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leftenantmackgordon · 2 years

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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.

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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