America: Chapter 1
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 1
May, 1773
Brian
When we first set sight of land, all of us who were able quickly clambered above deck, and for once, I forgot all propriety. So choked with gratitude and gladness, I grabbed Justin and squeezed him to me, trapping his joyous sobs against my chest. Ours wasn't the only embrace on the bow that afternoon. Men everywhere were cheering and hugging, singing through their merry smiles.
Now, as I walk off the ship on wobbling legs, Justin at my shoulder, I am nearly overcome by relief. I had spent much of the journey terrified, certain that our positions as jobless, penniless fugitives would place us near to beggars in our new lives. Or worse. But here on land, with the fresh, swift air of new life in my lungs, I feel only optimism. Fortune, as Justin often reminded me, smiles warmest when one is most in want of it.
Baltimore seems akin to London in that it is hot, crowded, and noisy. Yet that is where the similarities end. Where London was pervaded with the foul smell of poverty and pestilence, it is tobacco here, and fish. The decent smells of salt water and wood.
We trudge through the narrow cobbled streets in search of lodging, carrying one solitary, modest parcel between the three of us. In the shadows of alleys and doorways I find my old fear settling back in. We have nothing, and know not a soul on this entire continent. We have to find work, and quickly, for the gold William salvaged in our flight was nearly depleted by the purchase of our passage here.
Most of the other men on the Marianna bought their fares by indenturing themselves to future labor on farms and plantations. But we had no time to make such arrangements, and I feared that doing so would make it too hard for the three of us to stay together. Not for anything will I risk losing Justin again, and William is the only friend--and ally--I have left in this world.
We spend most of the day being turned away from every lodging establishment at which we inquire. It's the busy season, they explain. Three tea ships landed in the Chesapeake not a fortnight ago, and all those men needed rooms, too. So on we forge, further and further away from the harbor and its potential for employment.
Finally, late in the evening, as we are beginning to pass lamplighters at their task, we find an inn with room to spare. One room. It is in the poorest, dirtiest neighborhood we've seen, on the edge of town, but we sigh and accept our lot, too tired to care. Tonight we three will share a bed, grateful for the passably clean sheets and relative privacy.
For four days, this is our life. At sunup we rise and set out in three different directions in search of work, only to report back at sundown with long faces and empty pockets.
So I trust to Justin's Fortune and to William's prayers.
Justin
William has found employment at a house in town. Today, he left to start his work there, which is good news, and not only for him. He'll be put up in the house (a very grand place by his description), and he can scout out potential work for Brian and me as well.
Wickedly though, I am not really thinking about all that. Instead, my main concern is that tonight, Brian and I will be alone together for the first time in almost eight months.
I wait on pins and needles for Brian to return, as the shadows grow longer and longer across the floor. This room is barely large enough for the bed and contains no other furniture. It seems to be in the hottest, filthiest part of town, a difficult walk to the harbor, where most of the work to be had is situated. But it was cheap and available, and the innkeeper's wife gives us eggs and tea in the morning.
Brian is late, and I am growing nervous. For the twelfth time I run my fingers through my slowly-drying hair, willing it not to collect in tangles. I had found a small bath-house on my way home today, and spent some of our scarce food money on a proper hot bath with soap, such as I'd been denied for months. Perhaps Brian will scold me for being frivolous and wasteful when we are so despondent. But when I learned that tonight we would be alone together for the first time in so long...my decision was made for me. I could not bear to go to him in the state that I was in.
Finally, hearing his step on the stair, I nearly jump out of my skin. The door opens to reveal him, and I can see why he was late. His hair is damp and clean and his face is newly shaven. He notes my similar state and for a few moments, we smile sheepishly at each other while my heart nearly bursts for love of him.
He bolts the door behind him and moves toward me, pausing to pull a strange object out of his pocket. At first I wonder what it is, but as he places it on the floor beside the bed, I realize that it is small jar of cooking grease. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I feel a sort of odd, virginal excitement. It has indeed been far too long.
I have no words but a long, shuddering sigh, and I am in his arms. We topple over onto the bed, kissing feverishly. Rolling about, we wrestle for maximum contact with each other, delighted by the feeling of old embraces made new again. I kiss his smooth silky face, his soft hair that smells of rose water, his ears and neck and throat. His hands are everywhere on me, tangled in my hair, and teasing under the collar of my shirt.
Pulling away finally, he kneels over me on the bed, and slowly strips me of my clothes. I can see his hands are shaking.
"We must be quiet," he warns, panting. "The family is at dinner just below us." I nod, knowing that I could as soon keep quiet as tame a tiger, but I'll try to try.
When we are finally stripped of all that separates us, he stretches himself on top of me, pressing us together at all points. I want to stay like this, just to cherish the feeling of his skin against mine. But there will be time for that later. Now, I want him inside me, pressed as deep as he can possibly go.
I reach down for the jar of grease and twist it open, fingering a little bit of it. He positions himself above me, and I reach for his engorged member. Gasping loudly, he watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I rub the cool, slick stuff along his shaft. I wrap my legs around his waist as he settles down, elbows on either side of my shoulders.
When finally he slides into me, I feel my head fall back against the pillow, as though my spine had melted clear away. I clutch him tightly to me and he stays deep inside, stretching me with all the pain and pleasure and overpowering sensation I'd missed these long months. He presses his feverish cheek against mine, and I feel his breath coming hot and quickly in my ear. Impatiently I grasp his hips with both hands, nudging him deeper still.
Soon he begins to rock his hips against me, a slow, circular grind, and I hear the torrential rush of my own blood in my ears. I can feel my hole being stretched and worked wider and wider in an exquisite hot burn. With each push a tortured moan escapes my lips, and I can hear his silky voice in my ear, telling me how badly he's wanted me, how hard and hot he'd get just being too near me on that ship. Calling me his angel, his beautiful prince.
Gradually his pace and force increases, thrusting hard, and soon I am whimpering like a little child. I cry out, begging him not to stop, feeling that sweet humming flutter inside my shaking groin. He reaches down and presses his palm against my dripping member, trapping it against my belly. He begins to rub up and down the shaft, in time with his thrusts, and I pull my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from screaming.
Seconds later I go, jerking under him as my hot seed shoots out of me, streaming through his fingers. My body quakes as I come down and I surrender myself to his hard thrusts, now growing quicker and shallower. He falls forward suddenly to bury his face against my neck and a great muffled groan comes from him, his body shuddering its release. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his shaking form against me.
As our trembling muscles gradually relax against each other, I surmise that I was never homesick for England because I've brought my home with me.
Later, he holds me in the dark, our naked bodies still delighting in their adjacency. My face is pressed against his neck, and he strokes my hair in the quiet.
"It's gotten so long," he murmurs idly.
"I know," I say through a yawn. "I'll soon be able to tie it back."
"Don't," he whispers before drifting off to sleep, his fingers still tangled in my hair.
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 1
May, 1773
Brian
When we first set sight of land, all of us who were able quickly clambered above deck, and for once, I forgot all propriety. So choked with gratitude and gladness, I grabbed Justin and squeezed him to me, trapping his joyous sobs against my chest. Ours wasn't the only embrace on the bow that afternoon. Men everywhere were cheering and hugging, singing through their merry smiles.
Now, as I walk off the ship on wobbling legs, Justin at my shoulder, I am nearly overcome by relief. I had spent much of the journey terrified, certain that our positions as jobless, penniless fugitives would place us near to beggars in our new lives. Or worse. But here on land, with the fresh, swift air of new life in my lungs, I feel only optimism. Fortune, as Justin often reminded me, smiles warmest when one is most in want of it.
Baltimore seems akin to London in that it is hot, crowded, and noisy. Yet that is where the similarities end. Where London was pervaded with the foul smell of poverty and pestilence, it is tobacco here, and fish. The decent smells of salt water and wood.
We trudge through the narrow cobbled streets in search of lodging, carrying one solitary, modest parcel between the three of us. In the shadows of alleys and doorways I find my old fear settling back in. We have nothing, and know not a soul on this entire continent. We have to find work, and quickly, for the gold William salvaged in our flight was nearly depleted by the purchase of our passage here.
Most of the other men on the Marianna bought their fares by indenturing themselves to future labor on farms and plantations. But we had no time to make such arrangements, and I feared that doing so would make it too hard for the three of us to stay together. Not for anything will I risk losing Justin again, and William is the only friend--and ally--I have left in this world.
We spend most of the day being turned away from every lodging establishment at which we inquire. It's the busy season, they explain. Three tea ships landed in the Chesapeake not a fortnight ago, and all those men needed rooms, too. So on we forge, further and further away from the harbor and its potential for employment.
Finally, late in the evening, as we are beginning to pass lamplighters at their task, we find an inn with room to spare. One room. It is in the poorest, dirtiest neighborhood we've seen, on the edge of town, but we sigh and accept our lot, too tired to care. Tonight we three will share a bed, grateful for the passably clean sheets and relative privacy.
For four days, this is our life. At sunup we rise and set out in three different directions in search of work, only to report back at sundown with long faces and empty pockets.
So I trust to Justin's Fortune and to William's prayers.
Justin
William has found employment at a house in town. Today, he left to start his work there, which is good news, and not only for him. He'll be put up in the house (a very grand place by his description), and he can scout out potential work for Brian and me as well.
Wickedly though, I am not really thinking about all that. Instead, my main concern is that tonight, Brian and I will be alone together for the first time in almost eight months.
I wait on pins and needles for Brian to return, as the shadows grow longer and longer across the floor. This room is barely large enough for the bed and contains no other furniture. It seems to be in the hottest, filthiest part of town, a difficult walk to the harbor, where most of the work to be had is situated. But it was cheap and available, and the innkeeper's wife gives us eggs and tea in the morning.
Brian is late, and I am growing nervous. For the twelfth time I run my fingers through my slowly-drying hair, willing it not to collect in tangles. I had found a small bath-house on my way home today, and spent some of our scarce food money on a proper hot bath with soap, such as I'd been denied for months. Perhaps Brian will scold me for being frivolous and wasteful when we are so despondent. But when I learned that tonight we would be alone together for the first time in so long...my decision was made for me. I could not bear to go to him in the state that I was in.
Finally, hearing his step on the stair, I nearly jump out of my skin. The door opens to reveal him, and I can see why he was late. His hair is damp and clean and his face is newly shaven. He notes my similar state and for a few moments, we smile sheepishly at each other while my heart nearly bursts for love of him.
He bolts the door behind him and moves toward me, pausing to pull a strange object out of his pocket. At first I wonder what it is, but as he places it on the floor beside the bed, I realize that it is small jar of cooking grease. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I feel a sort of odd, virginal excitement. It has indeed been far too long.
I have no words but a long, shuddering sigh, and I am in his arms. We topple over onto the bed, kissing feverishly. Rolling about, we wrestle for maximum contact with each other, delighted by the feeling of old embraces made new again. I kiss his smooth silky face, his soft hair that smells of rose water, his ears and neck and throat. His hands are everywhere on me, tangled in my hair, and teasing under the collar of my shirt.
Pulling away finally, he kneels over me on the bed, and slowly strips me of my clothes. I can see his hands are shaking.
"We must be quiet," he warns, panting. "The family is at dinner just below us." I nod, knowing that I could as soon keep quiet as tame a tiger, but I'll try to try.
When we are finally stripped of all that separates us, he stretches himself on top of me, pressing us together at all points. I want to stay like this, just to cherish the feeling of his skin against mine. But there will be time for that later. Now, I want him inside me, pressed as deep as he can possibly go.
I reach down for the jar of grease and twist it open, fingering a little bit of it. He positions himself above me, and I reach for his engorged member. Gasping loudly, he watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I rub the cool, slick stuff along his shaft. I wrap my legs around his waist as he settles down, elbows on either side of my shoulders.
When finally he slides into me, I feel my head fall back against the pillow, as though my spine had melted clear away. I clutch him tightly to me and he stays deep inside, stretching me with all the pain and pleasure and overpowering sensation I'd missed these long months. He presses his feverish cheek against mine, and I feel his breath coming hot and quickly in my ear. Impatiently I grasp his hips with both hands, nudging him deeper still.
Soon he begins to rock his hips against me, a slow, circular grind, and I hear the torrential rush of my own blood in my ears. I can feel my hole being stretched and worked wider and wider in an exquisite hot burn. With each push a tortured moan escapes my lips, and I can hear his silky voice in my ear, telling me how badly he's wanted me, how hard and hot he'd get just being too near me on that ship. Calling me his angel, his beautiful prince.
Gradually his pace and force increases, thrusting hard, and soon I am whimpering like a little child. I cry out, begging him not to stop, feeling that sweet humming flutter inside my shaking groin. He reaches down and presses his palm against my dripping member, trapping it against my belly. He begins to rub up and down the shaft, in time with his thrusts, and I pull my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from screaming.
Seconds later I go, jerking under him as my hot seed shoots out of me, streaming through his fingers. My body quakes as I come down and I surrender myself to his hard thrusts, now growing quicker and shallower. He falls forward suddenly to bury his face against my neck and a great muffled groan comes from him, his body shuddering its release. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his shaking form against me.
As our trembling muscles gradually relax against each other, I surmise that I was never homesick for England because I've brought my home with me.
Later, he holds me in the dark, our naked bodies still delighting in their adjacency. My face is pressed against his neck, and he strokes my hair in the quiet.
"It's gotten so long," he murmurs idly.
"I know," I say through a yawn. "I'll soon be able to tie it back."
"Don't," he whispers before drifting off to sleep, his fingers still tangled in my hair.