disembark. He clutched a small carry-on bag in his hand, and his phone with Christian's numbers and addresses was stuffed safely in his pocket.

He found them both there, chatting with each other. When they saw him, Lizbeth grinned broadly and then pressed a kiss to Christian's cheek.

"I really hope to see you soon," she said.

Christian smiled and nodded.

"Come on, Pecker, those bags won't carry themselves."

Roman, unnoticed but standing nearby, hefted two suitcases off their castors, presumably just to make his biceps bulge. They did so very nicely. The gorgeous Italian model followed Lizbeth quietly down the gangway with her bags in his hands.

"Wha--?" Christian sputtered.

"I have no idea," Sawyer replied, planting himself in front of the first officer, "and I'm not asking. But don't worry about her; worry for him."

Christian's eyes were wide, but he nodded. "Is it okay if I worry for me?"

Sawyer leaned forward and asked quietly, "do you really fuck like that every time?"

Christian flushed. His eyes glanced over Sawyer's shoulders in avoidance, but he pulled them back and owned his proclivities.

"I like it slow," he said resolutely.

"You've nothing to worry about, then" Sawyer told him. "Slow is what I need now."

Christian's eyes looked a bit wild, but he swallowed roughly and pulled Sawyer into a hug.

Sawyer proceeded down the ramp. The sun over San Diego was quite bright in the clear November sky. The smell of garlic from Little Italy was enticing, even so early in the morning. The day was beautiful and full of promise.

He couldn't help but turn and look at the ship, hoping to see Christian looking back at him. The first officer was busy saying goodbye to other guests, however, so he swallowed his disappointment. His eyes looked over the ship in a fond farewell, pausing only on the lone figure in her faded dress, standing solitary toward the stern. She stood looking away from him, peering out to sea as if her happiness might be found on the horizon.

*This concludes Lilies. I appreciate hearing from people who are reading my stories. Shoot me an email and let me know what you think. Your feedback is the only way I know you're reading and whether or not it makes sense to continue.

I have other stories, too. Look up Seth Kirkcauldy in the author's section.

seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net