Shakeslowe
That is, apparently, the ship name for William Shakespeare (of Sonnet 20 fame) and Christopher “Kit” Marlowe (of “all they who love not tobacco and boys are fools” fame).
“Draft,” meanwhile, plays with references to sonnet 144,
in which the poet talks
about his “Two loves,” a young man and a woman, betraying him
in an angsty bisexual anthem.
Aside from them both being quite possibly, in the modern sense, queer men, and boundary-breaking playwrights both working in London in the early 1590s, very close in age, is there any reason to believe these two would have chemistry? I sure think so. Not least because I noticed some lines in each of their plays that would sound just delicious swapped between them–
Marlowe remained close to him, too close to meet his eyes. “Your pardon,” he said without a sign of remorse. His hand cupped Will’s cheek, tracing the bone, leaving another stripe of ink. He felt it drying on his skin, sable heat. He pulled back just enough to see it marking Marlowe’s lips, too.
So it had happened, then.
“Why … my pardon?”
“For the sake of your soul. They say it is a sin.” This time he spoke of damnation with something more gentle than delight, but still not regret, not anything close to it.
No more than Will felt. “If my lips have the sin they took … willingly … ” If some in their wills counted bad what he thought good, they only reckoned up their own abuses; he was that he was. As much a sinner as you, he thought, even if he was in no way as accomplished as this consummate blasphemer. “You wrong yourself too much.”
“A trespass sweetly urged.” His laughter sounded surprised. “Will you give me my sin again?”
“If,” Will said, as surprised himself, uncertain on his feet, but finding words, perhaps by the same ink-dark magic that brought him to this, “you give me my soul again.”
A scent of rosewater and cloves grew stronger as the space between them vanished, as the cool air warmed. Marlowe’s hair was soft against the backs of his fingers, the skin at his jaw and throat rough from the time that had passed since he’d last shaven – something Will had not considered about kissing a man. He ran his fingertips back and forth against the rasp, feeling the hum of Marlowe’s breath beneath. It passed across his lips, too, mingling with his, though Will hardly breathed while he kissed as if truly to retrieve his soul. He tasted the ink staining both their mouths, the richer flavor underneath.
-Thus this excerpt from “Draft,” my story in Cunning Linguists. If you, like me, are a grade-A nerrrd you will notice Kit is saying lines from Romeo and Juliet and Will lines from Doctor Faustus. These guys sure ascribed interesting powers to kisses… cunning linguists indeed.
The collection of stories about sex, storytelling, and speech (or silence*) is now available for preorder in paperback and comes out May 18th–less than a month from now!
The 30 authors are sharing excerpts, their favorite sex scenes they’ve ever read, “dirty” words that give them the shivers (usually in a good way — though not always!) and other fun facts on the New Smut Project blog.
You can find Cunning Linguists now at:
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*Speaking of “silence,” I’ll leave you with this second, even steamier except from “Draft”:
A sound shaped itself in Will’s throat — not speech, only proof, surprising even to him, that he still had a voice.
Kit’s hand fastened at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls of his hair, nails passing lightly over soft, vulnerable skin. “Don’t,” he said, “compose poetry now.”
He was right — even all these spilled words whose ink was staining them were meant, in the end, to be acted.
So he did. He let himself move, guided by instinct — nothing in this felt against nature — and by his partner’s guidance.