Montana Rockwood in Amorous Atlantis - Part 3

In the 1930s, Hudson Rockwood is a jet-setting archeologist hot on the trail of Atlantis. But when a mysterious snake cult curses him, he discovers that being a roguish adventurer is a lot harder when you're a woman. Having no other choice, he and his journalist best friend, Frank, must travel the globe to find Atlantis, break the curse, and stop the cult, all while trying to figure out how to run in high heels.

~

Chapter 3 - X Never Marks the Spot

~

The library loomed at the end of the narrow alley, a crumbling sandstone wall with arched windows filled with dusty glass. Hudson paused to take in the sight, his hand resting on the dusty brim of his hat as he squinted through the midday sun. The sign above the door was written in faded Arabic and French, its words barely legible through the layers of wear. 

"Library of Arcana and History." He read, "not exactly subtle."

"In my experience, your adventures rarely are." Frank sighed.

As they pushed open the door, they were enveloped in a dimness. Rows upon rows of books stretched from floor to ceiling, lining each wall and filling every corner. Dust hung in the air, suspended in golden shafts of light that spilled through high windows. Hudson loved places like this; they were always the calm before the storm of his adventures. 

The library was deserted but for a single figure, a man with a trim grey beard and ink-stained fingers, seated at a broad oak desk near the entrance. He glanced up as Margaret entered, his eyes sharp and dark.

“Bonjour, sir and mademoiselle,” he said in a low, slightly accented voice, “How may I assist you?”

Despite addressing them both, the man's eyes were fixed on Frank, as if Hudson was just set dressing. 

“I’m here to... study,” Hudson replied carefully, testing his reaction, letting the words hang in the air. 

The man looked him up and down, nose curling slightly as if he were trying to hide a snort of laughter or a sneer. He turned back to Frank expectantly, who shrugged.

"The lady knows what we're after."

"And that would be?" The man sighed, raising his eyebrow.

"Anything to do with ancient Moroccan history on the coast, maybe something about...Atlantis?"

Those eyebrows somehow managed to go higher, and the man shook his head and got to his feet. He led them both down the winding, dusty shelves. The books became more worn and eclectic as they went, as did the decor, until they reached a small, shadowed reading nook, complete with a fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in years. 

Frank flopped down in one of the leather chairs, already bored, while Hudson set about searching the shelves for the right book. 

“This better be the best damn story I have ever written.” Jack sighed.

“Don’t you care about history?” Hudson replied, “About discovery?”

“Not unless it’s the ‘front page of the news’ kind of discovery.”

Hudson rolled his eyes. They could find a great historical artifact and Frank couldn’t care less unless it got him a story. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for; he never did, really, but he would know it when he saw it, which is why a conspicuous circle caught his eye. The dusty mantelpiece above the fireplace had a number of strange little objects: a vase, a mummified monkey paw, several little carvings and statues, and a perfectly clean circle of dust. 

“What used to sit here?” Hudson called, summoning the keeper back, the man's brow furrowed.

“That’s odd, it was here just yesterday.”

“What is it?”

“A small medallion marked with a serpent.”

Hudson could have jumped for joy.

“Like this one?” He asked, holding up the inert stone that had changed him.”

“Similar, this one was carved from regular rock, a keystone from a dig years back. You know, it’s funny you’re the second person to ask me about it recently.”

“Let me guess, a handsome foreign man was the other, and he visited not long ago?”

“Well…yes. He must have taken it, the scoundrel, I’d have sold it to him had he just asked; whatever it opened is long gone by now.”

Jaques had beaten him to the punch. But Hudson wasn’t about to give up hope. 

“Can you tell me where the keystone was found?”

~

“I said it in Egypt, and I’ll say it again, I hate camels,” Frank complained as they made their way across the sand. “Horses are far more…dignified.”

“Good luck getting a horse across this sand.” Hudson giggled. 

The librarian had offered them a direction; a bit more research at the newspaper archives had given them all they needed to know about the dig site. An old, crumbling temple building, probably abandoned thousands of years ago. There was almost nothing of value, just a few pictographs and knick-knacks, like the keystone. Like so many other tiny clues about Atlantis, it had been ignored. More glory for him. 

Still, the three-day trek through the desert along the coast was starting to wear thin even for him. Camels didn't exactly move gracefully, and with each step, Hudson felt more aware of the changes he’d been through. His back was aching from the constant weight and bounce of his breasts on this damn animal, and his long hair managed to get coated in sand even when he put it up in a scarf. He couldn’t wait to be a man again, even if he wouldn’t be able to flirt his way to information as easily anymore. 

When they finally got to the location, it was little more than a sandy hill with a stone doorway in it. Still, Hudson felt that thrill in his chest; the thrill of discovery. It was so overwhelming he didn’t realise until it was too late that his legs had gone to sleep. He hopped down off his camel, and instantly his legs gave way; but instead of a mouthful of sand, he felt strong arms encircle him.

“Careful now.” Frank teased. 

“Haha, you’ll make me swoon.” Hudson joked, at least he meant it to be a joke, his blushing cheeks said otherwise. He redirected his focus to the entrance. Hudson was excited, so excited he did something stupid, he walked right into the ruin without thinking. The doorway was clear, despite the heavy sands around it; a fact he didn’t give much thought to until he and Frank walked down the thin corridor and they entered a medium-sized room already lit by torches. Standing against the blank far wall was Jaques. Flanked on both sides by heavily muscled men in desert garb. 

The pair of them silently ducked behind a pillar and watched as Jaques paced up and down. Hudson would have given every penny he owned to know what he was thinking, what this place was. It seemed to just be a random room in the middle of the desert, but if that were the case, what was Jaques so interested in? And what did the keystone do? Frank leaned in.

“What’s he doing?”

“Shhh…”

Their shoulders pressed together as they struggled to squeeze behind the pillar. Jaques walked along the wall. Hudson watched his hands, but then his eyes dropped down to his legs. He was wearing a set of white linen pants that clung to his thin frame and cupped his ass slightly.

“Eyes on the prize, Montana.” Frank hissed, and Hudson flushed.

Jaques ran his fingers along the wall until he reached the centre and paused. He turned slightly as he pressed a carved keystone into a circular recess in the wall. A low groan echoed through the room as the stone trembled. Stone snakes somehow moved across the edges of the wall, creating a frame of grey scales. Dust rained from the ceiling. With a grinding rumble, the blank wall split down the centre and parted like ancient curtains, revealing a map etched into the very rock, glowing faintly with some strange phosphorescence.

Hudson felt his heart race. It was the Moroccan coast. Large swathes of glowing blue represented the ocean, as well as lines that seemed to represent the tide. How an ancient civilisation had mapped the currents, he had no idea, but they had. 

“Well, would you look at that,” Frank breathed, so shocked by the reveal he forgot to lower his voice. 

Hudson winced as Jaques spun around, as did his bodyguards. Jaques seemed surprised to see him, but he quickly adapted.

“I should have been suspicious; you were quite inquisitive.” He smirked. “You’re with them, I assume?”

Them?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I’m not letting you find Atlantis first, now, tell me how to transform back into my real self!”

“Real self?” Jaques scoffed, “What on Earth are you on about? Actually, I’ve decided I don’t care.”

He snapped his fingers.

“Deal with her, and her little lackey.”

The room became a blur of motion. Hudson ducked a sweeping strike, drove his fist into a cultist’s jaw, then twisted away just in time to see Jaques advancing on him through the chaos. Hudson pulled a knife from his belt just in time. 

“You know,” Jaques said, as their weapons clashed, “you really should have stayed in Casablanca.”

“That’s no fun.”

Their blades danced, and Jaques grinned, too close.

“And here I thought our first date was quite lovely.”

At the mention of a date, Hudson hesitated. That was all Jaques needed; he kicked at Hudson’s ankles, and he felt something give. A second later, Jaques' knife swept in, nicking Bonn’s shoulder. A searing line of pain bloomed through his jacket.

“Damn it!” Hudson staggered back, clutching his arm.

“Montana!” Frank shouted. 

Flame and sparks heated the air as suddenly one of those torches was flung through the air, forcing Jaques to take a step back to avoid it. A moment later, Frank was beside Hudson, dragging him behind a fallen column.

“You okay?”

“I’m…annoyed.”

Jaques and his men were running for the door, all but one, who held up a camera and quickly snapped a picture of the map. A second later, Jaques grinned at them from the doorway.

“Sorry, darling, I don’t give second dates to cultists!”

With a final, mocking salute, he tossed a flare toward the wall. It exploded against the far wall, shattering the ancient map into stones. 

“No!” Hudson cursed, turning back to see shadows retreating. He stumbled, ankle screaming for him to stop. Walking was going to be slow; running after them was impossible now. The roar of an engine above them, a car hidden just over the dune, made him curse.

“I should have checked the surroundings first, idiot!”

Frank looked down at his friend, blood staining his sleeve. “Let me see that.”

“They’ve got the keystone.”

“And you have a knife wound.”

“So? It’s not the first time!”

Hudson yanked his arm out of Frank’s grip and limped towards the exit. Jaques was long gone, a trail of sand in the distance the only clue for him to follow.

“The sun is setting.” Frank pointed out, “You need to rest that ankle, we’ll camp here tonight, it’s not like rain is going to cover his tracks.”

Desert wind might, but Hudson didn't bother arguing; even if they followed now, they’d never catch up. He’d have to think of something else. 

~

He didn’t. The fact that he was self-medicating his pain with bourbon from his hip flask might have had something to do with that. They’d made their humble little camp, and he sat against a rock, watching as Frank checked the camels one final time before he came and sat down by the fire at Hudson’s side. 

“You called me Montana today.”

“Sorry, it’s not that I forget it’s just…you seem more like a Montana to me now.”
Hudson wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Frank asked, voice low, his fingers brushing lightly over his shoulder as he crouched down beside him. His touch was almost too gentle. It made Hudson feel strange; both irritated at its presence but annoyed it wasn't firmer at the same time.

“I’m fine,” Hudson said, wincing as he reached up to touch the rough fabric of his jacket, where the blood had started to seep through. 

Frank didn't seem to be listening. His lips were pressed together in concern. Hudson swallowed a laugh; he didn’t need saving, not from anyone, least of all Frank.

“It’s a knife wound; we had worse during that little Egyptian adventure.”

Frank didn’t respond right away, just gently tugged at his sleeve till he revealed the cut and gently began to clean it. Carefully, Frank wrapped a fresh bandage around the cut and nodded to himself for a job well done. Then they’re eyes met and Hudson felt his chest go tight. 

Frank didn’t move at first, but his gaze dropped to Hudson’s lips, and in that split second, everything seemed to hold its breath. 

Then, with a speed that startled Hudson, Frank leaned forward, his lips crashing against his, as urgent and messy as the fight they’d just survived. His hand found the back of Hudson’s neck, pulling him closer, and Hudson gasped against him, too dizzy to think, too rattled to pull back. The kiss tasted like bourbon; it burned on his tongue still, and somehow that only made things hotter. 

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Hudson's heart raced, not from the adrenaline, not from the fight, but because, somehow, it felt like they had crossed an unspoken line, one that neither of them was sure how to walk back from. Frank leaned back, eyes wide, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Hudson’s eyes went to his lips, still remembering how they felt. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered, “We can blame the bourbon.”

And with that, he was on him, knocking Frank to the ground and kissing him hard. Sand brushed against their skin as the two rolled together, eventually ending up on one of the thin bedrolls they’d laid out. Hudson was on top, the way he liked to be, but instead of a pretty dame, he was looking at the face of his best friend. Frank’s shirt had come unbuttoned, and Hudson ran his fingers along the smooth planes of muscle with fascination. 

There was the scar he’d gotten in Egypt when that man’s knife had nicked him, right next to the scar he’d gotten as a kid picking fights on the street. He’d never been attracted to another man before; then again, he wasn’t a man right now. Suddenly, he felt something, Frank’s fingers, brushing against his inner thigh. 

“This is why women shouldn’t wear pants.” He said roughly, pressing and making Hudson gasp with the sudden burst of pleasure. “If you were in a skirt, there would be nothing to get in my way.”

“I-I think we can do something about that.”

Hands flew, Hudson alternated between undressing himself and Frank, shivering with delight as Frank's hands gained access to more and more skin. His fingers were calloused from the typewriter, the little pads of roughness added just that little bit of extra pleasure as he ran them over Hudson’s nipples and made him see stars. 

“Oh fuck.”

“That’s the plan, doll.”

“Don’t call me doll.”

Frank grinned and rolled Hudson’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making his whole body shiver in delight.

“Or what?”

Hudson was desperately hanging from his last shred of masculinity; he needed to take charge. If he was going to sleep with his best friend, he’d better be the one in charge. Frank slid off his pants and underwear, leaving them both totally naked against the desert wind. Hudson straddled Frank, feeling his cock press against his new folds. 

Ever since his transformation, Hudson had been ignoring the strange tingling of desire he’d been feeling. Now it was all coming to a head; he rocked himself against Frank’s length, feeling his own wetness spread over the shaft. His new pussy was so sensitive, he was almost scared to see how pleasurable it would feel to be taken. Hudson shook his head; no, he wasn’t about to let himself be taken; he was going to do the taking. 

Frank's hands came to rest on his hips, ready to flip them over, but Hudson locked his knees in place and shook his head before wordlessly rising up. The tip pressed against his hole, and he shuddered and sank down. The sound that escaped his mouth was almost indescribable; a sound of pure pleasure that echoed over the dunes. 

Hudson saw white; he felt his passage clench around the length, as if it were trying to keep it there forever. Then, Frank’s hands on his hips squeezed and lifted him slightly, then lowered. Hudson rolled his hips, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. Sliding up and down on Frank’s cock just felt too good. Each rise felt better than the last, and it still wasn't enough. 

The air was knocked from his lungs with each descent, and soon he was alternating gasps, then moans, gasp, moan, gasp, moan. Now he was bouncing, riding Frank for all he was worth. And yet, something was missing. He could feel an ache deep in his passage, something yearning to be touched. Frank grinned and held him in place, fully sheathed for a moment, and Hudson couldn’t help but whimper, aching for more friction. 

“Why did you make me stop?” He moaned. 

“So I could do this.”

All of a sudden, Hudson was on his back, both hands pinned by one of Frank’s bigger ones right above his head. His cock was still buried deep inside him, and Hudson shivered.

“Now, wrap your legs around me,” Frank whispered, kissing the shell of Hudson’s ear.

He didn’t want to lose control of the situation, but he needed Frank’s cock more. His body was screaming for him to move. His hips wiggled, desperate for friction, but he was pinned, totally at Frank’s mercy. So he obeyed, and wrapped his legs around Frank’s waist, pulling him in as deeply as possible. 

“That’s it, doll.”

Before Hudson could reply, he was moving again, and Hudson saw stars. That deep part of him that ached to be touched now was. Over and over, Frank slammed against it, making the ecstasy all the stronger. 

“X marks the spot, treasure hunter,” he teased, watching Hudson squirm and gasp as his whole body went taut and pleasure overwhelmed him. 

His hips continued to roll with Frank's thrusts, keeping it going until he eventually pulled out and finished on the sand. The two of them were breathing heavily, chests heaving with the effort, as finally they came down and reality crashed over them. 

“So…” Hudson muttered.

“We’re never talking about this again.”

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

Frank gathered his clothes and quickly headed over to his own bedroll as Hudson slipped into his sleeping bag. His whole body was still tingling with the afterglow that came with good sex. 

“Night, doll.”
Hudson bit his lip and pretended not to enjoy the shiver that went down his spine.