Page 20 of Blowing Off Steam

All of a sudden, they both laughed hysterically. Field kept his grip on her waist, but they pressed their foreheads together and laughed. “Ah, Calliope. So danger excites you.”

She leaned her torso back and regarded him happily. “Doesn’t it excite everyone?”

At that, Field had to agree. To excite her even further, he said, “If that fellow wakes up, he can identify us.”

Calliope nodded briskly. “So we’d better run.”

They ran, but now it was more of a skip, and they held hands while balancing their stacks of bowls, so they wouldn’t get separated.

CHAPTER EIGHT

They raced the side-wheeler Butte back to Sacramento.

It was a foolish and reckless thing to do, especially with all those bowls of contraband opium aboard, but Rushy could not resist. Steamer racing had become quite the modern thing to do, with boats competing for passengers, income, and thrills. Passengers loved the excitement and would often shoot off their revolvers in the general direction of rival boats. The waters of the bay were crowded with river packets maneuvering, shrieking their whistles at each other for the right of way, and lining up north for races.

There was no steamboat inspection service as of yet, and Field knew how to stoke his boiler to its maximum by holding an oar down on the safety valve. Just last week, a rival had exploded because they had their steam gauge on the hurricane deck for passengers’ amusement, and not below where the engineer could have seen he wasn’t relieving the pressure correctly.

So the El Dorado beat the Butte back to Sacramento by a good forty minutes. Calliope had her first big challenge cooking supper for over a hundred guests, and Rushy and Field played the big dogs strolling about the dining room wearing frock coats with long tails and vaguely military bars on their shoulders, accepting congratulations. It wasn’t until about ten o’clock that Rushy realized he should talk to Field about the o-fuyung in the bowls. They had been too busy racing to talk to Tobias, and he had snuck out when they moored, probably to go play “Headmaster” at a different bawdy house.

Rushy found Field down in the engine room. It was well-nigh ninety degrees outside and even hotter in the engine room, so Field worked shirtless, a situation that always pleased Rushy. Field climbed down from the water tank where he’d been perched, grabbing a rag to wipe his dripping chest.

Rushy took the rag and did the honor of wiping the steamy pectoral. Field stretched, threading both hands together over his head. “No sign of Sam Brannan.”

“Or Mark Hopkins,” Rushy pointed out. Field had told him he’d neglected to present Hopkins with the steam engine that now ran so smoothly a few feet away. Rushy was glad, in a way, that Thomas Field Trueworthy had something nearly as heinous to hide. It gave them another thing in common and an element of danger to their relationship. “We’ll need to use code names when running into any of those high muckety-mucks. I want to be called Captain Kidd.”

Field chuckled. “All right. Call me Captain Fulton.”

“Sure.” Rubbing Field’s chest now, Rushy had an idea. He took a bucket and snapped open a water injection valve to fill it. Field watched him calmly with that soft-eyed expression that let Rushy know he was at peace with things. Exhausted, probably—it was no small feat racing a giant piece of steaming, hissing machinery upriver, especially in the sweltering heat. Now, he dipped the rag into the bucket of cool river water and washed Field’s chest. Field sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned back against a bulkhead.

“That beefy buffalo, Stan Sitwell,” said Rushy. “He sure does have a yen-yen for you.”

The corner of Field’s mouth quirked upward. “That’s probably not such an enormous compliment. He probably wants everyone.”

“Hey,” protested Rushy, squeezing a fresh stream of water down Field’s abdomen. “He wasn’t fondling my balls.” He stood so close the rivulets of water ran over his own distended crotch. “I’ll bet he won’t soon forget the sight of me frigging your beautiful meaty prick.”

Field graced Rushy with a glance from his doe’s eyes. “I won’t soon forget it, Rushy. You’re welcome to manhandle me any time.”

Rushy dipped a few fingertips beneath Field’s broadfall, so soaked and hot he was nearly burned. “You liked being watched, didn’t you? Even if it was that beefy, disgusting pig. You like being admired. Those two young men were vigorously humping the window glass at the sight of your long, meaty cock.”

Field grinned modestly, thrusting his hips toward Rushy’s questing hand. “I never took much note of it before, maybe because no one’s ever frigged me in front of a big window plumb full of a drooling audience.”

Unsnapping the broadfall buttons with his other hand, Rushy finally got a grip on the big, juicy appendage he’d been longing for. He released it into the humid air and socked the dripping rag into the sultry crotch, fondling the tight balls the way Stan Sitwell could only dream of. Field leaned against the bulkhead with hands knitted at the back of his neck, smiling languidly as though he rocked in a hammock with a mint julep.

Rushy was proud of him for taking it all in stride. The idea of being touched so blatantly and erotically by another man had probably never occurred to Field until running up against Rushy Wakeman, and there was none of that false sense of offense that Rushy had met with in some men. Some men would protest till the cows came home that being fondled by another man disgusted them—while their erect penises told a different story. Rushy had never met a man who was ultimately outraged by being stroked by another fellow, when it really came down to brass tacks.

“You like Calliope, though,” Rushy said off-handedly, running his mouth up the length of Field’s delicate jawbone. “I see it in your eyes. You look fondly upon her.”

Field sighed. “What’s not to like? She’s spirited and brave, a stunner with pluck.” This was more than Rushy had bargained for, and he didn’t like the sound of it. But Rushy backed down from the big kiss he was about to lay on Field when he heard the next part. “She kissed me. On the way out of Kwok Lee’s establishment.”

Rushy’s hand stilled around the pulsating cock. What was this emotion welling in him? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. He felt in a bad way and didn’t know why, until it struck him clean to the heart. Jealousy. He was jealous that Calliope had kissed Field! Did Field kiss her back? Rushy must pretend to be unconcerned, for jealousy was an unattractive quality, so he said casually, “So she’s lavishing caresses upon you. She’s a good-looking gal. But I’ll show you one particular she can’t beat me at.” He licked Field’s lower lip. “You’ll alter your tune mighty sudden when I demonstrate my own particular recipe.”

Without any more ado, Rushy dropped to his knees on the engine room floor. Clutching Field’s hips to his face, Rushy dove in, inhaling the stiff cock down his throat. Calliope could never suck cock this well, no matter how many flabby, smelly miners she sucked on! She would always be bored or nauseated by it—and no small wonder, if one looked upon the cleanliness factor that surrounded most prospecting emigrants, like a cloud of flies buzzing about their heads.

Field gasped as Rushy gorged himself on the heft of his gloriously meaty prick. One hand slapped down to grip Rushy’s shoulder, and within seconds Field was uttering strangled, wordless sounds. No one could beat an old sodomite like Rushy when it came to sucking cock, and he had never had a dissatisfied partner. But even as Rushy relished the smooth, velvety head of Field’s prick stroking the roof of his mouth, a question tickled the outer limits of his brain.

Sure, Calliope was probably more than fed up with putrid, boorish clients. Most hookers were, if you really got down to the fact of the business. There was only one problem. Field was clean and had impeccable manners. If Rushy wanted to impress this man and keep him from Calliope’s satiny blonde clutches, Rushy would have to block her game some way.

Briefly releasing the erect, reddening cock, Rushy slurped his longest, middle finger. Positioning it at the anal opening, he slid it in. Field’s sweet ass sucked it up immediately, and Rushy squiggled it around until he felt the tender, overly sensitive spot that would send Field over the top. He was gratified when Field gasped loudly, probably loud enough for the diners above to hear over the hissing of the steam pipes. Rushy gulped down the tiny spurt of semen that surged up the underside of Field’s cock.