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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

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Wings Over My Heart - Pt. V

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), references to healing after torture, dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen film

Word Count: 3.9k

Pt. V -

Even now, the memories curdle Gordon’s stomach.

Finding Camille in that chamber of horrors. Seeing his hands compressed nearly to the breaking point. Freeing the naked, flogged man from the rack and supporting his weakened weight.

Gordon braces a hand against the shower wall, wincing.

“Major Gordon?”

He turned from the wheeled stretchers, dreading what duty demands of him. “Yes?”

“They’re starting to wake up, Major.”

With a reluctant nod, he turned back around to give the two prone men a parting glance.

Medical team members swarmed both Camille and Karl - or so Camille called him - tending their wounds and easing their pain. They both appeared to rest comfortably, and the anxious knot in Gordon’s stomach lessened somewhat.

Camille was still alive. Gordon wasn’t too late.

He forced a hard swallow, making his feet move against the stone floor. He had a job to do, after all.

Harsh morning light showed the town’s ruins for what they were - a former shade of a bygone age, a ruin of humanity’s folly. The central square - or at least as central as Gordon could figure - must have been a popular social center judging by the number of unconscious people strewn about. Fellow black-clad aviators moved among the resting people and helped those who began to wake up after the sleeping gas wore off.

Of course, Gordon remembered the terror that gas bombs brought to the war. Deadly clouds of smoke that seared and choked its victims to grotesque deaths. He also rememered his own trepidation when Wings Over the World first dropped their gas bombs on his regiment. How his men had fled for their very lives - how he had thought it was the end as the gas filled his nose and his eyelids grew heavy. But when he awoke with nothing more than a headache to find an outstretched helping hand, Gordon had never looked back.

He stood on the stoop of the crumbled Town Hall, surveying the scene. Everything looked in order, and a sense of satisfaction suffused him. Another step taken, another new beginning of progress. Now, to start organizing, to start rebuilding -

“Major Gordon!”

He turned at the panicked call, stepping over to a fellow aviator - Ponchel - who crouched low over a slumped body. “What is it?”

“This one’s dead, sir.” Ponchel

pushed to his feet with a confused look. “But… he shouldn’t have died, sir. It was only sleeping gas.”

Gordon stared down at the man in question. He was dressed with an unmistakable air of authority, a cloak or perhaps a greatcoat draped across his shoulders. The condition of his clothing belied his status as a leader despite his lifeless sprawl on a pile of rubble at the bottom of a crudely etched sign. Gordon’s gaze drifted up, taking in the rough, chalky scrawl.

SOVEREIGN STATE BULLETIN JUNE 1940

OUR OPERATION AGAINST THE HILL STATE HAS BEEN SUCCESSFUL.

FURTHER HOSTILITIES WILL BRING A VICTORIOUS PEACE.

LONG LIVE THE COMMANDER!

Gordon glanced back down at the man, bile rising in his throat. Was this the man responsible for the torture chamber? Had this man’s command kept Camille away from him for the last three days? Gordon’s hand clenched at his side. He didn’t consider himself a man of violent delights, but a thrill of satisfaction ran through him nonetheless.

Ponchel shook his head, looking between the rough sign and the dead man at their feet. “I don’t understand it, sir.” He glanced out at the large crowd of people waking up to the new world unfolding around them. “This one… this man shouldn’t be dead.”

“But he is.” Gordon said gently, looking up with a sigh and squinting in the bright light. “Dead, and his world dead with him. And now?” Gordon looked over at Ponchel with a small smile. “And now for the New Rule of the Airmen.”

Ponchel matched his smile as he nodded. “And a New Life for Mankind.”

Gordon blinks back to himself in the confines of the shower. Hydrosonic swirls float around him, and he really should be more mindful of wasting the water… but his head spins far too much.

For six weeks now, he’s had Camille back in his life. Six weeks after 72 hours of absolute hell in his absence. Objectively, he knew the mission parameters for search-and-rescue parties, but he never thought that he would have to actually experience the 72 hour wait period. Let alone find his love the victim of torture and hear that gut-wrenching, passionate plea in Camille’s voice to tend to the room’s other occupant.

“I… I came by your room the other day.” Gordon started softly, shifting awkwardly against the stiff medical ward chair. Three weeks had passed and Gordon distantly wondered why they couldn’t have placed a more comfortable chair at Camille’s bedside.

Camille turned his head against the pillow, lifting the corner of his mouth in a curious smile. “Yes?”

Anxious butterflies sprung to life in Gordon’s chest. By some miracle, Camille’s hands hadn’t required surgery, nor were they damaged enough to jeopardize his position as an aviator - but still the medical team kept him sequestered in the ward. Gordon suspected it was largely to keep him from overexerting the nearly-ruined joints, but he could tell that Camille didn’t mind the captivity too much. He recognized the heartfelt gleam in his lover’s eyes all too well.

Gordon swallowed hard. “I came by your room, and you weren’t… here. The attendant said you were with Karl.”

Camille nodded slowly. “Yes, I was. He was hurt so much worse than I was. It hasn’t been an easy road to recovery for him.”

Gordon nodded, hating the jealousy that roiled his stomach. “I just… I missed you, that's all.”

“Oh, mon amour.” Camille reaches a gauzy bandaged hand over to rest lightly atop Gordon’s. “I’m here now. And you won’t lose me like that again.”

Gordon’s heart clenches. Camille has no business making empty promises like that. As long as they both work in World Communications, scouting the globe is their duty and mission. Each mission brings risk, and Gordon recognizes how many times that Camille could have been lost to him forever. But fate brought them back together… and fate dumped Karl Horstmayer right in the middle.

Gordon isn’t a fool. He’s watched Camille interact with the younger man, placing a bandaged hand on an uninjured area of Horstmayer’s shoulder as he lays face down with stitches, grafts, and bandages criss-crossing his back. He’s watched Camille engage in close conversation despite Horstmayer’s otherwise empty room, his face soft with an achingly familiar smile.

A smile that he hoped Camille only reserved for him. A smile that speaks to tender affection and care. A smile that threatens to rip Gordon’s heart from his chest each time he sees it directed at the younger man.

“Are you alright?” Camille’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “You seem unusually tense today.”

With a tight smile, Gordon tried to relax his posture as he stood next to Camille’s medical bed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

Camille sighed with humored exasperation. “Once they release me from here, I look forward to not having to answer that question at every shift changeover.” His eyes roamed over Gordon in careful study. “But something is bothering you, mon amour.”

Gordon took a measured breath, careful to keep his face from betraying too much. Mercifully, his commanding officers haven’t sent him away on many missions during Camille’s convalescence. Perhaps they recognized the healing power in a life partner’s presence, or perhaps they just took pity on his harrowed state. In either case, the idle time didn’t help distract Gordon from what was unfolding in the medical ward. Nor was the medical ward the appropriate place for this conversation. Instead, he summoned a small smile. “I’m just tired of seeing you here. I want you back… in our bed with me.”

Camille’s face softened with a smile that broke Gordon’s heart. “I want that, too. So very much.” He raised his right hand, curling his fingers to ball in a loose fist. “The doctors are very pleased with that range of motion. According to them, after another week of intensive therapy, I should be cleared for release.”

“And Karl?” The words left Gordon’s lips before he could stop them.

If Camille suspected anything about them, nothing on his face changed. “I think it will be another week or two until he is released. The grafts have been more complicated than expected, according to him.” His face tightened with concern. “The Commander’s whip left indelible scars that will haunt Karl for the rest of this life.”

The tender heartache on Camille’s words didn’t go unnoticed, and Gordon’s stomach rots with heartache of his own. Slowly, he nodded. “I… can’t imagine.”

Camille shook his head with a gentle sigh. “He has no one, Mack. Sounds like he hasn’t in so long… and, of course, he knows no one here.”

“No one aside from you.”

Camille glanced up at him, brow furrowing. “That’s how it was when you found me…” the corner of his mouth lifted with fond, wistful remembrance. “I spent weeks in this ward and you were my only visitor.”

Despite Camille’s injuries from the battlefield, Gordon remembered those days better than any other. Discovering the mutual interest, exploring the spark between them, letting their affection grow into love.

Camille blinked away from Gordon to gaze down at his bed covers, his face distant and perhaps even… conflicted. “It’s the same for Karl, now,” Camille said softly. “I’m… I’m all that he has.”

Gordon balls his hand against the shower wall, thumping it against the hard plastic as tears sting his eyes. He’s not foolish to miss the signs of blossoming love, but perhaps he was foolish to think that he could keep Camille all to himself. Camille is several years younger than him, so why shouldn’t he want someone closer to his own age? Why wouldn’t Camille grow to want the one man who was there for him when mission parameters dictated Gordon’s absence? Why should Gordon have deluded himself into thinking that any relationship stability could exist in such an unstable world?

A tear mixes with the shower water, and Gordon pushes off the wall. Society doesn’t need to suffer a water shortage because of his despondent thoughts. He exhales a deep sigh to expel the tension in his chest and it brings marginal relief as he reaches for the shampoo. Closing his eyes, he massages the product into his hair and tilts his head back. Through the water sluicing over his head, he doesn’t hear the bathroom door slide open. But when he opens his eyes, he does see Camille’s familiar figure standing on the other side of the see-through, glass door.

His hands are bandage free, and he wears a simple base uniform. It’s the first time that Gordon has seen Camille out of hospital-issued garments since his return, and even though the clothes hang oversized on his frame, Camille has never looked better. He stares back at Gordon as if he’s never seen anything more lovely, his chocolate eyes darkening with a desire that stirs answering heat in Gordon’s belly.

With the conviction of a finalized decision, Camille reaches for the hem of his tunic and strips it overhead. His trousers follow with equally swift motions, and Gordon’s mouth goes dry when Camille reaches for the shower door. His heart pounds, love and heartbreak conflicting in his chest, as the shower spray dampens Camille’s skin and those brown eyes blow wide to hold him like a spell. Camille brings his hands up to cradle Gordon’s jaw, drawing a shudder from him as he leans into the comforting touch.

When Camille leans in to press his mouth to Gordon’s, he forgets how to breathe. A missing piece of his life slots back into place as they re-learn the shape and taste of each other’s mouth. They share the same breath as their bodies press closer together under the shower spray, and Gordon wraps an arm around Camille’s waist as if to never let him go.

Camille clings to Gordon’s shoulders with feverish desperation, soft whimpers pitching high in his throat. Gordon doesn’t know what this moment means, but he’s not strong enough to walk away. Camille’s back presses up against the shower wall as a lithe leg wraps around Gordon’s waist. Soap suds coat Gordon’s fingers as they work inside Camille to find his white-hot spot. He relishes each gasp and moan that falls from Camille’s lips as their bodies connect in the scorching, perfect moment. He bares his soul as he surrenders his heart and careens their bodies into oblivion.

Few words are spoken as they each come down from their shared high, still unwilling to drift far apart. Too many words choke in Gordon’s throat, and even Camille is unusually quiet. He turns the water off once they’re both clean, and while the silence is easy, it’s not common for them. Maybe… well, maybe - despite their physical connection just now - Camille’s just as adrift as Gordon feels.

Camille reaches for a towel and hands it to Gordon with a sheepish smile. “I don’t… we should talk.” He reaches for his own towel, scrubbing at the water drops on his skin. “You’re not… well, usually you have more to say.”

Gordon feels his throat tighten, hating the words that crawl up his throat and the tears that burn. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He doesn’t want to hear Camille say the words. Taking a deep breath, he tries to slow the anxious rhythm of his heart. “I… guess I just don’t know what to say.” He knots the towel around his waist as he catches Camille’s gaze. “I just… I’m so relieved that you’re well - that you’re here. I love you, Camille… unlike I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Camille’s eyes soften with warm adoration. “Oh, mon amour - I love you, too.”

The vice around Gordon’s heart tightens, and he doesn’t stop himself. “Then, why -.” His words choke around a lump in his throat, but he can’t hold back. “I’ve seen you… these past weeks. I’ve watched you… talk, touch, smile… at him, and I…,” his heart cracks wide open as Camille holds his gaze. “Of course, you’re welcome to trade in for a younger model if you want, but I-”

Gordon’s words cut off as Camille lunges forward to push him back against the wet shower wall. His feet slide against the slippery floor and water soaks through his towel, but it’s inconsequential compared to the resolute fire that blazes in Camille’s eyes as he crowds close. “Mackenzie Gordon, you stubborn, foolish man,” Camille’s voice is full of heart wrenching warmth and tender conviction. “You’ve had my love since we met, and you’ll have my love until my last breath. If I have given you cause to doubt it, then I will bear that regret and beg for your forgiveness if I must.”

Gordon shakes his head, scrambling for words. “You don’t need to beg for anything, Camille.” He drowns under the weight of Camille’s words. “If anything it’s me that should beg - plead, even - for you to stay.”

“No, mon amour, no.” Camille’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “You don’t need to beg or plead for anything - I’m yours.” He rests a hand over Gordon’s pounding heart. “Just as you’re mine.”

Relief bursts in Gordon’s chest, and he wants to take Camille at his word. He wants to believe that life will return to the comfortable ease and reassurance they shared in their love before Camille spent those 72-hours imprisoned. But there’s still an unspoken weight that hangs between them.

Camille’s thumb strokes the skin of his chest. “We… forever,” the corner of his mouth lifts as his gaze turns longing. “And maybe we… can one day include Karl.”

Gordon’s eyes widen. “What… what are you saying?” His mind reels with the implications. Surely, Camille didn’t mean the three of them… together… in that fashion? Did he?

“Would that be so wrong?” Camille searches Gordon’s gaze. “I share a close bond with both of you that doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive - nor, do I… think that I want it to be.”

Gordon isn’t unfamiliar with throuple arrangements. There are several in the organization who choose to live as such, but it’s never something that Gordon saw himself a part of. He gives a weak shake of his head. “Doesn’t this… doesn’t this seem a little fast? You’ve just been released, and he’s just -”

“I’ve had six weeks - almost seven if you include the days of my captivity - to get to know him, and think about this, and he’s…,” a heartachingly tender smile comes to Camille’s face. “He’s bright, thoughtful, and passionate - though, he’s careful about showing that side of himself. He’ll bring great strengths to World Communications-”

“He’s joining our division?”

Camille nods gently. “It’s his choice. They offered him several postings.”

Gordon shakes his head. “No doubt you had some encouraging or persuasive words to that effect.”

“Yes… Karl and I have talked a lot.” He sighs, still pressing against Gordon and leveling the shorter man with all the honesty he has. “And I hope… that you will talk with him, too. All things begin with first steps. As our mission here is first to explore, to communicate… then grow and develop. Maybe… maybe, we can find a way… together.” Camille’s cheeks turn a lovely pink color, and Gordon can’t say no to his warm, earnest eyes. “But for now - I want to lay in bed with you and hold you for the rest of the night. I love you, Gordon Mackenzie - and nothing that I share with Karl changes that.”

Five days later, just as he told Camille he would, Gordon stands on the flight line and watches Karl. The younger man, his brown eyes bright in the late afternoon sun, inspects the long slope of a black wing. The aircraft’s wheels are secured with chocks and the propeller locked as it rests in the open hangar, and Gordon lets his footsteps echo in the otherwise empty space. His black uniform fits him with fine, precise ease, and he can easily admit that Karl cuts a fine figure in his own matching uniform.

The distant roar of an airplane engine sounds in the distance as Karl glances up with a closed-mouth smile. Gordon’s face softens with his own smile. “Hello, Karl.”

“Hello… Mackenzie.”

“Mack is fine with me… assuming you’re comfortable with it.”

Karl nods carefully. “I… I think with time, yes.”

Gordon nods, hating the butterflies that erupt in his stomach. For God’s sake, he’s a grown man, a soldier, and a pilot. He can’t recall being so unnerved around another person since… well, not since the early days of his courtship with Camille. He tucks the thought away, nodding at the airplane. “I heard that you’re considering joining World Communications.”

“Yes, it…,” he pauses to wet his top lip. “It seems like a fitting way to give back, considering everything that’s come into my life since… well, since Camille landed in that field.”

Gordon huffs a gentle laugh through his nose. “I can understand…. The arrival of our presence usually brings about swift change. Not everyone adapts to it as easily as you have, though.”

A pink dusting comes to Karl’s cheeks, and it de-ages him by at least a decade. It seems impossible to imagine him as a fighter in a muddy trench, but Gordon has read the man’s personal history for himself. “Despite everything that I’d known of my life during the war,” Karl says with a small shake of his head. “And during… The Commander’s reign, I… I knew that there had to be another way to survive. Another way to live.” He steps around the large wing, moving closer to Gordon. “Just because there could be another fight didn’t mean that there had to be.”

“I suppose many men just lost sight of that.”

“The wrong men,” Karl agreed. “The men who made our world what it is.”

“What is was.” Gordon corrected. “The World-That-Was pre-war will yield to the world that it devolved into post-war which will yield to Wings Over the World and the beginning of a new world order.”

Karl’s brow furrows. “It won’t be easy. And from what I’ve seen, no one here deludes themself to that fact.”

“Putting the world in order will indeed be a long and complicated struggle. It… it already has been.” Gordon’s voice grows tight with the memory of Camille’s extended absence and the discovery of that hellish torture chamber. “But we have the unity of a common order and a common knowledge.”

The corners of Karl’s mouth lift to a smile that wrinkles his eyes. “We… forever.”

Gordon’s heart clenches in his chest and maybe… just maybe Camille is right. Perhaps they can find a way for the three of them to all share together.

The blush in Karl’s cheeks deepens as he glances away from Gordon almost bashfully. Something sparks in Gordon’s chest and he closes the gap between them, holding out a hand. “We… forever.”

Karl glances down at Gordon’s extended hand and slowly extends his own. The warmth of Karl’s skin takes him aback as they hold hands in the shadow of the aircraft. It feels… more right than Gordon would have ever guessed. Especially when Karl raises his eyes to Gordon’s, and the light catches in golden-amber flecks set against the deep brown pools.

“It… still doesn’t seem real, sometimes.” Karl says softly with another shake of his head. “Even though I'm here - I’m surrounded by the progress that’s been accomplished under the banner of active and aggressive peace. And I see it continue to unfold around me… it’s all so new…” His words trail off in an uncertain sigh. “And this with… Camille… and you….”

The corner of Gordon’s mouth lifts. “I’m glad he’s spoken with you about it. I… admittedly, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Me, neither.” Karl confesses as Gordon gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “He’s so sure of himself. He has been ever since I met him, and I… I hardly feel worthy of it, despite how much I want it… and him.”

“You’re not unworthy, Karl.” Again, Gordon squeezes his hand in reassurance. “Camille doesn’t give his heart away to just anyone.”

Karl blinks up at him shrewdly. “But he gave it away to you first.”

“Yes, he did, and I… I admit that I thought I would be the only one. But that doesn’t mean it has to be that way.” His heart starts to pound but he doesn’t dare let go of Karl’s hand. “I love him too much to make him choose, and like you said - it’s all so new, but just look what new has given us.” His gaze strays to the sleek, black aircraft and the hangar that surrounds them. If people never dared to dream of new explorations, then none of this would have come to be.

And if he doesn’t dare to dream of the new possibilities that having Karl in his life could be, then he should be ashamed of his own hypocrisy.

His gaze lands back on Karl, and really, the younger man is quite handsome. At length, Karl nods, a smile softening his face as he speaks. “New has given me Camille… and you, Mack.”

Gordon gives his hand another gentle squeeze, tugging Karl forward by their conjoined hands. “And with any luck,” Gordon says as hope blooms in his chest. “It will keep bringing us more good things to come - together.”

Karl returns his hand squeeze as they leave the aircraft’s shadow and walk into the sunlight. “Together.”

#joyeux noël 2005 #joyeux noël #lieutenant horstmayer #lieutenant gordon #lieutenant audebert #horstmayer #gordon #audebert #camille rené audebert #mackenzie joseph gordon #karl friedrich horstmayer

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

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Wings Over My Heart - Pt. IV

A 1936 Things to Come AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer) Fic

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit non-con sexual threats, non-con touching, explicit language, violence and graphic torture (including descriptions of thumb screws and flogging), dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, generous re-use of dialogue from the film, no need to have seen the film

Word Count: 4.1k

Pt. IV -

Karl’s head spins as he leaves the detention cell and heads for his quarters. He tugs at the top buttons of shirt as if that will help his raging thoughts.

The aviator’s - Audebert’s… Camille’s - words loop in his mind. How wonderful would it be to travel with Camille and in a matter of hours, arrive at some foriegn destination that seemed forever out of his reach? What would life be like in a world devoted to peace instead of war? The concept seems so alien to him as he takes the stairs up to the old Town Hall’s upper levels.

When The Commander appropriated the building as his glorified palace, he installed himself, Karl, and a few other key officers in the former upper level offices. The best furniture was scavenged from the town’s ruins, and his room outfitted as befits a leader of men. Karl certainly couldn’t deny that’s what he was in his role serving The Commander, but… what would be like to lead men in peaceful pursuits? Where creation was valued over destruction?

He keeps seeing the warm conviction in Camille’s eyes, keeps hearing the hopeful surety in Camille’s voice. They stood so close together in the dank cell, and he’d never… well, he’d never been so tempted to act upon urges that weren’t condoned. He’d wanted to reach out for Camille’s hand, to taste the assured man’s words on his tongue, to fall into the security of Camille’s arms and the world that he promised.

Even now, heat still lingers on his skin, itching beneath his clothes as he recalls the taller man’s handsome face lit in the paltry candlelight. Karl doesn’t usually indulge the baser urges of his body, but maybe… maybe just for one night, he can take himself in hand and imagine all that life could be with Camille at his side.

He rounds the corner down the hallway and stops short. All pleasant thoughts disappear from his mind at the sight of Sprink standing sentry outside the door to his quarters. The taller man is obviously waiting for him, and when his gaze connects with Karl’s, a distinctly unsettling smile darkens Sprink’s face.

Karl forces a hard swallow and steels himself as he continues down the hall.

“Major Karl Horstmayer,” Spink says with an insufferable smile. “You better have a good excuse for keeping The Commander waiting.”

Karl’s stomach drops to his feet. Seeing The Commander right now is the last thing he wants, but rarely gets what he wants. He nods quickly. “Then, I’ll go see him presently.”

Sprink’s face twists with wicked glee, as if he can’t wait for the outcome of Karl’s meeting. He doesn’t pause for the taller man to respond before stepping around him to continue down the hall. As far as Karl’s concerned, Sprink can stand there all night.

He reaches the door to The Commander’s quarters, the largest office at the end of the hall. He pauses to straighten his jacket but decides against buttoning up the top few buttons of his shirt. He knocks on the door with a short, solid motion, and waits until The Commander bids him entry.

As he steps into the well-appointed room, The Commander lounges in one of two overstuffed wingback chairs opposite a roaring fire in a barrel. Not overly elegant, perhaps, but they have to make do in a world of no electricity. The older man glances up at Karl with a welcoming look. Perhaps a little too welcoming for Karl’s taste as he speaks. “Horstmayer, my boy. About damn time.”

Karl folds his hand behind his back and tips his head. “My apologies, sir. I came as soon as I heard that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that,” The Commander dismisses easily as he motions to the plush chair next to him. “Take a seat.”

Karl’s hackles rise in discomforting suspicion, and he crosses the room on careful steps to take a seat.

Rudolf lounges back in his chair with distinct pleasure. His cheeks are ruddy from the fire and probably the ale, if Karl has to guess. No doubt the feast tonight has bolstered his ego, and honestly, Karl’s surprised that he doesn’t have one of those starry-eyed young women warming his bed. The older man fixes him with a curious gaze for a long moment before speaking. “Tonight was a banner celebration - a toast to our triumph over the Hill State that is almost at its glorious conclusion!” He shakes his head low and slow. “And you… you who led our men into the fray, you who serve me so loyally… just left the festivities never to return.”

Karl remembers how the ale had soured his stomach, and he knows it’s best to be honest. “Yes, sir.” He nods quickly. “The ale didn’t agree with me.”

Rudolf nods in consolation as he frowns. “I know it’s tough, my boy. The smell of blood clings to my nose, too, but we mustn’t let it prevent us from losing sight of what we have. Of celebrating what we have achieved together. Now,” he smacks his lips. “I want you to tell me where you were tonight.”

The tone of his voice sends a shiver down Karl’s spine. He stiffens against the comfortable chair, recognizing the trap. Everything from Rudolf’s word choice to the sharp gleam in his eyes indicates that he already knows the answer. He’s deliberately testing Karl’s loyalty, and indignation flares in Karl’s chest as he answers. “I went to speak with the prisoner.”

Rudolf nods slowly as his scowl deepens. “That’s right. Now, why would you forsake an evening of celebration with your Commander for the company of a sad delusional man?”

“I wanted to find out what that cold, foreign invader means.” Karl uses The Commander’s early words to describe Camille. “Each day that we wage war against the Hill State and celebrate in return is another day that his people’s factories in Basra are producing more airplanes.”

The Commander arches a confused brow. “Basra?”

“His headquarters, sir.” Karl hedges carefully. “He… mentioned it that first day in your main chamber-.”

“I remember perfectly what he said to me! Don’t use this late hour as an excuse to get insolent, boy!”

“Of course not, sir. My apologies for any implied insinuation.” Karl straightens his back as he holds The Commander’s gaze. “But I strongly suggest that we reconsider our position in relation to his - for the sake of our own survival, if nothing else.”

The Commander snorts in disgust. “Don’t let that man fill your head with poppycock! What that man says is arrogant bluff!”

“What he says is true,” Karl insists. “We should make peace with the airmen, and him - and let him go before his people unleash a force against us that we couldn’t possibly hope to compete with. Especially given the quality of Audebert’s airplane.”

A sharp silence descends as The Commander glares at Karl in growing fury. All too late, Karl realizes the grave mistake he made in saying the aviator’s name. The Commander’s broad fingers clench against the armrest as anger blazes in his eyes. “You know that damnable man’s name? You dare to use it in front of me, as if that man deserves any of my respect?!”

Karl quickly shakes his head. “That wasn’t my intention, sir. I didn’t mean-”

“You meant plenty!” The Commander rises to his feet, but Karl knows better than to follow. If The Commander wants to dress him down, well… at least, the vantage point will be right. Karl braces for something - anything - as The Commander steps closer.

Strong fingers grasp his jaw and forcefully tilt his head back. Karl doesn’t wince at the too-tight grip of The Commander’s hand as the older man bores his eyes through Karl’s. “Now see here,” Rudolf growls in pure frustration. “You have proved yourself a man worthy of my favor - you’ve fought beside me time and time again. Your position here is a reward for your service, but never forget that it can be stripped from you just as quick!”

Karl knows better than to speak until The Commander has had his fill, but he refuses to cower or feel ashamed of his conversation with Camille. He holds The Commander’s gaze with firm determination despite the shiver that ripples across his skin as the older man’s face twists in a savage snarl.

“In fact,” The Commander hisses, “we should do something about that pride of yours!” His broad hand abandons Karls jaw and lands on the back of his head. In the same motion, Rudolf steps forward and drags Karl forward to smash the younger man’s face against his crotch. Rudolf grunts with a burst of sudden pleasure as Karl instinctively recoils against the feel of the half-hard cock through the older man’s trousers.

The Commander thrusts his hips against Karl’s face with another grunt. “How proud would you be gagging on my cock, hmm?” He gives another firm roll of his hips as revulsion rots Karl’s stomach. “How proud would you be on all fours, stripped bare and stuffed full of my seed?”

Karl’s fingers dig into his thigh, resisting every urge to fight back and worsen the situation, as Rudolf’s cock hardens against his nose and mouth. The older man grunts in pleasure again with another hard roll of his hips. “Never forget,” he gasps. “That with just one word I could make you my personal cock-warmer, and no one would think twice to question my orders.” The hand on the back of Karl’s head screws into his hair with uncomfortable pressure. “And I’d make sure that you’d be just as eager to serve me in that capacity as you always have… your mouth would look so lovely, red and raw and leaking my spend…”

With an abrupt motion, he yanks Karl’s head away and steps back. Karl’s head spins from the throbbing pain on the back of his skull and the sudden change in position as he finally breathes free of The Commander’s suffocating presence. He doesn’t dare meet Rudolf’s gaze as the man’s words loop in his mind, and Karl’s stomach lurches.

“You may go, Karl.” The Commander says with a dark note of finality as he strides towards his bedroom door. “Unless you want to volunteer for the position, then I suggest that you go have a good, long think about where your loyalties lay.”

The first hunger pangs hit Camille’s stomach. He rises from the pitiful chair in his cell and walks over to the tiny window inlaid with wrought-iron bars. It won’t be long now until his fellow airmen arrive. He can only hope that Mackenzie is among them - no doubt his beloved has been beside himself. All too well, he remembers when Mackenzie was 45 hours delayed from his return to Basra, not because he was held captive but instead treated to an all-night feast of drunken revelry.

Unlike Camille, Mackenzie hadn’t needed to take his emergency supply of sustenance tablets. They weren’t good to use for an extended period of time, but World Communications had a strict 72-hour window for search and rescue. With the efficacy of his sustenance tablets waning, Camille looks forward to the expiration of that 72-hour window and the arrival of his fellow aviators to help set this part of the country to rights.

The rusted, squeaky lock of the cell door sounds, drawing his attention. Two guards step in, and Camille’s brow furrows to notice their lack of food tray. The taller, burlier man gestures at Camille. “You’re to come with us.”

Camille arches a brow in surprise. “Am I to be granted another audience?”

Neither guard answers him, but Camille steps forward and follows them out of the dingy detention cell. They lead him further down the stone corridor and descend another curving staircase. As they go deeper into the building’s bowels, Camille wonders at the history of this building to have such a basement structure.

His stomach drops to his feet when they reach their destination. He’s familiar with the implements of torture from bygone eras of the World-That-was, but he’s never seen such a collection amassed in one place. Two iron maidens stand ominous vigil in veiled shadows; a breaking wheel rests in one corner of the room, and yet another table is outfitted with thumb screws and flaying knives. In the middle of the room, a large rack table dominates with its arm and leg shackles, and oversized turning wheels.

In the middle of the frightful scene, The Commander presides with calm ease. Fear ripples down Camille’s spine as he glances around, also noticing Karl standing in quiet obedience against the far wall. He catches the younger man’s gaze, but Karl looks stoically ahead.

Camille is led before The Commander, and the silence in the room threatens to deafen him. At long last, The Commander turns to look at him. “Well, Mr. Wings Over the World,” he starts low and mocking. “It’s come to this.”

Camille offers a short nod. “It would seem that way.”

“I’ll have you know that it’s been suggested that I make peace with you and your ilk. That, in doing so, I should surrender my Sovereign State that I have sacrificed much to build.” He spits each word with vehement distaste. “And to that I say - never!”

“Never is a powerful word,” Camille cautions. “New airplanes for our order are rising night and day, buzzing like hornets around a hornet’s nest.” He casts a wary glance around the crude tortue chamber, summoning his courage. “What happens to me is a small affair. But make no mistake that they’ll finish you. The new world of united airmen will finish you.” He holds The Commander’s gaze and forces a small smile, thinking of Mackenzie on his way to the rescue. “If you listen closely… you can almost hear them now….”

“I hear nothing but the sound of your perpetual blustering!” The Commander roars. “There’s no making peace between you and me. It’s your world or mine - and it’s going to be mine.” He leans in close, jutting his jaw as he glares at Camille. “And for all of your threats about swarms of hornets and so on - just remember that you’re the hostage here. My hostage, in fact… so don’t be too sure that you’ll win. Guards!” He doesn’t take his eyes off Camille. “Bind his hands in the thumb screws!”

The guards are on him before he can mount a resistance, and they drag him over to the table lined with torture implements. His wrists are fastened in fixed shackles that leave his fingers vulnerable and exposed against the rough wooden surface. He pulls ineffectually against his bonds as adrenaline races through him, helpless but to watch from his stooped position as the guards place his fingers through the middle of two, large vices. There’s precious little room between the vice’s upper edge attached to a turnscrew, and Camille knows it won’t take much before the pressure bears down with crushing force. His heart pounds as he struggles to keep his composure.

The Commander steps up to the table and settles a large hand over one of the turnscrews, tapping a finger against the rough metal. “Despite what you may think, this room doesn’t get used all that much.” He sniffs, looking casually around as if the torture implements surrounding him were commonplace. “Its primary purpose is only when we capture enemy spies who seek to undermine my authority - much as you have done!” He gives the thumbscrew a harsh turn, and the vice compresses Camille’s fingers. He hisses at the unpleasant sensation, but he knows it’s going to get worse. Much worse

The Commander watches his facial expression all the while, giving Camille a distinctly uneasy feeling. “Guards,” The Commander calls out again, still transfixed on Camille’s face even as he points a finger at Karl. “Seize him!”

Camille whips his gaze around, but it’s too late. The guards swarm Karl before the stunned man can even react. Karl’s arms are swiftly immobilized and the jacket ripped from his shoulders. Camille jerks against his bonds desperate to help as Karl’s shirt is also stripped away to leave him bare-chested. The tightening pressure of the thumbscrew on his left hand draws his attention back with a pained gasp, only to see the sadistic gleam in The Commander’s gaze.

“Why are you doing this?!” Camille demands, flushed and breathing hard as both his hands throb.

The Commander leans forward. “Because you refuse to see. Because you refuse to help me get my airplanes flying. And because…” he drops his voice to a sinister register. “He called you by name.”

The clanking of chains and shackles sounds around the room, and Camille turns in horror to see Karl chained, face-down, against the rack table. Each wrist is shackled above his head, elongating his arms and his torso down to where each ankle is also shackled. The muscles of his back work in the low firelight as he tests and twists against his bonds.

Pain shoots up Camille’s arms as each thumbscrew is given another hard twist before The Commander steps away. Camille cries out as he tries to instinctively pull away from the pain, but his bonds refuse to yield. In the tense moment, his gaze finds Karl’s eyes wide with fear and panic. Camille never wanted it to come to this - he shouldn’t have let it come to this. He gulps hard, powerless as The Commander approaches the rack table.

“I’m sorry that you got yourself tangled in this mess, Karl, my boy.” The Commander starts with a heavy shake of his head. “Originally, I had plans to put Mr. Aviator - or, should I say Mr. Audebert - on the rack, but then I thought… you’re much better suited.” He glances back at his guards. “One hand each on Mr. Audbert’s thumbscrews - but only on my command.”

Camille trembles with a shuddering breath as the guards flank him, and The Commander reaches behind the rack, just out of view. He withdraws a long cat o’ nine tails that makes Camille freeze in horror.

“M-my Commander, sir.” Karl’s voice trembles. “I-I have thought long and hard about our conversation last night - and, I never should have doubted you. I never should have usurped-!” His words tear off in an anguished cry as The Commander flares the whip out and brings it down across the bare skin of Karl’s back. Bloody stripes of ripped skin streak across Karl’s back as he stiffens against his bonds. Again, The Commander lets the whip fly in another bloody arc across Karl’s back, flaying more skin as Karl’s heart-wrenching cry echoes off the stone.

“Stop!” Camille cries. “He’s done nothing! I’m the one you want!”

The Commander turns towards his men, pointedly ignoring Camille. “Give another turn of the screws.”

Camille’s pained scream echoes in tandem with Karl’s as the whip again streaks across his bare flesh. Karl shakes and shivers against his bonds, uncontrollably weeping against the severe pain as The Commander leans close. He shakes his head as a twisted, aroused smile mangles his face in the firelight. “Do you have any idea… how good you look like this, hmm?” His nose is almost close enough to brush Karl’s hair, yet his voice is pitched high-enough for Camille to hear every word. “But I think we can make you look even better yet…”

He drapes the whip over his shoulder and his hands wrap around Karl’s waist to work at his trousers.

“N-no,” Karl stammers as he trembles. “P-please…” His pleas fall on The Commander’s deaf ears as his trousers and underwear are pulled down to his ankles. Even in the low light, Camille can see the embarrassed shame that burns Karl’s skin as one of The Commander’s hand gropes between his legs while the other snakes back to grab the swell of Karl’s backside.

“Enough!” Camille pleads. “Let him go! Let him go, and I’ll-”

“Guards!” That’s all it takes for the pressure to multiply on his fingers, ripping another tormented scream from Camille’s chest. The bones feel close to fracturing and tears roll freely down his cheeks as pain consumes him. He forces a choking sob, blinking through tears to watch The Commander finally withdraw his hands from Karl’s exposed body.

But then, The Commander takes the whip in hand and runs it teasingly along the round globes of Karl’s behind. Camille shakes his head, utterly helpless as The Commander raises the whip high and strikes it across the sensitive skin.

More bloody lines tear across Karl’s skin, and his voice cracks from the force of the scream.

A loud, banging thud comes behind Camille, just audible over the rush of blood in his ears. “My Commander!” A new voice calls out, echoing in the stone chamber. “We’re under attack!”

Hope sparks in Camille’s chest. Could it really be…?

With obvious reluctance, The Commander lowers the whip to his side as he turns with a look of angry confusion. “Under attack? Nonsense! The Hill State has no army left to speak of - we saw to that!”

“It’s not the Hill State, sir.” The new arrival sounds distinctly panicked. “It’s large, black airplanes - j-just like his, sir,” the man jabs an accusing finger at Camille. “Except larger and they’re… they’re dropping gas bombs, sir!”

Outrage explodes on The Commander’s face as he drops the whip and turns from the rack, leaving Karl forgotten in his wake. “Come along, men!” He motions to the guards flanking Camille. “We’ll deal with these invaders, then return to finish what we started here!”

He leads his men out of the torture chamber, leaving Camille and Karl miserably trapped. Karl’s soft cries and whimpers sound in the silence, and Camille’s heart breaks. He tries to think beyond his own near-crippling pain, grasping for words. “Karl… I am… so sorry for this. For all of it.” He hiccups and shakes his head, hissing as his jerks against his bonds and more white-hot pain erupts in his hands. “I wish… I wish that I’d never come here.”

“D-don’t say that,” Karl whispers weakly with a trembling voice. “I-I… it’s worth it to have m-met you.”

Camille shakes his head pitifully as he takes in the freely bleeding wounds across Karl’s bare body. “I’m not worth that, Karl. Nobody is.”

Karl draws a sharp inhale, wincing and gasping in pain at the small movement. “A-as long as your people… don’t let him win-” He breaks off with another pained whimper. “As you said - W-we… forever.”

Camille’s heart goes out to the younger man across the room, and he’s never wanted to protect and care for someone so fiercely. A fresh wave of burning tears wet his eyes as his heart leaps to his throat. “I… we will get out of here, Karl. We will not let him win.” He knows it’s true, but it’s so hard to believe through the searing pain in both of his hands. But as bad as his pain is, he knows that Karl’s must be so much worse.

“Commandant Audebert?!” A far-away voice echoes off the stone, so faint, but so heart-achingly familiar. The last of Camille’s strength crumbles as the familiar voice of his beloved calls out again. “Camille?!”

“Down here! In here!” He does his best to raise his voice over his labored breathing and pained tears. “We’re down here!” Camille tries to twist around to see the door, but the movement jostles his aching hands too much.

“God in heaven!” Rushed footsteps sound on the stone behind him, and Camille’s heart melts when Mackenzie Gordon comes into view alongside on the table. “Hold on, love” he urges gently as he glances at the thumbscrews before making quick work of loosening them. “You’re alright, Camille - you’re alright.”

Camille shakes his head desperately. “Not me, I’m fine - I’m fine.” He nods anxiously at Karl. “Help him - he needs it more.”

Mackenzie glances over with a horrified look, obviously torn between leaving Camille still bound to the table and helping the flogged man. Camille offers a firm, reassuring nod as relief spreads through him with the removed pressure of the vices. “I’m fine, just… go tend to him.”

Mackenzie doesn’t argue as he nods and steps away towards the rack. “My God,” he mumbles in outraged horror. “Careful, easy… easy, now.” He loosens Karl’s bonds, the younger man crying out as he jostles and collapses against Mackenzie. “Careful,” the Scotsman cautions, “I’ve got you - you’re safe now, but we don’t want to risk infection from this floor.”

More strong voices and urgent footsteps sound in the corridor, and more of their fellow aviators swarm in. As soon as Camille’s wrists are released, he can’t get over to Mackenzie and Karl’s sides fast enough despite the aching pain in his hands. He throws his arms around both of them, clinging to them for all that’s he worth as his tears flow free, and he never wants to let them go.

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Wings Over My Heart - Pt. III

A 1936 Things to Come AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer) Fic

Series Main List

Warnings: Dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen the film, generous quote re-purposing

Word Count: 2.4k

Pt. III -

The sacrifices are many, but in the end, the Sovereign State prevails. The Hill State surrenders the coal and shale pits, and The Commander parades his barrels of unrefined oil (which is hardly petrol) down the main thoroughfare. Despite the heavy casualties incurred, the citizens hail him as a conquering hero and throw a lavish victory feast.

It’s almost more than Karl can stomach. Has acceptance of such high human death tolls become the norm? Would society ever restore to a point where a man’s life was valued in what he could accomplish and produce instead of how he died in the service of war? He sighs as he takes another sip of the sour, bitter ale. The sounds of revelry and celebration echo around him as the feast progresses, but Karl hardly feels in a jovial mood.

Yet again, his thoughts drift to the aviator still locked in the detention room beneath his feet. That man who spoke of wings over the world, and world communications, and serving as the last trustees of civilizations - surely, that man comes from a place where value and worth is placed on a human life. Where men aren’t churned through a constant machine of war always seeking to destroy and conquer.

He takes another sip of his ale, frowning when his shoulders are jostled by the weight of a heavy arm slinging around him. His brow pinches in irritation as he glares up at Sprink.

The taller man flashes an obnoxious grin. “Come on, Major - this is a celebration feast, so let’s see a smile!”

“I’m in no mood,” Karl says, voice tight. “Please remove your arm, and leave me be.”

“Come now, that’s hardly sporting of you.” Sprink chuckles as he raises his own mug of ale. “Of every man here, you should be singing the loudest! With a victory of today’s magnitude, we should have those airplanes flying in no time - you’ll finally achieve The Commander’s objective!”

Karl isn’t so sure that’s the answer, and his lips purse in thinly-veiled annoyance. “The job is more complicated than that. I’m told half of those machines are hopelessly old and will never fly again, and the rest, well… I’m sure it would be easier with the prisoner’s assistance.”

“The prisoner?” Sprink’s face wrinkles with disgust. “The man in black? That Wings Over the World quack?” He shakes his head in confounded disbelief. “You want that man released?”

“He knows his business. I don’t - not for airplanes and aviation, at least.”

“Careful, Karl,” Sprink’s voice takes a dangerous turn. “I think I must have heard you wrong. The Sovereign State is your mother, your father - the totality of your interests. And if The Commander were to learn otherwise, well… I’m sure no discipline can be too severe for the man who denies that by word or deed.”

Before Karl can summon a response, a hearty cry rises from the head table and The Commander stands to his feet. A hush falls over the feast attendees, and Karl raises his gaze to his boss.

“My captains, I greet you.” Rudolf the Victorious addresses the crowd with a sweep of his broad hand. “And I ask you, could anything in life be better than this moment? You’ve faced difficulties and dangers - but now, at this moment of victory, we relax to gather strength for the supreme effort that will make this land forever ours!”

A rousing cheer rises around him, and Karl’s stomach rots at the thought of the next fight, the next war. There’s always another battle, but does there always have to be another battle?

The Commander continues, his eyes bright with conviction. “This is a man’s land that we’re making here - a land for strength and for courage. None but the brave deserve the land, and none but the brave deserve the fair.” He glances down at the young blonde woman who sits next to him, and he cups her cheek appreciatively as she offers a doe-eyed smile. The whole display sours the ale in Karl’s stomach.

The Commander raises his tankard, sweeping the room with his gaze. “Our dear old world! Our dear old land! I know there are some among us who dare to run down our land - saying ‘it isn’t this’, or ‘it isn't that’. And my personal favorite - ‘it isn’t what it used to be.’” He adopts a mocking-whiny tone. “‘They don’t print books anymore!’ Well, I say: who wants books to muddle their thoughts! ‘We can’t travel anymore!’ Well, I say: isn’t our land good enough?!”

Karl ducks out from under Sprink’s arm and starts to walk away, feeling sicker to his stomach than he’s felt in ages. Distantly, he hears the roar of the approving crowd and Sprink’s distant calls after him, but blessedly, the man doesn’t give chase. There’s too many nauseating points in the Commander’s speech that Karl would rather not deliberate aloud.

His memories may be fleeting, but he hears the older folks speak of the World-That-Was so much that he feels like he lived it. The days when food was plenty, when streets were paved, when automobiles had petrol, and people attended the theater. Even in his own mind, those sound like far better days. The days of peace - a life that Karl only saw the last vestiges of before war consumed his life.

And now, that’s all that everyone seems to know. The age of barbarism where civilization is just an after-thought next to how much more can be fought and conquered. His thoughts turn towards the foriegn aviator still locked up in the lower levels, and an uneasy pang shoots through him. All too clearly, he recalls the man’s handsome brown eyes, how they glittered with a sense of purpose and peace that makes jealousy pool in Karl’s stomach.

If there’s even a chance this man can offer him - and everyone here - a better life, how can they not take it?

He finds his feet carrying him down the stairs towards the detention room before he realizes it. The guard recognizes him and opens the cell door without Karl even opening his mouth. It makes it easier to cross the threshold into the prisoner’s cell without having to lie about the purpose of his visit.

The room is dimly lit with a small candle, and the surrounding stone gives off no warmth. Dry hay crunches underfoot against the uneven stone floor as the door closes behind him, and he looks at the prisoner seated in the rickety chair. All the while, those brown eyes that have haunted Karl since the aviator arrived watch him.

Camille’s had no real visitors since his incarceration almost two days ago. The guards only open his cell door to deliver meager trays of half-rotten food and questionable water without saying a word. He doesn’t mind it, really. The tablets he took before leaving Basra protect him against any harmful effects, as well as curb his thirst and hunger. The clock is ticking, and his friends - and Gordon - have not abandoned him.

But, somehow, he isn’t surprised by the presence of the younger man who now stands opposite him. The pitiful candlelight catches in the man’s sharp, amber-brown eyes and plays handsomely off his facial features. He wears a stern, albeit conflicted, expression above his officious looking outfit, and Camille can’t help but wonder if this man has ever had an occasion to smile.

The younger man squares his shoulders as if to project more confidence than he feels. “I wanted to see you.”

Slowly and mindful not to appear threatening, Camille rises to his feet. He bows his head. “I am at your service, sir.”

“Horstmayer.” The younger man says without flinching. “Karl... Horstmayer.”

Camille allows himself a small smile. “Camille Audebert.”

Karl stares back at him like he still can’t believe his eyes. There’s awe and unease in his gaze - Camille’s arrival in new places always inspires that - but there’s also such curious fascination. It captivates Camille as few others have.

Especially as the younger man runs his tongue along his top lip, shaking his head slowly as he speaks. “You’re… you’re the most interesting thing that has happened here for years.”

“You honor me.” Camille again tips his head. “And you flatter me.”

Karl looks taken aback for a quick second as a flush overtakes his cheeks, but he recovers quickly. “But surely, that doesn’t surprise you. You… you come from a different place. You come from outside… I’d-” He stops short, exhaling a sharp sigh. “I’d begun to forget that there was anything outside.”

Camille’s heart warms as he perches against the crude table. “That’s understandable. The larger world has little relevance outside the bounds of everyday survival.”

Indignation flashes across the younger man’s face as he steps closer. “Don’t think that I'm ignorant.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“I recognize that this life here is limited. War is… always going on and never ending.” Horstmayer shakes his head with obvious frustration. “The Commander rules with absolute authority - everyone’s flocked to him since he took control in the directionless days, when so many others lost heart. And I recognize that I have a better position than most here in his Sovereign State, with nearly everything that is to be had here. And yet…” Karl breaks off with a heavy sigh. “Your arrival brings in the breath of something greater… the hope of a better world.”

Karl turns abruptly, almost pacing in the small space as Camille continues to listen. “You spoke of the Mediterranean, and your base and factories in Basra. I’ve only ever read about such exotic places - also, Greece, Egypt, India.” He fixes Camille with a shrewd gaze. “I learned a lot before education stopped and the schools closed down, so yes, I can read most of those books from the World-That-Was.” He pauses as he sighs and his shoulders deflate with the motion, as if he’s finally come to the heart of the matter. “Those places have always seemed so far away… so impossible. Like another world… a world that I’ve always wanted to see. With blue seas, palm trees, ancient wonders…”

Camille’s heart leaps to his throat as a smile comes to his face. He holds Karl’s gaze with no room for doubt. “If I had my way, you could fly away to all of that in a couple of hours.”

“You mean…” Karl falters as uncertainty pinches his face and he draws a sharp breath. “If you were free, and if… I was free….” He scoffs and shakes his head, clearly unconvinced about such an impossible notion. He paces a few more steps before turning back to Camille with a serious expression. “What do your people want from us?”

Camille blinks back at him, tilting his head in careful consideration. Even after everything Camille said - and he knows that Karl listened during his meeting with The Commander - does Karl think that Camille’s come here to take by force?

The younger man’s mouth curls with an impatience edge as the silence drags on. His hand tenses at his side before he steps closer, pressing his advantage. “What are you going to do to The Commander?”

Camille casts his eyes around the cell. “The immediate question seems to be what does he intend to do to me?”

“Something violent, and probably foolish… unless I can prevent it.”

The corner of Camille’s mouth lifts. So, that’s why the younger man has come. An ally, an incentive to cooperate. The longer he holds Karl’s keen gaze, the more he wants to place his trust in the younger man. But he also can’t rule out the possibility that Horstmayer might still put his own self-interest first if pressured. Camille crosses his arms against his chest and slowly nods. “That’s how I see things, too.”

Nothing about that answer seems to satisfy Karl. If anything, he looks more concerned as he steps closer in the faint light. “And if he kills you?”

The image of Mackenzie’s face flashes in Camille’s mind, and his heart clenches at the thought of never seeing him again. But this is the risk they both take serving in World Communications, and with high risk, comes high reward. The corner of Camille’s mouth lifts with a sad edge as he speaks. “While I would most certainly have my regrets over the outcome, still, we shall come here and clean things up - just as I said.”

Karl’s brow pinches. “But if you’re dead… how can you say ‘we’?”

Camille searches the handsome lines of the younger man’s face. “I merely represent an idea. I am one man among many, and we are taking hold of things. When we set ourselves to a common objective of an active and aggressive peace, no man is indispensable.” He tries to summon an encouraging smile in the face of Karl’s concern. “That’s how things are. We… forever.”

Karl blinks as he takes in Camille’s words. A conflicted struggle plays out in his eyes, and Camille longs to fold him in a reassuring hug. They’re certainly close enough, he realizes. Close enough to touch if he just reached out a hand, and the thought sends a frisson of heat down his spine as he continues to lose himself in Karl’s lovely eyes. A stab of guilt over Mackenzie cuts through his thoughts, but it just makes him wish that Mackenzie was here to meet Karl for himself. And even more impossibly… that he could somehow have them both…

A loud, dull thud against the floor above him breaks the moment, and Camille shakes back to himself with a startled breath. Even Karl seems unclear as to what just happened or where they are, and he takes a few steps back, similarly trying to collect his breath.

Karl exhales deep, raking a hand through his hair. “And when your people come for you… and find us here… what happens to our Sovereign State?”

“It has to vanish.” Camille says with a firm shake of his head. “Like the Tyrannosaurus and the saber-tooth tiger before it.”

Karl stares back at him, and the younger man’s face slowly hardens. The muscles of his throat visibly work in the faint light before he draws a deep breath. “So, it’s like that, hm?”

Camille holds his gaze, wanting to hold him close, wanting to make Karl understand. At length, he nods. “It must be.”

Yet again, he’s not surprised when Karl turns without another word and leaves the dark squalor of the detention cell.

#joyeux noël 2005 #joyeux noël #lieutenant horstmayer #lieutenant gordon #lieutenant audebert #horstmayer #gordon #audebert #karl friedrich horstmayer #mackenzie joseph gordon #camille rené audebert

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Wings Over My Heart - Pt. II

A 1936 Things to Come AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer) Fic

Series Main List

Warnings: Dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen the film, generous quote re-purposing

Word Count: 4.4k

Pt. II -

Karl’s horse clips along at a fair pace. Several people in the well-worn dirt thoroughfare acknowledge his passing, but most continue about their business. A steady hum of activity surrounds him, especially now that the drizzling rain has yielded to mild sunshine. Even after the last year, it’s still an uncommon site for him to see such renewed trade and social vitality.

All too well, Karl remembers his life of war. Born to a world hellbent on destroying itself, the last vestiges of the World-That-Was crumbled around him and all he could do was prepare for the next assault. When the dark days of the worst fighting finally ended, the world sat in utter ruin under the collapse of society and every major government. The old States as Karl knew them - Germany, France, United Kingdom - were now just pages of history. Shadows of the World-That-Was.

Those crumbled ruins - some nameless town of stone and pavement and light and automobiles - surround him now. The Commander of the Sovereign State had staked it as his seat of power when the war-battered civilians and disillusioned soldiers flocked to his strength in those early, leaderless days. Karl had been too swept up in the need for basic survival once his regiment disbanded, and it hadn’t taken The Commander long to learn that Karl was the highest-ranking officer in his newly formed Sovereign State.

It isn’t a bad position, Karl supposes. In a land where comforts are few and far between, serving as The Commander’s right-hand man has its comforts. A solid roof over his head. Clothes that aren’t in tatters. A stuffed, if slightly moldy mattress. As he glances around at his fellow citizens, he knows how lucky he is to have The Commander’s favor, but like everyone around him, Karl makes due with the situation.

It’s why he tips his head to the man riding in the chassis of an indeterminate vehicle that’s pulled by two horses. It’s why women wash clothes in the freshly-collected rainwater, and children make mud pies with no thought to schooling. It’s why he does all that he can to keep The Commander satisfied.

Though, that task is far easier said than done.

Karl trots his horse out towards the edge of the destroyed town, out to the ramshackle collection of airplanes. Each of the eighteen planes are well past their service lives in varying states of damage and disrepair, broken wires catching in the breeze and propellers spinning without purpose. The Commander had paid for the conquest of these aerial machines with a high body count, and Karl doesn’t envy the men now put in charge to restore them - especially when there’s no petrol to be had. Nor does he envy himself having to carry out The Commander’s orders to get these planes flying again.

Karl wets his top lip as he dismounts and turns for the lead mechanic. “What’s the update today?”

The mechanic, Jörg, shakes his heavy head. “We’re focused on fuel pump connections today, Major Horstmayer - trying to scavenge parts from the truly worthless machines in hopes of building at least one functional plane.” He wipes his hand on his already soiled clothes. “But still I tell you, it’s no good - we’ll never get off the ground without petrol.”

“Yes,” Karl agrees. “The Commander is aware of that. Presently, he’s making plans to rectify that situation and bring petrol to our Sovereign State.”

“He can’t just pull petrol from thin air.” Jörg grumbles with another frustrated shake of his head. “I tell you again - flying is over. Civilization is over!” He spreads his hands wide to indicate the dry, native grasses that sway in brown waves around him. “Everything is dead.”

“Not everything is dead.” Karl corrects, standing tall with the authority vested in him. “The Commander has taken action to unite us under a common interest - we are all still alive thanks to his leadership. Now, we need to do our best to support him in return.” He gestures at the closest biplane. “And, right now, The Commander has asked for airplanes to continue the war against the Hill State.”

Jörg blinks at him for a long moment, but eventually, he slowly nods and lowers his arms. “My apologies, Major. I will… try to do my best. For The Commander.” He motions towards another biplane nearby. “She’s the best airplane that I have. Fortunately, she’s a good World-That-Was machine, and with more time… we might have her flight-worthy with or without petrol.”

The corner of Karl’s mouth lifts as he nods. “Thank you, Jörg. I know The Commander will be very pleased with your eff-” His words break off as a low, mechanical buzzing reaches his ears. It sounds… impossibly like an airplane. Has another neighboring State beaten them to achieving functional flying airplanes? Is the Hill State about to unleash a surprise attack? Karl’s brow furrows as the sound continues to rise in the air, and he turns his gaze towards the sky.

“Look!” Jörg cries, pointing up to the clouds. “Just there!”

A sleek, black airplane punches out of the clouds. With it’s elongated tail, and wide, flat wings - it looks like no aircraft that Karl’s ever seen despite his years on the battlefield. His breathing quickens as the foriegn craft banks a wide turn and begins its descent.

“How amazing…” Jörg muses in wonderment. “Somewhere, they’re able to make new airplanes. While we’ve been fumbling, they’ve been active… simply amazing.”

Karl’s face hardens as he tracks the unknown airfact coming in for a landing. Whoever this person is, they are without doubt an intruder - quite possibly an invader - and The Commander will want words. “I need to go greet this visitor.” Karl tells Jörg as he turns for his horse. “Please continue your team’s effort on restoring the planes per The Commander’s instructions.” He doesn’t wait for the mechanic’s response before urging his horse forward.

As he rides, the dark craft touches down and the canopy retracts. When the aviator stands in the cockpit, Karl’s breath catches in his chest. The man - for it is most certainly a man with his helmet removed - is tall and lean, dressed in a shockingly clean and sleek, black flight suit. The dark hair crowning his head is styled and neatly trimmed to match his facial hair as he scans the surroundings before his gaze falls on Karl.

The sight of this new visitor and his aircraft is stunning - something so new, so foreign, so fascinating that Karl can’t even begin to understand. But as he slows his horse and approaches the aviator walking towards him in the rustling sway of dry grass, Karl holds his head high and remembers that he has a job to do.

In the weak sunlight, the aviator’s hair appears black - like his suit, like his airplane - and it makes his brown eyes all the warmer as he tips his head in greeting and glances up at Karl. “Good day,” the man’s words carry an elegant accent - the World-That-Was French, Karl thinks. “Who’s in control of this part of the country?”

“That would be my boss.” Karl says, leaving no room for doubt. “Whom we call The Commander.”

“Good,” the man says with another small nod of his head. “I would like to see them.”

“Actually, I’m here to arrest you.” Karl responds. The Commander has always appreciated a man who takes initiative.

Surprisingly, the man looks nonplussed. “You can’t do that, but I’ll come and see them.”

Karl bristles at the man’s breezy dismissal. “You’re under arrest whether you’ll admit it or not. This country is in a state of war, and you are an uninvited intruder.”

“Then, we needn’t waste more time.” The aviator starts to walk forward towards the town as Karl stares after him.

His jaw tenses with frustration. “It’s a longer walk on foot.”

“Yes,” the man says over his shoulder, words carrying on the breeze. “I didn’t want to cause a full panic by landing in your central square.”

Karl urges his horse into motion and catches up to the aviator’s side, noting the confident stride of the man’s long, black-clad legs. “I’m sure that you’ve already caused enough of a panic,” Karl says. “No one around here has seen an airplane fly in so long…”

“I understand.” The man says, keeping his gaze ever forward. “Tell me, what sort of person is your Commander?”

Karl’s face pinches with suspicion, but he quickly schools his expression. Maybe he can use this moment to his advantage. To show this strange man that they are not to be underestimated. “He’s strong. A man of conviction and purpose. A man who won’t settle and isn’t afraid to take action.”

The wind kicks up dead grass and loose dirt around their feet despite the day’s earlier rain, and Karl starts to sweat when the visitor doesn’t respond. Has he said too much? Or has he perhaps intimidated the man? He chances a glance down at the aviator, drawn to the small smirk that curls the corner of the man’s mouth.

“So, that’s the sort of man your Commander is.” The aviator confirms, nodding his head slowly. “Not an unusual sort, really. Everywhere we find these little, semi-military upstarts robbing and fighting.” Irritation ripples down Karl’s spine as the man continues speaking. “That’s what endless warfare has led to - brigandage.”

Karl’s fingers tighten around his horse’s reins in indignation. “What other outcome could come from it?”

“A dedication to salvage the world. A united Brotherhood of Efficiency, the Freemasonry of Science - all who are left of the old engineers and mechanics, pledging to remake the world.” The aviator turns his handsome eyes on Karl with an odd look of modesty that contrasts with his confident tone. “We have the airways, or what’s left of them. We have the seas, and we have ideas in common. We are the last trustees of civilization when everything else has failed.”

Honestly, Karl doesn’t know what to say to that. It doesn’t sound true - in fact, it sounds impossible. In the face of perpetual war, how could men have banded together to create such a… plan? Or vision? Or a group? Or even airplanes like this man’s? He blinks back at the aviator as they continue to walk. “Who are you?”

“All in good time.” The man cautions with a gentle lift of his lips. “No doubt that is a question that your Commander will ask of me, too.”

“But the things you speak of…” Karl presses. “How is it possible to achieve when war has taken so much, and it continues to take….”

“That is why if we don’t end war, war will end us.” The aviator replies as they approach the edge of the ruined town and the throng of staring people.

At the front of the crowd are several soldiers that Karl knows well, including Sprink at the head of the pack. He glares up at Karl with a distrustful edge. “We’re dispatched to bring the invader to The Commander,” Sprink barks. “We’re also instructed that if he won’t come on foot, then we’re to carry him.”

“This man is in my custody, Sprink.” Karl squares his shoulders as they approach. “I have already informed him that he is under arrest to be brought before The Commander.”

Sprink’s gaze narrows as he darts his gaze to the black-clad aviator. “Then why is he unbound?”

Karl shakes his head, fighting back a wave of frustration as the crowd makes way for them to pass. “The aviator has offered no resistance to his arrest. Nor is he armed. Should he present himself as a threat, we will respond in kind.”

Sprink hardly looks convinced, but he and the other guards fall in behind Karl and the aviator as they continue to walk through the main thoroughfare. When they reach the crumbling remains of Town Hall, Karl dismounts and hands his horse to an attendant before motioning the aviator inside. The guards that flank the central atrium open the majestic double doors and snap to attention as the fur-caped figure of The Commander appears.

With his short stature, it would be easy to underestimate The Commander - Rudolf the Victorious - at first. But the conviction of his actions matches the fire in his eyes and the passion of his words as he rules the Sovereign State. He glances up from his large chair at the long table covered in assorted maps and old books, face creasing with indignant displeasure.

Karl takes up position along the opposite wall, watching as the aviator strides towards the long table with no outward sign of unease. It strikes Karl that this aviator is visibly unarmed and any one of the men surrounding him won’t hesitate to shoot at Rudolf’s command. The thought makes Karl want to reach for his own sidearm as he tries to assess which man poses the greatest threat.

“Well?” The aviator’s lyrical accent fills the hall with unquestionable authority. “What did you want to see me about?”

Rudolf’s eyes bulge with indignation. “Who are you? You who dare to land here uninvited!” He shakes his head with a frown. “Do you know this country’s at war?”

“At war?” The aviator says, and Karl’s brow furrows. He had told the aviator that already. Was this man purposefully trying to goad The Commander?

The aviator gives a regretful shake of his head. “Still at it, hm? Well, we must clean that up.”

Rudolf’s frown intensifies. “What do you mean? ‘We must clean that up’?” He sniffs at the affront as he waves a hand. “War is war! So, again I say - who are you?”

“The Law.” Nothing in the aviator’s calm, collected tone changes. “Law and Sanity.”

Rudolf bangs his fist against the table as his cheeks turn red. “I’m the Law around here!”

“I said Law and Sanity.”

A tense, dangerous silence falls in the room, and Karl glances around sharply. He doesn’t want to see the aviator gunned down in cold blood under The Commander’s fury. Fortunately, Rudolf seems to get a hold of his temper as he glares back at the taller man before speaking. “And just what gives you the right? Who are you?!”

“Wings Over the World.”

“Bah!” The Commander dismisses with a shout. “You can’t just come into a country like this in this fashion!”

“And yet, I am here.” The aviator gestures to a chair opposite Rudolf. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

Karl’s brows climb to his hairline, and the room takes a collective gasp as the aviator elegantly folds himself into the chair. No one ever asks to sit at The Commander’s table despite the presence of the chair. It’s merely a decoration because no one is presumptuous enough to take so much of The Commander’s precious time.

Rudolf’s venom-filled stare is still fixed directly on the aviator as he tilts his head with growing impatience. “And now, for the fourth time - who are you?”

“Again, I tell you: Wings Over the World.”

“That’s nothing,” Rudolf insists. “What government are you under?”

“Common sense.” The aviator says, resting his hands gracefully in his lap as he maintains his unflappable, confident dignity. “I belong to World Communications, and we… run ourselves.”

Rudolf’s eyes widen and bulge out of his skull. “You’ll run into trouble if you try to do that here! Including landing here in war time!” His face twists in suspicion. “What’s your game?”

“Order and trade.”

Hope sparks in Karl’s chest. Perhaps this situation and any potential partnership might yet be salvageable.

“Trade, eh?” Guarded interest sparks on Rudolf’s face. “Can you provide anything in munitions?”

The aviator gives a slow shake of his head. “Not our line of business.”

“How about petrol? Spare parts?” Rudolf presses. “I have planes, and I’ve got boys who’ve some knowledge of how to fly them. But we have no fuel, and that hinders us. Perhaps… we might do a deal?”

“We might.”

The aviator's calm tone takes an unsettling turn in Karl’s mind. He thinks back to the man’s earlier words about salvaging the world as a last trustee of civilization. Is it too good to be true, though? Is this man someone who can truly help them? Or is he just a devil spouting false promises? Everything about his matching black attire and craft suggest the latter, but Karl can’t help but be entranced by the warmth of the man’s eyes and earnestness of his voice.

The Commander stiffens in his chair, fixing the aviator with a shrewd stare. “Now, don’t think that we require your help - I already know where I can get some petrol. In fact, my plans are already made, but if you can manage a temporary accommodation, we could do business.”

“World Communications helps no one to make war.”

“End war! End war!” Rudolf insists. “I want to make victorious peace!”

The aviator lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “I believe I’ve heard that phrase before. But it has made no end of war.”

“Now look here, Mr. Aviator,” Rudolf’s voice raises as he leans forward to leverage the full force of his intimidation at the lean, seated man. “Let’s see how we stand, hmm? With the way you swagger, you don’t seem to realize that you’re under arrest.”

Karl snaps to attention and takes the opening. “I have already informed him, sir. Whether or not he admits it, he and his aircraft are at your command.”

“And rightly so.” The Commander glances over at Karl with an appreciative nod. “Good man, Horstmayer. A truly loyal citizen of our Sovereign State.”

Karl tips his head in an open sign of gratitude before glancing back at the aviator-cum-prisoner. Even still, the man doesn’t look the slightest bit bothered by the conversation. He sits with unfathomable ease, projecting a wisdom far beyond his years. Surely, this man isn’t more than five years or so Karl’s senior, but he radiates a calm sense of purpose and confidence that Karl has never known.

The aviator fixes Rudolf with his soulful eyes. “You’ll find other planes looking for me if I happen to be delayed.”

A shiver runs down Karl’s spine. He isn’t quite sure if the words are meant as a threat, but it sounds bone-chillingly ominous despite the man’s affable tone.

If Rudolf shares Karl’s concern, he projects no unease as he barrels ahead. “Well, we’ll deal with them later! Now, you can start a trading agency here if you like. I’ve no objection.” He gives his head a stern shake for emphasis. “But the first thing that we shall want is to get our airplanes in the air.”

“Quite a laudable ambition,” the aviator acknowledges. “But our new order has an objection to private airplanes.”

“My airplanes are public airplanes!” Rudolf’s face continues to redden with rising frustration. “This is an independent Sovereign State at war!” He slams his fist against the table again. “I don’t know anything about your order! And I’m not taking any orders - old or new - from you!”

Karl tenses and his hand twitches at his side. He knows he won’t be fast enough to stop a guard if they shoot, and raising his weapon would jeopardize everything about his position. Still, the gut-wrenching urge to protect the aviator gnaws at him.

At length, the aviator hums in quiet consideration. “Then, I suppose I’ve walked into trouble.”

“Yes, you certainly have!” Rudolf barks, the reverberations of his voice dying against the stone walls as he settles back in this chair. “Now tell me straight - where do you come from?”

The aviator gives a small shake of his head as if he knows this conversation is past the point of no return. He sighs gently as he pushes up from the chair. “I flew from our headquarters at Basra this morning. We have some hundred new type planes, and we’re building more, fast.” The hint of a proud smile graces his face as he holds Rudolf’s gaze. “Gradually, we’re restoring order and trade in the whole Mediterranean area and expanding north. We’re scouting this region now to see how things are.”

“Well, you’ve found out! This is an independent Sovereign State!”

“Yes,” the aviator calmly replies. “We must also talk about that.”

“We don’t discuss it!”

“And we don’t approve of independent sovereign states.”

Impossibly, Rudolf’s eyes bulge wider. “You don’t approve…?!”

“In fact, we mean to stop them.”

“That’s war!”

Something wicked comes to the lift of the aviator’s mouth. “If you will.”

Karl exhales the breath that he doesn’t realize he held. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. By contrast, the visitor’s flight suit looks paper thin. No one has ever threatened war in The Commander’s Sovereign State before, let alone while standing opposite his self-appointed throne. A thick swallow works down Karl’s throat as he braces for The Commander’s response.

At length, Rudolf blinks and sighs with a sharp edge of finality. “Well, I think we know how we stand. Burton,” he motions to a nearby guard. “Take this man, and if he gives you any trouble - club him.” He turns back to the aviator with an indignant snort. “Do you hear that, Mr. Wings Over your Wits?”

The aviator continues to hold The Commander’s gaze with a disconcerting smirk. “My friends know my whereabouts. If I don’t come back, they’ll send a force to find me.”

“Perhaps they won’t find you.” Rudolf’s tone takes a deadly tone that Karl recognizes all too well.

The aviator merely blinks as his smirk holds. “But they’ll find you.”

“They’ll find me ready!” Rudolf turns sharply to his guards.” Take him to the detention room below!”

The aviator offers no resistance as he’s led away. Karl can’t help but watch him go, feeling inexplicably lost. As the tall man passes, his gaze connects with Karl’s, and the aviator winks.

Butterflies erupt in Karl’s stomach, and he doesn’t know what to think. His feet feel glued to the floor, chest tight as he fights to keep his breathing even and temper the flush spreading across his cheeks.

The slam of a door across the room quickly snaps him back to himself as he notices Rudolf’s retreat to his private office. Summoning his courage, he crosses the large room towards the closed door. He knocks against the solid wood before he can rethink it.

“Come!” Rudolf bellows from within, and Karl slips quietly inside. The older man is seated in a plush armchair, hands braced on the armrests with his fingers impatiently drumming. He diverts his hard stare from the roaring fireplace to up Karl, with the full expectation that Karl will state his business and leave.

Honestly, Karl doesn’t know what he’ll achieve with The Commander in this mood, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He folds his hands behind his back. “I couldn’t help but wonder, sir,” Karl starts gently. “If, perhaps, that was our most advantageous course of action.”

“Advantageous?” The Commander lifts an indignant brow.

“Forgive my saying so, sir, but quarreling at the outset-”

“Quarreling?” The Commander’s fingers clench against the armrests. “Damn the man! He began to quarrel with me!” He snorts in disgust, doing a poor imitation of the aviator’s melodic accent. “‘We must clean that up’...” he snorts again. “Not my victorious war!”

“But sir,” Karl tempers, careful to keep his tone even. “We all heard him - there’s others behind him.”

“Others behind him,” The Commander scoffs. “The last thing I need is some sort of aerial bus driver coming in here and standing up to me like… like an equal!”

Karl bites back on this gut response to call The Commander a bully. He knows that will only end with him in the detention room, too. Or worse. Instead, he nods gently. “Perhaps that was our opportunity to show him that you are not his equal.”

“Weren’t you paying attention, boy?” The Commander barks. “That’s exactly what I did - I just handled the man!”

“I only meant that this man is the first real aviator to come this way in years. If we want our airplanes in working order, then, perhaps, he would be able to help.”

The Commander shakes his head in disgust. “You expect me to just hand my planes over to him? He’ll probably sabotage the lot of them!”

“I’m sure that you could have persuaded him. Under supervision, of course. Perhaps you still can.”

“Under supervision?” He arches a disparaging brow. “Whose supervision? Yours?” He snorts in disgust. “He’d be too much for you.”

Indignation simmers on Karl’s skin as his jaw tenses. “Well, if he’s going to be too much for me - and you, by extension - then, why don’t you just hang him and hide his machine before his friends are after you?”

The Commander pauses to draw a long, deep breath that expands his already wide chest. His eyes flash with a hint of sympathy - or maybe it’s pity. As if he knows some great truth of life that Karl could never hope to understand. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Karl, my boy… you speak as if this stranger has taken me by surprise. But he hasn’t. I knew he was coming.” His eyes brighten as if he’s just revealed some great secret. “Yes! I knew he was coming… I felt this conspiracy of air bus drivers brewing somewhere in the world - but, now we have our chance against them!” He raises his fist with purposeful determination. “We’ve got this fellow locked up. His friends won’t even begin to miss him for a while which gives us the advantage. So, tell me, how are the preparations coming for our attack on Floss Valley?”

Karl’s posture bolsters with confidence. “Your men stand at the ready, sir. We have our arms prepared, and the plan of attack has been confirmed.”

“Outstanding!” A satisfied grin lights The Commander’s face. “Then, spread the word! Tomorrow at dawn - those old coal and shale pits of Floss Valley shall be ours! God save our Land!”

“God save our Commander.” Karl recites on instinct. In truth, he’s never been a big fan of The Commander’s self-appointed slogan, but the citizens have rallied behind it time and time again. Saying it is a small price for the position that he’s fortunate to hold in The Commander’s regime.

The Commander smiles again with plump satisfaction. “Good man. Once we have those coal and shale pits - and petrol within our reach: the skies will be ours! And we’ll do it without the help of this impudent aerial bus driver.” He nods at Karl in clear dismissal. “Now go and prepare my men for a victorious battle!”

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Wings Over My Heart - Pt. I

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen film

Word Count: 1.5k

Pt. I -

“Permission to land on Runway 3-2-7. Maintain your present course.”

Gordon held position, adjusting the stick as he sighted the runway. “Copy, 3-2-7.”

“Welcome back, Major Gordon.”

Even ten years later, the surreal moments still strike him. How he had found hope just when the world seemed lost. How he’d been pulled from a muddy trench, cleaned up, and trained as an aviator. How a group of men had preserved with a peaceful vision for the future after decades of endless warfare and brutality.

No one ever imagined that war would rage in the ceaseless destruction of humanity from 1914 to 1940, but here the world is. Gordon knows nothing but a world of constant war, and while he has vague memories of life in the World-That-Was back in his younger years, they pale in comparison to life as he now knows it.

He angles the nose of his airplane as he makes his final approach and descent for landing. His wheels touch down on the pavement, and the brakes slow his forward momentum. Following the guiding lights, he pilots his craft to the waiting hangar and ground crew. Small fingers of sunlight rise in the eastern sky as he kills the engine and unstraps his harness. Stepping out of his black, streamlined aircraft, he pulls off his helmet.

“Good morning, major.” The crew chief greets him. “Another good patrol?”

“Quite encouraging.” Gordon confirms. “Our efforts on the Italian peninsula appear to be taking hold, and if the council agrees with the squadron’s report, then we’re ready to scout the regions northward.”

“Very encouraging indeed, sir.” The chief nods at Gordon before looking up at the airplane. “Any issues with the machine?”

“None at all. Your men do a fine job.”

“Well, it’s a fine design.”

Gordon feels his mouth pull to a small smile. “Everything here is.” He nods in farewell before he turns to fall in line with the rest of his squadron mates. Fatigue tugs at the corners of his mind, but he needs to file his report. Progress of rebuilding the world doesn’t stop in the face of one’s exhaustion, and Gordon knows that while he sleeps, another squadron will take to the skies.

Camille’s squadron, in fact.

The thought of his beloved sustains him through the post-scouting-mission debrief. As he finally trudges down the brightly lit corridor towards their shared quarters, he can’t help but wonder if Camille’s squadron will use the intelligence gathered during his patrol to implement next steps.

With a press of his hand to scan his fingerprints, the door opens and his eyes adjust to the darkened interior. Artificial light may keep the main interior of their complex lit to support the 24/7 efforts of societal restoration, but it’s 0534 in the morning, and Camille still sleeps.

Gordon sheds his sharp, all-black flight uniform before stepping into the hydrosonic shower. At first, his arrival here had been such a shock. While the rest of the world devolved into violence and barbarism, here was a society with scientific purpose united by a determination to improve man’s fate instead of destroy it. The innovations at the Basra headquarters proved endlessly captivating - from the new fleets of airplanes to non-metallic construction materials to clean energy generation - even stretching so far as to break down previously-conceived cultural norms. It’s what allows him to live freely with Camille at his side for the rest of his days.

The vibrating water cleans the sweat and petrol fumes from his skin before he reaches for a towel. After stepping into soft shorts and brushing his teeth, he’s careful to turn the light off before opening the door back to the bedroom. Despite the sweltering heat of Basra, the conditioned air keeps their quarters more than comfortable, and he never takes issue when curling up next to Camille.

The Frenchman’s hair is soft and mussed from sleep as Gordon breathes him in. He presses gentle kisses along Camille’s nape as he drapes an arm around the younger man’s shirtless midsection.

Camille sighs in drowsy contentment as his fingers interlace with Gordon’s beneath the covers. “Good scouting mission, mon amour?”

Gordon hums sleepily as he relaxes against the soft mattress. “You should still be asleep, love.”

Camille chuckles low in his throat. “I never sleep soundly when you’re away.”

“Good thing my squadron is only on this rotation for another six days.”

Camille groans in frustration as he rolls in Gordon’s arms, and Gordon lays back against the bed to welcome the taller man nuzzling kisses into his neck. A sleepy smile tugs at Gordon’s mouth. Despite all that they see and do, despite all the talk of forward progress, these quiet moments with Camille are his favorite time of day. Here, they don’t have to be Major Gordon and Commandant Audebert. Here, they’re just Mackenzie and Camille.

He nuzzles Camille’s brow and basks in the comforting weight of his beloved. “You should sleep, love.” He says softly. “You only have an hour until you need to prepare for your rotation.”

“I know,” Camille confirms.

“Do you know where your squadron is headed?”

“North, last I heard. Continuing to establish contact in regions of former Germany.”

Gordon hums gently. “Slowly but surely, expanding the New Rule of the Airmen.”

“And a New Life for Mankind.” Camille finishes the motto, drifting more kisses along the column of Gordon’s neck. “A new life that I found here with you. A new life that we share together.”

Gordon ducks his head to meet Camille’s kiss. It’s everything he ever wants as they linger in the intimate contact, basking in the reassuring touch of each other’s lips. Gordon lets his jaw relax as Camille leans into the kiss, and their tongues meet. Heat licks down Gordon’s spine as his cock hardens, groaning when Camille’s hand finds him over the fabric of his shorts.

He rolls his hips to chase Camille’s touch, stirring a delicious moan from the Frechman. Gordon smiles into the kiss as Camille shifts to lay atop him, grinding their burgeoning erections together. The perfect friction shoots sparks through Gordon’s veins as he arches up into the taller man. “God, Cami….” His hand settles to Camille’s hip to hold him so close.

Camille rocks his hips again with a shuddering exhale against Gordon’s lips. “I know you’re tired, mon amour. But I’ve had more than enough rest.”

Any other words are downed by the firm intensity of Gordon’s kiss as they lose themselves in rising pleasure. Shifting his weight to brace on a forearm, Camille lifts just enough to slide his shorts down and work at Gordon’s. The bare length of their cocks brush together, and Gordon hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip on Camille’s hip. It’s been too long since they last took a moment for themselves, and he already feels on the edge of combustion, not helped by his exhaustion.

It certainly doesn’t help when Camille shifts his hips and takes Gordon in hand before surprisingly, easily welcoming him into his body. Gordon's mind spins, dizzy with rushing pleasure when he realizes the loose, slick stretch of Camille’s muscle meant that the younger man had already prepared for this moment. With a pleasured cry, Gordon’s head falls back against the pillow, and he loses himself in the enveloping heat of Camille’s body.

Camille groans, low and debauched, as he lifts up before sinking back down. “I’ve got you, mon amour. Let go for me.”

Gordon groans as he meets Camille’s thrusts, delighting in his soft gasps. “Fuck, Cami….”

Camille whimpers, chasing his pleasure as Gordon’s cock fills him over and over. They push and pull at all the skin they can reach as they move together, never wanting to let the other go. Their burning connection feels like heaven as they crest the peak, Camille’s release splashing hot on Gordon’s belly while his own seed plants deep inside his lover.

Heedless of the mess, Camille slumps forward to meet Gordon in a sated, languid kiss. Neither of them wants to rise, content to stay in this breathless, euphoric moment as they drift on the edge of bliss. Gordon cradles Camille close, brushing kisses along his brow as he sighs with bone-deep satisfaction. “You’re going to be the death of me someday, you know.” He whispers. “Surprising me like that. Bloody hell, Cami.” He pauses to press a lingering kiss. “Just the thought of you in our bed, stretching yourself for me… makes me wish I were ten years younger.”

Camille chuckles gently. “Neither of us are as young as we used to be. And ten years ago… none of this would have been here, and I wouldn’t have met you.”

Gordon’s arms tighten around Camille’s back to hold him closer. “I like to think that - somehow, somewhere - we still would have found each other.”

The younger man smiles against Gordon’s skin as he brushes a lazy kiss. “That is indeed a nice thought. And a perfect way to start the day.”

“A perfect way to fall asleep, you mean.” Gordon draws him up for a kiss as his eyelids grow heavy. “I look forward to having more time in six days from now.”

Camille’s eyes sparkle in the low light as his smile grows. “Me too, mon amour.” He lingers in one last gentle, affirming kiss. “Pleasant dreams, and I’ll be here when you wake.”

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Wings Over My Heart

Series Main List

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Summary: World War rages from 1914 to 1940. The old States of the World-That-Was - Germany, France, United Kingdom - are now just pages of history. In the crumbling remains of societal ruin, a new order takes to the skies to rebuild humanity’s last hope. It’s what brings Mackenzie and Camille together under a banner of newfound peace and freedom. It’s what turns Karl’s life of brigandage and war upside down when Camille arrives without invitation. But at the end of it all, will each man find their way?

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), non-con sexual threats, non-con touching, explicit language, violence and graphic torture (including descriptions of thumb screws and flogging), dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, generous re-use of dialogue from the film, no need to have seen the film

Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

Pt. IV

Pt. V

Word Count: 24k+

A/N: This one's been brewing for a while... I blame work. As always, @khorstmayer has been a dear with her kind feedback and beta'ing support on this fic! Again, no need to have seen the film, but if you have seen it, you'll recognize a fair bit here.

Cheers 'till next time, friends! 😊

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Epilogue

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, post-traumatic stress, nightmares, period typical homophobia

Chapter Word Count: 1.1k

Epilogue - 16 April 1916

Karl jolts awake against the mattress. Sweat dampens his brow, and he heaves for breath against the fading memories of nightmare. A flash of lightning illuminates the bedroom and thunder cracks in its wake. It conjures the sound from a freezing night of death and destruction in the north Atlantic. It keeps the nightmare all too alive in his mind as a sob wells in his chest.

A warm, steadying hand settles against his lower back, and the touch cuts through his panic. He relaxes under the press of Mackenzie's hand, letting his lover's soothing presence comfort him. The older man's voice is rough with sleep as it sounds over the falling rain. "A nightmare, love?"

Karl takes another deep gulp of air as another bolt of lightning flashes. "Yes."

Mackenzie squeezes his hip in support as thunder rumbles. “It’s been a while since you last had one.”

Karl nods numbly. In fact, it’s been so long that he can’t even remember when he last woke, trembling and breathless. The memories of that one horrific night continue to fade with time, but they refuse to release their grip in full. Even now, the ferocious cold, the dying screams, the impossible struggle play in his mind. He can even still conjure the faint remnants of Camille’s cologne on his frigid, lifeless skin.

A sob tears from his chest, and Mackenzie shuffles beside him. Strong arms wrap around him as the bare skin of Mackenzie’s chest presses to the bare skin of Karl’s back. He melts against his lover, letting himself be rocked in Mackenzie’s arms.

“I should have been more careful with that newspaper article.” Mackenzie scolds himself, pressing a gentle kiss to Karl’s shoulder. “With continued news of the war, I didn’t think you would see it.”

Karl sniffles, leaning into Mackenzie’s embrace. “I didn’t think it would affect me… like you said, it’s been so long since the last one.”

In the early days after Titanic sank, it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake in the throes of a nightmare. But even in those early days, he never faced them alone. Mackenzie had been at his side, staying with him through each and every one. If Karl hadn’t already been in love, that would have made him even more of a hopeless case for Mackenzie Gordon. The man never shied away from meeting the future head on and never wavered in his conviction to have Karl at his side for all of it.

It's why Mackenzie had discussed his resignation from the White Star Line with Karl in depth. It’s why he had refused to return to the UK to testify in the British Inquiry into the ship’s sinking. It’s why he had picked Karl’s brain on his interests and talents to find something, anything that they might capitalize on to build a life together.

Together.

Despite everything, that word still makes Karl smile.

His breathing settles out as he rests in Mackenzie’s warm strength. Another flash of lightning illuminates their bedroom, and thunder rolls through the air. He shifts his legs against the mattress, knocking the sheet to expose his feet. Both of them still bear swaths of pale, raised, scarred skin. He still remembers those days, too - as his feet healed from the frostbite, as the skin died, peeled off, and re-grew with agonizing tenderness. He closes his eyes as if to squeeze the memories out of his brain, listening as rain patters against the windowpane with lulling appeal. He sighs gently, nuzzling into Mackenzie’s touch. “I’m sorry for waking you and spoiling a nice, stormy sleep.”

“I told you years ago to stop apologizing for that.” Mackenzie brushes a kiss to Karl’s temple. “There’s always time to sleep, and you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Karl wraps his arms around Mackenzie’s, holding the other man tight and wondering how he ever got so lucky. And he knows that luck is the word for it.

He had no idea what to expect of life when he and Mackenzie left New York bound for the tiny town of Bath, Maine. Through a White Star Line friend, Mackenzie found work at the Percy and Small Shipyard on the banks of the Kennebec River. Karl used everything he learned from working in his uncle’s bakery and, so far, was making a decent go of it. His bakery wasn’t yet successful enough to get Camille’s pocket watch out of hock, but he walked by the shop every day, still delighted to see it resting in the glass case next to the counter.

Someday, though, they will get it back. Hocking it in support of securing a house and starting up the bakery had been the hardest decision they faced. In the end, practicality had won over sentimentality, and Karl couldn’t help but think that Camille would be proud of them. The signet ring, though, they refuse to part with. In fact, it rests on a small tray atop the living room mantle. They both treat it as a source of comfort, and it isn't uncommon for either of them to press a kiss to the ring’s flat surface after a day that proves more harrying than usual.

And, of course, April 15th each year is never easy.

Between that and yesterday’s newspaper article, no wonder Karl finds himself plagued by yet another nightmare of that tragic night.

He angles his head in their shared embrace and meets Mackenzie for a long, tender kiss. Warmth flutters in his chest as he rests his forehead against the other man’s, just breathing in the clean, comforting scent of soap on Mackenzie’s skin. “I don’t know how I would have done this without you.”

“I have no doubt that you would have, though.” Mackenzie whispers. “Of course, it would look different, but you would have found your way.”

“I’m glad that I didn’t have to.”

Mackenzie gives him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Hopefully that article does bring some peace to everyone now. Four years later, it’s about time to let the dead and everyone else rest.”

Karl sighs, nodding gently. “I hope so, too.”

The next day, as if to prove a point, he burns the newspaper article. The edges of the newsprint curl and turn to ash, and Karl watches the words disappear.

TITANIC LOSS SETTLEMENT CLOSED

Nearly four years to the day that the Titanic sank into the Atlantic Ocean, claiming the lives of 1,500 of her passengers, the loss settlement was sealed and finalized. Claimants alleged a sum total of $664,000 in losses of both life and property -

A weight lifts from his chest when the last word fades.

Six weeks later, Karl returns to the hock shop and happily purchases Camille’s pocket watch. It finds a home on the mantle, next to his ring, and maybe… just maybe, Karl will start to sleep soundly again.

Fin

Series Main List

#joyeux noël 2005 #joyeux noël #camille rené audebert #mackenzie joseph gordon #karl friedrich horstmayer #lieutenant horstmayer #lieutenant gordon #lieutenant audebert #horstmayer #gordon #audebert #titanic month #titanic #rms titanic

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 7

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, sinking ship & associated fear/panic/terror, character death, hypothermia & frost-bite, period typical homophobia

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Ch. 7 - 15 April 1912 - Pt. II

Tears sting Mackenzie’s eyes as he watches the horrific sight of Titanic’s bow sliding under the water and her stern rising high in the air. The snapped forward funnel continues to sink in the water, and the terrified screams of those still aboard sear into his brain. In the faint glow of the ship’s lights, he can see at least one lifeboat upside down in the water and the frantic swimmers who desperately cling to the sides.

A long, lurching groan of metal and wood comes from deep within Titanic, and Mackeznie wonders how much more the ship can take. The last vestiges of light wink out, and night descends with inky darkness. His ears burn as a thunderous roar of splitting and tearing metal fills the night, momentarily drowning out the petrified cries. Bile rises in his throat as he grips the tiller tighter, just able to make out the sinking ship’s dark outline against the starry sky.

The tears break free to roll down his cheek as the hulking shape slips beneath the waves, disappearing forever. Screams are deafening as people thrash in the frigid water, crying out for help. Glancing around, he tries to locate the other boats in the water, making out dim flashes of lanterns. None of them appear to be making any moves back towards the wreck for survivors, but he'll be damned if he sits here and does nothing.

“Now, men,” he calls out, tightening his grip on the tiller, “we’ll pull towards the wreck. There are too many people who need our help.”

The sailors start to take up their oars as whispers and whimpers rise in the boat. Several women’s voices rise in alarm, thick with tears and terror.

“Please, please!” One woman cries. “I beg you - please appeal to your officer not to go back!”

“We can’t go back!” Another woman sobs. “Why should we all lose our lives in a useless attempt to save others?”

“It’s not useless.” Mackenzie hears himself say. “Everyone in this water will die without help, and any of them that we can save is better than none!”

“We can’t go back, sir.” A sailor’s voice rises out of the night. “We owe it to these women to keep them safe.”

“Yes, please!” A woman encourages. “Please, sir - you have to listen!”

As the protests in his boat grow and another sailor speaks out of the darkness, Mackenzie knows that he’s defeated. He gives into the protests, sagging heavily against the tiller under the weight of guilt as the screams in the water torture him.

Were two of those voices Camille and Karl? Or had they somehow found their way off the ship and into a boat? Would he see them whenever a rescue ship arrived? He clings to the memory of the two of them on the boat deck together and tries not to despair. Between Camille and Karl, they might find a way - they might find a raft or….

The cold seeps into his bones as he continues to listen.

Karl shivers against the lifeboat. He shifts his weight with the wave swells, mindful of the other men perched atop the overturned boat. Straddling the keel is far from comfortable, but he’s too frozen and numb to care.

“Careful now, lads.” An officer’s voice sounds behind him - Lightoller, the sailors call him. “We don’t want to go over on a wave. Keep shifting your weight to keep us steady.”

With stiff, shivering movements, he raises his head to look forward at Camille as he, too, sits on top of the overturned boat. Karl can’t conjure the memory of scrambling aboard, of the helping hands that pulled him up while the boat sat low in the water with so many men clinging to it. He can’t feel his feet as the icy water laps around his ankles, and he struggles to hold them out of the water.

The horizon is pitch black, and indifferent stars pass overhead as he glances around for a sign. A sign of a rescue ship, a sign of a returning lifeboat - any damn thing that would help them. But only dying screams and trembling shivers greet him.

It’s getting quiet now, voices fading as life freezes around him. His heart breaks, yet he can’t help his selfish gratitude that both he and Camille are bobbing on this upside-down boat. He moves an arm to adjust his balance, clothing stiff with frozen saltwater. Aside from Lightoller, almost no one speaks on the overturned boat. It takes too much energy, expels too much heat, even though he feels like he has none left to give. Even Camille sits silently, curled in on himself in the struggle against the cold.

Another wave swell rocks the boat, and Karl groans as he struggles to lift his cramped legs above a fresh wave of frozen water. Camille’s balance falters, and he slumps forward. Karl reaches out on instinct, grabbing him with a soft, panicked cry. The taller man is heavy, but Karl does his best to pull Camille back against his chest on the precarious boat, their bulky lifebelts crushing together.

“Camille…?” He whispers through chattering teeth. “C-camille…?!”

The distant starlight affords him no clear visibility, but his heart breaks as the Frenchman doesn’t respond. He quickly fumbles a frozen hand around Camille’s chest, feeling around the man’s face and extending a finger along the underside of his nose. Faint puffs of breath push against Karl’s finger and his heart leaps. There’s still hope, there’s still time. Another wave of painful, uncontrollable shivers seizes him as he grips Camille tight, trying to cover him with his arms - anything to keep him warm - as the sounds of life continue to die around him.

Tears burn his eyes and numbness spreads up from his feet as he chokes out hoarse, trembling whispers. “Stay with me… d-don’t leave me. You can’t. D-don’t leave us.”

Mackenzie’s boat bobs in the water, fuller now that Fifth Officer Lowe has offloaded his passengers. It took far longer than it should in his estimation, but with Lowe’s boat only manned by himself and a handful of sailors, it was bloody time that they searched for survivors.

But it’s so quiet now. The great roar of the sinking ship had deafened him, but the growing silence is so much worse. In his heart of hearts, he knows it’s far too late. His knotted stomach clenches as he tries not to think about Camille and Karl. Lowe’s voice echoes across the water, and the faint light of his lantern shines as a thin beacon of hope - but few voices call out in the night to answer him.

Mackenzie glances back down at the crate he’s unpacking. The canvas sail is stiff with cold and frost, but he pulls it free. With cold-cramped muscles, he moves forward in the boat to the woman sobbing and shivering. “Here, ma’am.” He whispers quietly, but his words still sound far too loud. “It’s not much, but it might help.”

She glances up at him with dazed eyes, blinking in the heavy shadows. “T-thank you, s-sir.”

He nods gently and helps wrap the canvas around the cold, trembling woman before returning to his position in the stern. Lowe’s solemn call sounds again, mixing with a grey vapor that now hangs low in the air. Various pieces of unrecognizable debris and lifeless bodies float in the water around the boat, occasionally bumping into the hull with a dull thud. As Mackenzie lights yet another green flare in hopes of signaling a rescue boat, he deliberately doesn’t look at what floats past him in the water.

He doesn’t need any more reminders of the shame and guilt that consumes him.

Wherever Camille and Karl are, he’s failed them. In fact, he’s failed everyone in the water.

Camille’s weight grows heavier, and Karl struggles against the rolling ocean waves as his strength deserts him. Lightoller has tallied at least thirty men who similarly hauled themselves on board, all clinging to the last vestiges of hope and survival. The overturned boat sits so low in the water now, and Karl’s powerless to keep his frozen feet out of the water.

Karl tightens his hold on Camille, trying to hide from the biting breeze that now nips at his cheeks. The ocean turns choppy, and it’s so hard to hold on. Waves of freezing water wash up and over his legs, and everything hurts down to his bones. All the while, Camille grows colder in his arms.

“Careful against the w-waves, men.” Lightoller’s voice comes weak and strained. “W-we don’t want to capsize or s-sink worse than w-we already are.”

Karl can tell the boat sits lower in the water now than when he and Camille had climbed aboard. If the boat does flip over or sink, Karl doesn’t know how he would have the strength to swim.

A dull splash sounds behind him, and Karl’s stomach rots. There’s no frantic pleas, there’s no cries of alarm, there's no scramble to help. It’s the second splash to reach his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the truth of another dead body falling into the sea.

“Camille,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “Camille, please… you have to….” Deep down, Karl knows that he should check Camille’s breathing again. If… if it is unthinkably too late, then….

Drawing a trembling breath, he bites back tears as he feels for Camille’s gentle exhales. Only cold skin and a gathering of frost above Camille’s upper lip greet him. Heartbreak consumes him as he gives the taller man a shake, hoping against hope. But Camille slumps just as lifeless in his arms, lost and unreachable.

Tears burn Karl’s eyes, and grief crushes his chest. He wants to sob and cry out his loss, but this… this is hardly the place. He swallows down a frustrated cry as he buries his face against the frozen, saltwater-crusted shoulder of Camille’s coat, holding his lover close. He doesn’t want to let Camille go, and sobs wrack his frame. How can he have lost Camille so soon after just finding him? The memory of Camille’s warm eyes and lovely smile - how his hair curled in the warm humidity of the swimming bath - are painfully cruel. They didn’t have enough time together, nowhere near enough.

But maybe… maybe, at least now Camille can finally find some peace. If what he said was true, how he broke from his father and upended everything in his life, then maybe… maybe this was merciful. The thought still brings Karl no comfort as he summons an old prayer from memory, murmuring low in German as he shivers against Camille’s body.

If anyone else is aware of Camille’s passing, no one says anything, but Karl knows that he needs to let go. Another cold wave of water washes up his leg, and a few men groan behind him as the boat rocks precariously. In the terrible struggle for survival, he can only afford to be so sentimental.

Choking on tears, he reaches around Camille’s front with shaking movements. The life belt gives with little effort as Karl works his numb fingers under Camille’s overcoat. The cold metal of his pocket watch burns Karl’s frozen skin as he carefully works it free of the stiff waistcoat. It’s far harder to slide Camille’s signet ring off, but when it finally pulls free, he adds it to his pocket to guard with his life.

Another sob crawls up his throat in the moment of truth, and he presses his face against Camille’s clammy neck in the darkness. Faint remnants of Camille’s cologne fill Karl’s nose as he whispers low in German. “I love you,” he brushes a kiss to the cold skin. “We will never forget you.”

With aching movements and a chasm opening in his chest, he lets his arms loosen their hold, and Camille’s lifeless body slips down the side of the boat into the darkened water. The splashing water burns his eardrums, and the crushing weight in his chest threatens to undo him as he grips the last tangible reminders of his lover as if they, too, might slip away from him.

Another burst of bright blue light burns in the sky. Mackenzie squints at the horizon in the darkness, but it’s impossible to see with any clarity.

“It’s l-lightning, sir.” One of the sailors calls out, voice hoarse and graveled. “We’re in for a storm!”

Low whimpers and cries of concern rise from the boat, and Mackenzie raises his voice. “N-no, we’re not. There’s no storm, and n-no need to p-panic.” He swallows hard as another round of shivers run through him. A cold breeze now bites at his cheeks, and he watches yet another blue light flare in the sky. “It’s t-t-too regular,” he says as impossible hope bursts in his chest. “A r-rescue boat, I’d say.”

Faint murmurs rise from his passengers - hope for rescue, hope for salvation. It sounds too good to be true even to his ears, but Titanic couldn’t have been the only ship in the north Atlantic. Someone has surely heard their distress call.

Across the water, he spots a green flare light up in another life boat. Mackenzie only has one left, and he guards it carefully as the blue flashes move closer to the wreck site. His heart leaps to his throat as the distant bang of gunpowder carries across the water, and the distinct shape of blue signal rockets come into view. The rescue ship’s lights melt out of the starry sky, and a wave of palpable relief spreads through the lifeboat.

He lights his last flare, waving it above his head to signal their position. His lifeboat isn’t the first rescued, but when the hull of the rescue ship draws up alongside and he makes out the name Carpathia on the bow, he almost can’t believe it. Even as he helps the numb and shocked passengers out of the boat either to the waiting ladder or the hastily-created swing for those too weak to safely climb the ladder. Even as he takes the ladder as the last person out of the lifeboat and stands on the solid decking. It still doesn't seem real.

As the colors of dawn paint the sky, glancing around at the survivors is a different kind of heartbreak. Anxiety and dread crease the faces of women awaiting word of their husbands from the other boats that still bob in the water. Carpathia’s stewards distribute blankets and warm broth, encouraging those already absorbed by grief to go below and get warm. When he is offered a blanket, he quickly passes in favor of those that need it more than him.

“Welcome aboard, sir.” A warm, British-accented voice catches his attention, and Mackenzie turns, instantly recognizing the captain’s insignia on the man’s uniform.

He tips his head in respectful deference. “Thank you, sir. I’m Third Officer Mackenzie Gordon, and I do mean - thank you for coming to our aide.”

The older man nods solemnly. “Captain Arthur Rostron, and I’m only sorry that we couldn’t get here sooner.” His kind eyes sweep Mackenzie’s face. “No doubt you’ve seen hell today.”

Mackenzie matches the captain’s nod, fighting back the well of crushing guilt and anxious nerves that threaten to consume him. He doesn’t know if he’s the highest ranking officer to survive, but he hopes not. All he wants to do is comb through every last survivor for any hint of Camille or Karl, to either crush them close in a moment of relief or reconcile himself to their loss. His throat tightens, but he remembers to answer the captain. “Yes, sir. Titanic… my ship foundered early this morning, and we did our best with the lifeboats-.”

The captain steps forward to rest a supportive hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder. “You’ve done your duty and then some, Mackenzie,” Rostron reassures. “Your duty is done, and aboard my ship, you will see no further responsibilities. Rest and get yourself warm. At present, you’re the highest ranking officer aboard, but we’ll do a more thorough census once we have all the boats accounted for.”

A weight lifts from Mackenzie’s chest at the same time as another settles in his gut. He hopes another senior officer still floats in a boat out there somewhere, but if not, he’ll bear responsibility for the tragedy upon arrival and docking. That stirs another question in his mind - will Rostron take them on to New York? Or will they return to Southampton? And with no further responsibilities, he now has nothing to do but wait for arrival… wait to learn of Camille and Karl’s fates…

A wave of dizziness sweeps through him, nearly overcome as his mind spins. At length, he glances back at Rostron and heaves a deep sigh. “Thank you, sir.”

Rostron offers a reassuring nod before releasing Mackenzie’s shoulder and turning to resume oversight of the rescue operations. Mackenzie blinks in the wake of his departure, glancing out over the ocean as the sun continues to rise. He spots a lifeboat upside down and a collection of poor souls precariously straddling the keel as the boat bobs low in the water. Other boats dot the water amid the remnants of life and property, and it strikes him - that for the first time since March 26th, he finds himself with nothing to do. It’s a strange feeling, and yet - as he glances around the deck - he may not have any official duties, but he can still help. Or, he can still try to, anyway. If anything it’ll keep him occupied and give him a distraction while he searches for Camille and Karl.

With a grateful nod at a passing steward, he accepts a warm cup of broth. The heat flows down his throat to his belly with an invigorating renewal. It’s a marginal relief from the guilt weighing on him, but he tries not to dwell on it as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts walking the decks.

More boats unload and weary passengers huddle in small groups. Each progressive boat brings a wave of dwindling hope and increasing fear to the passengers who await word of their loved ones. He helps escort a mother and daughter towards the Carpathia’s interior. He tries to console an elderly lady who refuses to go below, fearful that Carpathia will similarly succumb to Titanic’s fate in the icy water. He takes an armful of blankets from a young maid and distributes them to shivering, distraught survivors.

He searches the sea of faces as he goes, but there are precious few men. Most are either sailors manning boats or men who shouldn’t have been allowed on a lifeboat in the first place. As dawn’s light grows brighter and the boats in the water number fewer and fewer, heartache lodges in Mackenzie’s chest. How cruel it would be of the fates to let him live while both of his lovers perish. Life comes with no guarantees, but the heartbreaking reality of the situation still makes bitter anger simmer in his blood.

“Lend a hand here!” A call rises, and Mackenzie cranes his neck. “Is there anyone who can lend a hand?”

The group of sailors helping survivors out of the lifeboats encourage the small throng of people heeding the call, and Mackenzie falls in line. The swing appears along the ship’s railing, and he watches as a half-frozen man is supported and helped off the swing. Two stewards flank the survivor’s side, all but carrying him towards the ship’s interior. As they pass, Mackenzie notices the survivor dragging his feet as if unable to use them, and the thought rots his gut.

“Lucky devils.” A sailor nearby mutters. “They’re lucky that boat didn’t sink on them.”

Mackenzie turns towards the sailor. “Are these the men from the upside down boat?”

“Yes, sir.” The sailor takes up tension on the rope again. “None of ‘em are in good shape, and the doctor says to take them below immediately.”

Mackenzie nods and stands ready to help support the next man hauled aboard. He’s greeted by the familiar sight of a blue naval uniform and the ashen face of the wireless operator, Harold Bride. He steps forward to help the younger man off the swing, hearing the younger man groan in pain.

“Good God, Bride,” Mackenzie breathes as another man flanks Bride’s other side. “We’ve got you.”

“Thank God for that, sir.” Bride manages in a weak voice. “I-I can’t… feel my legs.”

Mackenzie forces a hard swallow. “We’ll get you below, and let the doctor look at you. Just hold on, now.” He takes a firm hold of the younger man’s shoulders and with the other man, together, they move inside the ship. A wave of warmth hits his cheeks as the door closes behind him, and it makes him want to melt.

A low din of conversation and sobs fills the air around the collection of makeshift cots. Maneuvering around those who search for loved ones and those administering aid, they find an empty cot for Bride, and Mackenzie calls out for the doctor. He stands back to let the man work, looking away as the doctor starts undoing Bride’s shoes and pulling off his socks.

The doctor hums in a low, disconcerting tone as he looks over the grey-mottled and cold-blistered skin. “This tissue has severe frostbite. It’s possibly too frozen to save.”

“No!” Bride pleads with a gut wrenching tone. “No, you can’t-!”

“If we can’t restore sufficient blood flow, then we’re looking at amputation.” The doctor says, and Mackenzie winces.

“But you can’t!” Bride protests, growing more alarmed. “There has to be something you can do!”

The doctor sighs in exasperation as he settles the blanket to cover Bride’s feet. “It’s your choice - either your legs or your life, son. I’ll have a nurse come bandage the damaged tissue for now, but it's a choice to be made sooner rather than later.”

Mackenzie’s heart continues to break as he glances around the hold. His heart stops altogether when he spots a painfully familiar figure. The man may be half frozen and suspended between two others, but Mackenzie would recognize Karl anywhere. Tears wet eyes and his feet start moving before he realizes it.

The two men supporting Karl lay him down on a pile of blankets, draping one across him as the other calls out for the doctor. Karl trembles as he lays against the cot, as if his muscles have forgotten how to do anything else. His eyes are closed as Mackenzie approaches, and Mackenzie’s heart pounds, still overcome to find Karl here… alive.

Mackenzie sniffles as he chokes back tears. “Karl…?” He drops to a knee, carefully reaching for the younger man’s shoulder. “Karl… please.”

Slowly, Karl blinks his eyes open and turns to focus on Mackenzie. When clarity finally descends in those lovely amber-brown eyes, his face cracks with heartbroken relief. “M-Mackenzie… oh, God, Mackenzie….”

The longer he holds Karl’s gaze, the more the awful truth dawns on him. Tears stream freely down Karl’s cheeks as his composure cracks under Mackenzie’s gaze. Mackenzie’s fingers tighten on Karl’s shoulder, wanting only to sweep the younger man up in a crushing embrace regardless of society’s rules.

Karl gives a weak shake of his head against the makeshift pillow as his bottom lip trembles. “Camille didn’t…”

“I know.” Mackenzie’s voice is thin as his heart breaks. “You don’t have to say it. I… I know.”

Karl gulps back a sob. “There wasn’t anything - I couldn’t-.”

“It’s not your fault.” Mackenzie cuts him off, sniffling. “There was nothing you could have done. It’s done… it’s over now.” A hot tear rolls down his cheek, and he tries to choke back more. He hangs his head, struggling to compose himself, but Karl’s soft sobs and sniffles make it impossible.

“I wanted to help him - I tried… he helped me up onto the boat, and he climbed up in front of me. I thought we would be alright. We were mostly out of the water-” Karl’s voice catches on a sob.

“Shh, love,” Mackenzie whispers, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“But I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”

Mackenzie shakes his head, drawing a shaking breath. “In water that cold, everyone endures differently.” He gulps, sniffling. “At least, thank God that you-” He stops short, distracted as the doctor kneels down at Karl’s side. Letting go of Karl’s shoulder, he quickly wipes at his wet cheeks and swallows more tears.

The doctor throws back the blanket, studying the wet fabric of Karl’s trousers and shoes. “Did you also come in on the overturned lifeboat?”

Karl nods, trembling. “Y-yes.”

The doctor gives a heavy shake of his head. “With that much exposure, I suspect that you’re like the others.” He starts on Karl’s shoes and socks, exposing similar splotchy grey and blistered skin beneath. “Your nerves and tissue are damaged from freezing and frostbite. You're also looking at a double amputation if we cannot restore sufficient blood flow to heal the tissue. We’ll bandage the injuries for now, and time will tell the rest.”

Karl’s eyes widen in fear, and Mackenzie reaches back to steady his shoulder. “Would it help, doctor?” Mackenzie hears himself ask. “To warm him up? Or… can he walk or move around?”

The doctor blinks up at Mackenzie and back down at Karl. “Movement always improves circulation. There’s no physical wound that you need to keep weight off of, but your loss of sensation and accompanying pain when - if - it starts to return will be something else to manage.”

A spark of hope ignites in Mackenzie’s chest. It may be too late for Camille, but he'll be damned if he lets it go that way for Karl. He waits patiently as a nurse comes over with bandages, wrapping Karl’s numb feet and ankles. It doesn’t look as though his movement will be too restricted, and Mackenzie can hardly wait. A steward comes by offering more warm broth, and he takes a bowl for Karl.

After the nurse departs, he kneels back down at Karl’s side. “Come on,” he encourages gently, helping raise the younger man’s head. “Let’s get something warm in you – it’ll help.”

Karl takes tentative sips that turn to hearty gulps as the warm liquid flows through him. The sight stirs more hope in Mackenzie as the bowl empties. Karl’s eyes close, and he takes a deep breath as though finally able to relax. But Mackenzie can’t let him sleep just yet.

“Not yet, love,” he whispers as he sets the bowl aside. “We have to do something about your legs – we’ve got to keep your blood flowing.”

Karl blinks tiredly. “I can’t feel my feet… how could I possibly…?”

“That’s what you’ve got me for.” Mackenzie throws back the blanket, ignoring Karl’s protesting groan. “I know that you’re tired, and we’ll sleep for days when this is over – but first, we have to save your feet.”

Karl nods and helps sit into an upright position. He yawns as Mackenzie gets an arm around his shoulders and with a groan, they both push to stand. Tears blur Mackenzie’s eyes again at the solid feel of Karl tucked against his side, despite his painful whimpers as they take hobbling steps through the hold.

“Come on, that’s it.” Mackenzie encourages, glancing down to see the stumbling movements of Karl’s feet. “Just keep them moving… do your best.”

Karl winces and sniffles. “It hurts… fuck-.” He cuts off with a hiss.

“We’ll just keep taking it slow, that’s it.” He tightens his hold on Karl and welcomes his lover’s weight as the taller man slumps against him.

They complete two circuits around the collection of cots, and Karl breathes heavy through the painful exertion. Mackenzie wants to pepper him in reassuring kisses, to say everything that claws at his heart, to curl up with Karl in bed and hold each other so tight.

Karl raises his head, finding Mackenzie’s gaze. “Can… can we go up on deck?”

“It’s still cold up there. Perhaps the warmth here will help you more.”

Karl shakes his head, determined. “No, I… I want to see the water… one last time.” Tears shine in his eyes along with unmistakable memory, and Mackenzie takes his meaning. They are floating in Camille’s eternal resting place, after all.

With slow, measured steps, they start up the stairs, and Karl’s movements come a little more controlled. He hisses with determination, refusing to turn around when Mackenzie makes the quiet suggestion. When the cold morning air washes over them, Mackenzie shivers with awful memory. Karl stumbles with a yelp, and Mackenzie moves closer to catch him.

“Ahh!” Karl groans, drawing a sharp inhale. “It’s like… walking on sharp tacks.”

“That sounds promising,” Mackenzie breathes. “Surely, that must be a better sign than feeling nothing.”

Karl growls under his breath. It sounds like German to Mackenzie’s ears, and it tugs a thin smile to his face. Despite the harrowing, horrific night, Karl hasn’t given up. He hasn’t stopped fighting. He holds Karl tighter as they approach the railing, wishing he could tell the younger man how proud he was, how much he loved him without anyone overhearing.

Tucked against each other’s side, they each stare out over the water. Most of the wreck’s refuse has already been swept away by the currents, and the morning sunlight sparkles on the dark blue waves. It’s cruel how peaceful the scene is now compared to the destruction it hosted just hours ago. Tears wet his eyes as the haunting screams reverberate in his ears, and his heart aches to think of Camille still out there somewhere. His hold on Karl tightens, unable to imagine how it felt to have been there with Camille when it happened.

Karl leans into Mackenzie’s touch, sobbing softly. “He was right there, in my arms…” he sniffles. “And I… I had to let go. Our boat was losing air-”

“It’s not your fault, love. You did everything you could – and at least, he wasn’t alone.”

Karl hiccups, nodding gently. “And he didn’t leave either of us alone.”

Everything within Mackenzie yearns to press a kiss to Karl’s brow, to voice everything bursting in his chest, but there are too many witnesses. He works a hard swallow down his throat. “No, he didn’t. We still have each other.”

Karl shifts against him, reaching into his pocket. With another sniffle, he unfurls his hand to reveal a most familiar pocket watch and signet ring. Mackenzie gasps as he stares down at Camille’s affects. Karl’s voice is rough with unshed tears. “And this is all that we have left of him.”

“No,” Mackenzie corrects, reaching his free hand over to cover Karl’s, feeling the cold metal of the pocket watch against his skin. “We have our memories of him – of who he really was. And what he meant to us.” The thought still doesn’t stop a tear from spilling down Mackenzie’s cheek.

Karl takes a deep, trembling breath as he curls his fingers around Mackenzie’s hand. “You know, he said something… that first day in the hospital. About ghosts being free from earthly bidding…” his words trail off as he glances out over the water. “Perhaps… perhaps he’s found the same peace now. Maybe… he’s even standing beside us now.”

A smile lifts the corner of Mackenzie’s mouth, knocking more tears loose. “I have to admit that’s a comforting thought. Much as the idea of a ghost haunting me for the rest of my life should be disconcerting.”

Karl huffs a breath that carries a thread of amusement as he nods. “It helps, actually… to think that he’s still with us.”

“He’ll be with us as long as we love him…,” he gulps and lowers his voice, summoning his courage. “And each other… if we choose it.”

Karl turns his watery eyes back to Mackenzie with a gut-wrenching look. “I don’t know how I could possibly bear losing you, too.”

Mackenzie’s heart warms, and he squeezes Karl’s hand. “Good thing you don’t have to.”

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 6

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, sinking ship & associated fear/panic/terror, period typical homophobia

Chapter Word Count: 5.7k

Ch. 6 - 15 April 1912 - Pt. I

Mackenzie takes up his post in the chart room, confirming the ship’s position. His heart pounds as activity flurries around him on the bridge. Murdoch is white as a sheet, eyes distant with sickened shock, and Mackenzie can’t blame him. The situation is unreal - striking an iceberg, chunks of ice littering the forward well deck. The watertight doors are already closed, but Mackenzie’s bones still rattle with the intense vibrations from the swimming bath. His stomach knots, and he tries to ignore the concerning thoughts stirring in his chest.

He forces another hard swallow as he charts their position against the compass and stars. Making another notation in the log, he updates the navigation chart with their current position. Captain Smith should return to the bridge any minute and no doubt will ask for their coordinates. Even if the ship is damaged, Titanic will likely need to request assistance.

“Sir, water is pouring into the mailroom.” Mr. Maxwell, the carpenter, says in a rush as his voice carries into the chart room. Mackenzie’s heart leaps to his throat as he comes around the table to stand in the doorway.

Captain Smith looks between the carpenter and the shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews. The shipbuilder's horrified expression does nothing to relieve Mackenzie’s unease as he nods his head in affirmation of Maxwell’s statement. “That’s what I saw, as well.” Andrews tells the captain. “And with water in the No. 1, 2, and 3 holds, as well as Boiler Room No. 6….” The man’s face turns grim and ashen. “That’s five compartments. The ship is only designed to stay afloat with the first four compartments flooded but not five. Not five.”

Mackenzie’s eyes widen at the implication and his heart stops as a heavy, ominous silence falls over the bridge.

A visible swallow works down Andrews’ throat as the weight of the situation bears down. “From this moment, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder.”

Captain Smith blanches in horror. “How long?”

Andrews shakes his head as his face falls. “I’d give her an hour… an hour and a half, at most.”

Mackenzie sucks in a sharp breath, heart pounding.

Andrews continues in a low, chilling voice as he glances around the bridge. “All of this will be at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

No one on the bridge moves as the impossible news hangs in the air. It's unthinkable, honestly. How could the most modern ship in the world be bound for the bottom of the ocean on her maiden voyage? How had one iceberg inflicted such catastrophic damage? Mackenzie clasps his hands behind his back to steady himself, to force himself to focus. He still has his job to do, his duty to uphold. If the ship is indeed going down, every last man will be needed to get the passengers to safety.

Slowly, Captain Smith turns to Murdoch, who looks even more pale and dejected. “How many souls aboard, Mr. Murdoch?”

“Around 2,200 souls aboard, sir.”

Anxiously, Mackenzie waits for orders. Surely, there isn’t any time to waste in preparing and launching the lifeboats. The bitter cold bites at his flushed cheeks, and the water surrounding them isn't any warmer. He draws a deep breath, trying to steady the rapid pace of his heart.

“Captain, please,” Andrews pleads with sudden urgency. “You must start putting the passengers off in the lifeboats. There aren’t enough by half for everyone aboard, and when that knowledge becomes public…”

The tension on the bridge rises. Panic grips Mackenzie’s chest as the words hit home. Even with every last boat filled to capacity, half the people on board are going to end up in the frigid water. His gut rots to realize that he’ll likely be one of them, and his head spins. He knows better than to let his thoughts run fatalistic, but the reality of the moment is too unfathomable.

Captain Smith snaps into action. “Uncover the lifeboats at once. Run them out and make all preparations to lower away. Women and children first, only.” He turns for the Marconi room. “We’ll send the distress call at once.” He looks over at Mackenzie. “Our coordinates?”

“Here, sir.” Mackenzie hands over the slip of paper as the captain passes by. He watches the man disappear down the hall towards the wireless room before the sound of Murdoch’s voice draws his attention back.

He’s ordered to work the starboard side of the ship, directing the seaman as lifeboats are uncovered and oars are untied. The venting steam from the ship's funnels threatens to deafen him as he issues orders and instructions, laying on his whistle to get men’s attention in the harsh noise. His frustration grows as confusion and inefficiency plagues their efforts. Distantly, he recalls that a lifeboat drill had been planned earlier this morning but was canceled by the captain at the last minute. As he hollers at the men to lift together, to keep tight on the aft fall lines, the irony of the aborted lifeboat drill isn’t lost on him.

Gradually, he notices the deck listing beneath his feet, pulling towards the port side. He can picture it in his mind’s eye - the holes in the right side of the ship letting water rush in to collect against the left side of the ship. The thought of what’s happening beneath his feet is enough to make him wretch, but instead he heeds Murdoch’s orders and keeps the men focused on their task.

When the last boat is lined up and ready, the order repeats. Women and children first.

There’s no time to waste.

A bright, whistling streak of light captures Camille’s attention as the cold air stings his skin. The rocket bursts in a brilliant flash of white light. As the embers burn out, anxiety pits Camille’s stomach.

The stewards in the reception area knew nothing. Rumors spread rampant among the passengers, fraught with irritation and frustration and disbelief. Especially as the officers announced the call for women and children to be put in the boats. Protests rang around him that it was irresponsible to expose them to such a cold, harsh night, but the officers insisted. Few passengers stepped forward or offered their cooperation, and he watched with a heavy heart as he held his lifebelt tight.

If only he could find Mackenzie. The ship's full complement of officers and sailors work the decks, preparing boats, assisting passengers, and Mackenzie just has to be close. Camille weaves through the idling passengers, ignoring the strains of string music floating in the air as he searches the ship’s starboard side. As he works his way forward, he realizes the deck slopes away beneath his feet. His heart races as the deck slants down towards the bow… towards the bow that’s… so low in the water?

Panic bursts in his chest, and he moves just a little faster in his search for Mackenzie. Finally, he spots the Scotsman overseeing the loading of a lifeboat. His voice carries strong as he helps women into the boat that hangs over the side of the ship. Camille knows that his place isn’t on one of those boats yet, and he’s careful to slow his movements as he approaches. When Mackenzie’s blue eyes find him, Camille’s stomach drops to take in the barely controlled fear beneath the officer’s resolve.

Mackenzie glances around at his men before stepping aside and reaching out for Camille’s hand. He’s careful to make it look like a handhold of greeting, but the tight grip of his chilled skin speaks to a desperation that makes Camille’s heart ache.

“Camille,” Mackenzie’s voice cracks, and he looks as though he’s on the verge of breaking himself. “Stay close, ye hear?”

“What’s happening?” Camille pleads, worry palpable in his words.

Mackenzie searches his gaze with a hopelessness that sours Camille’s stomach. “The ship is sinking. An hour or less now, they say.”

Camille’s eyes widen as the news hits him, mind reeling. “But that…” he blinks, staring blankly at the boat behind Mackenzie. “And the lifeboats? There’s enough, right?”

Heartbreaking sadness comes to Mackenzie’s eyes. “Not enough by half. That’s why you have to stay close - when the rest of the passengers realize what’s happening to the ship, especially once the boats are almost gone…” He trails off, working a hard swallow down his throat.

But he doesn’t need to say the rest. Camille can’t begin to imagine the terrified panic that will build to the point of eruption, especially if the situation is as dire as Mackenzie says. His head spins as he grips Mackenzie’s hand tight. “Oh, mon dieu…”

“We just…” Mackenzie exhales a shaking sigh as he glances back at the other officer escorting passengers into his boat. “We just have to keep our heads, but we don’t have much time.” He drops Camille’s hand and reaches beneath his jacket. His brass key ring comes into view, and he presses it into Camille’s hand. “Find Karl. Bring him, bring others - as many as you can. You have to. ”

Swallowing uneasily, Camille nods as his heart clenches. “I will. And you’ll be here?”

The corner of Mackenzie's mouth twitches as he glances down at the deck before meeting Camille’s gaze. “For as long as I can, anyway.”

Camille wants desperately to pull him in for a kiss, to feel something solid and sure in such a terrifying moment. He exhales a trembling breath as he grips Mackenzie’s key ring tight and nods. “Where should I start?”

Mackenzie turns towards the bridge and motions. “Just forward there, you’ll find a white door marked ‘Crew Only’. Take the stairs down to D Deck - find the common area, or perhaps one of the main stairwells.” He glances back down along the boats. “We’re still loading first class passengers on this side, but perhaps the other side has started on second and third class. Karl may already be somewhere on deck, even, but I doubt it - you'll have to be quick.”

“I will,” he promises in a rush, heart pounding with the overwhelming need to lean in for a kiss. “I’ll see you soon. Be careful.”

Mackenzie nods, unwilling to look away, and Camille hates how it feels like a look of goodbye. “You, too.”

Mackenzie watches Camille disappear into the growing crowd, the black of his overcoat blending into the mass of dark clothing. With his heart in his throat, he turns back to his duty. He calls for more women and children, he guides them into the small boat, and finally, he calls for the boat to lower away.

He watches the men work the right and left sides together, keeping the boat steady as it disappears down the side of the ship. The deck slope grows more pronounced beneath his feet, and a general buzz of concern rises from the passengers around him. Calm order holds its sway for now, but it’s just a matter of time before the truth of the situation tightens its grip with uncontrollable panic.

He moves down to the next boat, urging passengers forward. His heart breaks as he watches couples kiss tender farewells and children sob in want of their fathers. He doesn’t have the heart to tell any of them that these are very well likely the last moments they’ll have together. He blinks back his own threatening tears, forcing himself to keep focused. Time is of dire essence.

“Here, ma’am,” he holds out a hand, “step forward, please.”

She looks at his outstretched hand in disgust. “I can’t go yet,” she protests, “I need to wait for my husband. We have to go together.”

He shakes his head gently. “Please, ma’am - this boat needs a full complement before we can lower away. Now, if you please?”

She looks at him in conflicting worry and doubt, and another nearby conversation catches his ear.

“Why, of course, ma’am.” He recognizes the smarmy voice of Mr. Ismay all too well. “Of course, your whole group can go together. There’s plenty of room in this boat.”

Mackenzie turns, watching in angry disbelief as a group of three women and three men climb aboard the lifeboat. He steps over to Mr. Ismay, eyes blazing. “You’re not in charge here, sir, nor are you authorized to oversee the loading of these boats.”

Ismay glares back at him affronted. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I know the situation the same as you,” the man’s eyes bore through Mackenzie with the unspoken truth of the deadly situation. “And I’m trying to help save as many of these people as I can.”

“The captain has ordered women and children first, and you’re letting men on.” He shakes his head, pursing his mouth in frustration. “I’ll warn you just once, sir: stop interfering with command of this ship, and let us do our jobs."

The man withers under the force of Mackenzie’s words, stepping back to the side of the crowd, and more women come forward under the urging pleas of their husbands. He has to adjust his footing as the deck continues to pitch forward, and the urgency of the crowd around him continues to build.

Another white distress rocket explodes into brilliant view overhead, casting a white glow over the deck. Each rocket ratchets the tension higher as Mackenzie helps more passengers aboard, scanning the crowd for more women and children.

“Mr. Gordon.”

He pauses at the familiar call of Chief Officer Wilde. The older man moves through the crowd and steps close to Mackenzie’s side, careful to keep his hand hidden from public view. He presses the concerning, metallic shape of a handgun into Mackenzie’s hand. Mackenzie’s brow knits in fierce disapproval and concern as he glares back at his senior officer.

Wilde nods heavily. “You may need it.” The older man’s eyes convey the same knowledge that Gordon has. Once calm order gives way to mindless panic, everything will start to fall apart and Mackenzie needs to be prepared to do what he must.

With adrenaline coursing through him and his heart hammering, he grips the handgun and nods. “Yes, sir.”

Wilde returns his nod as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Good luck to you, Mackenzie.”

“To you, too, sir.” He watches in disbelief as the older man moves away from him through the crowd, and Mackenzie quickly pockets the handgun. Hopefully he won’t have to use it, but the weight in his pocket remains a disconcerting force. He scans the crowd, still focused on following the captain’s orders.

String music floats in the air above the low din of voices, and the absurdity of the moment strikes him as he helps an eldery lady and her granddaughter aboard. Glancing over the boat’s capacity, he nods at the sailors manning the lines. “That’s all for this boat. Prepare to lower away.”

“Hold it there!” A woman’s distressed voice rings out from in the boat. “We only have one sailor in this boat.”

Blinking back at the boat, Mackenzie realizes the accuracy of the lady's statement, but he has no spare hands nearby. Turning back to the crowd, he calls out. “Any spare hands here to man this boat?”

The men around him scramble to step forward, but a man in a bespoke tuxedo reaches him first. “I can go, if I’m needed.”

Mackenzie casts him as assessing glance. “Are you a sailor?”

“I’m a yachtsman.”

“Then, you're a seaman enough for this boat. In you go.” Mackenzie nods over his shoulder and lets the man pass. “Prepare the fall lines! Lower together now - nice and steady.” He continues to guide the seamen in lowering the boat to the water, adjusting his stance against the increasing tilt of the deck.

As he stares out over the dark, icy water, his heart aches for Camille and Karl.

Karl’s anger threatens to get the better of him. Sea water fills his cabin, and the fucking stewards are still keeping the gates locked. Men and women plead for the gates to open while children look on, confused and frightened. The ship slopes forward at a concerning angle, and Karl can still hear the gut-twisting sound of screaming, grinding metal from the swimming bath.

Mercifully, his feet still stand on dry decking as he paces the common room with the throng of people trapped and waiting. If only he could yell for help. If only somehow Camille and Mackenzie would hear him.

Jörg materializes at his side, equally unnerved and frustrated. “The fucking bastards,” he snarls, motioning down at his soaked shoes and wet trousers. “Don’t they know the ship’s bloody taking on water? Fuckin’ freezing water, at that.”

Karl’s stomach knots with fearful anxiety as his blood boils. “We’re no better than cattle in their eyes,” he hisses as he glares at the ceiling, wishing his gaze could burn through the metal. “What do the lot of those blue bloods care if we drown like rats down here?” He rakes a hand through his hair with a tight motion.

Jörg shakes his head, giving in to a moment of despair. “The waiting is the worst part. Knowing that we’re trapped, knowing that the water’s rising.”

Karl nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Have you checked back on our cabin?”

The older man shakes his head. “I haven’t. But Sven said the water’s up to chest height.”

Karl swears low in German as his heart ratchets up another notch. The voices in the stairwell continue to rise in volume and concern, and he fears what will happen if water starts to pour into the common room. He bites his lip as he tries to think of something, anything that he can do to help himself and others.

That’s when his eyes connect with the last person that he expects to see in this hellhole. Camille’s cheeks are rudy from exertion, but the rest of his complexion is ashen with fear and concern. Karl doesn’t think as he moves through the crowd towards Camille, stunned to see the man’s elegant dinner suit and overcoat clad form moving towards him.

Karl’s tongue feels heavy as he blinks back at Camille, half expecting the man to disappear like a mirage. “What are you doing here?” He hears himself ask. “How did you even-?”

“Mackenzie.” Camille interrupts, holding up the achingly familiar brass key ring. “He told me to find you - and others. To bring as many topside as I can.” Heartbreaking fear seeps to Camille’s gaze and Karl wants to crush him close in the tightest hug. “The ship is sinking-.”

“I know that,” Karl fires back. “There’s chest-deep water in my cabin, yet they’re still keeping us locked up down here.”

Camille’s eyes widen in horror. “Mon dieu, that’s too close.” He shakes his head as he steps closer to Karl. “Come on, we have to get to the boat deck. We need to be ready before we're out of options.” He glances around, fixing on a point over Karl’s shoulder, and Karl turns to see Jörg staring at Camille like the German has never seen a more ridiculous sight. Camille’s gentle yet rushed voice draws him back. “Tell others to follow us. We’ll leave the doors unlocked as we go.” The corner of his mouth lifts to a wry smile. “In an hour, it won’t matter what doors we leave open.”

The gravity of the statement sickens Karl’s stomach, but he nods and turns towards Jörg. “Jörg, stop staring.”

The older man blinks back to himself and fixes his gaze on Karl. “H-how do you know this man? This… he shouldn’t be here.”

“He’s my friend - it doesn't matter how. Look, he can get us out of here, but we need to move quickly.” Karl darts his gaze over Jörg’s shoulders, scanning the increasingly agitated crowd. “We’ll leave the doors open behind us, and you spread the word to another person before you follow us up. And let them tell another. You understand?”

Hope bursts on the older man’s face, and he rapidly nods as if it’s too good to be true. “Yes, of course. At once!” His face turns solemn as he sighs heavily at Karl. “Best of luck to you, my friend.”

Karl nods, swallowing down his rising nerves. “And to you, too. I’ll find you on the rescue ship.”

He doesn’t want the words to sound hollow, and Jörg tries his best to summon a wane smile as he speaks. “I’ll see you there.”

Karl turns back to Camille, exhaling a deep sigh to dispel the tension in his chest. “Lead the way.”

Camille’s face brightens with relief, and they push through the crowd. No one pays them much attention as they pass, despite the obvious, misplaced finery of Camille’s clothing. Without looking back, he follows Camille behind a door marked ‘Crew Only’, and they move down a narrow corridor. His shoe soles slide against the tilted floor, and Karl reaches out for a handrail. An ominous low groan of metal echoes around them and Karl’s heart races. He glances ahead at Camille. “Where’s Mackenzie?”

“Loading lifeboats on the starboard side. I hope that we can still find him there.” Camille sighs, shaking his head as they continue up the hallway. “The ship is getting more sloped-.”

“You should have gotten in a boat,” Karl ignores him with a frustrated admonishment. “I hate the thought that you stayed behind for me.”

“There won’t be a lifeboat for half the people on board.” Camille’s words punch Karl in the gut. “The officers are only putting off women and children, and even then, I don’t know that there are enough boats for all of them.” The taller man sighs as he glances over at Karl with pained resignation. “Even if there were enough boats for them, and you and me - I still wouldn’t have gone without you.”

Karl’s heart skips a beat as they reach a stairwell door. With a last glance over his shoulder, he spots Jörg following behind, slowly working his way up the sloped hallway. Reaching for the door handle, he follows Camille inside and they climb upwards. “What about your father?”

Camille sighs, giving a heavy shake of his head. “I honestly don’t know. I told him that I was done lying to him and myself… that I never intend on being the man he’s always wanted me to be.”

Karl gasps as he listens and tries to tune out the ship’s pained creaking groans.

“I told him that I was done,” Camile continues softly, “… that I wanted to live as myself.”

“My God, Camille.” Karl reaches out for his hand, tugging the taller man to a stop on a stairwell landing. He searches Camille’s lovely brown eyes in the golden light. “Don’t throw your life away like that.”

Camille gives a slow, sad shake of his head. “It wasn’t a life, mon cher.” He squeezes Karl’s hand. “A gilded, diamond cage is still just that - a cage.”

“Not having money is also a cage.”

“A different cage, yes - and I’m not… I don’t know how it will go.” Another long groan of steel and iron echoes through the stairwell. “So much will change by dawn even, and I can’t…” he trails off and searches Karl’s eyes imploringly. “I can’t lose you - not when… not when I’ve just found you.”

Karl surges forward for a crushing, bruising kiss. Camille falls into it as they bask in the reaffirming, intimate connection. Heat blooms in Karl’s chest as he squeezes Camille’s hand, pouring all the comfort he has into the touch. “You won’t lose me,” he murmurs against Camille’s mouth. “You won’t… we’ll stay together and we’ll take it one step at a time.” He nuzzles Camille’s nose. “After all, it was you who found me… you’ve already done so good.”

Camille gasps softly as he leans in for one last stolen kiss. Heavy footsteps clamor up the stairwell below them, and as much as Karl wants to stay here, he knows their time is so limited. Pulling back from the kiss, Camille glances down at two lifebelts that look purposefully placed.

“Here,” Camile hands him one before sliding his own overhead. “Tie it around your waist. It will help you stay afloat in the water.” He manages another small, wry smile. “After all, the Atlantic is somewhat deeper than the swimming bath.”

The thought only pits more anxiety in Karl’s stomach, but he slides the canvas and cork lifebelt over his head, securing it around his waist. Looking back at Camille’s trim figure distorted by the lifebelt, he wants to steal one last kiss, but Camille opens the door.

When they emerge into the bitter night air, the scene on deck is ordered chaos. Throngs of passengers swarm each lifeboat, and there are precious few remaining. He can hear the officers issuing calls for more passengers, issuing orders to the seamen manning the boats, but it’s impossible to discern if any are Mackenzie.

“Come on,” Camille encourages. “He was on the right side last I saw him.”

“Stand back, and keep order here!” Mackenzie calls out to the swarm of male passengers bearing down on him. They encroach from all sides, trying to weave through the fall lines and sneak around him to crawl into the boat. The weight of his handgun sits heavily in his pocket, but he refuses to draw it.

He scans the increasingly panicked crowd and calls again. “Any more women and children? Women and children only!”

Another couple breaks through the crowd, and he witnesses another tender farewell that tears at his heart. Titanic’s port tilt is more pronounced, and he adjusts his stance as he helps the teary-eyed woman cross the foot-wide gap between the ship’s deck and the lifeboat suspended over the dark water. As he turns back, he notices the golden glow of the ship’s lights have taken on a dim, unnerving reddish hue. His heart continues to pound as he glances around the encroaching dark of night while the ship continues to slip away beneath his feet. It’s his worst nightmare made real, and he hasn’t even touched the water yet.

He works another hard swallow, forcing himself to focus. “More women and children, please. Yes - come through, ma’am! Stand back, sir!” He reaches an arm out to block a man trying to force his way past. “Stand back!” He gives a strong shove, and the man falls back against the crowd with a loud cry as the panic grows.

Looking through the crowd, his face pinches with confusion as he watches First Officer Murdoch approach. He moves towards Mackenzie, calling out to seamen as he goes. “Mr. Gordon! We’re all out and ready on this side. Man this boat.”

Alarm slams through Mackenzie. He can’t leave the ship yet, not until he knows that Camille’s found Karl. Not until he can see both of them one more time - because it won’t be the last, dammit. It just can’t be. He forces a hard swallow. “I don’t understand, sir. Surely, there’s more that I can do… more than I can help-”

“We’ve plenty of boats in the water already, and we need someone to take command. You’re the first away.” Murdoch orders, and Mackenzie’s face falls. “Now, to your boat, Mr. Gordon. That’s an order.”

Biting back a well of crushing disappointment, frustration, and fear, Mackenzie numbly nods and turns for the boat. Climbing over the gunwale into the gently swinging boat, he scans the deck frantically, looking for any sign of his two lovers. The situation is desperate, time is short, and God in heaven, just give him one more minute.

Murdoch’s voice echoes in the night and slashes his hopes. “Lower away! Both sides together, now! Left and right together!”

Tears burn Mackenzie’s eyes as he takes his place in command of the small boat, his heart breaking as he scans the crowd one last time in the fading, reddish light. Panicked screams and cries rise in the air as the passengers realize the truth of the situation, and the last lifeboats continue to cast off.

In the midst of the chaos, his gaze suddenly lands on them. He sees Camille and Karl on the edge of the crowd, craning their necks in an obvious, concerned search. Mackenzie wants to yell and wave his arms, to do anything that would get their attention. They clearly don’t see him, and he catches a cry that wants to burst from his chest.

“Watch those fall lines!” Murdoch’s call rings in his ears. “Together now, nice and steady!”

He keeps his eyes on them until the lifeboat drops below the dark hull.

“He’s not here.” Camille’s voice trembles as he glances frantically around in the low light. Despite how much he wants to see his other lover, a stab of relief punches through him. “Unless he’s on the other side, he must be in a boat.” At least, he desperately hopes it’s true. And at least, he and Karl have each other. He doesn’t want to think about Mackenzie alone, trapped on Titanic awaiting her final plunge into the icy water.

Karl works a visible swallow as he glances around. “We’ll just have to trust that he’s in a boat.” He grips Camille’s hand tight, and fortunately, no one notices or cares in the rushed panic around them. “We need to move.”

The deck slope is so steep now, and looking forward reveals a nauseating sight of the ship so submerged under the water. Perhaps they should run for the stern and try to stay on the ship for as long as possible. But how much time did Titanic have left? Would it not be better to stay close to these last boats? To float off the deck as the boats drift away and swim out to meet them?

“Let’s follow these boats.” Karl says softly. “If… they’re only putting off women and children, perhaps if we swim out to one… they’ll pull us onboard.”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” He grips Karl’s hand and they start moving forward, pushing through the mindless crowd. “Come on, we have to try.”

String music still floats in the air, and Camille’s heart clenches when he recognizes the hymn ‘Nearer My God to Thee’. Distantly, he wonders about his father - would he ever see the man again? He doubts that his father maneuvered his way onto a boat. If anything, René probably helped the officers file women and children into the lifeboats, and that thought does warm his heart. René may disapprove of Camille, but there’s no doubting his honorable integrity.

A thick crowd jockeys for position around the last lifeboat, a collapsible one as the seamen work to free it from the roof of the officer’s quarters. Increasingly, people abandon hope of boarding the boats and run around them back towards the stern. The ship continues to slant beneath their feet, and the boat falls free to the deck upside down.

“That won’t do anyone any good!” Karl hisses, fear palpable on his voice. Camille glances over at him, just able to make out his handsome profile in the sickly, eerie reddish light.

“We’ll have to do our best.” Camille adjusts his footing against the slippery, sloping deck. “I don’t think we can make it to the other-.”

The ship lurches forward with startling speed, and a collective cry of alarm rises from the deck. Their footing falters as they cling to each other, and the cordon of sailors around the upside lifeboat disperses. A large wave rolls up the deck from the sudden forward motion, and Camille watches in despair as the upside-down lifeboat washes off the deck and away from the ship. His heart pounds, and he knows the moment of truth is close at hand. He grips Karl’s hand as the water rushes towards them. “We stay together, and we swim.” He nods out at the upside-down boat, and the men scrambling to swim and chase it down. “Your clothes will get heavy from the water, but the swimming is no different than it was in the swimming bath. We swim with all of our might, and we don’t stop until we reach it.”

Karl exhales a deep shuddering breath as his voice trembles. “We don’t stop.”

The freezing water engulfs his ankles and quickly rushes around them. As the water rises, the deck disappears from under his feet. The crushing cold drives the air from his lungs, and he struggles to inhale. Uncontrollable shivers seize his frame as the icy water surrounds his body. He forces his feet to kick, and his arms to swim. Glancing over at Karl, the other man is deathly pale in the ship’s last light, and his lips already tremble.

Karl stays close by his side as they start swimming. “I-I didn’t t-think that I would be d-doing this again so s-soon.” Karl’s teeth chatter. “S-swimming, that is…”

Camille moves in the water next to him, motions growing stiff from the extreme cold. Their lifebelts do the job to keep them afloat as their clothes grow heavy, but the bulky shapes hinder their movements. “I-I’m glad that you know how… though, I h-hate that this is your s-second memory of it.”

“I’m su-sure that w-we can make m-more.”

Steel cables snap under tension, whistling through the air and splashing into the water around them. Cries startle from both of them as they turn back towards the dying ship, watching with wide eyes as the forward funnel collapses with a loud, deafening groan. It falls to the water with a roaring crash, throwing sprays of icy water over them. Camille spits against the invasion of salt water as fresh waves of shivers overtake him. The wave swell catches them, pushing them further from the ship as they chase the upside-down lifeboat with men hanging off the sides.

Karl glares as he strokes ineffectively against his lifebelt. "Is it… g-getting further away?

"Not too f-fast, it’s not. C-come on," Camille encourages even as his feet feel impossibly far away, numb as he kicks in the frigid water. "We'll r-reach it in no time."

Karl shivers as his breath trembles. "It's s-so cold."

"Don't t-think about it, mon amour." Camille's words shake from the force of his shivers. "T-think of how warm we'll be in bed when this is over. When we f-find Mackenzie, and let this night fade to memory."

"I h-hope he’s alright."

"I'm sure he's b-better off than we are. Come on,” he groans against the muscle cramps in his arms as they seize from the cold. “We’re a-almost there.”

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 5

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit NSFW 18+ smut (m/m/m handjobs, blowjobs, reference to anal sex), explicit language, period typical homophobia, overbearing parent

Chapter Word Count: 8.1k

Ch. 5 - 14 April 1912

“How excited you must be.” Miss Compton glances over, casting Camille a demure smile. “Is this your first crossing?”

Camille lowers his champagne glass as the server removes his caviar plate. “I went once when I was much younger, but I don’t have many memories of it.” At least no memories worth sharing with the young socialite. He wouldn’t want to cause the young woman’s smile to falter and risk the ire of their fathers sitting across the dinner table.

It’s no accident that each dinner finds Camille seated next to a new eligible young lady. His father has worked for years trying to secure a good match for Camille in absence of his mother. And with little else to do at sea for eight days, René isn’t one to waste an opportunity.

Miss Compton nods with a proper display of amusement. “Even if you had been to America within the last five years, I’d venture to say that you probably still wouldn’t recognize it. Especially New York City.”

“Is that where you are from?” Camille reaches for his soup spoon, breathing in the savory flavors.

“Oh, yes, born and raised.” She takes a dainty bite of soup. “I suppose it may not sound exotic to you - I could never hope to compete with an accent such as yours.”

A modest flush comes to his cheeks as he reaches for his napkin. “You needn’t compare yourself to me - or anyone - to find worth in your own graces.” He glances at her with a polite, reassuring smile. “Your loveliness stands on its own.”

Her hand trembles against the soup spoon as she freezes. He watches her eyes soften with admiration and something unspeakably sad. At length, she blinks and looks down at the table. Despite her bright diamonds and finery, forlorn heartache darkens her face, and her posture falters. He sweeps a cautious glance around the dinner table, hoping that no one else has picked up on her distress. The last thing he wants to see is her plight made public knowledge.

He considers reaching for her hand, but in this setting, that would cause too great a scandal. Instead, he lowers his spoon. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Compton. I did not wish-.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Mr. Audebert.” She sniffles ever so quietly. “In truth it is I who should apologize, I… I know why my parents arranged for me to sit next to you this evening but I… you’re…,” she breaks off in a tight, frustrated sigh. “You say something like that, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about… me.”

He furrows his brow. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand….”

“You’re very kind and flattering, and I… I would only be deceiving you to return your affection.” Her mouth pinches to a tight line as she casts a sharp gaze discretely across the table. “In truth, I have a gentleman suitor despite my parents’ insistence to the contrary. And I don’t want to see you led astray by their charade.”

The blush returns to Camille’s cheeks, and he reaches for his champagne with a discrete glance of his own across the dinner table. His father speaks with Mr. Compton in low, polite tones - no doubt discussing details of Miss Compton’s dowry and inheritance. After all, none but the best will do for the Audebert legacy. He’s more than familiar with the pressure that René exudes on him, and even though he can’t imagine the pressure on this young woman, he can see it in the strained slump of her shoulders.

He takes a long drink of sweet bubbles before speaking. “You needn’t fear their charade anymore than myself,” he says softly. “To echo your sentiment, my heart is also taken elsewhere. It has been before I ever had the honor of meeting you.”

She brightens with palpable relief, looking up at him as if she’s never heard better news. “You mean you’re… you’re not going to join our fathers in discussing my net worth as a suitable parameter for marriage?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Any man - including myself - would be lucky to call you his wife, but I… I am not attending dinner on this ship in search of such a match.”

A trembling sigh leaves her as she abandons her soup spoon and reaches for her napkin. “What ever shall we do when our parents don’t approve of the direction that our hearts have set for us?”

His mouth tilts with a sad smile. “If you find the answer, I do hope you’ll let me know.”

A soft laugh bubbles from her, and her smile returns. Though this time, it lacks the stiff tightness of formality and speaks to something far more genuine. “Thank you, Mr. Audebert.” She offers a grateful nod and he returns the gesture as she speaks. “And now… now, that we understand each other, would you be willing to tell me about Paris? I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting.”

With the knot of guilt lessened in his stomach, Camille falls into easy conversation. Talking about his home city is comforting - the open cafes, the music, the lights, the art. As the courses come and go in a decadent parade, Miss Compton’s curious intelligence shines and her melodic laughter is quite pleasing. Halfway through his punch romaine, it strikes him that perhaps of all the prospective brides he’s met, Miss Compton might be the first that he would willingly entertain.

But even still, his heart seizes at the thought - especially as he remembers the squash game last night. How his heart had pounded to have Karl and Mackenzie so close. How his blood had boiled to imagine them in his bed. How he had arched off his mattress, stifling soft moans when he took himself in hand while salacious fantasies danced in his mind.

Even sitting here, recalling the heated, flushed smile that Karl and Mackenzie had shared after Karl rose to his feet makes Camille’s blood race. The muscles of Mackenzie’s forearm had flexed to reveal their strength as he wrapped a steadying hand around Karl’s arm to help him up, and Camille wishes that he’d been between them, sharing in the embrace. But the first class dining saloon is hardly the place for such thoughts, and he quickly reaches for his napkin to cover the flush in his cheeks.

The last courses and dessert pass without incident, and he bids Miss Compton a polite farewell. He doesn’t know what clandestine meeting Mackenzie has up his sleeve for this evening, but the 21:00 hour has swiftly become Camille’s favorite time of day. Though, unlike the previous two evenings where he’s met Mackenzie on the boat deck, this time the note directs him down to E Deck and instructs him to follow the signs for the Swimming Bath. The thought makes hopeful anticipation simmer in Camille’s blood as he moves down the first class passenger corridor. But surely, the third officer must have other intentions, even if the thought of seeing the other two men dressed down in bathing suits appeals to him.

Gentle laughter sounds down the hallway, and Camille’s heart warms with recognition. Karl’s voice sounds in its wake, and he quickens his steps. As he rounds the last corner, he’s greeted by the lovely sight of both of their smiling faces, and a smile lights his face in return.

“Punctual as always.” Mackenzie’s voice is bright with mischief that makes Camille’s heart race.

“I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I disrespected either of your time, or our time together.”

Karl shakes his head, the corners of his mouth lifting. “No disrespect taken.”

A blush grows on Camille’s cheeks as he holds Karl’s gaze for a long minute before turning to Mackenzie. “Your note told me to follow the signs for the Swimming Bath, but surely….”

Mackenzie waggles a brow. “But surely, why not? I found the physical activity after dinner last night to be most invigorating, and I assume that I wasn’t alone.” He pauses, and neither Camille nor Karl offer contrary statements. It makes the Scotsman’s smile widen as he steps up to the Swimming Bath corridor door and produces his key ring. “This area of the ship is closed to passengers at this time of night, so we will have the run of the place.”

The door swings open on a well-oiled hinge, and Camille follows them through. It’s a short walk down a winding corridor until Mackenzie unlocks another door and holds it open for them. Humid, briny air washes over him. Pleasantly warm moisture settles against his skin as he glances around.

Despite holding a first class ticket, Camille has never bothered to venture down here. Golden light softens the white enameled steel walls surrounding the pool of shimmering water set into the floor. A long row of changing stalls lines the wall opposite the portholes, and a thrill of anticipation runs through him.

Mackenzie secures the door behind him and steps over a bank of cabinets along the wall. “Gentlemen,” he encourages softly, “you’ll each need a bathing suit and towel.” With another flash of his brass key ring, the cabinet falls open, and he distributes the items.

Camille’s mouth goes dry as he holds the bathing suit, floored at the thought of seeing Karl and Mackenzie so similarly undressed. At least, he assumes the officer will join them, and he’s relieved when he sees Mackenzie take a towel and suit for himself.

Karl turns even more pale, and self-consciousness creases his face as he sheepishly accepts a towel. “I…,” he forces a visible swallow. “I don’t know how to swim.”

Camille’s heart warms as he offers Karl an immediate, reassuring smile. “We can teach you.”

“And we will,” Mackenzie nods as he locks the cabinet and turns to face them. “Besides, the water’s only so deep that you can stand on the bottom and it will only reach your shoulders.”

Karl still looks stricken at the idea as he hefts the towel and suit in his hands.

“You won’t be alone,” Camille says gently, drawing the younger man’s sharp gaze. “We’ll be with you the whole time.”

A relaxed smile brightens Karl’s face, laced with unmistakable appreciation and affection. It makes Camille want to pull him in for a comforting hug, to brush an encouraging kiss to his brow.

“At least, after we change.” Mackenzie says, his voice carefully guarded as he gestures towards the row of dressing stalls. “Any one will do.”

With an encouraging nod at Karl, Camille follows Mackenzie over to the row of stalls and pauses to watch Karl step up to a changing door. A bewildered look crosses the shorter man's face as he reaches for a door handle and disappears inside. As Camille closes his own stall door and attacks the fine knot of his white tie, hopeful excitement simmers beneath his skin.

The possibilities with the three of them so dressed down and floating in the warm pool of water seem endless. Especially after how they brushed and touched last night on the squash court, Camille knows that he will struggle to contain his arousal with so much wet skin exposed. As he listens to the shuffling and rustling sounds of the other two men changing in their own stalls, he wonders if perhaps… well, maybe he won’t be the only one who struggles.

Heat continues to warm his skin as he abandons his clothing and steps into the bathing suit. It fits a little loosely but nothing that borders on indecent as he settles the straps on his shoulders, smoothing the fabric down his torso and thighs. Anticipation flutters in his chest as he hears a neighboring stall door open, and he grabs his towel before opening his own.

The sight of Mackenzie in the dark blue bathing suit reveals the toned muscles of his upper chest, arms, and legs from a life at sea. A curious scar crosses his left deltoid towards Mackenzie’s heart, and Camille wants to map it with his tongue. He wants to learn every place that makes Mackenzie gasp and writhe beneath him. He bites his lip to stave off an appreciative smile and fight the blood rushing to his traitorous cock.

When Mackenzie’s gaze connects with his before those bright blue eyes deliberately rake down Camille’s body, he knows that he needs to get in the water. Immediately. He adjusts his towel in front of his waist as he steps towards the water with a flush rising in his cheeks. Mackenzie’s smile widens as if he, too, understands Camille’s concerns, and Camille’s heart races.

The unlatching of another stall door echoes off the metal walls, and they both turn as Karl emerges. He looks far less comfortable in his state of undress, holding his arms and towel awkwardly in front of himself. A scowl mars his handsome face, and it conflicts with the open appreciation that overtakes his gaze when he looks at Camille and Mackenzie.

Karl wets his top lip almost nervously, and he looks lost for words as he takes a tentative step forward. “Is it always like this…?” He asks softly. “Feeling so… exposed? Just to go swimming?”

“Clothing gets heavy when it’s wet,” Mackenzie answers gently. “The less you’re wearing, the easier it is to move around and stay afloat. Take it from a man who’s gone overboard several times - wet wool is the absolute worst.”

That seems to relax Karl a little, but Camille can’t stop watching the delicious flush that’s spreading from Karl’s cheeks down his neck to his chest. All too suddenly, he realizes that his staring is probably doing nothing to help Karl’s unease, and he turns for the pool’s stairs. Dropping his towel along the pool’s edge, he starts down towards the clear water that gently ripples with the engine vibrations.

Karl looks less than sure as he glares down at the water, watching Camille descend the stairs. Mackenzie sets his towel alongside Camille’s and takes to the stairs with slow steps, turning back to Karl with a supportive smile. “Come on,” he holds out a hand, “the stairs aren’t slippery, but there’s no handrail, so if you’d rather…” He doesn’t say the rest as he nods down at his extended hand.

Despite his unease, Karl’s brow furrows in defiance as he shakes his head. “No, thank you.” He carefully places his towel next to the other two, open apprehension on his face as Camille dips his toes into the warm water.

His smile widens with appreciation. “How marvelous - it’s warm as bathwater.” The smell of salt water fills his nose as he continues down the steps and lets the warm water surround him.

“Bathwater?” Karl scoffs in disbelief as he follows behind Mackenzie with wide eyes that reveal his discomfort more than he probably wants. “I can’t even imagine… this is so much water to heat.”

“I do have to agree with him on that,” Mackenzie concedes as water splashes around his feet. “A heated swimming pool is certainly quite luxurious. It’s a shame that more passengers are not putting it to better use.”

Camille steps to the bottom of the pool, taking note of the water level just beneath his shoulders before he pushes off. Taking a few breaststrokes, he swims in a small circle and turns to watch the men behind him. Mackenzie stands knee deep in the warm water, still with a half-amused smile on his face as he glances down at the water’s surface before turning back to Karl.

The younger man’s brow is once again knit in serious concern as he glances between Mackenzie standing in the water and Camille swimming back to the base of the stairs. Karl draws a deep breath as he waves a hand uneasily at the water. “And you’re sure…,” he pauses with an uneven exhale. “You’re sure that I won’t… sink? Or drown…?”

Camille drops his feet to the pool floor and stands to his full height. “No,” he motions at the water lapping around his shoulders. “You can even stay standing the whole time if you want.”

This time when Mackenzie extends a hand, Camille’s heart nearly bursts to see Karl take it. On slow steps, he follows the Scotsman down the remaining steps, eyes wide with wonder as the warm water engulfs his skin. “I don’t….” Karl huffs a bemused breath as a smile cracks the corner of his mouth. “This is… remarkable.”

Camille watches Karl’s hand tighten around Mackenzie’s as he dips his other hand into the water. Mackenzie gives his hand a gentle squeeze that warms Camille's heart as he speaks. “Only a few steps left.”

As the water rises up Karl’s chest, the look of apprehension returns and Camille steps up to his other side, reaching his hand out without a second thought. “You’re alright,” he whispers, “you’re okay.”

Karl nods as his breathing quickens, and Mackenzie steps onto the bottom of the pool. When Karl’s hand wraps around Camille’s bicep, gripping him tight, Camille moves closer, loving the brush of their bodies in the warm water. Up close, Karl’s brown eyes hold golden amber flecks that shine bright even through his fearful unease.

“We’ve got you,” Mackenzie coos gently, standing so close now, “and we won’t let you go. Just one more step.”

With a deep, fortifying breath, Karl clings to both of them and steps off to the bottom of the pool. Camille beams with pride as he resists the urge to nuzzle Karl’s cheek, to pepper his skin with affectionate kisses. Their combined breathing hangs heavy in the air as Karl adjusts to the water lapping around his shoulders. Karl’s hand grips the muscles of Mackenzie’s arm, which flexes his own muscles, and Camille’s mouth goes dry at the sight. God, what would it be to have both of them hold him down? To take both of them at the same time? He nearly groans as arousal slams through him, and his cock stirs against the thin bathing suit.

Mackenzie releases a shuddering sigh, his voice dropping to a low octave. “Now, how about some steps, hmm?”

Camille catches the Scotsman’s gaze, heat flooding his veins to see the man’s pupils blown with unmistakable desire. They’re all close enough to reach and take and kiss and feel. Even though Karl’s hand is tight on Camille’s arm out of nervousness, it doesn’t detract from Camille wondering how that tight grip would feel around his cock.

He licks his lips without realizing it as he continues to look at Mackenzie, and the Scotsman nods in the lingering silence. Together, they take a step backwards, followed by another, letting the water roll around them and urging Karl to move with them. It takes a few minutes, but Karl starts to relax against them as if finally convinced the water won’t just swallow him up. It brings a smile to Camille’s face and he can’t resist leaning in, brushing his nose to Karl’s cheek. “You’re doing so well, mon cher,” he whispers, unable to stop himself. “So good.”

He’s rewarded with a trembling sigh as Karl leans into his touch.

A low hum leaves Mackenzie, but it almost sounds more like a groan. “Lift your knees, Karl.” He gently encourages. “Kick against the water and lean against us. We’ve got you.”

Karl's grip on Camille tightens as he leans further into the taller man, but then he does as Mackenzie says and kicks away from the ground. He gasps with a startled cry as his body moves through the water with the motion, and Camille moves in tandem with Mackenzie to support him. It brings the three of them even closer, so close for Camille to smell the hints of soap on Karl’s skin and feel the firmness of Mackenzie’s body pressed against him.

“Just like that.” Camille praises, his lips skimming the shell of Karl’s ear. “See? You’re already halfway there.”

Karl looks less than convinced, but as Camille and Mackenzie continue to move around the pool, he gradually continues to relax. At least until Mackenzie urges him to take the next step. Even Camille is reluctant to lose the close contact and let Karl go, but as they coax him to set his feet back down on the pool floor and use his arms this time - Camille can’t contain his proud smile.

Karl picks it up with fairly quick ease. Well, perhaps ease is generous, but the strokes of his arms are strong with muscles honed from factory labor and the kicks of his legs are powerful. He isn’t the most coordinated, but gradually, he gains enough familiarity with the uncommon movements to swim the arm’s length between him and Mackenzie. As Camille stays close and whispers more encouraging praise, he loves to watch Karl relax and start to enjoy himself.

And as Karl’s enjoyment grows, so does the heat burning in Camille’s blood. Each brush of Karl’s body, each glimpse of Karl’s tentative smile, each time he crashes into Mackenzie’s solid arms and their gazes hold with heated promise - all of it makes it impossible for Camille to suppress his growing arousal. He wants them to touch him. He wants to touch them, he wants to hear them moan, wants to learn how they taste.

His self-control hangs by a thread when Karl comes alongside him again, pressing chest to chest under the flow of water. With a breathy gasp, they’re suddenly face-to-face, and Karl’s eyes go impossibly dark as they linger on the shape of Camille’s mouth. He forgets how to breathe as his heart hammers against his chest. The moment hangs on a razor’s edge, and Camille doesn’t want to back down. Especially not when water sloshes against him and Mackenzie draws up to his side. Thick static charges the heavy, humid air, and an undeniable current arcs between them.

Camille breaks, tilting his head slowly to find Karl’s lips. The younger man trembles in his arms, gasping as their mouths connect and proving no less eager than Camille. It ignites every last desire in Camille that isn’t already searing him from the inside out as a moan pitches low in throat.

His knees threaten to give when he feels Mackenzie press close and lean in. A whimper passes Karl’s lips and his mouth parts in a gasping sigh. Camille pulls back, stunned at the sight of Mackenzie lavishing Karl’s neck with soft kisses and tender nibbles. He hardens further in his bathing suit, unable to stop from leaning in and tasting the saltwater on Mackenzie’s neck.

There’s so much heated, salty skin as their hands and mouths move together. He can’t be close enough to either Karl or Mackenzie, and he wants them both to press him against the nearest flat surface. He gasps as a thigh brushes his straining erection, loving the scrape of Karl’s facial hair against his neck as Mackenzie’s mouth meets his.

Karl gasps, shuddering as Camille mouths along his scruffy jaw. “This… I didn’t think,” he whimpers as his fingers tighten on Camille’s hip.

Camille groans as he hovers over Karl’s lips, delighting in the solid feel of Mackenzie’s thigh pressing between him. “Having you both only seemed like a dream.”

“The best dream.” Mackenzie breathes. “I’ve thought about both of you in my berth late at night… wanting both of you like this.”

Answering whimpers echo from Camille and Karl as they lose themselves in another long, heated moment of kissing and caressing. Distantly, Camille wonders if it should be awkward between the three of them, but it feels so easy, so comfortable, so right. He moans, rocking his hips forward against the delicious pressure on his aching cock.

“Though, reluctant as I am to part,” Mackenzie finally says through a long, raspy sigh. “If we mean to keep exploring this, we would be better served to adjourn from the pool.”

Camille hates to admit that he’s right, but he doesn’t dare let Karl or Mackenzie get too far away as they move for the stairs and leave the pool’s warmth behind. He bends to retrieve his towel, mindful of his wandering eyes as he tries not to stare at the hardened outlines of Karl's and Mackenzie’s arousal through the thin bathing suits. He catches their gazes running over him in return, and he has nothing to hide.

As strong hands find hips and shoulders, coming back together as easy as breathing, neither man seems uncomfortably shy with the physical intimacy. Camille chases the salt water drops on Mackenzie’s skin, wondering if both he and Karl have shared intimate relations with a man before. When Karl’s hand presses against his straining erection, he moans and stops thinking altogether.

Mackenzie hums low in this throat, nuzzling Camille’s cheek. “Make that sound again, love.”

Emboldened by Mackenzie’s words, Karl’s hand squeezes firm and another cry tears from Camille’s lips. His hips push into Karl’s touch as Mackenzie’s fingers toy with the top strap of his bathing suit. He nods his permission before the Scotsman’s fingers hook under the thin fabric and slide it down his arms, exposing the full expanse of his chest.

Karl’s breath catches as he pulls Camille closer, and Camille works his fingers along the top of Karl’s bathing suit. When their bare chests press together, long groans spill from both of them as their mouths meet and tongues tangle. It’s better than anything Camille’s felt in years, especially as they both tug at Mackenzie’s suit until the amount of bare skin makes Camille dizzy.

He rolls Karl’s nipple between a thumb and forefinger, loving the shorter man’s whimpers. Karl’s knees buckle with a cry when Mackenzie cups his straining erection, and Camille pulls back to look at the lovely flush on Karl’s skin. “Perhaps… perhaps we….” He scans around, looking for something - anything - that invites them to recline, but only spots their towels. Catching Mackenzie’s eye with a wicked look of his own, he kneels down to spread his towel out against the wood decking. The other two crouch beside him, breathing heavy in the charged moment, as they arrange their towels.

With gentle insistence, Camille presses Karl to lay back flat against the towels. He’s gorgeous as the full expanse of his chest spreads out, his flushed skin spotted with dark moles that remind Camille of stars in the sky. He lowers to press reverent kisses to the damp skin, delighting in the responsive whimpers that fall from Karl’s lips. Mackenzie hums his approval as Karl pulls at his shoulders until their mouths meet. Camille strains against his peeled-down bathing suit, but there’s so much more that he wants before seeking his own release.

He teases the peeled-down edge of Karl’s bathing suit, groaning with approval when Karl shifts his hips to accommodate the slide of fabric. When Karl’s erection comes into full view, Camille’s mouth waters. He shifts to mouth down Karl’s torso, dipping his tongue to explore Karl’s navel as he teases a hand up the inside of Karl’s thigh with clear intent.

Camille wraps his long fingers loosely around Karl’s aching length, learning and teasing the thick, heavy shape of the younger man. A hungry groan stirs in Camille’s chest. “Mon dieu, you feel so good.” He squeezes Karl’s leaking tip, tearing a whimper from Karl’s lips. “Next time,” he whispers against Karl’s skin. “I want you inside me.”

Karl squirms beneath him, moaning at the promise of Camille’s words. Mackenzie’s groan echoes in Camille’s ear before the Scotsman speaks. “Just the thought of the two of you… fuck.” He rolls his hips forward, and the full weight of his swollen cock presses into Karl’s thigh.

The sight is too gorgeous to let go of and Camille rests his chin on Karl’s chest, staring at Mackenzie with shameless desire. “While he’s inside me, you will take my mouth,” he breathes as the images play in his mind’s eye. “I want both of you to fill me completely.”

Mackenzie snarls a feral sound as he pushes up to seal his mouth to Camille’s. He whimpers as he returns the harsh, hungry kiss. Karl’s groan echoes around him and the younger man’s hips thrust up into Camille’s hand as Camille and Mackenzie continue to kiss across his chest.

Mackenzie groans against Camille’s lips. “You shouldn’t be allowed to say such filthy things,” he sighs, “but for the love of God, don’t ever stop.”

Camille chuckles breathlessly. “No, mon cher. Not for either of you - ever.” He drops his gaze back down to Karl spread so deliciously beneath him. The hairs on Karl’s belly tickle his lips when he peppers the soft skin with gentle kisses while his hand continues to stroke Karl’s straining length. Karl’s pleasurable whimpers encourage Camille as he works his way down Karl’s navel, past his hip bones, and presses a kiss to the slick tip of his cock. Karl twitches beneath him, and Camille wastes no time to take Karl into the heat of his mouth.

Karl arches off the floor with a lovely cry, his hips pushing up to immediately chase the feel of Camille’s mouth. The sudden pressure in the back of his throat makes Camille gag, but he quickly catches the reaction. It’s been since university that he last did this, and he relaxes his jaw to further indulge Karl’s salty taste.

Mackenzie’s strong hand falls to Karl’s hip, pressing him back to the wood decking as Camille slides Karl’s cock between his lips. “Careful, gorgeous,” Mackenzie coos somewhere close to Karl’s mouth, rushing fire up and down Camille’s spine as Mackenzie holds Karl’s hips still while speaking softly. “Let us take care of you.”

Camille moans at the promise in Mackenzie’s words and the heavy feel of Karl on his tongue before hollowing his cheeks. The delightful hitches in Karl’s breathing and abortive thrusts of his hips embolden Camille to increase his pace. He wants Karl to spill hot across his tongue, he wants to see Karl come completely undone. With a glance upwards, Karl’s mouth fastens to Mackenzie’s as the Scotsman’s hand works at one of Karl’s nipples, pinching the sensitive peak between his fingers. A delicious flush burns Karl’s chest and neck, and Camille’s hips start rolling against empty air at the sight of his two lovers.

When Mackenzie moves down Karl’s neck to settle his mouth over Karl’s other nipple, Karl arches into the touch. He comes with a hoarse cry, spilling hot and tangy over Camille’s tongue. Camille groans, low and throaty, nearly spending in his own bathing suit as Karl melts beneath him.

Mackenzie’s rumble of approval fills the air. “Perfect.” The word deforms against Karl’s skin, breathless and strained. “So fucking perfect.”

Camille pulls his mouth free, rolling his jaw on its hinge. A twinge of discomfort makes itself known but his heart pounds too fast to care. Especially as he meets Karl’s gaze, finding those amber-chocolate eyes scorching and dazed. Karl’s hands pull at Camille, and he lets the younger man drag him forward until their mouths meet. Camille groans when Karl’s tongue sinks into deep, long strokes that taste of the younger man’s seed. The echoing moan from Karl drives Camille’s hips down, and he thrusts against the solid feel of Karl’s thigh. He feels the rest of his bathing suit start to slip, not helped when Karl and Mackenzie’s hands slide it down.

The full length of his bared cock presses to Karl’s naked thigh, and Camille goes dizzy from the delirious friction.

“Do it,” Karl whispers against Camille’s lips, dragging a hand through his mussed hair as he presses his thigh up, “use me. I want to feel you.”

Camille cries out as he rolls his hips, grinding down against Karl. Mackenzie makes a similarly strangled noise, and Karl turns his face towards the older man as Camille chases his pleasure. Karl’s lips brush Mackenzie’s as he speaks. “I want you, too.”

Camille can just see where Karl’s other hand pushes at Mackenzie’s bathing suit, pulling his cock free in a tight grasp. They’re all so close, their breaths mixing together as their thighs brush and slide together. The sensations overload Camille’s brain as the pressure builds at the base of his spine with each thrust.

“Fuck,” Mackenzie breathes, eyes burning with azure fire as they both nuzzle and mouth at Karl’s lips, jaw, and neck. “I’m… I’m so… you’re both so….”

Euphoric waves crash through Camille as he splashes hot on Karl’s thigh. He cries out as he comes undone, drowning further when Mackenzie’s grunt of release sounds above the thundering of his heart. Camille’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest as he slumps against Karl and wraps an arm around Mackenzie. Distantly, he hopes they’re not crushing Karl too uncomfortably, but his limbs feel too weak to move.

In fact, none of them are in a hurry to move. Even when damp skin turns tacky, even as they float down from their blissful high, even as their needy desire subsides - no one withdraws. Tender kisses pass between them, mixed with gentle nuzzles and nibbles, and Camille’s struck with a moment of incredulity. He has them both in his arms, sweaty and sated, and he’s in their arms. It’s his dream come true, and he wants to always hold them so close.

But as their skin continues to cool, he knows that they can’t lay on the floor of the swimming bath in perpetuity. He brushes a kiss to Karl’s jaw before turning to find Mackenzie’s lips. Sighing through the slow, lazy kiss, his mouth curls to a smile. “I think I could get used to this.” He shivers as Karl’s fingers trail down his spine. “You’re both… addicting.”

“You’re one to talk,” Mackenzie’s words are drunk with satisfaction. “When you took Karl into your mouth… fuck, Camille - I nearly finished from the sight of you.”

Karl groans with wonderful appreciation. “Wait until you feel his mouth for yourself,” he sighs. “Like… like heaven.”

Camille hums as an embarrassed flush stains his cheeks. “I’m pleased you liked it so much. Admittedly, it’s been… a long time since I last had a lover.”

Mackenzie quirks a brow. “Just a lover?” His eyes sharpen with a serious, uncertain edge. “I don’t know if I’m alone in saying that I’ve never… with two others before.”

Karl quickly shakes his head. “No, there’s never been two.” He sighs as he scrubs a hand across his face as if just realizing the situation. “It’s risky enough with just one.”

Camille sighs as he rests his forehead against Karl’s temple and closes his eyes. “I’ve never wanted two the way that I want both of you.”

Karl nuzzles his cheek, brushing a gentle kiss. “Me neither.”

Camille basks in the close press of his two lovers, indulging the comforting strokes of Mackenzie’s fingers along his flank. Karl’s hand finds his, brushing kisses along Camille’s knuckles and lingering over the flattened surface of his gold signet ring.

Mackenzie sighs reluctantly. “As much as I would love to lay here with you two - or take you both back to my cabin - we should probably consider cleaning up.”

Karl’s hold on both of them tightens. “Just another moment,” he whispers, “in case… in case this is a dream.”

Camille raises his head, kissing Karl with all the affection he has. “The dream doesn’t end here, mon cher. I want to see you again - I want to have you - I want you to take me.” He finds Mackenzie’s mouth, pouring just as much promise into it. “Both of you. Tonight. Tomorrow.”

“God, yes.” Mackenzie agrees, glancing between him and Karl. “We’ll take the rest as it comes.”

With slow movements, they rise to their feet as they gather their soiled bathing suits and towels. An easy silence falls as Camille files back into his changing stall, listening as the other two also re-dress. He doesn’t bother with his vest buttons or bow tie. He leaves the collar of his shirt open as he exits the changing stall and does up his dinner jacket to hide his open vest.

When the other two emerge from their changing stalls, Mackenzie looks far more put together in his official uniform but there’s no disguising the satisfied, ruddy glow on his cheeks. Karl looks equally debauched around his clothing, his lips kiss-swollen and hair ruffled beyond respectability. Camille’s heart seizes as they come back together, and he doesn’t want to let them go. His mind still floats in a pleasant space, drunk on their kisses as they steal another moment together. A moment of reassurance. A moment to revel in the realization of finding each other.

“I don’t want to leave.” Mackenzie whispers as he loops an arm around Karl’s waist. “Either of you.” His other arm finds Camille and pulls him equally close. They breathe the same air as lips brush saltwater perfumed skin and mouths meet with tender longing. Camille knows their situation is impossible, that every force in life will seek to keep them apart - but he’s determined to hold both of them close for as long as he can.

Without warning, the ship quakes beneath their feet. A metallic grinding, crashing sound deafens them. His balance falters as the other two similarly struggle to stay on their feet, and his heart races. It’s far from any normal sound the ship should make, and it stops just as soon as it starts. They glance around at each other with wide eyes, their embrace shaken.

“What was that?” Camille asks, looking firmly at Mackenzie. “That didn’t sound… good.”

“No.” Mackenzie agrees, looking around the room with wide eyes. Nothing appears out of place, except for the rolling waves in the pool. The lights still shine, the room’s meager furnishings are still upright. But suddenly, Mackenzie draws a sharp breath glancing down at his feet as his brow furrows. “We’re slowing down….” He closes his eyes, focusing on his seaman-honed senses. “In fact, we’re stopping - the center turbine is cut off.”

“Stopping?” Karl asks, exhaling sharply. “Why would we do that? Did we… are we lost? Or did we… hit something?”

“I don’t know.” Mackenzie gives an uncertain shake of his head even as he tries to summon an easy tone. “I’m sure it’s nothing too serious, but I should report to the bridge anyway.” He looks between them reluctantly. “I’m sorry our night has to end on this note.”

“It’s alright.” Camille reassures him with a warm, supportive smile. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your position anymore than you already have.”

With lingering reluctance, they part and leave the swimming bath behind. It doesn’t take long to see Karl back to a third class passage, and none of them resist one last parting kiss in the stairwell. As the ship continues to glide to a stop, Camille and Mackenzie take the stairs up towards the main deck.

“When I learn what’s going on,” Mackenzie says as they stop on the last landing, still hidden behind the door. “I’ll let you know. And Karl, too.”

Camille can’t hold back his smile as he nods and reaches for Mackenzie’s hand. “Thank you… and not just for that. But for everything you’ve done to give the three of us so much time together.”

“It’s selfish of me to want that, too, so you don’t owe me your thanks.” He steps close and slots his mouth to Camille’s. Camille lets himself indulge a long kiss that curls his toes, and his heart feels full to bursting. Mackenzie’s eyes are glazed with adoration when he pulls back, but he quickly blinks back to himself and offers a parting nod. “I’ll see you soon.”

Camille nods his concurrence, and they push out onto the deck. The frigid night air burns his cheeks, quickly dispelling the heat of the swimming bath and his lovers’ touch as he heads back to the parlor suite. Nothing appears amiss among the few passengers that he passes as he walks down the hallway, even if the gentle hum of the engines is noticeably absent. He opens the parlor suite door, and his stomach drops to his feet.

René sits, perfectly composed and dressed from dinner, sipping from a brandy snifter. He glances up from the day’s Atlantic Daily Bulletin, setting his hawkish gaze on Camille above his small glasses. “Where were you?” He blinks in clear disdain as Camille’s heart races. “This is the third night in a row that you’ve been absent after dinner, and others are taking notice.” René sighs with disappointment. “I’ve allowed you to indulge yourself, but as usual, you try my patience. So, I’ll ask you again: where were you?”

Camille recognizes his father’s tone all too well. It’s a trap that he hates every time his father springs it on him. He clears his throat carefully, squaring his shoulders. “I went for a swim. The officer from the other night was kind enough to offer after-hours access. Same with last night at the squash court.”

His father arches an incredulous brow as a thinly-veiled look of disgust wrinkles his face. “Swimming and squash… after dinner?”

Mackenzie’s cheeky words play in his mind, and the corner of his mouth lifts before he can think to stop it. “Physical exertion does wonders for stimulating digestion. I find it far more agreeable than sipping too-sweet brandy with an unfavorable cigar while being forced to make empty conversation.”

René’s brows pinch together, seeking out the lie in Camille’s words. It’s there, of course, but so is the truth. After the scandal with his roommate at university and the quiet resolution that René firmly facilitated, Camille has learned how to craft his lies, however much he hates it. But in return, René has learned how to find them. At length, the older man sighs and the corner of his mouth tightens. “I thought those youthful indiscretions were behind you."

Camille bites his lip as a traitorous blush rises to his cheeks.

René scowls with fierce disappointment as he continues. "I thought you had come to your senses and put an end to such disgusting behavior. Now, not only have you jeopardized your societal standing yet again, you’ve done so in dallying with a sailor.” He spits the word as though it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. “Have you any idea of the risk that you’ve taken? Have you any idea how degrading, immoral, unnatural-.”

"What could be more natural than being true to myself?" Camille snaps, burning with indignation as tears sting his eyes. "All my life, you've wanted me to be someone that I never wanted to be... someone that I never will be."

René sniffs dismissively. "In our world, there's no such thing as 'never'."

"Not everything can be controlled with your money or sheer force of will." Camille exhales a trembling breath. "For the first time in… forever it seems, I’ve found some happiness. I’ve found some peace.” His heart swells to think of Karl and Mackenzie. To remember everything they’ve shared from the boat deck to the squash court to the swimming bath. He doesn’t know what promises the future holds, but he’ll be damned if he lets himself give up without a fight. He forces a hard swallow and doesn’t give his father a chance to speak. “I’m…,” he whispers quietly and a weight lifts from his chest. “I'm done lying to you. And I'm done lying to myself."

René blinks back at him, seemingly stunned. An edge of frustrated anger gleams in the older man’s eyes as he holds his mouth in a pinched line. He tips his chin up towards Camille in stern reprimand. “Don’t be so impertinent, Camille. You know better.”

“Impertinent?” Camille parrots with an incredulous breath. “Impertinent? When you’ve done nothing but deny me at every turn? Deny the very things that speak to my heart? Deny who I am?”

“Your heart won’t win you any favors in this world, my son. If only you could understand that.” He turns back to the ship’s daily newspaper without a second glance. “Now, off to bed with you. And tomorrow, we’ll put an end to your illicit inclinations once and for all. The Comptons-.”

“Then, let me be clearer,” he presses as his blood boils and his hand clenches at his side. “I do not intend to wed, or father your grandchildren. If doing so is a prerequisite for inheriting everything in your name, then I suppose I won’t do that, either.” His eyes prick with tears as he exhales a trembling breath. “I’ve lived my life in the shadow of your constant disappointment and disapproval, and I’m done… I’m done with it.” He sniffles, never having felt so lost and yet so free.

Tense silence reigns, and Camille doesn’t know what to do next. He wants to dissolve in Karl and Mackenzie’s arms, to let them shelter him from the mess of his life. Maybe he can sneak into third class and hide with Karl - or stow away elsewhere on the ship. But as he glances around at the rich wood paneling and lush furnishings, he knows that he can’t stay here. He turns to go without looking back.

“Camille.” René’s voice commands full authority, but Camille doesn’t stop. “Camille René.”

Camille reaches for the stateroom door handle and closes it behind him. Standing in the hallway feels like a breath of fresh air as he draws a trembling inhale. He’s always wondered what it would be to finally stand his ground as his own man. Despite the conflict warring in his heart, it’s a freeing, empowering feeling. In the clarity of the moment, he realizes his life has been a bigger trap than he’s ever known… and if this is what freedom feels like, then with or without Karl and Mackenzie by his side, he never wants to let it go.

Though, his heart warms in want of Karl and Mackenzie at his side. In want of a life where the three of them can find happiness together. Perhaps he can search out a newspaper illustrator’s position, or a clerking position. He’s decent enough with numbers, perhaps even a tailor’s shop might take him on to manage the orders. The possibilities seem endless as he starts to walk down the hallway and away from his father’s cage. A smile tugs at his lips as his heart starts to soar. With two more days left at sea, that should be plenty of time to formulate his next steps forward. Perhaps even Karl and Mackenzie would have some advice to offer.

He rounds the corner and his brow furrows. Two stewards move down each side of the hallway, knocking on staterooms and issuing low, calm instructions. He strains to listen and his stomach knots when he gets close enough.

“My apologies, ma’am,” the steward says with crisp politeness. “It’s the Captain’s orders to come to the boat deck. Please do dress warmly and bring your lifebelts.”

“The captain requests that you dress and come topside at once,” the second steward explains to a half-awake gentleman. “Warm layers are recommended, and you’ll find lifebelts stored above the armoire. Please allow me to assist you, sir.”

Camille watches them progress towards him, leaving a curious mix of passengers frozen in confusion and startled into action behind them.

“Good evening, sir,” one of the stewards greets him with a polite smile and a nod. “I’m afraid that I need to ask you to return to your cabin and fetch your lifebelt. The captain has ordered all passengers to assemble on the boat deck at once. And, please dress warmly.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing that we’re aware of, sir.” The steward offers a placating smile. “But we have our orders. Now, if you please?”

Numbly, Camille nods as he mind works. All too well he remembers the metallic grinding noises that they heard in the swimming bath, how the ship had shook beneath their feet and the water in the pool sloshed around. Surely, with the captain’s orders now, it can’t be a coincidence. His urge to find Mackenzie grows, and he quickly turns back for the stateroom.

Mercifully, his father isn’t in the sitting room upon his return. His stateroom door is closed and as much as Camille wants to break it down, he turns for his own stateroom instead. If René can choose to retire to bed instead of reconcile with his son, then Camille can let the steward notify his father of the situation. As he slides into his overcoat, he doubts that his father would even believe him if Camille did share the steward’s message. With his lifebelt in hand, Camille returns to the sitting room and disappears back out into the hallway.

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 4

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, sexual fantasies, reference to masturbation, period typical & internalized homophobia, overbearing parent

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Ch. 4 - 13 April 1912

The note finds Camille while he takes the morning air on the boat deck. Admittedly, he was on his third aimless circuit, hoping to get a glimpse of the third officer on his rounds, but luck eluded him. Of course, it's ridiculous. He’s a grown man and he shouldn’t let a wonderful night under the stars affect him. No matter the confessions they made to the wind, no matter how close they lay under the brilliant night sky. But the memories still linger, and a smile warms his face.

If he had wings, he would happily chase those stars across the sky. But only if Mackenzie and Karl could come with him.

When the steward interrupts Camille’s distracted musing and lazy wandering, Camille accepts the proffered note with a nod of thanks. His heart flutters as he opens the envelope and unfolds the slip of paper to reveal neat, sharp handwriting.

If you’re agreeable, shall we meet again at 21:00 this evening outside the gymnasium? There’s nothing quite like a little physical exertion after dinner to stimulate digestion. - M. Gordon

His heart races as heat suffuses his blood. His cheeks flush at the third officer’s cheekiness, and he can’t hold back a hopeful smile. He glances at his pocket watch, and his lips purse with frustration. The appointed hour feels so far away, but the promise of a lovely evening in Mackenzie's – and hopefully Karl’s – company sustains him as his father drags him into another review of the record books in the suite sitting room.

It's a tedious afternoon of tiny numbers and narrow columns, coupled with his father’s disappointment ever present behind the glasses perched on the end of his nose. The books aren’t anything new, but Camille recognizes his father’s control for what it is. An insistence that Camille couldn’t possibly begin to understand all the facets of the family business enterprise, and he refuses to let Camille waste any opportunity to study.

Facts and figures still swim in Camille’s brain as he dresses for dinner. Ponchel lays out his best evening suit, assisting as Camille dons his finery layer by layer.

Camille threads a cufflink as he glances at the valet. “Ponchel, if my father asks for me after dinner, please tell him that I have alternate arrangements.”

“Oui, monsieur,” Ponchel nods as he secures the cufflink. “And if he asks about your alternate plans?”

Camille sighs as he adjusts his completed cuff before lining up the other sleeve. “You may tell him that the officer from last night has offered to continue the lesson on celestial observation, and I accepted his offer.”

The valet flashes him a curious look as he fastens the second cufflink, but he watches his words. “You should know that your father asked me to look after you last night when you declined to retire to the smoking room. I did indeed observe you on the boat deck with said officer and another gentleman… and, I trust that’s where I would find you again should your father request it?”

Camille’s stomach knots as Ponchel steps close to tie his bowtie. The older man carefully avoids Camille’s gaze, but Camille knows that he’s been caught. He works a swallow down his throat, careful not to disrupt Ponchel’s work. “Then, you may simply tell him that you have no knowledge of my alternate plans.” Guilty remorse creases his face. “I shouldn’t have asked you to lie for me. My sincerest apologies.”

Ponchel smiles kindly. “No apology needed, monsieur. I simply don’t wish to see you on poor terms with your father.”

Camille lifts his brow in a flash of incredulity. Ponchel’s talent for understatement never ceases to amaze him. The man has been René’s personal valet for years, assisting Camille when travel arrangements call for it, and as such, he knows well of their chilly relationship. When Ponchel steps back to let Camille inspect his handiwork in the mirror, the knot of his dinner tie is flawless as always.

He turns from the mirror to see Ponchel ready with his bespoke dinner jacket. The fine fabric slides up his arms and over his shoulders with an expert cut. As Ponchel adjusts the final fit, Camille musters his courage to speak. “I would not wish to jeopardize your position, Ponchel. But please know that if he does request you to look after me this evening, you will not find me on the boat deck.”

If the implication of Camille’s words bothers the valet, Ponchel gives no indication. He merely nods as something of a mischievous smile crosses his face. “I appreciate the forewarning. I hope that you have an enjoyable evening.”

Excited anticipation buzzes along Camille’s skin as he thinks back to Mackenzie’s note carefully tucked in his bedside table, and he offers Ponchel his parting thanks. If he had his way, he’d do away with the whole pretense of dinner. But missing out altogether, even if just to pace around his stateroom until the appointed time, would raise too many unwanted questions.

Instead, he smiles. He makes polite, if mindless, conversation with Miss Graham. René keeps a careful watch on him all the while, engaged in low conversation with Mr. Graham. It’s the same ploy every night, and if Camille wishes not to make a scene, he has no choice but to play along. But each course seems to drag on longer than the last until he takes the final bite of dessert and drops his napkin to the table. With a polite farewell to Miss Graham, he turns from the table but René corners him before he can make it too far.

“I do hope that you’re joining me for a cigar this evening,” René says, words heavy with expectation. “With the way Sir Cosmo has been boasting about his business ventures, it would do you well to hear how bad investments are made.”

Camille keeps his equanimous smile in place. “Regrettably, I have made alternate arrangements for this evening.”

“Again?” René keeps his voice low, but there’s no mistaking the disapproval in his eyes. “And just what diversion have you found this time?”

He remembers what he told Ponchel, and he’s careful not to trap himself. “I have another meeting with the officer from last night. His tutelage was quite insightful, and I’m intrigued to learn more.”

René’s brows pinch together. “Celestial navigation is his job, not yours. You have far greater enterprises to focus your attention on.”

“On another evening, perhaps. We’re still at sea for five more days,” he says as a cautious ripple works down his spine. “If Sir Cosmo is boasting as much as you claim, then it seems unlikely for him to waste such a captive audience before we reach New York.”

René glowers back at Camille, clearly displeased but unwilling to risk a confrontation in the first class dining saloon.

Camille works a swallow down his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, please. I don’t wish to add tardiness to my reputation.” He turns without waiting for a response, fearing he may have condemned himself to an unpleasant conversation upon return to the parlor suite, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. As he leaves the saloon and takes the Grand Staircase up towards the boat deck, excited anticipation hums through him. He quickens his pace when a glance at the stairwell clock reveals the 2059 hour.

He steps out onto the darkened deck, and a noticeably cold wind stings his cheeks. The sunshine filled air of the morning had held a pleasant warmth, and even last night under the stars hadn’t felt this chilly. But as he approaches the gymnasium, shivers ripple down his spine as the cold air seeps through his dinner suit.

If the cold wind bothers the third officer, though, Mackenzie gives no sign as Camille spots him, silhouetted in golden light from the ship’s interior. His brass buttons gleam with crisp polish, and his uniform nicely compliments his frame. Appreciative warmth stirs in Camille’s chest as Mackenzie meets his gaze, smiling in greeting.

“Good evening.” Mackenzie says, not quite able to disguise the open appreciation on his face as his gaze sweeps over Camille’s appearance.

It’s far from unwelcome as heat sparks in Camille’s blood. “Good evening,” he replies as another gusty breeze wraps around them. “I have to say it is notably colder tonight than last night.”

Mackenzie nods. “Despite our gradual turn towards the south, we’re far enough away from land now on the open ocean. The arctic air will remain a companion until we approach the Canadian coastline, as will the near-freezing water temperatures.”

Another shiver runs along Camille’s skin as he summons an attempt at a playful smile. “Then, I think I shall pass on a swim.”

A soft laugh rumbles in Mackenzie’s chest. “Unless you prefer to avail yourself of the Swimming Bath, then I would have to agree with you.” He glances over his shoulder before turning back to Camille as he holds out a guiding hand. “Shall we?”

Camille doesn’t hesitate before falling into step with the other man as they approach a door marked ‘Crew Only’. But he does arch a questioning brow as Mackenzie reveals his brass key ring and the door swings open wide. “Are you sure…?”

Mackenzie’s answering smile leaves no room for doubt. “Quite sure.”

Karl paces with unease. He knows that he shouldn’t do this. He’s a third class passenger on a third class ticket, and he has no business accepting the third officer's invitation. Yet… here he stands in the appointed third class corridor, near what he desperately hopes is the correct door.

The note from the third officer still burns a hole in his pocket, and he grips it tight as if to prove it isn’t a figment of his imagination. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s had all day to guess, and with each guess, his hope has grown. He hopes that Camille will accompany the third officer. He hopes to spend more time in both of their companies. He hopes-

His thoughts cut short as the metal lock mechanism on the door marked with ‘Crew Only’ engages. His heart leaps to his throat as the door swings open to reveal not only Mackenzie, but also Camille standing behind him. A relieved smile cracks Karl's face before he can stop it.

Mackenzie sends him a startlingly playful smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I…” Karl hates how breathy his words sound. “I didn’t want to miss it.”

Camille nods with warm appreciation. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Mackenzie waves him forward. “Come on before someone sees you.”

A nervous shiver runs down Karl’s spine and with a quick glance down the corridor, he confirms that he’s alone before stepping into what he realizes is a stairwell. Mackenzie locks the door behind him, and Karl’s heart pounds with excited uncertainty. He debates speaking, debates asking about their destination, but as Mackenzie starts down the stairs, Karl decides to hold his tongue.

They step out into an elegant, wood-paneled corridor that Karl has come to recognize as a telltale sign of first class accommodations. It creates a far more inviting atmosphere than the white-enameled steel and paneling of the ship's third class accommodations.

Camille chuckles low in this throat, shaking his head as recognition lights his face. “We’re heading for the squash court, aren’t we?”

Mackenzie turns, just catching their gazes. “Well spotted.”

Again, Camille shakes his head with warm amusement. “Physical exertion after dinner, indeed.”

The third officer has no decency to look ashamed for his cheeky note or the presumption on tonight’s activity. “Karl and I were both quite taken with your display on the court yesterday morning, and if you’re not willing to provide us the benefit of your tutelage, then perhaps you might get enjoyment from watching us attempt the sport. Hopefully we’ll present ourselves as something better than bumbling buffoons, but therein should lie the fun.”

Karl’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. It was one thing to watch the sport played yesterday, but another to attempt the sport for himself in this moment. Especially as Mackenzie opens another door and the brightly lit, white rectangular room comes into view. Their footsteps echo in the stark space, and Camille glances around with a fond smile before speaking. “It would be my honor to share what little knowledge of the sport I possess.” He looks over at Karl with a hesitant edge. “Does that sound agreeable?”

A lump forms in Karl’s throat as words escape him. It sounds more than agreeable, and he wants to pinch himself. How is this possibly real? Quickly, he nods as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Quite agreeable, though I apologize for how poor you will find my skill.”

“Excellent!” Mackenzie proclaims turning towards the cabinets along the room’s back wall. Karl’s mouth goes dry as the officer works at the buttons of his navy jacket, the open edges hanging loose as he unlocks a cabinet door. Camille steps towards him, accepting two rackets and a small ball. Adjusting the items in one hand, he works at his pristine white tie with the other until the ends fall free and his top shirt button pops open.

Karl forces a hard swallow at the sight, not helped as Mackenzie shrugs out of his jacket to reveal his white shirtsleeves. Karl shouldn’t dare remove his jacket or vest right now. Heat races along his skin to see the other men so dressed down, and he doesn’t need to chance that Camille or Gordon will see too much.

Warm mirth overtakes Camille’s face as he approaches Karl. “We won’t bother with the official rules.” He holds a racket out for Karl, and Karl wraps his left hand around the soft leather grip while Camille continues speaking. “They’ll be worthless with the three of us, anyway.”

Karl flexes his fingers against the grip, testing the feel of the racket’s weight. “I… again, I apologize for my lack of skill at this game-”

“You’re not the only one.” Mackenzie gently interrupts as he gives an experimental swing of his racket. “But that’s why we’re here, and the rules don’t matter.”

It’s such a tempting notion, and Karl finds himself nodding in agreement before he thinks to voice further protest. Camille nods at him with satisfied agreement before continuing. “Then, here’s what you need to know - we’ll hit the ball in a one,” Camille points to himself. “Two.” He motions at Karl before gesturing at Mackenzie. “And three pattern. I’ll hit first, then Karl, and Mackenzie - and so it repeats. You’re allowed one bounce of the ball on the floor before we’ll call it ‘dead’ and reset the order. Your only objective is to hit the ball against the wall below that top line,” he motions with his racket at the red line high up on the wall. “Otherwise, you can hit the ball against almost all of the surrounding surfaces to do it.”

He steps back with an almost teasing smile as he holds the ball. Karl notices Mackenzie spreading out on the floor, and he looks around to find some open space. Camille gives a gentle shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter where you start - we’ll all be moving around - as you no doubt saw yesterday. And hopefully we… well, we might run into each other with the three of us.” An attractive blush colors his cheeks. “I’ve never played with two partners before.”

Karl’s heart skips a beat and the tips of his ears go red. Everything about this moment is so forbidden yet there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Mackenzie’s amused hum sounds in the tall room. “Then, we’ll be sure to go easy on you.”

If possible, Camille’s smile widens, and it’s beautiful… he’s beautiful, Karl realizes. The thought hits him with a strange giddy happiness that of all the places on this big, beautiful ship that Camille could be - he’s choosing to share his beautiful smile with Karl and Mackenzie.

Camille turns to face the wall and rolls his shoulders. “We’ll do a couple of practice hits - or volleys - to get a feel for the order and warm up.” He raises his arm and lofts the ball into the air. With a solid swing, his racket connects with the ball to send it bouncing off the white wall. Karl kicks his feet into motion and manages - just barely - to catch it on his racket’s edge. It banks off a side wall before smacking against the back wall.

“Nice shot!” Camille’s call echoes off the stark wall. “Now, Mackenzie!”

The Scotsman hustles across the floor with a strong swing of his racket and hits the ball to send it sailing towards the back wall. It springs back with a dull thud, and Camille runs to meet it.

Time disappears as they exist in their own world. The ball’s thuds punctuate the air, mixed with their laughter, encouraging calls, and heavy breathing. Sweat gathers on their brows as their bodies move around the court - and it doesn't take long for Karl to shrug off his jacket and vest. He’s never had an opportunity to learn if he was a so-called athletic man, but he takes to the racket with inherent ease.

Of course, Camille is the most consistent and accurate hitter. It makes Karl want to watch him closer, to learn his secrets and match his skill. The taller man is poetry in motion - just like he was yesterday - even though he still wears his dark evening suit. That fact alone almost makes it worse, especially not helped when Camille sheds his dark suit jacket and pulls his bow tie free of his shirt collar. Karl’s mouth goes dry at the exposed glimpses of the hollow of Camille’s throat. And when they collide on a missed hit, Karl’s heart seizes as he breathes in the scent of exertion that mixes with hints of the Frenchman's cologne. It doesn’t help when his eyes connect with Camille’s, and the taller man’s eyes go wide with open fondness and something far more… desirous.

But Mackenzie is equally enthralling. There’s such unassuming strength to the third officer, and Karl admires the man’s nimble movements. His easy-rolling laughter speaks to the overwhelming fondness warming Karl’s chest as he pulls his racket-hand back to strike the ball. After Mackenzie discards his tie to the growing pile of clothing, Karl nearly drops his racket as the man’s white sleeves are rolled up to reveal solid forearms. Karl’s instantly struck with the urge to feel those hands holding him down while Camille’s elegant hands trace other parts of his body.

Karl's cheeks already burn from the physical exertion, and his heart already races - but he should be far more mindful of such stray thoughts. Though, that's easier said than done - especially when he lunges for the ball and misses. He sprawls against the floor and finds Mackenzie’s extended hand in his face just as quick. The flushed warmth of Mackenzie’s skin just emphasizes the icy blue of his eyes as he holds Karl’s hand for a long moment once he’s found his feet.

As much as he enjoys his own moments with each of these men, he’s uniquely taken with Camille and Mackenzie’s interactions. He can’t be sure if he’s reading too much into it - but there seems to be a similar, mutual interest. A fascination - perhaps even an attraction - as they move and dance around each other in pursuit of the squash ball and an enjoyable evening.

In fact, it’s the most enjoyable evening Karl ever remembers.

Exhaustion catches up to all of them and, gradually, their movements slow. Karl lunges for a low ball, but Camille and Mackenzie can’t move away quick enough. He stumbles into them and rackets clatter to the floor as arms wrap around each other. The close contact takes his breath away as he registers the combined feel of Camille’s long, soft fingers and Mackenzie’s strong, sea-toughened hands burning through his shirt. The air goes thick as they each gasp for breath like men starved for it. He’s close enough to see the perspiration clinging to Camille’s skin and smell the tobacco on Mackenzie’s breath - and he wants. He wants with a force that tries his sanity and curls his toes as his fingers flex against Camille’s shoulder and Mackenzie’s upper arm. Somewhere in his mind, he knows it’s wrong to want one man with such all-consuming need, let alone two.

But right here, right now - he wants to know the taste of Camille’s tongue, he wants to know the press of Mackenzie’s mouth.

He slams his eyes shut to chase away the too-tempting images, not helped when a hot breath skims along his neck. He isn’t sure how long they all stand together or who moves away first. But all too soon, he finds himself alone, reeling from their absence and missing their searing heat against his skin. His cheeks burn and his chest heaves - but fortunately, the other two look just as worse for wear. Camille’s neck and cheeks are flushed a delicious shade as he runs a hand through his hair, gulping long, deep breaths. Mackenzie scrubs a hand over his face while the other rests against his hip as he, too, tries to tame his breathing.

Perhaps they each need a minute to collect themselves. Especially as Karl realizes how hard he strains against the front of his trousers. Especially when traitorous thoughts race in his mind. Fuck, what would it be to have Mackenzie’s hand wrapped around his cock with Camille’s long fingers teasing him open while the court's bright lights blaze above him? He bites his lip to stifle a needy whimper and tries to discreetly adjust his aching need in the confines of his trousers before turning around.

Camille stoops to pick up two of the forgotten rackets. “A most enjoyable game, gentlemen.”

The corner of Mackenzie’s mouth lifts, and his eyes glitter as if he wants to say more than he knows he should. “Quite so. Is it too presumptuous to say that we should do it again sometime?”

Of course, Karl knows that he’s only here at Mackenzie’s grace - this facility is only exclusive to first class passengers, after all - so, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches an unrestrained, gorgeous smile fill out Camille’s face as the Frenchman nods. “I would like that very much.” His warm eyes land on Karl. “What do you say, Karl?”

“And don’t ask if you’re invited,” Mackenzie interrupts, carding his fingers through his hair with a mischievous smirk beneath his bright eyes, “after tonight, well… I don’t think I'm alone in saying that the three of us want to spend more time together, however we can.”

Karl’s heart skips a beat as his mouth goes dry. It’s everything he wants and yet knows that he shouldn’t have. He doesn’t let it stop him from being selfish, from risking everything just to be with them however he can. Glancing between both of their cautiously hopeful smiles, Karl nods. “I would enjoy seeing you both again - either here, or wherever we can meet….” Karl doesn’t need to say the rest - even in their shirtsleeves, there’s still no mistaking the fine-cloth tailoring of Camille’s clothing to the standard-issue design of Mackenzie's to the unrefined, coarse fabric of Karl’s clothing.

None of that seems to bother the other two men – his societal betters, supposedly – as they exchange a warm, fond smile.

It stays with Karl long after he returns to the third class common area and finally lays down in his narrow berth. Memories of the evening replay endlessly in his mind as heat burns along his skin. He yearns to take himself in hand, to indulge the attraction welling within him, but a grunting snore from his bunkmate stills his hand.

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 3

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, M/M/M sexual fantasies, period typical & internalized homophobia, overbearing parent

Chapter Word Count: 6.3k

Ch. 3 - 12 April 1912

Camille sips the last of his coffee. Outside the restaurant window, sunshine dazzles on the dark blue water as Titanic continues to cut westward. Gentle string music floats in the air, mingling with the low din of conversation and clinking of dishware. By all accounts, it’s a most agreeable morning. There should be no cause for unease to settle in Camille’s chest, but it lingers all the same.

He can’t stop turning yesterday’s meeting in the hospital over in his mind. He can’t stop seeing Karl’s lovely, rich brown eyes in the warm light, and the cautious interest that the younger man harbors. He can’t stop hearing Gordon’s infectious energy and remembering the wells of intriguing mischief that lurk in his sky blue eyes.

As the coffee continues to wash over his tongue, he can’t fight the overwhelming urge that he wants to see them both again. He wants to see them both together - to find some way, impossibly perhaps, for them to spend more time together. Preferably alone and away from any prying eyes.

Objectively, he knows that he shouldn’t feel this way. His father would be absolutely appalled if he learned of Camille wanting to spend time with his societal inferiors. Well, supposed societal inferiors. For as he continues to think of the Scotsman and the German, he knows there’s nothing inferior about them. Perhaps they’re even a better sort than he is. He doubts that they have to live quite the same lie as him. After all, it’s too much to hope that the two men could ever possibly even begin to return the feelings that are blooming in Camille’s chest. He’s always been a hopeless romantic, but even by his standards, this is something new.

He exhales a slow sigh, raising his coffee cup only to find it empty. For a brief moment, he considers a refill but decides against it - the plush chair is already starting to irritate his back.

“Ah, good morning young Mr. Audebert.”

Camille looks up to see the politely smiling, jovial face of Colonel Archibald Gracie. He nods in greeting as he sets his coffee cup down. “Good morning, Colonel. You’re looking very well this morning.”

The older man pats a hand over the jacket of his finely appointed morning suit. “Thank you, my boy. Indeed, I feel very well on this fine morning. And quite spry, too!” He chuckles warmly. “And if I may continue to intrude upon your morning, would you be interested in meeting me on the squash count in an hour? I have a match time reserved, and if memory serves, you’re quite an adept opponent.”

Bashful heat rises in Camille’s cheeks as the corner of his mouth lifts. “That is indeed high praise. I don’t claim much expertise at the sport, but I would be pleased to join you this morning.”

“Splendid!” The man’s smile widens under his bushy mustache. “Absolutely splendid! I’ll meet you on the court presently, and I’ll let the instructor know that his assistance shan’t be required.”

Camille nods in parting agreement as the colonel walks away from his table. Glancing down at the empty coffee cup one last time, Camille pushes up from his chair. As he walks back to his stateroom, he’s surprisingly grateful for the colonel’s invitation. He isn’t entirely sure what he would have done to pass the morning otherwise. He could take his sketchbook topside and see if anything inspires him, but his father has made his opinion of the dreadful leather-bound book abundantly clear. With five more full days at sea, the last thing Camille wants to do is provoke a deliberate disagreement with his father in such small quarters.

Thankfully, his father is nowhere to be seen in the sitting room, and Camille doesn’t bother to knock on his stateroom door before disappearing into his own bedroom. With the connected wardrobe, he doesn’t need to bother Ponchel to assist with dressing. Stripping out of his dark morning suit, he quickly changes into his appropriate sporting attire. The trousers are a light, almost-white sort of grey, to contrast with his white dress shirt and navy-charcoal striped tie. He rounds the ensemble off with a cream colored cardigan and charcoal snap-brim cap over his raven hair. With a final glance in the mirror, he confirms that he looks presentable enough.

Though, it’s just his luck that René emerges from his stateroom just as Camille re-enters the sitting room. His father arches a brow as he takes in Camille’s appearance, and Camille braces for the inevitable reprimand.

René waves a vague hand in his direction. “It would appear that I need to have a word with Ponchel about outfitting you in such an embarrassing ensemble. Why on earth are you dressed like that?”

Of course, his father would never deign to such a demeaning pastime as physical exercise. Not when there was a stable nearby and a horse could run in his stead. Camille gives a vague wave at his appearance. “Colonel Gracie has invited me to a round of squash this morning.”

“And will the Colonel be dressed equally as ridiculous?”

“More than likely,” Camille sighs as he walks towards the hallway. “Wool suits are not well suited for physical sport.”

“Do be sure to change your attire before lunch.” René calls after him. “It won’t do to make such a spectacle of yourself.”

Camille closes the door behind him, swallowing down a stab of frustration. His father never missed an opening to express his disappointment, and Camille wonders if he’ll ever be accustomed to it. Exhaling another deep sigh, he leaves the corridor behind and glances around the reception area surrounding the Grand Staircase. Sunlight gleams off the polished wood as other passengers stroll by, engaged in low conversation as they move about the ship. Two ladies pass, offering polite nods that he respectfully returns. As he looks forward again, his gaze connects with the most familiar pair of sky blue eyes.

His heart flutters as he watches a warm smile of recognition light the third officer’s face as the Scotsman comes to an easy stop. He folds his hands behind his back, and the brass buttons of his handsome uniform catch in the brilliant morning light. Camille can’t help a discrete, appreciative glance up and down the man’s trim figure. Nor can he stop his heart from skipping a beat when he catches Gordon’s eyes running over his own appearance.

“Good morning, Mr. Audebert,” Gordon’s smile widens with enticing mischief. “You look like you’re off on a mission.”

A fond smile tugs at the corner of Camille’s mouth. “I am, in fact. I’m set for a squash match this morning, though I do not profess much talent for it.”

Gordon’s eyes dart from side to side before stepping closer and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’d say that you’re a far more athletic figure than most of the men in your class aboard. I have no doubt that you’ll represent yourself well.”

Flattered heart blooms along Camille’s skin and arousal sparks in his veins as Gordon continues to hold his gaze. There’s something unspoken in those mesmerizing blue pools, and Camille wants to dive in to find out. He wants to pull Gordon away from his official business and find a quiet place where they can talk without pretense, without duty, and perhaps… perhaps they would do more than talk. Is it possible that Camille’s found another man who harbors the same inclinations as him? Who would rather feel the rasp of facial hair instead of a woman’s soft skin?

Gentle, trilling laughter over his shoulder cuts through his thoughts, and Camille snaps back to himself. Forcing a swallow against a dry mouth, he tries to summon words as he feels his cheeks burn. “That’s… thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

Gordon’s smile widens, and he nods his head as if equally reluctant to let the moment pass.

Camille takes a sharp breath. “Though, I confess that I’m not entirely sure that I know the way to the squash court. Perhaps you… if you’re agreeable, would you be willing to show me the way?”

Excited relief sparks in Gordon’s gaze as he nods again. “It’d be my genuine pleasure.” He holds out a hand towards the door leading to the boat deck. “This way.”

Camille falls into step with him, and a sudden wave of anxious nerves overtakes him. The last thing he wants is any misunderstanding. “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time from your duties.”

“Helping passengers during my rounds is part of my duties.” Gordon flashes him a reassuring smile as they step out into the warm sun and gentle breeze. “And, truly, if you ever need assistance, I do hope that you will ask, and I will do all that I can.”

“That is much appreciated.” Absently, he wonders how far that offer extends. Would Gordon help solve the worthlessness that he feels? Would Gordon help steal him away from his father’s influence? Would Gordon kiss him senseless in the dark shadows? He settles for a far simpler question instead. “Aside from helping passengers during rounds, are you willing to share the other duties that occupy your time?”

A startling look of modesty comes to Gordon’s face as they traverse the deck. “It’s nothing too glamorous, I’m afraid. Deck rounds, watch of the bridge, celestial observation and navigation.”

“That last one certainly sounds important.”

“It is, indeed. Wouldn’t do for the Titanic to get lost on her maiden voyage.” He chuckles lightly. “You needn’t worry - she’s in good hands.”

Camille brushes closer to his side as they walk, dropping his voice in a mirror of Gordon’s tone earlier. “If you don’t mind me saying in return - your hands look more than capable. I have no doubt that you represent yourself well.” He watches a flattered smile grow on Gordon’s face, mesmerized by the man’s handsome expression. Camille’s heart clenches as he keeps talking without thinking. “I’ve always found that to be a fascinating skill: the ability to read the stars. They’re… an ever present map - a way to find your way wherever you are, or escape… It’s always with us, and yet… very few seem to realize it’s there.” A blush warms his cheeks as a modest smile tugs at his lips. “Myself included.”

The sea breeze blows between them in the lingering silence, and Camille’s stomach knots. Has he said too much? Has he spoken rambling nonsense? He glances back over at the officer, intrigued by the look of contemplation in the Scotsman’s bright blue eyes. As they step over towards a door off the deck, Gordon fixes him with a hesitant, hopeful smile as he pulls it open. “Perhaps… would you enjoy a primer on celestial observation? If you were interested, perhaps… we could arrange a meeting this evening?”

Camille’s heart leaps to his throat. The offer is more than he could hope for, and he wants with such a visceral force. He may be under his father’s watchful eye on this ship, but he intends to steal each moment for himself that he can. He fixes Gordon with a warm smile, not bothering to temper his excitement as they move down the wood-paneled corridor. “I would enjoy that very much, but I wouldn’t wish to deter you from your duties.”

“My bridge watch ends at 2000 hours. It would be my genuine pleasure to meet with you any time after.”

Camille’s heart flutters. “Let’s say 21:00. I should be able to leave the dinner table with little difficulty.”

Concern creases Gordon’s face as they enter a stairwell, descending deeper into the ship. “I shouldn’t wish to put you in a compromising situation.”

A bolt of heat settles in Camille’s gut. If Gordon only knew just how compromising a position Camille was willing to take for him. He fights the thought, forcing himself to the conversation at hand. “It’s not a problem. I simply meant that my father would take issue if I left the table before dessert was served.”

Interest sparks in the officer’s gaze as they emerge from the stairwell into a brightly lit, white paneled hallway. “As you say. I wouldn’t want to give the impression of prying into your business.”

It startles Camille when he realizes that he doesn’t mind. That, actually, he wants Gordon to pry into his business. He wants to speak to this man without pretense, without fear, without concern for what society deems appropriate. He wets his lips to speak, but stops short when Gordon pushes through a door to reveal the squash court spectator gallery. With plush chairs behind a glass wall, it looks like the lounge that Camille would expect. Beyond the glass wall, the stark white and striped court stretches beyond. He doesn't see Colonel Gracie yet, so perhaps he can steal one more minute with Gordon. He looks over at the officer, letting a smile grow on his face. “Thank you again for your time this morning. I’m sure this was out of your way.”

“Not at all.” Gordon quickly reassures. “I enjoyed conversing with you again. And… I’m quite looking forward to reuniting this evening.”

“Absolutely,” Camille agrees with a nod before forcing a sudden swallow. “And… if you happen to see Mr. Horstmayer again, please give him my best regards.”

Pleasant surprise sparks in Gordon’s eyes as he nods. “Of course, I shall be most happy to.”

He nods again, wishing he could ask for the officer to arrange a meeting, but he knows that there are rules. As much as his heart flutters at the memory of those enticing brown eyes, he knows that he’ll have to settle for just that. A memory.

But as he reconciles himself to the truth of the situation and turns for the squash court, he can’t deny the wicked, mischievous smirk that grows on the third officer’s face.

Gordon watches Camille descend the stairs towards the squash court and doesn’t disguise the full force of his smile. If Camille only knew the idea forming in his mind, he wonders if he would see that delightful flush return to the Frenchman's cheeks.

Turning swiftly, Gordon closes the spectator gallery door behind him and quickly takes to the stairs. He knows this ship like the back of his hand, and it takes him no time to reach his cabin. Fortunately, he doesn’t run into Murdoch or Wilde, and he reaches for his brass key ring before ducking inside. It’s a humble, functional space that suits him, and the wood paneling on the wall is by far the nicest furnishing that he’s ever had in a cabin before.

He flips open the lid of his modest trunk and rummages to the bottom. His non-White Star Line issued clothing doesn't get much use these days but he has a specific purpose in mind when he fishes out a long black tie. A satisfied, excited grin lights his face as he locks his cabin door behind him. Again skirting around the watchful eye of his senior officers, he returns to the deck and heads for third class.

The areas allocated for single male passengers in third class are confined to the bow, and it makes for quick work of his search. Karl sits at one of the long tables in the common room, keeping uninterested watch over some card game. He’s not holding a hand of cards, and a pang shoots through Gordon to see him sitting so alone. But with any luck, that’s about to change.

The young German looks up as Gordon approaches, his brown eyes brightening with warm surprise. Gordon nods with a smile. “Good morning, Karl.”

“Good morning,” Karl replies, warily running his gaze over Gordon’s appearance. “I… I assume that you’re about some official duty?”

“Perhaps not as official as it should be.” The corner of his mouth curls with distinct mischief. “But Mr. Audebert extends his best regards, and if you’re not otherwise occupied - would you be willing to accompany me?”

Karl’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Mr. Audebert?” Flattered recognition warms his gaze. “That’s kind of him. And I… well, I am sitting here as you see me.”

“Then, shall we?” Gordon encourages with a gentle motion towards the common room door.

The cautious disbelief doesn’t fade from Karl’s face even as he slowly rises. “May I ask where-”

“Consider it a surprise.” He watches Karl’s brow knit to match a suspicious frown. It’s a far more adorable look than a man of Karl’s age should be capable of.

“I wouldn’t wish to do anything that jeopardizes your position on the ship… or my own.”

Gordon says nothing as Karl falls into step at his side, and they move across the common room. Only once in the mostly empty, white-enameled steel hallways does he allow himself a soft whisper. “If we play our cards right, then neither one of us should be at risk.” He reaches for his key ring and unlocks a door with a distinct ‘Crew Only’ sign above the door frame.

He steps inside the narrow corridor and motions for Karl to follow. Karl still looks distrusting, but the curious interest in his gaze wins out as he follows Gordon behind the door. Gordon locks it shut, adjusting his jacket in place over the key ring. “Here,” he says, holding the black tie out to Karl. “Do up your top shirt button and tie this in a half-decent knot.” With another suspicious side-glare, Karl takes the tie as he reaches for his shirt button. Gordon’s heart skips a beat as he watches Karl’s nimble fingers work the black fabric under his shirt collar.

Karl swears low under his breath as an idea dawns on him, some rough string of German that curls heat down Gordon’s spine. “You cannot be serious,” Karl hisses. “Please tell me that you’re not sneaking me into first class, that… have you no regard for self-preservation?”

Gordon stops at the end of the narrow corridor, turning around so suddenly that Karl bumps into him before he can stop. Static charges the air when Gordon realizes just how close, how reckless, how exhilarating the thrill of the moment is. His breathing quickens as he watches Karl’s dark eyes sweep over his face before speaking. “Do you want to see Mr. Audebert again?”

The obvious answer brightens Karl’s face as hope sparks in his gaze. A smile tugs at the corner of Karl’s mouth, and Gordon remembers how lovely his full smile was yesterday, despite the split lip that is much improved. In fact, he remembers just how lovely Karl and Camille both looked sitting on that wooden bench together. How much lovelier would they look on a plush settee, thighs touching and hands intertwined as they got to know each other better?

He catches a blush rising in his cheeks and tramps down on such thoughts. Instead, he focuses back on Karl in front of him - so close and so lovely - as the younger man struggles to find words. Instead, Gordon offers a gentle nod and takes pity on him. “Then, let’s go up to E Deck.”

Karl offers no protest as Gordon opens the stairwell door and leads the way.

His chest tightens with the thrill of excitement as they ascend the decks. Of course, he knows this is cavalier and borderline reckless, but that only makes it more thrilling. He stops on the E Deck landing, and turns back to Karl, but the other man catches himself before they collide. Gordon runs his eyes down Karl’s appearance with an appraising sweep before looking back to the man’s warm, brown eyes. “May I?”

Karl’s breath catches, but he slowly nods. Gordon reaches up for the tie, centering it and squaring the knot before smoothing out the lines of Karl’s collar. His fingers occasionally brush the skin of Karl’s neck, and the most delicious flush starts to grow on the taller man’s cheeks. It rushes heat along Gordon’s skin, and he has to school his hopeful anticipation. He lowers his hands but doesn’t stop himself from offering Karl an encouraging wink as he turns to open the stairwell door.

The rich, warm wood corridor that greets them matches the rest of the finer appointments for first class, and they move towards the spectator gallery. As they round a corner, Gordon swipes a daily newspaper from the wall-mounted rack and holds it out to Karl. “Tuck this under your arm.”

Karl takes the paper booklet, flipping through it with a puzzled brow. “What is this?”

“Today’s copy of the Daily Atlantic Bulletin – the daily newspaper for first class passengers.”

Karl’s eyes widen in disbelief, but he tucks the paper under his arm as instructed. “What sort of news could there possibly be this far out at sea?”

“It reports on the latest stock prices and horse-racing results. Daily menus for the first class eateries are also included, as well as the latest society gossip.”

Karl wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Gordon gently chuckles before speaking again. “I agree that it’s a bit superfluous, but what better way to describe the extravagance of the upper class, aye?”

An uneasy look crosses Karl’s face despite the kindred agreement that shows in his eyes. Perhaps the taller man is unwilling to speak ill of the hand that feeds him, so to speak. For his part, Gordon has spent years at the beck and call of the privileged class, and perhaps that’s why Camille strikes him so. For someone of such wealth and class, he’s uncommonly considerate and not self-absorbed.

He reaches for the door to the spectator gallery, fixing Karl with one last glance. “Remember: just act like you belong here and no one will question you.” It warms Gordon’s heart to watch Karl square his shoulders, assuming a more confident stance. It’s an appealing sight – nearly as appealing as the taller man moving around the squash court.

As they move into the empty gallery, both of their attentions focus on Camille. He’s graceful on long legs, and the strong swings of his arm are true as the ball bounces around the room. His grunts and cries of exertion are alive with bright energy, and his flushed smile is infectious as he converses with his squash partner. As Gordon continues to watch the Frenchman move around the court, he can’t help but feel like a voyeur despite the public setting.

Warmth flutters in his chest and elsewhere in his anatomy. Especially as he glances over and watches the guarded appreciation in Karl’s expression as he gazes down at Camille. The tempting flush from the stairwell burns hotter on Karl’s cheeks, and Mackenzie is nearly overcome with the urge to whisper unforgivably naughty thoughts in Karl’s ear.

What would it be for them to be entangled with Camille’s strength? To have those long legs wrapped around his waist? To have those capable hands wrapped around aching cocks with the same elegant grace that they grip the squash racket? Gordon coughs low in his throat as he grows uncomfortable against the fit of his trousers. He shifts his stance, discreetly adjusting himself to try and ease the pressure. It’s a marginal improvement, but if Karl notices, he doesn’t look discomforted by it. Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign, or perhaps, he’s just too taken with watching Camille.

Either way, Mackenzie doesn’t mind. He intends to savor this moment for as long as he can. As his gaze continues to flicker between Camille and Karl, another brilliant idea forms in his mind. Again, he clears his throat softly. “Karl?” His voice comes thick, not helped when Karl’s eyes meet his with something dark and delicious tinting the amber-honey warmth. “Would you be agreeable to meet again this evening? Say 2100 hours?”

Hours later, Karl still can’t quite believe it. Memories of this morning’s squash match play over and over in his mind. All too clearly he recalls how agile Camille moved on strong legs, how his hair hung loose over his brow, how the exertion pinkened his cheeks in the most appealing way. Arousal had heated Karl’s blood as he stood in the spectator gallery, threatening with each breath to pool in a most inappropriate place. At least, it should be inappropriate, especially with Mackenzie next to him in the gallery.

But that only added to Karl’s struggle to control himself. The Scotsman had tried to be discreet, but Karl’s excitement had only grown with the older man’s attempts to adjust his trousers while a flush grew on his face to contrast his sky blue eyes. Karl’s heart clenches with hopeful anticipation on the memory. Was it… is it truly possible that Karl isn’t alone in his unnatural attractions? Had the third officer been as affected as Karl simply by watching the Frenchman?

Karl’s mind continues to spin as he paces along the forward well deck. Ever since he agreed to meet Mackenzie at 2100 hours, anxious butterflies have lingered in his stomach. By the time he left the common room at 20:58, he could barely contain his curiosity. A cool breeze nips at his skin as he wraps his arms around his torso for warmth beneath the night sky. Only a few other passengers mingle in the shadows at this late hour, and Karl glances around again. He hopes that he isn’t late - or that the clock on the common room wall isn’t slow. It sickens him to think that he may have missed Mackenzie, but he doesn’t have a pocket watch of his own.

Crisp, officious footsteps sound on the wood decking behind him, and Karl’s heart leaps to this throat. He turns to see Mackenzie’s familiar, uniformed figure striding towards him. The officer holds a curious metal tube in one hand, and a mischievous gleam lights his eyes in the golden deck glow. He offers Karl a nod with a pleasant smile. “Evening. I’m pleased to see the chill hasn’t run you back inside.”

Unconsciously, Karl tucks the edges of his jacket closer. “I’m used to much colder wind than this.”

Mackenzie nods in acknowledgement. “Well, we won’t be in the head wind for much longer.” He tilts his head towards the exposed staircase lurking in the shadow of the cargo crane. “Shall we?”

Remembering all too well how this morning played out, Karl allows himself to cross the deck at Mackenzie’s side but stops short when the officer swings open the gate for him. He fixes Mackenzie with a concerned look. “Once again… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I do hold a third class ticket.”

“And officially, you’re allowed to be almost anywhere on the ship under an officer’s supervision and discretion. Both of which you already have.” The deck lighting illuminates the tempting smile on Mackenzie’s face, and a visceral stab of want wedges in Karl’s chest. He takes the last few steps forward before he can overthink it, and Mackenzie locks the gate behind them before ascending.

When Karl sets foot on the solid decking, he can’t resist glancing out over the bow of the ship. In the inky shadows, he can just make out the sharp v-point of the bow as Titanic cuts through the night. No moonlight shimmers on the dark ocean, but the stars glitter and twinkle in the heavens above him.

The corner of his mouth lifts with appreciation, and he turns to find Mackenzie's gaze fixed squarely on him. Despite the rushing, chilly wind, heat still rises in Karl’s cheeks as he speaks. “This is a first class deck, isn’t it?”

Mackenzie nods as he looks away to secure the safety chain across the staircase. “Aye, B Deck. But we have two more to go.”

Karl shakes his head as he follows Mackenzie across the empty deck towards another exterior staircase that extends upwards. His shoes thunk against the metal as they climb and he can’t stop himself from asking. “Do you always flaunt the rules so callously like this?”

Honestly, Karl wouldn’t be surprised if Mackenzie slaps him or takes him straight back down to the forward well deck. It’s such an ungrateful question, but Karl’s curiosity demands satisfaction. He refuses to be Mackenzie’s unwitting pawn.

As they walk through the light and shadows of A Deck, Mackenzie’s eyes leave no room for doubt. “Truthfully, I have never been so flagrant, but this…,” he trails off as he sharply turns away from Karl. “This is something new and different.” He motions towards yet another staircase, and Karl is left with the vague answer as the great expanse of the night sky yawns above him.

Clearing the last step onto the Boat Deck, Karl’s smile widens as he takes in the vast expanse of stars. He’s never seen the starry sky so vibrant, sparkling like some dark-faceted gemstone.

“Beautiful, aye?” Mackenzie’s voice floats at his side.

Karl sweeps his gaze around before settling back to the handsome officer. “Yes.” His gaze drifts over Mackenzie’s shoulder, fixing on another figure standing half-haloed in golden light and half-veiled in dark shadows. His mouth goes dry, stunned at the sight. “So beautiful….”

And truly, the sight of Camille in his evening finery is something to behold. His elegant black dinner suit fits him in trim, tailored lines, and the white tie is pristinely knotted at his throat. Light glints off the gold pocket watch tucked against the white waistcoat and the gold of his signet ring. The taller man’s hair is neatly styled, and light glitters in his lovely brown eyes. Karl wants to see those sparkling brown pools up close, to peel Camille out of each decadent layer, to chase the flush that he remembers from this morning across each patch of newly exposed skin. Heady arousal pools in Karl’s belly as his own cheeks flush. He forces a hard swallow as he tries to will the thoughts away.

“Beautiful, indeed.” Mackenzie’s voice drifts over his shoulder as the dark-uniformed man steps forward. He nods towards Camille with a warm smile. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Camille’s polished dress shoes clip across the deck as he glances between Mackenzie and Karl. “How lovely to see you both again.” His gaze settles to Mackenzie as his smile sharpens with a shrewd edge. “You’ve certainly done far more than just give Mr. Horstmayer my best regards. I’d say that I should be more careful, but I’m hardly disappointed.”

Heat blooms in Karl’s cheeks as he turns to face Mackenzie. “He didn’t know about this?”

Mackenzie looks far too pleased with himself as he glances between the two men. “On our walk to the squash court, we arranged a 2100 hour meeting this evening for a primer on reading the stars. After this morning’s conversations with both of you separately, I wagered that this would be a pleasant surprise.” He preens with satisfaction under both Camille and Karl’s smiles. “I’m glad to see that proven true.”

Karl’s breathing quickens, remembering everything from the squash match this morning. Does Camille know that he and Mackenzie stood watch in the spectator gallery? The memories of this morning coupled with this moment now feel so illicit, and yet Karl wouldn’t let wild horses drag him away.

Mackenzie’s eyes shine with fond warmth, and he gives a wave of the unknown metal tube in his hand. “This way, gentlemen. Everything has been arranged.”

They move further aft, and the golden light of the ship’s interior fades. In the shadows, Karl can see three deck chairs arranged close together. Blankets are draped across the foot of each chair, and Karl is struck with another moment of incredulity. Especially as he watches Mackenzie step up to the chair in the middle, and Camille takes up the chair on his left. With his heart in his throat, he takes the chair on Mackenzie’s right and stretches out. The heavens spread before his eyes as he gazes up at the brilliant display.

“Welcome to the night sky.” Mackenzie says softly, giving a broad sweep of his hand still holding the metal tube that crosses into Karl’s vision. “Our guide, our map that helps us navigate this vast ocean.” A beam of light shoots out from the metal tube, and Karl gasps in wonder. He’s never seen such a device before.

“How ingenious.” Camille’s voice carries. “What is it called?”

“They call it an electric torch,” Mackenzie chuckles as he shines it upwards. “I picked it up on a whim from a vendor, but it’s been surprisingly useful. Though, we’ll see how well it serves as a teaching aide. Now, for Polaris: the north star – a sailor’s best friend.” He sweeps the beam around, pointing to stars as he continues to speak.

It’s mesmerizing to listen to Mackenzie explain the constellations. Karl had no idea there was so much to know, so much to remember. The torch’s beam isn’t fine enough for him to clearly understand exactly which star is which, but it hardly matters. The Scotsman’s brogue is rich with passion for a subject of his profession, and it grips Karl with enthralling intrigue. He curls onto his side, darting his gaze down to run over Mackenzie’s navy-suit clad form, and he longs to curl up against Mackenzie, to nuzzle the man’s neck. And what would it be to have Camille cozy up to Mackenzie’s other side? To have their hands and fingers connect while their mouths explore?

A stab of want pierces through him, and he exhales a deep sigh to fight it back. Especially when he notices how Camille is also similarly turned in, leaning towards Mackenzie as if drawn by the allure of his voice. It rushes more yearning heat through Karl as he turns back towards the sky and lets himself be lulled by Mackenzie’s lesson.

At length, the Scotsman sighs, seemingly satisfied. It’s a comfortable silence as the three men lay under the stars, just watching them spin overhead.

“Your passion is hypnotic,” Camille says gently. “Surely, it must go beyond a professional interest.”

Mackenzie hums gently. “My da was a mariner, and he hooked my interest in the stars from an early age. Even just beyond the usefulness of it in navigation.” He sighs as the wind continues to wash over them. “He also taught me that… that whenever I’m troubled, or have too many cares to hold on to, I should speak my troubles to the wind and let it carry them up to the heavens. Up to the angels, I suppose. Even during the daylight, the stars are always with us, watching over us – the keepers of our secrets and woes.” He laughs breathy, as if just realizing how fanciful his words are. “I’m never sure myself if they are carried up to the angels or if they fall down to the demons… but no matter where they go, it always manages to make me feel better.”

Karl blinks back at the sky. He’s never heard such an idea before, and it makes him wonder. How many centuries of troubled human lives have those stars presided over? Are they truly just indifferent stewards of human existence?

Camille’s sigh sounds on the wind. “I don’t want to go to America.” His words sweep off the deck nearly as quickly as they sound. “I don’t want any of the marriage prospects arranged by my father.”

Karl’s breath catches at the revelations, his heart clenching.

Another long sigh sounds from Camille. “I don’t want his business enterprise that takes without thought of what it gives back. Is it so wrong to want to create something that contributes to more than just perpetuating the wealth of my lineage?”

Karl can’t even begin to understand the base of Camille’s struggle, but he understands the lost dejection in Camille’s voice. Anyone forced into a life they don’t want would surely feel the same, and a knot of anxiety twists his stomach. He shifts against the chair, looking back at the stars as he finds his voice. “I don’t know what I will do in America. My family… this is their dream for me, and no matter how I tried… they insisted.” He works a hard swallow down his throat. “How do I live up to a dream that isn’t mine?”

“How do I deny who I am to live the life expected of me?” Camille echoes gently.

Mackenzie’s sigh carries on the breeze. “How do we deny our true selves to be what others expect of us? Is that a life truly lived? Or merely endured?”

Karl longs to reach over and hold both of their hands. Not that he has any words of reassurance, but he’d hold both of them close with every fiber of his being if he could.

If he only could.

He shifts against the deck chair to ease the pressure on his hip. “To live a life in hiding… but what would it be to live differently? To live as I wanted?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if the angels can help or not, but... you’re right, Mackenzie – there is something… peaceful about just letting it go on the wind….”

“And it is just that – on the wind, and confidential to the present company. I…,” Mackenzie's words trail off with uncharacteristic hesitance. “I’m beyond honored that you both would share all of that in my company. I hadn’t meant... well, I hope that neither of you felt pressed or unduly compelled-.”

“No, Mackenzie,” Camille reassures, and the conviction in his voice leaves no room for doubt. “I said those things because I… wanted to. And for the second time today, I… I did what I wanted to do.”

Karl’s heart goes out to both Camille and Mackenzie as affection grows in his chest, and he wants to do everything in his power to stay in this moment. He never wants to say goodnight, he never wants to say goodbye. If only he had the power to stop time, he would lay with the two of them under the stars forever.

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

Text

Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 2

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, fist-fight violence, period typical & internalized homophobia, overbearing parent, Phantom of the Opera references

Chapter Word Count: 3.4k

Ch. 2 - 11 April 1912

Karl rests his elbows on the deck railing and stares out over the open ocean. The Irish coast steadily fades into the distance, and he exhales another plume of smoke. He has much to do once he reaches New York, but for now - he has nothing to do but wait.

The idleness doesn’t sit well with him. Even while his family scrimped and saved every last gold mark - unbeknownst to him - there was always something for him to do. Whether working at the factory, assisting his uncle in the bakery, or minding his younger siblings. As the oldest of eight children, he had tried to tell his parents to take back the third class ticket on Titanic. That surely the money was much needed elsewhere, and he didn’t need to follow in Cousin Herschel’s footsteps, but they insisted.

A better life awaits him in America, they said. A better chance at prosperity in a land that he can make his own.

He drops his gaze to the churning whitewater as the ship gains in speed. Regardless of his feelings on the matter, it’s too late to turn back. He takes another drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up into the strong wind. The forward well deck is relatively sheltered from the brunt of the wind off the bow, but he still made sure to pull his cap down tight over his head.

He takes another deep inhale of comforting smoke, jostling as a solid hand lands on his shoulder. Biting back an annoyed grumble, he turns to find Jörg standing alongside him. The taller, blonde man is a pleasant enough fellow, and Karl is grateful that he doesn’t snore, since he occupies the bottom bunk below Karl’s.

Jörg takes a deep inhale of the sea air. “You smell that?” His voice is jovial and bright. “That’s the smell of something greater on the horizon. A new life - a new start!”

Karl raises his nearly-spent cigarette to his lips with a gentle nod. “That’s what I’m told.”

“And it’s true,” Jörg insists. “My brother, he writes to me of this land of plenty - of Kansas and all the prosperity.” He smiles wide as he stares out at the dark blue water. “I’m going straight there once we arrive in New York.” The excitement in his tone builds as his smile bursts with barely contained joy. “I have everything I own in a trunk down below, and I… I’m going to make this new life. I might - who knows!” He laughs, loud and happy. “I might even find a pretty American girl to marry!”

Karl takes one final inhale of his cigarette before tossing the remains down into the turbulent water. “Those all sound like good things. I hope that you find each and every one of them.”

“America is the land of promise!” Jörg encourages. “Of hope! And yet… all I see is trouble on your face, young Karl.”

A sad smirk teases the corner of Karl’s mouth. “Perhaps. I’ve just left everyone I’ve ever known and loved behind on a fool’s hope to find my cousin and follow in his footsteps because it’s what my family thinks is best.” He shakes his head. “They’re probably not wrong, and certainly… being aboard this ship is a privilege unto itself, but….” He swallows hard and can’t bring himself to say the rest.

Ever since the ticket landed in his hand, he’s never been sure if this journey is meant for him.

Jörg gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “I have faith, Karl. You’ll get to know new people, and, surely, you’ll get to love new people, too.” His face brightens with a jovial smile. “Perhaps you will find a pretty American girl to marry, too!”

Objectively, that’s what Karl knows he should want. He’s old enough to know that the desires that plague him are uncommon and not fitting for any level of society, yet… he can’t bring himself to live a charade. Perhaps that’s why his family thought he would do better in America since he never successfully courted a young lady at home.

He looks over at Jörg and summons a small, appreciative smile. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Jörg laughs warmly, giving Karl’s shoulder one last squeeze before dropping his hand to the railing. Raised voices sound behind them - encouraging cheers and whistles - and they turn to see a small group of men rallying around a tall, handsome man. Karl’s heard others speak of him - Sprink, as he’s called - and Karl’s seen him around the third class areas of the ship designated for single, male passengers.

With an almost embarrassed smile, Sprink stands tall in the shadow of the slumbering cargo crane as a small group of men form a half-circle around him, clapping and smiling. A stab of irritation shoots through Karl as he leans back against the railing. Last night in his designated common room after dinner, invited or not, Sprink had treated them all to a concert of various operatic tunes. While Karl could admit the man had a decent singing voice - in fact, it was almost a wonder that he wasn’t already a name, but perhaps that’s why he, too, sailed for America - he has no love of opera, and he has no desire to hear the man sing again.

As Sprink begins some new aria, Karl pushes off the railing and shoves his hands in his pockets. Perhaps he’ll find more peace and quiet in the common room, if not fresh air. The men clustered around Sprink show their open appreciation for his voice, but Karl can hear new jabs and dissent rise from the crowd as he passes.

“Oy!” A voice shouts near Karl’s ear. “Shut yer fuckin’ mouth! Not all of us asked to hear you sing!”

Annoyance flares in Karl’s gut as the same voice cries again. “Fuckin’ shut it already, ye fuckin’ Boche!”

“Hey!” Karl snaps before he can stop himself. He stares up at the dark-haired and bearded Englishman who glowers at him with fierce dark eyes. Karl draws a sharp breath to speak. “I didn’t ask to hear that man sing, either, but we both have the ability to leave the deck and not cause a scene.”

“Cause a scene?” The Englishman repeats in open mockery. “Cause a fucking scene?! Who’s causing a fuckin’ scene here?! I was just minding my business when that man opened his mouth.”

Karl’s jaw tenses as he shrugs an uncertain shoulder. “And I guess he’s allowed to - no one’s stopping him. So, if you don’t like it, you have the same allowance to go elsewhere on the ship.”

“Except this is where I wanna be.” The taller man steps forward, snarling down at Karl. “So, what are you going to do about it, ye fuckin’ Boche?”

Outrage simmers on Karl’s skin and his hand clenches to a fist at his side. He takes a second to collect himself but refuses to back down. “I’ll just repeat my advice - the ship is plenty big. I��m sure you can find another part of it where you won’t have to hear that man sing.”

“Advice?” The man shakes his head with a fierce growl. “I don’t need no fuckin’ advice from the likes of you!” He balls a hand and lets his fist fly.

The hit finds Karl’s jaw and stars burst into view as he hits the deck. Voices raise in alarm, and several men nearby rush to subdue his attacker. A whistle blares to life and official-sounding voices cry out above the blood pulsing in Karl’s ears.

“Knock it off, the lot of ye!” A sharp, authoritative Scottish voice snaps before another whistle rattles Karl’s eardrums. “You two - secure that man, and take him to the Master-at-Arms. A nice, long think in the brig should do him well.”

Karl blinks back to himself as he sits up against the wooden deck and rolls his jaw. Bruising pain throbs with the movement, and his head aches as he glances around. The crowd of men around him have parted and an officer stares down at him now. The man wears a neatly-trimmed mustache beneath his stormy blue eyes as he looks at Karl with open concern. He extends a hand, and Karl distantly takes note of the three gold stripes on the sleeve of his navy jacket. “Ye alright, lad?” The officer's Scottish syllables are nothing but kind, and Karl reaches out for his hand.

“Yes,” he groans as he’s helped to his feet. “At least… I think so. Or, will be at any rate.” Pain blooms along his bottom lip as he speaks, and he raises a prodding hand. The skin is swollen, and his fingers come away bloody

The Scottish officer nods gently. “Let’s get you to the hospital to get that taken care of. Possibly get you some tincture of arnica, too.”

Karl’s head spins as he blinks through the throbbing pain, and really, he isn’t in a place to argue. Gently, he nods, and the officer returns it as he speaks softly. “Alright, then - this way, if you please.” He holds out a guiding hand, and Karl falls into step with him.

He purposefully doesn’t meet the curious gazes of his fellow passengers as he walks with the officer across the deck. It’s no business of theirs what just happened or why his bottom lip is split. At least, he’s not the one leaving in handcuffs. The officer opens a door into the ship, and Karl’s grateful for a reprieve from the bright sunshine.

The engine’s vibrations beneath his feet are more prominent as he moves down the corridor at the officer’s side. As they walk, it strikes Karl that this man is handsome, especially bedecked in his official uniform.

As if he can feel the weight of Karl’s gaze, the officer looks over with a thin smile. “You did the right thing back there, you know.” He says gently with an odd note of pride in his voice. “It looked like you would have been well within your right to throw the first punch. But I’m very glad that you didn’t.”

Karl’s brow furrows. “How do you know that?”

A sheepish edge comes to the officer’s face that does nothing to detract from his attractive appeal. “I was making my rounds on First Class B Deck when I observed your brewing altercation - a connecting staircase with a gate let me reach you quickly.”

Karl’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he nods instead, wincing at the ache that shoots through his skull. The officer leads him into a stairwell and they leave C Deck behind, descending deeper into the ship. He glances over at the officer, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. “Thank you, I suppose… for coming down so quickly. I… I didn’t expect him to hit so hard.”

The officer huffs an amused breath. “You’re welcome - helping passengers is part of my job.” He turns to face Karl as they reach D Deck, and he opens the door. “What’s your name?”

“Karl Horstmayer.”

The officer’s smile grows. “A pleasure, Mr. Horstmayer. I’m Third Officer Mackenzie Gordon.”

“Please don’t,” Karl quickly says as disgust wrinkles his nose. “It’s Karl.”

“If you insist.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, in return, please don’t feel the need to stand on ceremony.” The officer’s eyes glitter with enticing mischief. “Mackenzie is quite alright by me.”

Fond warmth grows in Karl’s chest but he tries to snuff it out just as quickly. The last thing he needs is an unhealthy infatuation with this man. They continue down a narrow, winding, white-enameled steel corridor as they head towards the stern of the ship. Karl’s completely lost track of where they are, and he shakes his head. “I’m glad that you’re with me - surely, I would be lost by now.” He catches the amused lift of Gordon’s - Mackenzie’s - mouth. “How long did it take you to learn your way around the Titanic?”

“I’ve been onboard for two weeks, but she’s not so differently designed from other ships that I’ve served. Aside from some unique facilities - the swimming bath, the squash court, the gymnasium - the different class accommodations are fairly similar.” Mackenzie opens another door, and they emerge in a clean, cheery, wood-paneled corridor. It’s wider and not nearly as claustrophobic, but Karl still feels uneasy. Nothing in the third class accommodations looks this fancy.

He works a nervous swallow down his throat as he glances around. “Are you sure that I’m allowed to be here?”

Mackenzie’s brow furrows as he glances over with eyes that are far too earnest. “At my discretion, you’re allowed to go anywhere on this ship. It’s only your ticket price that limits your access on this ship, nothing else.”

A flattered smile cracks Karl’s face before he catches it, and he hisses as the cut in his lip splits further.

“Careful.” Mackenzie cautions gently as they round another corner in the corridor. “You won’t do well to make it-” He cuts off abruptly as he comes to a gentle stop. His gaze is captured by the man wandering down the other end of the corridor with an obvious look of confusion.

Karl’s stomach drops to his feet as the other man continues to approach and the finely tailored appointments of his day suit come into view. Even the stylish cut of the man’s hair and the cleanliness of his person betrays his status as a first class passenger, and Karl wishes the floor would swallow him up. It doesn’t help that the man is painfully handsome - and not just because of his finery.

“Mr. Audebert,” Mackenzie says with a warm note of greeting in his voice. “While it’s not an unpleasant surprise to see you, is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes - good day, Mr. Gordon,” the man’s lyrical French accent is gorgeous to Karl’s ears. “I was looking for the hospital, but I seem to have missed a turn or a corridor, perhaps…?”

Mackenzie nods in understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that you need medical assistance, but please - allow me to show you the way. I’m already escorting this gentleman there presently.”

The Frenchman’s dark-brown eyes land on Karl, and Karl braces for instant rebuke. But as he dares to hold the taller man’s gaze, none comes. Instead, the Frenchman's eyes soften with gentle concern. “I do hope your injury is not too serious.”

Heat rises in Karl’s cheeks without his permission as he gives a dismissive shake of his head. “No, sir. Just a disagreement on musical tastes.”

Amused interest sparks in the man’s lovely eyes as he arches a brow in surprise. “That’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard all day.”

Mackenzie gently chuckles as he looks between the two men. “Gentlemen, shall we?” He holds a hand open in invitation, and they continue down the corridor.

The Frenchman glances over at Karl. “And you needn’t call me ‘sir’. In truth, I’d prefer Camille, but I’ll leave it to you if you’re more comfortable with Mr. Audebert.”

Karl purses his lips and nods his head. Mr. Audebert - Camille - is unlike any other man he’s ever met, regardless of class status. He can’t help his growing smile as he glances over at the taller man. He draws a breath to speak, pausing instead when they reach the door for the hospital.

He steps inside, finding the interior just as nicely appointed as the hallway with warm paneling and patterned carpet. It’s a waiting room, and as Mackenzie steps up to the clerk in low conversation, Karl dutifully takes a seat on the wood-slat bench under the ‘Third Class Passenger’ sign. Across the room, he can see a collection of plush, cushioned seats for the first class passengers, and almost hates that Camille will sit so far away.

The bench seat creaks next to him, and he looks up in mild shock to see Camille sitting next to him with a shy smile. Karl blinks as he tries to find words. “I don’t… wouldn’t you be more comfortable in those?” He nods over at the first class passenger area, forcing an awkward swallow.

Camille shakes his head gently. “I find that overstuffed chairs aggravate my back and those,” he nods across the room for emphasis, “look ripe for discomfort.” He turns back to Karl with intrigue gleaming in his brown eyes. “Besides, I’m interested to hear more about the disagreement in musical tastes that led to your split lip.”

An embarrassed flush burns the tips of Karl’s ears, and he tries to brush it away with a dismissive shake of his head. “I’m afraid it’s not really all that interesting. A man started singing on deck, and another man didn’t care for it. But instead of taking his leave… he decided to make a scene.”

Camille’s eyes sweep carefully over Karl’s face. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer his scene. What was the music that inspired such a strong reaction?”

“Some opera song… I don’t know which.”

Amusement teases the corner of Camille’s mouth. “I should have known. Opera is full of drama and emotion, and most people have a strong reaction to it - even if it is one of violence.”

Laughter bubbles in Karl’s throat and he tries to tramp it down. “You must be a fan of opera, then?”

Camille’s shoulder moves ever so minutely. “My father certainly saw to it that I was well-versed in opera during my youth. He’s been a season patron at the Opera Popularie ever since I can remember.” A memory sparks in his captivating brown eyes. “In fact, I remember some years back, the opera house was plagued with mysterious and sometimes tragic happenings. The letters that arrived to the proprietors were all simply signed ‘O.G.’ - for Opera Ghost. But my father…,” he pauses with a sigh as deep-rooted frustration comes to his eyes despite the carefully polite set of his face. “When he heard the proprietors might have to end the season early because of the ghost’s antics, my father personally lead the charge from the highest rafter to the deepest sewer to root the man out - for there was no doubt in his mind the perpetrator was a man of flesh and blood, and not some spectral phantom.”

“And… was he successful in finding that man?”

“That’s the beautiful thing about being a ghost, I suppose,” Camille’s smile turns conspiratorial. “There’s no power on this earth that can make them do your bidding. And if they don’t want to be found, they never will.”

“So, this man - this… ghost - is still haunting the opera house?”

“That’s what I choose to believe.” Camille’s smile dims under a bashful blush as he shakes his head gently. “The grim attacks have stopped, of course - so likely whoever was behind them has indeed moved on - but there’s just… a feeling when you walk into that opera house. The shadows keep their secrets, and perhaps ghosts of the past call them home, too.”

It’s such a fascinating, fanciful thought. Karl’s heard plenty of fairy tales and ghost stories from his grandmother, but hearing Camille speak so freely about this opera ghost tugs a smile to his lips. “If I’m ever in Paris, perhaps I’ll have to set my dislike of opera aside and pay the Opera Populaire a visit.”

Camille’s eyes meet his with such warm sincerity. “If you’re ever in Paris, it would be my honor to meet you there.”

Karl’s heart leaps in his chest, utterly stunned. No one of Camille’s obvious wealth and status has ever given him so much attention before, let alone extended such an offer. All too late, he realizes he’s openly staring - completely charmed and disarmed as he loses himself in Camille’s gaze.

“Mr. Audebert,” Mackenzie’s voice returns and both men break their gaze to look up at the handsome officer. His polite smile hits them both, and Karl finds it equally entrancing. “If you’ll kindly check in at the reception desk, the nurse can see you to the doctor.”

Camille waves an elegant hand. “That’s quite alright, Mr. Gordon. Blessedly, I find myself quite relieved of the headache that’s plagued me all morning.” He flashes a startlingly fond glance at Karl before standing and turning his gaze to Mackenzie. “Perhaps a change of pace and refreshing conversation are just what I needed. Please see that Mr. Horstmayer receives the care he needs for his injury.”

Surprised, fond remembrance flashes in Mackenzie’s gaze, but he keeps his face otherwise neutral. Karl supposes it’s a skill learned from years in service of passengers at sea. Slowly, Mackenzie nods. “Very well - if you’re sure, of course.”

Camille nods definitively. “Quite sure. Thank you.” He glances back down at Karl, nodding in farewell. “Please take care, and I hope that our paths cross again.”

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

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Crossing the Atlantic - Ch. 1

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

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Warnings: Mild language, overbearing parent

Word Count: 2.7k

Ch. 1 - 10 April 1912

The midday sun fills the first class reception salon with cheery light. Scents of rich wood oil and fresh roses perfume the air, greeting the passengers as they step off the gangway and onto the floating wonder that is the Titanic.

In all of Gordon’s years at sea, he’s never seen another ship like her. He’s had the last two weeks to get familiar with his new home and duties as Third Officer serving under First Officer Murdoch, and already he never wants another ship assignment. The Titanic shines from stem to stern, appointed with every last modern advance in shipbuilding and seafaring know-how, and Gordon’s never been more proud to serve a vessel.

The polished, brass buttons of his uniform gleam bright as he consults his clipboard. He scans the passenger manifest for the given name. “Here we are, ma’am.” He looks back at the short, prim woman bedecked in a stylish green traveling suit. “Cabin C-91, Mrs. Graham. A steward will guide you presently.” He gestures at the waiting steward who wears a broad smile. “Welcome aboard, ma’am.”

She nods her thanks and turns for the waiting steward while motioning for her daughter to follow.

Gordon offers the young woman a polite, officious nod. “Welcome aboard, miss.” She returns his polite nod and casts him a flirtatious side-eye. It isn’t the first time a young woman has taken a passing fancy in him, but he knows better than to cavort with a passenger. And a first class passenger, at that.

He turns back towards the steady inflow of passengers, ready to help the next in line. Excited conversation and gentle laughter float in the air, but the man who stands before him now looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else. His silver-grey hair is neatly combed atop his head to complement his trimmed mustache, and his traveling suit displays the finest cut. He scowls at Gordon in clear distaste. “I was told that Captain Smith would personally oversee the boarding arrivals.”

The three gold stripes around the cuffs of Gordon’s navy jacket that identify his rank as Third Officer are suddenly glaringly obvious, but Gordon holds his well-trained smile in place. “Indeed he is, sir. Just there.” He politely nods towards where the captain is greeting passengers as the stewards escort them to their cabins. “If you’re willing to give me your name, please, I can confirm your cabin assignment. Then, the steward will show you to Captain Smith.”

Thinly-veiled disgust flashes in the older man’s eyes, but he holds his socially polite, if mirthless, expression. “Very well. General René Audebert, and my son, Camille Audebert.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gordon nods before consulting his list. He makes the appropriate notation and glances up, this time noticing the taller, younger man standing behind General Audebert. “Cabins B-51, -53, and -55. The parlor suite, sir.”

“Yes,” General Audebert says, clearly unimpressed. “I’m aware of the cabins that I booked, but thank you all the same.” He looks over at the waiting steward, and Gordon is glad to see the man go. Of course, he’s seen his share of arrogant, even rude, men of privilege in his days as a sailor on passenger ships, but he already knows that he doesn’t care to see General Audebert for the rest of the voyage.

The younger man that follows behind the general offers him a small smile and nod as he passes. As he goes, Gordon can’t help but notice the soft sweep of his dark hair and the warmth of his brown eyes. Gordon returns his smile and gives a small nod in greeting. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

“Thank you.” His voice carries the same French-accented syllables as his father but there’s no denying the gentle tone about them. It stirs an unbidden warmth in Gordon’s chest as he holds the man’s gaze for a moment longer before finally turning back to his clipboard.

“Good day, sir.” He greets the next passenger. “Welcome aboard. May I have your name, please?” He listens before offering a confirming nod and consulting his list. “Here you are, Mr. Ross. Cabin A-10. Now, if you’ll please-.”

“Mr. Gordon!”

Gordon snaps his head up, instantly recognizing Captain Smith’s gentle, commanding voice. The Captain motions him over with an expectant air, and Gordon quickly makes his apologies to Mr. Ross. With swift steps, he squares his shoulders and steps up to Captain Smith’s side. “Yes, sir?”

“Why wasn’t I informed of the incident?”

Gordon blinks in confused surprise as he schools the rest of his face. “The incident, sir?”

The captain nods towards the older gentleman. “General Audebert here tells me that the gangway landing is quite uneven. That the lady in front of him nearly lost her footing, and he likely would have, too, if he hadn’t witnessed her struggle.”

Gordon grips his clipboard tighter at his side. His jaw tenses in frustration but he forces his pleasant smile to remain in place. “My apologies, Captain. I shall see to it right away.” He nods at Captain Smith and General Audebert as he knows his duty demands. “If you notice anything else amiss, sir, please don’t hesitate to bring it to my attention.”

Captain Smith nods in dismissal and Gordon turns, irritation simmering beneath his uniform. He pauses just long enough to direct waiting passengers to First Officer Murdoch for their cabin arrangements before setting off in search of the carpenter.

Camille glances around his stateroom. It’s bedecked in all the luxury appointments that he’s come to expect from a life of first class passage, but the plush surroundings do little to put him at ease. Eight days at sea crossing the Atlantic with only his father and father’s friends for company would not be his first choice, but business is business, and the churn of progress waits for no man. As his father’s only son and heir, he has obligations that he knows he cannot escape. Especially as his father continues to age, it’s simply a matter of time until the success of the family enterprise falls squarely on Camille’s shoulders whether he wants it or not.

He doesn’t discount the impact that his family’s wealth has had on his education and opportunities. He’s seen enough of the societal class divisions to understand the privilege that he was born into. But it just makes him think… surely, there has to be a better use for his life than just perpetuating the privilege of his lineage.

He sighs as he adjusts his suit jacket before stepping back out into the sitting room. His father is elegantly seated on the sette, round wire-frame glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads over what appears to be the day’s paper. A steaming tea service rests on the side table at his elbow in gold-rimmed white china laid out for two. Camille turns from it as the thought of tea sours his stomach.

“Won’t you join me for tea?” René’s voice drifts over his shoulder. “Lunch isn’t until after we depart, and our luggage has yet to be delivered.”

Camille reaches for his hat from the chair where he dropped it earlier. “No, thank you. I think I will go have a stroll about the decks.”

René blinks up at him in obvious confusion. “I’ve never understood the appeal of shuffling through a crowd. You should at least wait until we’ve left Southampton.” He turns back to the paper. “You certainly don’t need to demean yourself by waving to the less fortunate crowd still clamoring on the pier.”

Camille grips the brim of his hat tighter. “Actually, I thought about finding the third officer and apologizing for what transpired earlier.”

René’s brow furrows as he glares over the top of the paper. “Apologize? The man was remiss in his duties if he allowed paying passengers to walk on that gangway.”

“You didn’t give the man a chance to address your concern,” Camille shakes his head. “You just reported him straight to his commanding officer.”

“It’s hardly any concern of mine if that officer chooses to be derelict in his duties, but his commanding officer had every right to be informed.”

Camille sighs and fits his hat on his head. “I know that’s what you believe.” He steps up to the stateroom door and opens it to the hallway. “I’ll return in time for lunch.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before he closes the door behind him.

Shoving a hand in his trousers pocket, he sets off at a leisurely pace down the hallway. Passengers move about, settling into their staterooms and journeying topside for the imminent departure. Porters wheel trolleys of trunks to and fro, making the appropriate deliveries to identified staterooms. Stewards bustle about delivering the newly created passenger list, and Camille dreads returning to the stateroom once his father peruses the list and determines who all needs to dine at their table.

He weaves through the spotless halls and finds himself back in the boarding reception salon. The gangway door sits secured in place but the briny and fumey smell of the port outside still lingers. Two seamen make final adjustments on the door’s closure, and a small smile comes to Camille’s face when he glimpses the third officer presiding over their work.

“Secure the last locking mechanism.” The officer says with a dutiful air. “Nice and tight, now.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the seamen replies as they continue to work.

Camille watches with interest, tracking the movements of the sailor’s hands as the long screw of the locking mechanism twists into place. Blurred motion of the third officer’s navy uniform draws his attention, and Camille meets the full force of those bright, watercolor blue eyes. The officer’s mouth curls to a surprisingly warm, perhaps even pleased smile, as he tips his head in greeting. “Good morning again, sir. Mr. Audebert, if I remember correctly?”

Camille nods and smiles despite himself. “Yes, you… you have a good memory.”

The officer tilts his head in appreciation, and Camille thinks that maybe a faint flush rises in the man’s cheeks before he turns back to the sailors. They stand with their task complete, and the officer makes a quick inspection of their work. “Well done,” he nods at the two men. “Now, get topside and prepare to shove off.”

They snap off crisp replies before disappearing down the hallway and into a hidden crew passage. With slow steps, the third officer turns towards him wearing another pleasant smile. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Audebert?”

Camille can’t say why he suddenly finds himself at a loss for words, but a small smile comes to his face under the weight of the Scotsman's infectious smile. “I… just wanted to apologize. My father should not have called you out in front of your captain without raising the issue to your attention first.”

The officer’s jaw tenses as his eyes soften with an emotion that Camille can’t place. Slowly, almost conflicted, the man nods. “You needn’t apologize for that, sir. It’s… well, I suppose he was within his right.”

“On that, we shall disagree.” Camille simply says, inexplicably drawn to the way the officer’s lips curl in shared understanding. Though the officer had done a commendable job of hiding his frustration during the boarding process, Camille can tell the man is grateful for his apology now even if he can’t say anything in their current setting.

Slowly, the officer nods again. “I appreciate that you took the time to speak with me, but unfortunately, I must head for the bridge to support our departure.”

“May I walk with you?” Camille can’t say for sure why he asked, but he isn’t ready to return to the stateroom just yet, nor part from this man’s company.

The officer looks torn in a moment of indecision between surprise and flattery, but he keeps careful guard of his facial expressions. It’s probably an important skill of his job when dealing with all manner of passengers. Camille’s happy to wait while the man deliberates, and when he finally nods, warmth flutters in Camille’s chest.

“That’s very kind of you to offer, sir.” The officer starts. “But I wouldn’t wish to impose-.”

“No imposition,” Camille reassures as he falls into step at the officer’s side. “I was thinking of going topside for the departure.”

“It is indeed a good day for that. Southampton is usually rather hazy, even when the weather is favorable.”

Camille casts him a curious glance. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been a sailor?”

A fond smile teases the officer’s mouth. “Since I was a wee bairn, my father had me on the water. Standing still on land just never felt right.”

Answering fondness blooms in Camille’s chest as they leave the stateroom hallway behind and the atrium of the Grand Staircase stretches before them. “Well, it sounds like the Titanic is lucky to have a man of your experience aboard.” He watches the officer fight to suppress another flattered smile as Camille moves with him up the stairs. “Though, it just occurs to me that I don’t know your name.”

“Gordon, sir.” The officer supplies with a bow of his head. “Third Officer Mackenzie Gordon, at your service.”

Camille returns the nod in formal greeting. “It’s an honor, Mr. Gordon. I know that my father gave you my name but… I’m Camille Audebert.”

Gordon flashes him a polite smile. “The honor is mine, Mr. Audbert. You… certainly don’t need to take the time to converse with me.”

“I’m more than happy to do so.” Camille sighs gently. “I’m well aware of the conversations that await me over the next eight days aboard your ship, and you are a refreshing change of pace.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” The corner of Gordon’s lips twitch with an air of intriguing mischief. “If you don’t mind me saying, I may have to use that line sometime.” Another flush rises high in the man’s cheeks, and Camille finds that he wants to chase it across Gordon’s skin. “No one’s ever said that I’m a refreshing change of pace… a right pain in the arse, more like.” He blanches as he realizes what he just said and comes to an abrupt stop as they reach the sunshine warmed deck. He glances up at Camille with fear-stricken eyes. “Please, sir, forgive the rude slip of my tongue. That… was completely uncalled for in the face of the generosity that you have shown me.”

Camille shakes his head with a calming smile. “No offense taken, Mr. Gordon. I’m not going to report you as my father did. In fact… your candor rather proves my point.” He meets the officer’s smile for another moment before blinking away as the cheerful calls from the surrounding passengers rise in his ears. “Thank you for letting me walk with you, but I don’t wish to keep you from your duties.”

Gordon forces a nod as regret comes to the lines of his eyes. “Thank you. Again, I appreciate that you took the time.” He pauses as if debating the wisdom of his next words before drawing a breath. “As you mentioned earlier, we have eight days until we put into New York, and a ship this size is only so big - I’m sure that we’ll see each other yet again.”

Camille can’t hold back the excited edge in his smile as nods. “I look forward to it.”

With a farewell tip of his head, Gordon turns to continue his walk towards the bridge. Camille watches him go and recognizes the spark of interest that blooms in his chest. It’s been a long time since he last let himself even consider indulging such a personal attraction, but his stomach sours to think of not seeing Mackenzie Gordon again. Instead, he summons a smile as he thinks about the next eight days ahead. Maybe… just maybe he’s found the perfect balm in the face of his father’s company.

He moves through the crowded deck to the railing and glances out over the busy port. The pier is lined with well-wishers waving their arms in vigorous motions, and he watches the heavy ropes cast away from the ship. Allowing himself a hopeful smile, he raises an arm and returns a hearty wave of his own.

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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

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Surrender - Ch. 5

A “Joyeux Noël” Mackenzie Gordon x Karl Horstmayer Fic

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Warnings: Explicit language, WWI trench violence & horrors of war, weapons of psychological terror, trapped & desperate situation, surrender to the enemy, internalized homophobia

Word Count: 2.9k

Day 5 – 24 December 1917

The hunger cramps threaten to topple him, and the meager handful of decently-dirt-free snow does nothing to alleviate his parched tongue. Gordon only has two cigarettes left, and his hands shake in want of them, but he has to ration them for the unknown that awaits him. Ammunition stores are dangerously low – many men only have a few bullets remaining. Gordon’s options are limited, and he knows it.

The German commander's letter weighs heavily in his pocket as he forces himself to make the rounds. Oddly, an uncanny silence hangs in the air. By now, Gordon would have expected the grenade launches to begin or mortars to fall. But only silence accompanies the icy morning mist.

Distantly, he remembers the date – Christmas Eve Day. It seems like another life when he drank champagne with Audebert and Horstmayer in an unprecedented moment of peace. A moment of peace that he has spent the rest of this godforsaken war paying for. He brushes the thought aside with a long sigh as he checks on the left flank.

His men are twitchy in the unusual silence, and Gordon can’t stop seeing the German commander’s words.

… what befalls you next is out of my hands.

Gordon doesn’t understand what it means, but the implications sour his aching stomach. His men need to be ready for… God only knows what.

He rubs his arms against the morning chill as he steps up to Lieutenant Reid. The younger man nods at him in greeting. “Good morning, Major. It is… unusually quiet.”

“Yes, it is,” Gordon agrees, scanning the hazy, war-battered forestland ahead. “But I don’t think the Germans are sleeping in.”

A rough chuckle leaves Reid. “I’d say you’re right, sir. Though, the men would certainly take it as a kindness if they did.”

“I think we all would. But if they want to put us in a waiting game, they won’t catch us unawares.” He offers the young officer a reassuring nod. “Vigilance is the key right no-.”

His words drown under a loud, hissing roar. Fire explodes into view in a steady, arcing stream that licks out of the trees from the German line. It dies in a matter of seconds, leaving sprays of flaming propellant in its wake.

Fear seizes Gordon’s heart as the rest of his men leap to their feet, eyes wide with terror.

Another flamethrower flares to life, and it spews a deadly arc of fire towards their defensive pocket. The weapon burns out, but the fire remains as the propellant continues to burn and dead shrubs add more fuel.

The German commander’s words from the letter flash in Gordon’s mind again as his heart beats wildly. Is this what he meant was out of his hands? The arrival of shock troops with flamethrowers?

A third flamethrower discharges, and Gordon watches fear and terror play out on his men’s faces. After the toll of the last five days on their health, well-being, and sanity – the stress of burning to death is the last thing they need.

“Steady men, steady!” Gordon calls out, hating the faint tremor in his own voice. But he fears he’s too late. His men know the truth just as he does – they’re trapped with no out but to be consumed by the approaching flames or shot down by German gunfire. Another bright lance of fire shoots towards them – closer this time as the shock troops advance – and Gordon’s stomach drops to his feet.

The decision is impossible. It’s unthinkable. But he knows what he must do.

He steps up to the earthen wall and fishes the letter out of his pocket. With a deep breath, he raises the white paper high above his head and gives it a solid wave. It’s the best option he has for a white flag of surrender. Shame consumes him as he continues to hold the paper high, but he won’t stand by while his men face a gruesome death by fire.

“Stand down!” He calls out to his men, and he catches Lieutenant Reid’s gaze. “Stand down – all of us. Any man who fires on a German soldier will answer directly to me.”

He hears his soldiers pass the command down the firing line as each man understands the gravity of Gordon’s command. Even Lieutenant Reid pauses in visible hesitation as he contemplates Gordon’s words. The terror on his face is now mixed with an uncomfortable relief as he comes to the same conclusion that Gordon did.

Psychologically or physically, they stand no chance against an arsenal of flamethrowers.

The war-torn forest around them falls silent, and Gordon lowers the letter. He hopes the Germans saw it through the smoke and flames. Forcing a hard swallow, he steps up to Lieutenant Reid and fishes out his pen. “Take this over to the German line. Find their commanding officer – the damnable man who’s been sending all these bloody missives.” His voice tightens and he hates the frustrated, dejected tear that stings the corner of his eye, but he swallows it down. “And give him this.”

He inks out the words with a trembling hand.

Indeed, you have earned my respect as an honourable man. While your actions in command have endangered the lives of my men for several days now, you did not do so with a brutal weapon of terror. I hereby surrender with my forces on your conditions of clemency promised in this and previous missives.

I await your formal acceptance and offer no resistance to a peaceful turnover.

Scottish Commanding Officer, Major MJG

After Lieutenant Reid delivers the letter, things fall into order surprisingly quickly.

His men willingly lay down their weapons. The men with the strength to stand on their own feet file silently out of their defensive pocket, and those without strength are helped by fellow countrymen or enemy soldiers. There is little fight left in his beleaguered men as they stagger behind enemy lines, especially as medical care and food are distributed. Even Gordon feels the strong pull of exhaustion as he gulps mouthfuls of water and his belly fills for the first time in almost a week.

His eyelids are heavy as he’s led through the German trench to the commanding officer’s dugout. In truth, it’s more of a crude building than a true dugout with its board walls and sawdust floor. Dim light bulbs hang in the space, and the structure looks more like a command center with its tables of maps and collection of typewriters.

He’s led to a closed, solid door, and the officer knocks in quick succession. A voice filters out, bidding them entry, and the officer steps in first. He snaps a quick salute, addressing his senior officer for a brief exchange before Gordon is signaled to enter. With a hard swallow, he musters his confidence to square his shoulders, and he steps over the threshold.

The sight of the man standing next to the small table cuts him to the bone. He remembers those honey-brown eyes from Christmas Eve three years ago. He remembers the neatly-trimmed beard that still disguises the man’s young age. But he doesn’t remember the red, serrated scar that slashes across the left side of Horstmayer’s face. It lends a dastardly edge to his visage, and it strikes Gordon that it also does nothing to detract from the man’s handsome appeal.

He draws a shaking breath as his mind spins. As he continues to understand that it was Horstmayer who gave the orders to lay siege to him and his men, and it was Horstmayer who wrote those tormenting letters. That it was Horstmayer who warned him of the shock troops’ arrival.

The younger man looks just as stunned to see him. His brown eyes sweep Gordon up and down as if not trusting his own eyes. He maintains his stoic composure as he forces a hard swallow before turning to his subordinate. “Leave us.”

The junior officer doesn’t need to be told twice, and he quickly takes his leave. As the door closes behind him, Gordon still struggles to find words or to make sense of the fact that… three years to the day, he’s once again standing in front of Horstmayer.

The room starts to spin, and Gordon’s knees threaten to buckle as he reaches out for a chair. He drops to sit, heaving an exhausted sigh as he fishes in his coat pocket. He’s already surrendered every weapon, and it’s a sign of Horstmayer’s trust in his men that he doesn’t react to Gordon reaching for a concealed item. Instead, the younger man pulls out the neighboring chair from the table and sits as Gordon draws forth his cigarette case - an allowance befitting his status as an officer.

With trembling fingers, he perches one of his last cigarettes between his lips and reaches for his lighter. He curses when he remembers that it, too, was confiscated.

“Here.” Horstmayer’s voice is gentle, and it draws his attention. The younger man’s hand is extended on the rough wooden surface with a tarnished, silver lighter.

The sight of it takes Gordon aback as he glances up at Horstmayer in confusion. Horstmayer's sharp eyes have no business being so earnest. At this close distance, Gordon can see that his left eye looks undamaged as the brow and cheek bones took the brunt of whatever scarred his face. The thought of it still sours his stomach.

Gordon sighs as he holds his cigarette case forward in one hand, offering his last smoke while taking the lighter in the other. It’s a quick exchange as Horstmayer takes the cigarette and Gordon lights up. Soon, Horstmayer is taking deep inhales of his own cigarette as the silence lingers.

It shouldn’t make sense how they’re both sitting here after all this time, yet here they are.

Horstmayer clears his throat with a gentle cough. “My men referred to you as the ‘Lost Battalion.’”

“We weren’t lost,” Gordon says softly, exhaling a white cloud. “You knew exactly where we were the whole bloody time.”

“True enough.” Horstmayer’s tone carries the barest hint of remorse that tugs at Gordon’s heart. “But not even knowing who you were, I didn’t envy your position. And when the air-dropped supplies missed, I… well, I honestly thought that you would accept my letter.”

Gordon gives a sharp shake of his head as his fingers tighten on the cigarette. “Accepting it now makes me a traitor, and I wasn’t too keen to earn that brand unless I absolutely had to.”

Horstmayer nods in support. “For what it's worth, I think you did the honorable thing. There is nothing noble about death by fire.”

Gordon’s throat constricts as he draws a trembling inhale. “I… I appreciate that you tried to warn me.”

“As I said, it was out of my hands. And I could only risk so much.” The younger man’s voice sounds equally stained, as if he too, had words choking his throat.

“Didn’t you risk enough by sending those letters in the first place?”

Horstmayer sighs a white puff. “Perhaps only in the personal pleas. I did not want to bring further disgrace to my men.”

Gordon blinks over at the younger man who looks far older than he has any right. “What do you mean by ‘further disgrace’?”

Twin plumes of smoke shoot out of Horstmayer’s nose. “In full disclosure, those are not my words. But my commanders were not pleased to learn of our fraternization on Christmas Eve three years ago. Everything I have done since then has been in the name of the Fatherland to restore faith, earn trust, and prove worthy of the honorable legacy they deem for me. But mercilessly killing trapped men with no escape… there is nothing honorable about that.”

Gordon takes another long, soothing inhale of smoke as he considers Horstmayer’s words. He remembers his own punishment, the disbandment of his company and his subsequent reassignment. He doesn’t know if the last three years have been about atonement for that one act of compassionate humanity - but he’s still alive at any rate, if that counts for anything. He exhales deep as he shakes his head slowly before speaking. “You had your orders,” he simply says. “And I had mine.”

“And you still have nothing but my profound respect.” Horstmayer’s words draw Gordon’s gaze, and the corner of the younger man’s mouth curls in a faint smile. Unbidden heat ripples through Gordon’s belly as the other man continues to speak. “Despite the circumstances, it is good to see you again. And… as a major, at that.”

Gordon feels a startling, flattered smile tug at his lips as he holds the younger man’s gaze. “You, too, Oberstleutnant.” He takes another pull of smoke with a teasing shake of his head. “If I recall my ranks right, you officially outrank me now.”

Horstmayer nods slowly as his face falls. Inexplicably, Gordon wants to reach out and grasp the other man’s hand, to stroke his cheek and offer whatever he can to see that hint of a smile return to Horstmayer’s face. Instead, he just forces himself to grip his nearly-spent cigarette as his gaze sweeps the features of Horstmayer’s handsome face as he speaks. “I’m glad that your wound didn’t damage your eye.”

Again, Horstmayer nods as he swallows visibly. “I wasn’t sure at first. The doctors weren’t either since the swelling was so prolific. They called it luck, but either way, I am grateful.”

Gordon nods quickly. “So am I.”

The corner of Horstmayer’s mouth lifts again, and this time Gordon has no reservations about openly staring. He doesn’t know why the sight stirs such fondness in his chest, but he’s too exhausted to care. He feels his own smile grow as Horstmayer’s gaze sweeps across his face and lingers on the shape of his mouth.

Heat rises under his uniform collar as he hears himself speak. “Will you tell me your full name, KF Horstmayer?”

A bashful blush comes to Horstmayer's face, and Gordon’s instantly reminded of the young man he met three years ago. “Karl Friedrich.” He nods gently at Gordon. “And you, MJ Gordon?”

“Mackenzie Joseph.”

Fond affection softens Karl’s eyes. “It’s an honor to know you, Mackenzie Joseph.”

“And you, Karl Friedrich.” All too soon, his gaze is stolen away by the encroaching heat of his smoldering cigarette. He stubs out the remains on the rough tabletop, watching Karl do the same. Suddenly, there’s too many things to say and nowhere near enough words. He exhales an uneven breath. “So, what happens next?”

“You’ll walk out that door and transfer to a prisoner of war camp - you and your men. I imagine that you’ll remain incarcerated for the rest of the war.”

Numbly, Mackenzie nods. That’s about what he expected, but it doesn’t make the truth of facing imprisonment easier.

Karl looks back at Mackenzie with such admiration. “I truly wish it didn’t have to happen like this.”

Despite himself, Mackenzie shrugs a shoulder and summons a thin smile. “It could have been worse. We might never have seen each other again.”

Karl nods in firm agreement as something final solidifies on his face. It touches a place in Mackenzie’s heart that he didn’t know he had as he watches Karl rise to his feet. With another heavy sigh, he follows to stand and pushes his chair in.

Karl looks at him expectantly. “If you’re ready? I can let my men know.”

Mackenzie works another hard swallow down his throat as he musters the strength to nod. “I am.”

The stoic veneer on Karl’s face cracks again as he nods. “Take care, Mackenzie.” He holds out his hand.

Mackenzie takes it in a long, slow handshake. “You, too, Karl.”

Neither man withdraws their hand as their gazes hold, and the moment draws out. The touch of their hands sparks something in Mackenzie’s gut that he doesn’t understand, and Karl’s mouth touches his before he realizes it. It’s a fervent kiss of desperate need, of yearning connection, of heartfelt regard. Karl’s hands cup his jaw as their heads tilt and the contact deepens. A moan pours from Karl’s mouth, and Mackenzie drinks it down as he cards his fingers through the fine hairs on Karl’s nape.

Time stands still as they learn the shape of each other’s mouth and the taste of smoke on each other’s tongue. Mackenzie can’t catch his breath or get enough of Karl’s heady, heated touches. He groans low in his chest as Karl’s thumbs brush along his stubbled jaw, and he can’t explain why he never wants to let Karl go.

They’re both breathing hard as they slow their kisses to a lingering press of lips. A last attempt at holding onto each other in the impossible moment that will end all too soon. Mackenzie feels himself tremble, lost for explanation as to why he clings to the other man so strongly. But Karl’s in no rush to pull away, either, as they continue to catch their breath in the silence of the room.

At length, Karl forces a heavy sigh and withdraws. He swiftly turns towards the door, and Mackenzie feels his chest threaten to burst. This isn’t what he needs right now - he needs to compose himself, he needs to prepare himself for what comes next. He sniffles and squares his shoulders as he tucks away the wonderful memory of Karl’s kiss, and he braces for the opened door.

Two subordinates enter at Karl’s command and lock shackles around his wrists. He offers a parting nod to Karl as he’s led away, and he meets the farewell nod of the younger man with one last glance at those honey-brown eyes.

As he goes, he can’t help but wonder if the fates will be kind of enough to reunite them for a third time.

Fin

Series Main List

#joyeux noël 2005 #joyeux noël #mackenzie joseph gordon #karl friedrich horstmayer #lieutenant gordon #lieutenant horstmayer #gordon #horstmayer

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