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Harry Goodsir is a quiet sort during orgasm.
Usually.
But this morning, eyes closed and alone in the Erebus sickbay, he sees Fantasy George Chambers on his back beneath him, ankles to ears, and writhing in pleasure. Fantasy Harry is a masterful lover, indeed: strong, confident, and with a stamina and longevity that astounds the ship boy who’s eight years his junior.
In Sickbay Reality, Harry is pumping his hand up and down his cock, panting heavily. He’s ready to burst – but he won’t let himself finish until his Fantasy George obliges with his own climax. Which should be any second now…
A rosy flush is spreading across Fantasy George’s smooth chest, signaling his impending surrender. His moaning increases in volume and rises in pitch as he meets Harry’s every insistent thrust. Eyes clamped shut, he’s tipping his head back and moving it from side to side against the pillow, further disheveling his already tousled sandy-brown hair. And then it happens: Fantasy George clutches at the bedsheets and surrenders with a series of full body shudders, crying out Harry’s name.
Reality Harry succumbs with several long, loud, and wordless cries of his own, all atypical of him – but then, in all of his twenty-six years on Earth, he’s never before experienced an orgasm of such intensity.
When it’s over, Harry opens his eyes with a satisfied sigh – which he instantly replaces with a frantic gasp. Before him stands Dr. Stanley, who somehow must have slipped into the sickbay during – or maybe it was after – or… and just how long has he been in the room, anyway, and how did Harry not hear the sickbay door sliding open?
Dr. Stanley quirks his eyebrows upward and speaks in his usual restrained manner. “Really, Mr. Goodsir?“
Harry scrambles to reach for a cloth on the nearby table with one hand while covering his privates as best he can with the other. He silently curses himself for not having grabbed that cloth before he started in – but in the heat of the moment, he had decided against it. Now, because of that mistake, his hand is wet and so is his cock. Cloth in hand, he turns to one side and tends to himself. “I - I’m sorry, Doctor Stanley. I’m sorry. I am so sorry…”
Dr. Stanley sighs. “Do wash that cloth later, and away from my sight. Not here. As a matter of fact,” he says, “perhaps you should consider keeping that cloth to hand in your cabin for future… occurrences. Which also should be kept in the privacy of your cabin.”
While Dr. Stanley is sermonizing, Harry thrusts the soiled cloth into his trouser pocket. His cock has quickly gone flaccid, which makes the job of tucking it away and buttoning up his trousers a relatively easy but no less embarrassing task. It seems an eternity, but finally he’s finished. He smooths his trousers, tugs down his waistcoat, and then, with his hands clasped in an impromptu fig leaf over his crotch, shamefully turns to face the doctor. He chuckles nervously. “You’re early.”
Doctor Stanley offers a smirk that’s a cross between amusement and disdain. “I assure you; I am perfectly punctual. Whereas you, Mr. Goodsir, seem to have ‘arrived’… too late.”
The man looks so pleased with himself for having employed sexual innuendo in his pun about time, and the accompanying close-mouthed chuckle that occurs directly after only serves to make Harry feel worse than he already does. “Doctor, could we please forget that this happened? I promise it will never happen again, and…” the words are coming fast, and Harry’s voice is rising in pitch and desperation – and worse, he knows it, “…if I may ask for your mercy in this matter… to please not report to command what you’ve witnessed?”
Dr. Stanley’s former smirk drops. He eyes Harry steadily through narrowed eyes, then takes a deliberate breath. “I’d wager you’re not the first man on this ship to have yielded to the temptation of onanism since we set sail. I’ve seen nothing that needs to be reported, nor would it be worth my time or trouble to do so. You may live with it yourself.”
Harry’s relieved sigh is the loudest sound he’s made since – well, since his orgasm. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“However, I can’t help but be curious.”
Oh, no…
“It would seem your natural proclivity for being overly imaginative has brought us to this moment,” Doctor Stanley says. “And, judging from the state of your privates when I entered the sickbay, I have no doubt that you were, in your mind, indulging in the delights of the flesh with another. Might you have a lady friend in London who awaits your return?”
Bad enough that Dr. Stanley caught him with his cock out of his trousers, but why ask questions concerning his fantasies, or make any assumptive conjecture about his personal life at home? Harry chooses not to reply.
“Hmm?” the doctor urges.
Harry shakes his head quickly, and then immediately regrets it. Oh dear, he may have made a terrible mistake. But with any luck, Dr. Stanley won’t interpret his head shake as No, I was thinking of a man, but rather, something closer to I’d rather not discuss this incident further, thank you.
“I see,” Dr. Stanley says, lifting his eyebrows. “A man in London, is it?”
A slow heat fills Harry’s cheeks. He says nothing to confirm nor deny.
Too many seconds pass.
Amazing to think that Dr. Stanley could raise his eyebrows any higher than he already has, but apparently, he can. “A shipmate?”
Harry drops his gaze to the floor and clasps his hands even tighter than they already are in an attempt to stop the nervous fluttering of fingers.
And then Harry hears Dr. Stanley chuckling. When Harry looks up again, he sees that the man is also shaking his head.
“Of course,” Dr. Stanley says. “It’s George Chambers.”
“No! Why would you think-”
“Today is Monday,” the doctor says with utmost calm. “And you know what that means.”
“No, I - I don’t know.”
“Of course you do,” says the doctor. “Any minute now, George Chambers will be walking in and asking to speak with you regarding some malady that you and I both know has been fabricated specifically for this week’s visit. How many Mondays has he being doing this, now? Four? Five?”
Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. Six? Maybe?”
“And you happily take him on as a patient. Every week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the peculiar sparkle that your eyes take on whenever he walks in, and the way you smile at him.”
“No, you must be mistaken.”
“He’s obviously enamoured of you, as well. Although I’m sure I don’t know why.”
“Dr. Stanley, it’s not what you think. Mr. Chambers and I are not… I’m not… He’s not…We haven’t…”
“But you do yearn, Mr. Goodsir.”
“Yearn, Sir? We’ve not had any such conversations, nor have we had interactions of any kind outside of the sickbay. None.”
The doctor chuckles again; he seems far too amused by the situation in general, and by Harry’s flustered manner in particular. “Well. As it happens, I have a meeting with Captain Fitzjames this morning. I’ve come to fetch my log of this past weeks’ patients and their symptoms for his perusal. This could be a fortuitous circumstance for you, as you will have the opportunity to be totally alone with your ship’s boy. Perhaps you might consider proposing a meeting of a different sort with him later on, away from the sickbay?”
Harry has nothing to say; it’s painfully clear that the man has it all figured out about his interest in George. But for the doctor to actually encourage him to act on that interest? It’s befuddling, to say the least.
“Now,” the doctor says with more seriousness, “whether you succeed or fail in arranging such a meeting with him, please do not think to inform me, as I care not. But, a word of advice.”
Oh dear. And here comes another sermon…
“However you choose to conduct yourself in the privacy of your cabin, whether alone or with another, is your business, and yours entirely. If no one sees you engaged in congress with another man, then technically, it hasn’t occurred. Although, based on what I’ve heard this morning, I do strongly suggest that you endeavor to refrain from making any culminative vocalisms.” The doctor offers a slight nod.
Harry nods back, and with that one nod he knows he’s effectively admitted all. There can be no more pretending.
“But make no mistake,” the doctor says, his voice dropping to a slow drone, “If I should ever discover the two of you embracing, kissing, or engaged in congress here in this sickbay, then I shall not hesitate to report you both to command.”
Harry nods again.
“Do we understand one another?”
Harry is a nodding machine. “Yes, Sir. We do. I-I mean, I do.”
After the weight of what Dr. Stanley’s just said, the man lightens the air by offering a smile – a smile? – to Harry. “Good.” He quickly retrieves his log from the medicine cabinet drawer. “And now, I’ll be off to my meeting.”
He turns to go, shaking his head and chuckling. “George Chambers, indeed.” He slides the door open.
“Yes, Doctor Stanley?” It’s the ship’s boy himself standing at the doorway.
“Ah! Good morning, Mr. Chambers,” Dr. Stanley says with exaggerated joviality. “Do come in!” He steps aside, and George enters.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“We’ve been expecting you! Rather, I should say that Mr. Goodsir,” he says, turning to eye Harry, “was just mentioning how much he’s been ‘yearning’ for your… arrival.” The man purses his lips together; a mischievous devil he is.
Harry and George exchange perplexed gazes. Harry shrugs, hoping his face isn't too red.
“I have a brief meeting with Captain Fitzjames this morning, Mr. Chambers,” Dr. Stanley says. “I leave you in Mr. Goodsir’s care, so that the two of you may discuss… everything that needs to be discussed.” He nods at Harry with yet another smile; less blatant than before - but nevertheless, was that a wink Harry just saw?
“I’ll be sure to close the door." And with that, he's gone.
George looks as confused as Harry feels. “Dr. Stanley doesn’t usually seem happy to see me at all,” he says. “Is there something different about this morning? Why is he being so strange?”
When Harry considers the many facets of Dr. Stanley he’s seen and experienced in the last ten minutes, he can only answer truthfully.
“I’m sure I have no idea.”