The Pirate King - 2. Chapter 2

I was out of practice at waking up in beds that were not mine.

My years in the mines had taught me the importance of constant vigilance. I’d barely been able to sleep anyway, without the rocking of a ship, the gentle singing of the sea. How can you trust the land? It’s likely to drop out from under your feet at any moment. I’d never felt safe on solid ground; in prison mines, even less. Deep repose, the kind that steals your bearing from you and lets you rest your soul as well as body, was foreign to me.

So when I woke, dazed and rested and not recognizing where I was, and found myself both bound and naked, I had an understandable moment of panic.

Then I felt the ship creak beneath me, heard the ocean’s relentless whirl, and calmed. So long as I had the sea, nothing could harm me.

I let myself exist in that space, my freedom singing through my veins like rushing channels. The sunlight was warm and I was not in chains; the ocean called my name and I could finally respond.

I tried to sit up and bodily remembered the ropes around my wrists. This wasn’t a real problem; knots couldn’t hold me. But I found myself staring at these knots, as if they were something more.

The Captain hadn’t wanted me to untie them.

I sighed and leaned back in the bed. The Captain.

I didn’t understand what had happened between us the night before. I understood that he was an attractive man; I understood that my body had, somewhat inexplicably, reacted to that. I could deal with that. People had told me for years that men could be beautiful in the same way that women were. I supposed I had just found someone who had convinced me.

But no, it was more than that. Because he wasn’t beautiful like any woman I had ever seen, or like any man could ever be. He was the most incredible sight I had ever seen collapsed into the skin of a human being. This wasn’t an extension of something I knew; the way he made me feel was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Nothing about him was like anything I had ever known. Not the way his lips had felt on mine, when he had finally leaned down and kissed me. Not the way his hands had turned my skin to ice while lighting my soul on fire, threatening to make my entire body crack under the pressure. Not the way his mouth had felt, as his bit and kissed his way down to my…

I closed my eyes and pressed them against my arm, refusing to look down at the fully erect cock that had risen between my legs. I couldn’t be turned on like this, not just by thinking about him so mildly. Had I not gotten enough last night? I was confused, so confused at how my body reacted to him. To the mere thought of him. He utterly bewildered me, in everything that he did.

It was not just his touch, or his body, or his gentle way of being so rough that confounded me so. It was the way he could command me. It was the way I wanted to do nothing more than make him happy, than to give him pleasure.

I looked up to my hands, still tied as a courtesy to this Captain. Why was I listening to him? He could ask me anything, and I would obey. I felt that in the very core of my being, but for some reason it didn’t frighten me at all. No - I felt nothing but excitement.

I sighed. Fate would do what she would. I supposed it only made sense that after so much pain from fighting, the man who would accept my surrender would give me such pleasure.

Not that he’d accepted it.

That thought soured my mood instantly. His actions the night before had been so strange. Who was he to tell me what I deserved? Who I deserved? He didn’t know what I wanted; he didn’t know what I’d done.

Well, I thought. That was hardly his fault.

Still, he could have listened. I could have explained some things to him, if not all of it. I felt a ping of frustration at his lack of willingness to try.

I leaned back, trying to push all of this from my mind. There was nothing to do about it now. Later, perhaps, I could try to talk some sense into him. For now, I laid and enjoyed the feeling of being at sea.

In time, I had to get up. My body forced me - I really had to pee.

I undid the knots the Captain had left me in. He was very good, and it took me a few moments, but soon I was on my way to the bathroom.

I relieved myself, sighing contentedly. On the way back out the door, I caught sight of myself in the full mirror and did a double take. I examined my body closely in the polished silver. Rope burns scalded my wrists. Angry bite marks covered my sides, red proof of pain I didn’t remember being in. On my neck, a few dark marks bloomed, bite marks and blood bruises from a rough mouth. A hand print bruised each of my thighs, yellow well on it’s way to green, each finger distinct in it’s pattern and grip.

I did a quick check for other damage, but I didn’t see anything. I didn’t bother to check my back. I didn’t like looking at it. Besides, I already knew what damage was there, and it wasn’t last night’s fault.

All in all, it wasn’t bad. I’d certainly had worse nights, and those hadn’t had any joy to speak of. But if the Captain had seen this, after what he had said last night…

I stopped. Thinking about the Captain garnered a myriad of complex emotions that I was not in the mood to deal with. I pulled myself from the mirror and stepped into my breeches, found my shirt where it had landed, then returned to my reflection to see what could be done. The sleeves could be pulled down to cover most of the damage on the arms, but there was no way to wear my collar that wasn’t obvious I was hiding something. In the end, I just left my neck exposed.

I sat on the bed and wondered what to do next. If I were playing nice, I would lie back down and tie myself back up, but that was kind of pointless now that I had dressed myself; it was obvious I had been up and moving about. I could read, perhaps. The Captain had an impressive chest of books.

My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t gotten dinner the night before, or breakfast yet. I looked at the door. It was stupid to go out and wander around the ship. It was literally asking for trouble. After all, as far as the men knew I was supposed to be in the cells. I was a prisoner.

Who cared about the other men. The ship was filled with nobodies. There was only one man who could command my attention, and I was busy putting him from my mind.

I unlocked the door and strode out into the hall.

I figured the mess must be somewhere near the dinner hall they’d taken me to the night before, so I retraced the steps as best I could. The closer I got, the stronger the smell of cooking became, so I knew I had to be on the right track. Soon, I could hear chattering voices darting through the hall. I followed the mix of sensations to the doorway of a cafeteria.

Enough eyes looked up as I ducked through the doorway that I caused a stir. Half of those eyes started and reached for blades; the other half blinked drowsily at the unrecognized face. That motion set of a ripple of similar reactions through the rest of the ranks, until the entire room was a silent bristle of suspicion and knives and half awake eyes.

“Hello,” I said. “Is this where I could find some breakfast?” No one answered, so I took it upon myself to find out. I walked though the benches, stepping carefully around the gathered ranks until I reached the cook. “Could I get some food, please?”

“Crew only,” he told me sourly.

“I’ve been informed that my status is prisoner.” I didn’t believe it, but I knew better than to go against the rules with cooks. I leaned down on the counter and peered into the kitchen. Pots boiled over with delicious scents, roiling through the small space and almost overwhelming me with homesickness. The kitchen had always been my favorite place on any ship. “I don’t know if that counts for anything, but I’m very hungry.”

“Prisoner, huh.” He looked me up and down. “Well, they did say you were big.”

I shrugged and spread my hands. Didn’t really have much to say to that.

“I already sent your food up with the Captain.” He turned to walk away.

Uh-oh, I thought. That meant I probably didn’t have much time before a confrontation. I felt a tingle grow in my stomach and tried to kill it fast. “That’s odd, he sent me down for it.” I smiled as brightly as I could.

The cook looked me over carefully. His eyes noted my overly bright smile, a gesture I was obviously unfamiliar with, then moved to my lopsided shirt and landed last on the love marks on my neck. His scowl grew. “You know what you’re doing?”

My smile dropped. “I can handle myself.”

He shook his head a little sadly.

In the end, he hurrumphed and handed me a platter filled with bread and a delicious smelling porridge. I thanked him warmly, genuinely. I was hungry, and the food looked good. Then it was time for me to try and find a seat.

I turned; all eyes were still on me, the room deathly silent. I picked a spot close to the door to make my attempt.

“Is it alright if I join you?” I kept my voice genial and firm. The men looked like they’d rather say no, but people have a hard time refusing a direct request, and space ended up being found. The made me sit with my back to the door, however, which made me uncomfortable.

The guy across from me leaned over. “They say you took down fifteen guys when you came from the other ship.”

I shrugged. “The last time I heard it told it was twelve. When they settle on a number, you let me know.”

To my left, a sailor chuckled. “It was ten at last count, actually. I’m Finn.”

“A pleasure,” I replied. I didn’t offer a name, and he didn’t ask. We shook.

“So where’d you stay last night?” Finn and the others leaned forward.

“The cells,” I answered easily, my attention on my porridge. It was rich and filling, a hint maybe of… cinnamon? I glanced up at the cook, curious about where he’d gotten this particular recipe, but he was busy at his work, his pinched face red from the heat of the small kitchen.

“Uh-huh.” Finn waggled his eyebrows, not bother to hide his inspection of my neck. “And how’d you find them?”

“The cells?” I looked at him, feigning surprise. “Fine, I suppose. How does one ever find cells?”

My casual answer put them off their questions for a little. I focused in on the porridge. I couldn’t tell if it tasted familiar in the face of everything so strange that was happening, an anchor that my brain was creating for me, or if I actually recognized the construction. Either way, it was delicious. Conversation flowed around me comfortingly, and I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that things could settle back to normal.

Suddenly the little guy across from me looked up. He was a young kid, towheaded and sparkly eyed in a way that made me nervous. “Heard you had dinner with the Captain.”

“Yes.”

They all looked at me. There were a few whispers as those not caught up asked questions from those in the know.

“You talk to him?”

“Yes,” I said again. I wasn’t sure where the line was here, how much the Captain would want his crew to know. There were a few guys unabashedly pointing at the marks on my neck. I tried to look unconcerned.

“Well?” Finn prompted. “How did you find him?”

“Yes,” I heard a voice behind me ask. The room stiffened around me. “How did you find him.”

It wasn’t a question so much an accusation. The voice was cold, dispassionate in its anger. Icy, it rolled over my shoulders like a frost, threatening my spine with a shiver. I quietly put my spoon down, the clank of metal on wood the only sound in the silent hall, and looked at Finn.

“The Captain?” I stated, as easy and unconcerned as I could be. I did not care about the Captain, I told myself. I heard my own lie in my head, anger brewing in my veins like a storm, surprising me with it’s sudden ferocity. Who was this man, to come and tell me what I should feel, and what I should think, and who I should sleep with? Who was this man to deny me, me, a chance to speak my mind?

Well, I thought. Let him hear me now.

“Honestly,” I heard myself say, “I found him to be quite arrogant.”

I felt the ripple move through the room again, felt the sailors pull back from me. The Captain’s eyes burned the back of my head. I didn’t care. Let him try to set water aflame. I picked my spoon back up to continue eating. The little guy across from me stared, aghast.

“What are you doing,” he whispered. “Do you want to get killed?”

“Arrogant would be the right term, yeah,” I continued, a little louder. “Thinks things can hold you when they clearly can’t. Knows what’s best for you, even if you say otherwise.” I turned and met the Captain’s eyes. “Tries to tell you how you’re supposed to feel.”

“You,” he said, eyes aflame. “Come with me.”

I took another bite of porridge. The room might not have been breathing, it was so still.

“Come with me.”

“My name,” I said to my bowl evenly, “is not you.”

I heard Finn suck in his breath.

The Captain could have screamed, then. Many men would have. Many captains, especially, would have screamed and threatened and tried to make me what they wanted. How many had already done just that? Maybe that’s what I was testing for, maybe that’s why I pushed. Maybe I wanted to see if he would try and make me submit, like so many in my life had before, an easy out for me to make my move and go. A quick exit from the strange vortex he put me in, just by existing.

But he didn’t yell. I knew he wouldn’t, really. So perhaps what I really wanted, what I selfishly craved was the way my body reacted when he came right up behind me and pressed one hand to my neck and his lips to my ear.

“Stand up,” he said, and I stood. “Walk.” It was all said in an even tone, in a dangerous tone, in a way that made my whole body shiver with it, anticipate what he would tell me to do next, and I hated it. I loved it. My body sang with the vibrations as I made my way before him through the door.

He pushed me through the hallways with his presence, a mirror the the pulling he had done the night before. I opened the door to his room and walked in. I heard him lock it behind us, the soft click signalling things I didn’t want to hope for.

“Get on your knees.” I did, shivers floating down my spine. The bed squeaked as he settled down behind me. I waited.

“What am I going to do with you,” he finally asked. “You run away, you talk to me like that in front of my men -”

“You didn’t give me a chance to talk to you alone,” I countered. “We could have had that conversation here, last night. Or this morning. Instead, you left me. Tied up, like a dog.”

“Not like a dog, I thought -” I heard him sigh. “We went over this. You are a prisoner.”

I made no attempt to correct him this time. Let him think what he wanted if he was so determined that this was what I should be.

“If you want to talk, fine. Talk. Talk to me, instead of running and forcing a confrontation in front of my men.”

“I tried that last night,” I reminded him. “You told me to be quiet.”

“Oh, and you do whatever I tell you?”

“Yes.” The word was so simple, so stark in its honesty, that it brought him to a stop. He breathed it in, held it in his lungs for a moment, and I almost thought that he would accept it. Then he exhaled forcefully.

“No. You don’t. I told you to stay, and you ran.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. “Why are you toying with me like this?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to.”

“Yes,” he said angrily. “You do.”

“I really don’t.” I turned to look at him. Sitting there, leaning over like that, I could see his entire chest shadowed beneath his shirt. I ate him up with my eyes, feeling what it did to my body. “It just… happens.”

His eyes were hard, so hard. I wanted the rest of him to be the same. “Well. Stop.”

How could I tell him that I was helpless against him? That my body would do whatever it needed to to be with his? It was more than that - more than just bodies, but I wasn’t sure of that yet. At the time, all I knew was that I needed to press myself into him until I couldn’t tell where our separation began.

“I want you,” I told him.

“No.” His gaze broke from mine. “You don’t.”

And that was to be the end of that, and I tried to make myself respect it, even as the frustration grew at being told who and what I wanted.

His gaze had fallen on the rope I had left curled on the bed, perfectly coiled. He frowned. He grabbed at the rope, looking for tears or signs of breaks. “Who even untied you?”

I shrugged. “I had to pee.”

He was quiet for some time. When he finally moved, it was to crouch before me. The movement brought him to my eye height, searching my face like he had been since we’d met. I met his eyes steadily, willing him to understand that I was telling him the truth.

“Does it bother you? To be tied?”

“No.” It had been unkind, to say what I had.

“Because if it does -”

My words came out curter than I meant. “It doesn’t.” He looked surprised at my shortness, but I was tired of being not believed.

He reached out and carefully tilted my head, looking at the sides of my neck, the dark bruises I hadn’t been able to hide. His inspection was quiet, and intense. I shivered beneath his touch and watched his face for any signs of what any of this meant to him. What I might mean. I tried to keep myself from feeling disappointment when I saw nothing but frustration, pinned between those eyebrows of his.

“I didn’t even notice…” He trailed off, tipping my head this way and that. His gaze shifted to my chest, where he could see the top of a bite mark peeking out from my off-kilter shirt. “Shit” he finally sighed. “Alright, let’s get your shirt off.”

I didn’t move.

“I want to see what damage I did.”

I ignored him, staring at the floor.

“Listen. I’m not going to hurt you again, you don’t have to -”

I jerked my head up. “Hurt me?” I couldn’t believe how dense he was. Was he truly concerned about that?

He blinked. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that what you’re worried about?”

“No.” I sighed. This boy would be the death of me. “Look at me.” He did, his eyes roving my arms, my chest, my face. I reached out and cupped his face in my hand. His eyes met mine, shocked and confused as I stared him down. “Do you really think you could hurt me?”

“Yeah. I mean.” He pulled away. “Didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Take off your shirt.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want him to see what he had done. I had a feeling it wouldn’t help my case.

He grabbed my chin and made our eyes meet. “Take off your shirt.”

Even through all of this, I still recognized his command.

He stepped back as I pulled the fabric over my head, taking in the bruises, the bitemarks, the ropeburns. He frowned and came closer, inspecting them, his face dark and closed. “I’m sorry,” he told me again. “I didn’t realize; I should have been in control.”

That reaction was exactly why I hadn’t wanted him to see. “Believe me when I say this is nothing.”

He ignored me. “I shouldn’t have had sex with you, not at all.”

I grabbed his hand again. He wouldn’t look at me. “I just told you. This is nothing.” It was frustrating to be ignored, to have my voice not even acknowledged.

“I promise you,” he said as he stood, “it won’t happen again.”

“Will you listen to me!” I stood up, erupted, propelled myself forward to where he was standing. He gasped and reached for the blade he wore at his side, but I had him pinned before he had a chance to fully draw it from its sheath. I pushed it back down, returning shining metal to dull leather, and pressed on the soft spots in his hand until he cursed in pain and released his grip.

“I just told you,” I said quietly, pushing my leg between his. I wanted him, how I wanted him. He moaned quietly as I moved my body over his, sending spikes of pleasure through my brain. It was becoming hard to think. He was so close to me, and I to him. “It’s okay. If you want me, just take me.” I watched his lips part and I felt him becoming hard against me, felt him wanting me. I pulled his arms up over his head, holding his wrists with one hand as I traced my fingers down his arm. I let them rest for a moment on his neck, feeling his blood race beneath the pads of my fingertips. His eyes had drifted shut at some point, and I could feel his breathing quicken with each motion my body made. His chin lifted, moving his lips to just inches from mine. Those perfect lips were parted, quivering. I leaned down.

“No,” he said against my lips. I froze, his command echoing through my body like ice.

He dropped his head against my chest. “Fuck,” he whispered. Then, louder, “Fuck.” I moved away from him, letting his wrists drop, finding my shirt and redressing along the way, staring at the wreck of a being I had just crashed against. I had been so sure when I had made my move, had been so sure as I had done all of this. I had just wanted him, wanted him to want me, but looking at him there, standing hunched over and broken, I realized that this was killing him.

I hated it.

It hurt, to see him there like that. As he crumpled before me, I fell with him, a mirror to his descent, his body sliding down the wall and collapsing inward as if there was some weight pulling him in. My knees hit the ground, again, for him. Always for him. I had done wrong, to push him to this. I had been the one not listening.

“Fuck,” I echoed him.

Eventually he looked up, saw me watching him. “Stop,” he told me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Just. Stop.” He looked away.

“Okay,” I said softly.

“That,” he spat. “Stop doing that.”

“I don’t -”

“I said stop.”

I stopped, my body shivering with the sound of his voice.

He took a deep breath. “You can’t just come onto my ship, and do this to me.” I wasn’t so sure he was talking to me. “You can’t make me feel this way. It isn’t right. It can’t be.”

“I’m sorry.” I tried to make my voice soft. I was afraid he might become nothing but broken planks. “I just wanted you.” He didn’t move, and my voice continued, “And I thought you wanted me.”

He shifted.

“Didn’t you?” I heard myself ask, my voice small, and I hated myself.

“There are rules.” He wasn’t looking at me. “Rules about conduct and rules about how I can act. Control of myself and control of my ship.”

“Who’s rules?”

“Mine.” He took a deep breath, but he still wouldn’t turn my way. Wouldn’t lift his head. “I can’t do this, if I’m to be what I am. I gave up being a person when I agreed to be their captain. I gave up all of this, whenever I’m at sea.”

“That’s -”

“Personal attachments,” he interrupted, finally turning his gaze to me, “are dangerous. They lead to weakness. I need to be strong for them.”

“Okay,” I conceded in the face of his glare. “Okay.”

He searched my face for a long time, then took in the rest of me, let his eyes trace the outlines of my skin, the way my shirt slipped over my collarbones. Suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his head against the wall, causing me to start forward, afraid he’d hurt himself.

“You make it so hard,” he muttered. Then he was standing, and he was the Captain I had come to recognize, cold and even. But beneath his eyes I could see the storms raging, watched tempests play out against his soul. To see him like this, to know the pain I had put him in, it made my chest hurt even as I felt tingles shiver through my spine at his commands.

“Get in the chair.” I moved quickly towards the desk chair he indicated as he walked towards me, trying to keep distance between our bodies. He grabbed the ropes from the bed and tied my wrists, taking great care not to touch my skin. When he finished, he stepped back and looked at me. I didn’t look at his face, didn’t want to know what was or wasn’t there. I heard him go across the room, heard him rustling as he searched for something.

He returned and stood before me, just stood for some time. I gathered the pain in my chest and looked up.

He held the manacles dangling in his hand.

I felt my breath catch. I knew he would still have my warning in his ears, I knew he understood what this would mean. I rolled my eyes slowly up to his face and found it impassive.

“I’m sending someone up to take you down to the cells. They’ll put you in irons down there anyway.”

“I cannot guarantee the safety of your crew if that were to happen.”

His voice lashed from his mouth. “Do not threaten my crew.”

I lifted my chin and let him see the truth in my eyes, let him look for it himself. We stared each other down, the Captain’s dark eyes demanding, my grey eyes warning, storms roiling in each.

“Fuck,” he finally said one last time before throwing the manacles on the bed and storming from the room.

I wanted to scream. I waited only minutes before untying myself, throwing myself bodily from the chair he had confined me to. I paced around the room for a bit, but pacing is just another form of inaction and it did me no good. I would have to do something, or I was going to die from all the things that were crashing about inside of me.

He didn’t want me. He couldn’t have me. I had hurt him. I needed to get my head on straight; needed to get to place where I could think. And on the ship, on any ship, there was really only one place for that. Where I felt like home.

I took a breath and tried to calm down. I had to leave this room anyway. I knew he wasn’t coming back, and I wasn’t going to be put in a position where I would have to hurt someone he cared about. Caring about by proxy - that was a new one for me. I coiled the ropes again and left them on the chair, then headed back to the mess hall.

The cook didn’t even look up when I walked in. “No food,” he said. “Leave.”

I kept moving forward instead. The scents called to me, helped settle the hole that was growing in my stomach at the rejection I had just faced. They were familiar, too familiar to be coincidence, and I tried to convince myself of that as I moved forward. “I was looking for work, actually.”

That got his attention. He scowled when he saw me. “Go away. I don’t have a death wish.”

I smiled. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but I’m not as hot as you, so I won’t last as long when the Captain’s pissed.”

I felt my smile sadden at that. “I’d really appreciate something to do with my hands,” I paused as I took a breath and took a chance, “Alan.”

“Oh, now he thinks we’re on first name -” He froze, hands halfway through peeling a potato.

“You are Alan,” I asked, moving into the kitchen. “Right?”

The potato fell, but the knife remained. I watched it shake and stayed out of range. “Why are you here?” His voice barely reached me through the kitchen’s smoke.

“It was your porridge,” I said, softly. The scents of the kitchen held me. I couldn’t leave, wouldn’t leave. “It tastes just like Minnie’s.”

The knife lowered. “You know Minnie?”

“Grew up in her kitchen.”

“Scullery boy, eh?”

I leaned on the counter, drinking in the scene, the pots around me, the arrangements of knives and tools that were almost the same but just a tad different. It grounded me, helped me to forget what had just happened. I anchored myself in soups and sauces, and threw away the pain I felt. “Something like that.” I knew that I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be exposing myself to this man, and yet…

“Min didn’t have need of scullery boys.”

He had the same pots, I noticed. I wondered if they’d bought them together, or if they’d been a gift, or if they were just so similar they’d chosen the same set. “Taught me everything I know. About knives. About life. Being smart, and when to be dumb.” I shrugged, ignoring the knife still pointed vaguely in my direction. “Strategies of command.”

“Scullery boys don’t need strategies of command,” he said warily.

I smiled to hear his voice. They even talk the same, I thought. “Told me about her brother, too. And how he could never quite get their grandma’s soup right.” I blinked as the knife was raised back to my eye level.

After an appropriate moment of threatening, the cook sighed and lowered the knife. “Minerva, eh?” He gestured me the rest of the way into the kitchen with the blade and handed me a potato. “How’s she doing?”

“Haven’t seen her in some years, to be honest.”

He grunted. “Yeah. Me either.”

We worked on potatoes silently for a moment. A rhythm was set, the cook’s hands flying over the lumpy tubers and flicking skin expertly into the waste bin. I had to concentrate to keep up with his pace and not get cut in the process. It was good to think about something other than what I had just done, what had just happened, keeping my hands busy with a steady stream of methodological actions. I let my eyes wander the kitchen as I worked.

“You have the same pots as her, you know.”

He grunted.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you, Alan.”

He threw down his knife angrily. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And you have some nerve, coming in here, calling me by a dead name.”

I nodded. He watched me carefully, studying my face for any sign of trickery, but all I had were the last splashes of guilt, colored by a growing nostalgia. He grunted and threw me another root. “What do you call yourself, son?”

I thought about that as I worked. There were a lot of answers to that question, and none of them were especially good.

“It’s an easy enough question.”

I sighed, coming up with an acceptable explanation. “My name is simmering. I need to keep it covered for a bit more, until it’s done.”

“Cooking metaphor for the cook, I see, he can’t understand anything but what’s in the kitchen.” I smiled as he grabbed up another potato and set to it angrily. “I’ve got to call you something, so what’ll it be?”

“Boy is fine.”

“Good, easy. I like it. Well, here you shouldn’t call me Alan. Understand? Here, I’m Cookie.”

“Because you’re so sweet?”

He flashed me a scowl as he turned away from the table we were working at. He bustled around his kitchen for a bit, chopping this, spicing that, while I kept up the task of potato peeling. I took the time to think, to try and understand what was going on.

And what was going on was, I had lost the Captain.

I shouldn’t delude myself; I had never had him to begin with. What had happened the night before was nothing but a slip up, a mistake on his part. Probably due to keeping his dick in his pants for too long on the sea. He had rules, he had said. Gave it all up to be a Captain. I didn’t understand his reasons for it, but I would have to respect them.

All I understood was that I could not have him.

For some reason, rather than just disappointment, this thought filled me with the deepest, most bottomless sorrow which manifested in an almost physical pain. How had I let this happen, I thought to myself. How had I let this strange man have such a hold over me? I was the storms that ravaged the seas; I was the fifty foot swells that swallowed boats whole and swatted at navies like flies. I was untamable and uncaring and this man, this man had brought me to my knees. He wanted me, but wouldn’t touch me, and that somehow hurt more than anything I had been through yet. Any of the torture, any of the pain. I had come through all of that, and this was the thing that was ripping my soul to pieces? It just didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair.

I let myself wallow for a bit, but wallowing never did me much good and I’d never been one to indulge for long. And so, standing there with the potatoes, I came to a decision. In the end, it was simple. He would not touch me. The Captain had said that he would not, and a Captain should keep his word. If I let it, this could break me. For some strange reason, I cared that much. But I had rules too. I could not be broken, and so this would not break me. I would just have to continue, riding the ship until they dropped me off. And then I would continue some more, until I did what needed to be done.

Simple.

My body was resigning to never having him touch me again, and it hurt. I gasped in the face of it, feeling any hope flee as I realized just how much I was losing, how much I could have had. I put down my potato and my knife and tried to just breathe.

It was simple, yes, but that didn’t make it easy.

“Boy!” Cookie needed me, and I hung onto that like a lifeboat. He was tasting the soup he was preparing, the one that spat smells that had brought me so surely to him. He passed the spoon to me. “Really. What is it missing?”

I sipped deep, letting the familiar tones flow over my tongue. Thank all the gods for distractions. There was a hint of something, something not quite right... “You added the onions first, to sweat?”

“Yes, yes.”

“And then the garlic?”

“Of course, and then the -”

“Lime.”

He stopped. “Lime?” He looked around him, then scurried to various cabinets, opening and closing doors. “She adds lime,” he muttered, “it’s a fucking sailor’s recipe, grandma was a sailor, her father was a sailor, of course she fucking adds lime.”

I peeled potatoes and watched him. I felt strangely at home here, or maybe not so strangely. I had gotten my start in a kitchen like this one, with a cook just like this, food so similar it was almost identical. How strange, I thought, that fate brought me to this ship, to this cook.

No, not fate. That the Captain brought me here. I froze and looked down, the ice in my stomach that the soup had begun to melt threatening me again with violent force.

“What can you tell me,” I managed to ask, “about the Captain.”

Cookie turned and looked at me. “Nothing,” he said. “I like my body the way it is, intact, and not part of the soup I serve.”

But cooks gossip, it’s in their blood. And I had to know, despite my better judgement. “Does he really not sleep with anyone?”

The cook scoffed. “He sleeps with whores on the docks, goes the word. Disappears for hours, leaves Wicky in charge. That’s how he gets his information, some say. Fucks whores so good they’re loyal to him forever. Course, others say he’s just payin’ like the rest of us.” He bustled around me, not noticing how my face had gone so very still. “Wicky’s the first mate, hard ass. Slippery sort of fella. He won’t like you,” he told me flatly. “When we were still up north, Cap used to be more relaxed, but after all that business -”

“You were up north?” I was ignoring how hearing that the Captain preferred whores over me stabbed at my gut. Whores were lovely people, I told myself. And it wasn’t like I had never paid for sex. This was an unreasonable reaction.

“Aye, we used to run with the King’s Brigade.”

“Privateers?” I frowned. “I understand it’s lucrative, but -”

Cookie spat. “Fuck ‘em, not those scum floatin’ for a limp dicked toothless hack who has to have his son chew his food for him.”

I blinked. This was definitely Minnie’s brother. “But you said the King.”

“Aye, son, the true king. The King of the Sea. The Pirate King, him of a hundred names and a thousand lies.”

I smiled at the poetry falling like rocks from Cookie’s lips. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“Aye, boy. It was. Thousands of pirate fleets, all loyal to their king and master.”

“Pirates aren’t loyal to anyone.”

“Not anymore, they aren’t,” he muttered. He pointed over my shoulder with his ladle. “Incoming.”

I turned and found the Captain barrelling past the door. At the sight of me in the kitchen, he stopped dead and came back until he filled the door frame, staring at me with those intense eyes. He held so much frustration pinned up between his brows that I didn’t know how he wasn’t falling over with the weight.

I didn’t know what to say to him, so I just kept peeling potatoes. My stomach was doing flips at the sight of him, decked out in his jet black cloak, the skin of his chest suddenly seeming to have as many hues as his hair. How many terrifying things had I faced down, and this man was the thing that made me nervous?

This man who would not have me. This man who would not break me.

“I thought,” he finally said, walking towards me, “that I told you not to do this shit anymore.”

“You also told me not to listen to you.” It was a weak argument and I knew it. He slammed his hand on the counter between us. Cookie jumped; I didn’t.

“You don’t have to go around scaring Cookie for shit I’ve done,” I told him quietly.

“Scare Cookie?” He laughed, a dry sound that got tangled up in his hair. “Fuck, do you even know what you did?”

I pointed at the potatoes. “I needed something to do with my hands.”

“You were supposed to be tied up, waiting to be taken to the cells. If one of my men had found you, do you know what they would have done? What I would have had to order them to do?”

“As if they could touch me.”

“Don’t you go doubting my men.”

“What,” I said, putting down the potato in hand, “would you have had me do? Wait around to be taken to the cells? Be put back in irons?”

“Yes! You should have stayed. In the room! Tied!”

I couldn’t help myself. He could have had me; he could have me every night, but instead he had whores on the docks, and the bitterness made me spit, “I thought you didn’t want me tied up in your bed anymore.”

“STOP,” he roared. He came around the counter, moving fast into the kitchen. “This isn’t a fucking game!” I saw the real anger in his eyes, saw the real fear in Cookie’s, and made a decision just as he reached out to grab me.

As soon as I had him on the ground, I drug him behind the counter, out of view of the doorway. “Cookie,” I said, using my most calming voice, “go watch the door.”

The cook whimpered as he heard the Captain sputter in the hold I had him in, watching him kick and fight.

“Hey, Alan. Alan.” He looked at me, eyes wide with fright. “I’m not going to hurt him, I promise.”

Cookie swallowed and nodded. He backed out of the kitchen with eyes so big I thought they would burst.

The Captain was still fighting me, trying to push away the arm I had around his neck. I shushed him, burying my head in his hair, waiting for him to stop struggling. “You’re okay,” I told him again and again, “I’m not going to hurt you, you’re okay.” I didn’t love that this had been my course of action; to hold him down, so soon after pushing myself on him, it felt wrong. But I needed him to calm, needed Cookie to be alright. I held him and hoped he would forgive me, even as I loved the feeling of having him in my arms, and knew it would be the only way I could achieve it.

Eventually his legs stopped their spastic scrabbling for purchase, his hands simply hanging on my muscled forearms. For the second time in as many hours, I could feel his heartbeat against my skin, pounding fast and hard. I waited until he hadn’t moved for a good minute, then shifted his head so I could look down at him.

“You good?”

When he nodded I slowly released the pressure from my hold. Even when he could move, he stayed wrapped in my arms, heart beating, hands on my arms.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to touch you again.”

He bucked against my arms and I let him pull away completely, watching him sit up in front of me. This distance between us immediately hurt, my body needing to be reminded again and again that it couldn’t reach out and have him. I hid my hands under my legs so they wouldn’t take their own actions.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” I continued. “I’m usually better at planning, at knowing the consequences of my actions, but lately things haven’t been going so well.” I looked at the bowed shoulder in front of me. “Somehow it seems to get worse around you.”

He scoffed.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

The curls tilted back. “No, I should have had better control. You shouldn’t have needed to do this.”

“I didn’t need to do anything. I just didn’t want Cookie scared.”

He processed that, maybe even heard me this time. “I scared Cookie,” he repeated. I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “But not you?”

I let myself laugh, chuckling low and deep. “There is very little that scares me.”

“You don’t know me.”

I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist at the sorrow I heard in his voice, as loosely as I could, touching as little of him as I could manage. Just hold him, just be around him. But he was too far away, and I knew he didn’t want my touch, not any of it. I should have let him be, maybe. I should have just let him go. But I couldn’t. “I’d like to.”

“I could hurt you.” He said it so seriously I laughed again. The sound made him turn to me, frowning, that brow furrowed so deeply.

I met his eyes with a smile. “I’d never let you do that.” It was half a threat, half a promise, and I saw a shiver pass through him as the words reached him.

“I know he’s here, cook,” we suddenly heard, “so stand aside!”

I sighed and stood, expecting the Captain to do the same. Instead, he remained on the floor, head bowed.

The three men at the door immediately caught sight of me. It was hard not to; I stand out in a space so small. One I recognized, the man called Finn. One of the others was the scandinavian I’d carted on my back the first day I’d arrived. The last was a thin brunette, his close cropped hair making his forehead look massive. “You,” he growled, pushing Cookie aside. He hit a table and cried out. I started forward, but the Captain grabbed by pant leg. I looked down at the shimmering shock he gave me and was met with a shaking head.

I heeded him. I had to.

“What have you done with the Captain, you scoundrel?”

“Treated him better than you just treated Cookie,” I said flatly. His eyes narrowed. The Captain sighed.

I watched this thin man take in my massive frame, all my scars. I was intimidating, when I wanted to be. I was whatever I wanted to be, whenever I wanted to be. But this man worked under the Captain, and wasn’t easily scared by men.

I thought briefly about how he might react to ghosts.

Suddenly, his eyes caught on the bruises on my neck. I watched them go wide.

“You fucking slut,” he hissed, rushing towards me.

I couldn’t hide the amazed gasp of laughter that accusation pushed from my throat. I readied myself to take this man down, feeling a sense of calm come over my being.

“Who do you think you are, coming here and taking him like that? You think I couldn’t hear you fucking screaming all last night? My room is right next to his, I could hear all of your sick little moans, banging away at our -”

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over the Captain’s strategically placed leg and went sprawling.

“Oh, hey Wicky,” the Captain said drily. “Didn’t notice you there.” He stood, stepping carefully around his first mate’s limbs and gestured for me to follow. We moved into the mess where the other two sailors looked positively sick.

“Cap,” the scandinavian one tried, “we’re here to take the -”

“No need,” the Captain interrupted. “He’ll continue to stay with me.”

“But -”

“He can untie knots,” he explained, “so he needs constant supervision.”

“Cap,” Finn’s voice entered the space very carefully, “we have irons.”

The Captain rolled his gaze over to the sailor. He shrunk beneath the icy expanse. “Finn, are you questioning me?”

He swallowed. “No, Cap.”

“Good.” He turned to me. At the sight of his face, my skin shivered with anticipation of the orders I knew he would give, even as my brain tried to stop it. “Walk.”

But something held me back, despite my shivering body. “Can I check on Cookie first?”

I actually thought he might say no for a moment, so intense were his eyes. But he softened quickly, and sighed. “Of course. Go.”

I made my way over to the stunned cook. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Cookie groaned and rubbed his back where he’d taken the hit. “Told you he wouldn’t like you.”

I smiled. “I had to leave him in your kitchen. Is that alright?”

He glanced over towards the doorframe. “Has to be, doesn’t it?”

“No, Cookie.” At the cold intensity in my voice, the cook looked back. “It doesn’t.”

I was still amped from thinking I was going to have to fight Wicky; the last traces of my intensity must have still dripped from my face. Cookie watched them fall and I could see him thinking, could actually watch him putting pieces together. “Holy moses,” he breathed. He stared at me, a realization dawning on his face. I blinked in the face of it, not knowing quite what to expect. I’d told him enough that I really should have foreseen this, probably should have been preparing, but there had been a lot of other things on my mind. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had miscalculated. Then his face split into a massive smile. “It’s you.”

He looked me up and down for a bit, then reached out and began shaking my hand wildly. “Well,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “They did say you were big.”

I grinned back and pulled my hand away. The Captain was waiting.

As we walked away, I heard Cookie muttering to himself, “On my ship. In my kitchen.”

“Don’t smile,” the Captain said. “You just made a powerful enemy. Means you’re more than likely to be voted off at the next port, if they don’t agree to just maroon you before then.”

I shrugged. As if the ocean frightened me. “There’s nowhere on the sea that you can go to hide from me,” I told him, a little giddy from our recent encounter. He gave me a funny look but didn’t say anything more.

We got back to the bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t lock it this time, just settled down at his desk to work on some paperwork. I sat on the bed.

“You brought me back here.”

“Aye,” he said, scratching at his paper.

“No ropes?”

He shrugged. “What’s the point?”

You like it, I thought. I didn’t say it. The Captain would not touch me again, and I knew it. It would be foolish to flirt.

“So all that time,” he confirmed, putting down his quill, “you could have gotten out whenever you wanted.”

“I told you. I was never a prisoner. And I would never let you hurt me.”

Where before that had aroused a shiver, now his only reaction was a scoff.

“What?” I kept my voice soft in the face of his denial. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s just.” He shrugged. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

It was my turn to scoff. “What. Some bitemarks?”

He looked away.

“Look,” I said, lifting my shirt so he could see. He didn’t bring his gaze anywhere close to me, so I got up and walked over to him. I took his hand in mine, ignoring the small noise of protest he made. He needed to understand this, I told myself, pretending this had nothing to do with how my body ached to be near his. This was something he should know. Then I would let him be. “Feel. I’m alright. I promise you, you didn’t hurt me. This isn’t pain, not in the way you’re thinking. I would never let anyone hurt me, not even you.” His eyes traveled to mine at that. I held them steady. “I let you do this to me, whether you get that or not; I let you do this, because I enjoy it.” He tugged at my grip and I let him pull away, reluctantly, conscious of how long our skin had been in contact. “I understand why you can’t keep doing this. I don’t like it, but I understand it. And I’m sorry that I keep pushing you, that I pressured you to do more than you wanted.”

“Not more than I wanted,” he corrected. “More than I should.”

My stomach fluttered at that.

I sat beside him, then, so close together and yet worlds apart for a long time. What I wouldn’t have given for our worlds to collide. Being so close to him was torture. I found that I couldn’t look over to him for fear of my heart stopping, my desire was so bad. The room was a desert, and he was an oasis, one from which I had been banned to drink and felt as if I were slowly dying. Fuck, I could smell him, a heady scent that set my teeth on edge with desire and made my skin prickle. It was torture, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So when he suddenly spoke, it was as if the heavens opened and rain poured upon my face. I gulped at his words.

“I’m sorry for my first mate.”

“Worse things have been said to me.” It wasn’t meant as a lie to make him feel better; the first mate’s words had been nothing. I looked up to him and realized that he hadn't been writing for some time; his quill was dry in his hand.

“Especially,” he continued as he turned to look at me, “since he lied.”

Confused, I met his gaze found his eyes burning so intensely that I involuntarily pulled back. “What?”

He leaned on one arm, looking down at me. I shrunk under the ferocity of his inspection, yet felt my body inexplicably reacting, my skin flashing hot and cold, the flesh under my skin crawling with pleasure. “He said you screamed.” I didn’t understand how he could keep his voice so steady when he was so obviously boiling over. His hand reached out and touched me and I flinched at the cacophony of sensation that simple gesture brought. My breath was fast, my heartrate faster.

He wrapped his hand around my chin and pulled, and I moved towards him because it was what he wanted, what I wanted. I felt his leg brush between mine and I gasped.

“You were so quiet last night,” he whispered, moving his leg gently. He didn’t have to excite me; I had been hard since his first touch. His hand found its way to my hair, guiding my head against the side of his leg. I panted against him, confused and shocked and wanting him, as he whispered, “I want to hear you scream.”

“Wait,” I managed, but the noise got lost in the creases of his body. I didn’t understand what was happening, but my body was singing with it and that was all I could really ask for.

“Come to bed,” he ordered. He hooked his fingers around the base of my jaw and stood, pulling me up.

“Wait,” I said again, but I didn’t mean it. I followed him as he walked backwards across the floor, our eyes locked. When he toppled into bed I fell on top of him.

I was so confused, so lost by his sudden transformation. He had said he couldn’t have me; I had resigned myself to this. He guided my head into the crook of his neck and pressed against me and I forgot how to think.

With him, when I was with him, there was only need. I knew that it was wrong, that I was wrong for him and therefore this was wrong for me, but I couldn’t help myself as he spidered his hand across my back. A moan escaped my lips as his body pushed against mine.

“Louder,” he whispered. “I want to hear you.”

Something managed to click in my foggy brain. I pulled back. “Wait, but your first mate. Isn’t he…”

I saw the grin splashed across his face. “Yeah. He should be. Takes a nap right around this time every day.”

“Hold on.” I pushed away from him, tried my best to escape the pull he had enacted on me. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I didn’t love. “What is this about?”

He bit my ear and I almost collapsed back down. “Stop,” I tried. “Wait… I thought you couldn’t…” It was hard to think full thoughts with what he was doing to my body. In the back of my head, I heard Cookie’s voice telling me how he commanded whores’ loyalty. I tried to push that thought away.

“I’m the captain,” he told me huskily.

“Exactly.” I shoved away from him completely. “What the fuck is going on here?”

His eyes searched my face. “You want me, don’t you?” I didn’t know what to say. Of course I fucking wanted him. I watched a smile slid softly across his face, hungrily across his muscles. “Well, I want you too.”

My stomach dropped like I had leapt from the highest mast. I wondered, briefly if he would catch me before I shattered on the ground.

“This is the only way this can happen,” he was continuing. “I can’t have you, but the Captain can.”

“What?” I was trying to pay attention, but it was hard with the way he was looking at me.

“As the captain.” He was reaching for me now, his eyes hungry, his hands setting off fireworks against my skin, “it’s my job to mete out justice.”

I was letting him touch me, trying to focus through the things he was doing to me.

“What Wicky said to you. The things he said.” He was so close to me again, his breath brushing against my skin. Goosebumps shivered all the way to my bones. “That can’t stand. He needs to know his words have no effect, that I’m in charge.”

This is about Wicky, I thought. This isn’t about him wanting me at all. If I were anyone else, he would still do this. I felt my body stiffen at the realization and was surprised at how much it hurt.

I sat up to get away from him. “I’m a means to an end, then.” He laid where I had left him, dark hair spilling out over the sheets. I didn’t let myself look at him there, beautiful and perfect.

“I was just going to flog him, but he’d have to approve that.” He spoke about it so casually, so flippantly, the words drifting up to me where I sat. I faced away from him. “Then I thought about assigning him to deck duty for a week. But this is better. ” He sat up and put his arms around my shoulders, pressed his lips to my ear. “Scream,” he whispered. “Shout. Do what you need to do. I want him to hear you.” His hands were at my waist, working on getting my pants loosened. “What better poetic justice is that?”

“You’re using me to get to him.”

I felt him smirk against my skin. “I thought you were okay with being used.”

I didn’t say anything to that, just explored the strange depth of emotion that was opening up within me.

“This is what you wanted,” he told me, and I wanted to cry as he pulled me onto the bed. It felt like he was ripping me in two. “Isn’t it?”

Wasn’t it? I’d wanted him to touch me, and here he was, touching me. I’d wanted him to want me, and he wanted me. Wanted something from me, at least. Wasn’t that enough?

“No,” I told him quietly, but my word was lost as my traitorous body pressed against him and he moaned. I hated myself, hated my insatiable flesh. I had wanted him, and here he wasn. Why wasn’t I happy?

I didn’t understand yet that it wasn’t my body but my soul that yearned for him, and that nothing would be enough until he gave himself to me the way I had already given myself so foolishly and completely to him.

At the time, however, all I knew was the crashing desire that gripped me as he took my body in his arms. “What do you need from me, Captain?” I heard myself ask, and hated how my body gave to him before his gentle hands. I gasped as he slid his hand into my pants, found my cock hard and erect in his grasp.

“You,” he told me firmly, “call me sir.”

I felt my body curl as he rubbed the top of my cock. “Yes, sir,” I managed raggedly, and he rewarded me with a bite to the soft spot between my neck and shoulder, and I collapsed fully into submission.

“You need to tell me,” he said as he climbed on top of me, his voice shaky, “all the things that drive you nuts. I want to know everything, everything I can do to make you scream. You stoic, quiet man, I will make you mine, I will turn you into a quivering, moaning mess. Okay?”

I nodded.

“I asked, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” I gasped, my mind numb with desire. I know he could feel what he was doing to me, how much I trembled above him, how hard I was under his hand.

“And sailor,” he told me, grabbing my chin so hard it hurt. “Don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”

I almost came just at that, at the order, at the way he grabbed me, but I managed to voice, “Yes sir,” so breathlessly that he laughed. He pushed me back, not giving me a chance to breathe before he was on top of me kissing me so fiercely I almost lost myself.

Finally he let me be, taking a moment to take off his shirt. I cursed to see his beautiful bare skin in the daytime, a gift to my eyes that was cut short when he pulled my lips back to his.

“What,” he asked me in between bites and kissed of my cheekbone and ear, “do you want me to do to you?”

“Fuck,” I cursed as he hit a sweet spot, writhing in pleasure. There weren’t many other words in my head.

“You want me to fuck you?” He bit my ear and I collapsed inward, nodding furiously. “Say it.”

I tried, I really did, but he was licking my ear and the only thing coming from my lips were rapturous moans.

“Say, please fuck me, sir.”

“Please, sir,” I managed before I dissolved again at the touch of his fingers to my asshole. When had he gotten down there? “Sir, please, fuck.”

“Good enough,” he murmured, his face in my hipbone. He was everywhere, everywhere at once, his fingers soothing as his lips ignited. I had a break, just for a moment, while he stripped of his pants. Then he was back, biting and kissing and naked. He pulled my pants the rest of the way off and stopped for moment. I thought he was just waiting, just teasing, but the moment went too long. I lifted my head and found him staring at the handmarks from last night. They stood out starkly, green-yellow against my scarred skin. It was the first time I had seen him lessen since he’d started this crusade against Wicky, and it broke my heart.

“Hey,” I started.

“Quiet.” He leaned down and kissed each bruise once, so gently I could barely feel his lips. He rested his head against my inner thigh for a moment, his eyes closed, his face still. Then he took a deep breath and looked down at me.

“How ‘bout we try something a little different this time,” he asked me huskily.

“Whatever you want,” I responded, quietly, careful of the emotion in his voice.

“Whatever you want, sir,” he snapped back, and my core shivered as any parts of me gave to him yet again.

He guided me through flipping over, put me on my knees and spread my legs. The jar of lube was right where he had left it the night before, and he grabbed it.

“Sir,” I said breathily. He stopped, just about to press lube to my body. I wondered if he was worried. I wondered if he was annoyed. I didn’t care; I needed this. If he was going to use me, I was going to take advantage to the fullest. “Sir, please tie me up.”

There was a moment, then he pressed his lubed fingers deep inside my ass and I cried out with pleasure, my hands becoming fists around the sheets on the bed.

“Your wish,” he told me, biting the divot just above my ass where my spine ended, making me almost collapse as mind-numbing waves of sensation rolled up my body, “is my command.”

He found rope and bound my hands and feet, kissing me all the while, enjoying himself, enjoying how long it took him. He knew I was dying for him. I begged him to hurry, but he would have none of it. He stopped between my two hands and took my chin in his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, smirk hiding behind his eyes, cock dangerously close to my face.

“Fuck, sir, I need you,” but I had only gotten halfway through my plea before he was gone.

“Fuck,” I called, and he bit my ankle in reply.

By the time he returned to kneel behind me I was shaking with anticipation. He kept me waiting, playing with me with lubed fingers, enjoying my moans and curses. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please sir, I’m going to -”

“Don’t you dare.” He reached around and pinched off the base of my cock, leaving it throbbing and painful with suppressed need.

“Sir,” I begged, but he just kissed my lower back.

“You can come when I’m inside of you.” He gave me another kiss. “Maybe.”

At his words, I heard myself let loose a choked moan. His hand tightened around me as I did, and I knew I couldn’t last much longer. “Hurry, sir, please,” I begged. I felt him begin to rub the head of his cock against my hole, playing with me, keeping me just on the edge of where I wanted to be. I almost cried from it, might have cried actual tears. I was past the point of knowing what I was and was not doing, except what the Captain asked of me.

“Ready?” he asked, and I must have nodded, or gave some other confirmation. I can’t remember anything but the pleasure, but the next thing I knew he was inside of me.

How things can turn from anguish to euphoria in an instant. I called out, and he pushed in again, and again, but never as deep as he could, always pulling out before he reached his limits. It was killing me, to still be denied.

I had started out on my hands and knees, but soon collapsed onto my forearms as I shook from the thrill and bliss of it all. I felt myself collapsing even further, felt my face pressing into the bed. My hands wrapped around the ropes, feeling the rough cords under my palms as a tether to reality. I turned so that I could look at my Captain, so he could see what he was doing to me. “Please, sir,” I asked him, “go deeper.”

He responded by slowing down, by torturing me by making me wait between each thrust. I cried out to him again, my words gravely and loose and shaken. I don’t know how I made words at all, except that I needed to, that I needed him. “Please, oh god, sir.”

“What?” he asked me. His voice was loose too, shaking loose from his core, but he held it better than I. “What do you want?”

“Sir,” I panted. He pulled out and I gasped. As he pressed into me again, too slow, too deliberate, not at all as much as I needed, I told him what I wanted. And what I wanted was him, deep inside of me, as deep as he could go.

I must have used the right words, that time, because he reacted. He gathered up a handful of the shirt I was still wearing, pulling it against my body, pulling as he pressed. He pressed himself against me, still slow and deliberate, but this time he didn’t stop. I heard myself make a sound, a half kind of a noise, still holding back, and as I did the Captain leaned down and whispered to me, “Scream.”

And I did, curses pouring from my mouth unhindered.

At the sound of my voice, he released his hand from the base of my cock. “Come,” he commanded, stroking my incredibly sensitive shaft, and somehow the word reached my ears just as his hips pressed against mine and he was fully inside of me.

It felt so much deeper this way, somehow, and I came instantly, almost collapsing flat on the bed from the force of it. I cried out, wordlessly, a torrent of sounds to match the release I felt streaming from my core. If not for his strong arms holding me up, somehow keeping my hips where he needed them, it all would have been over then. Instead, he was able to keep riding me, his hips keeping a motion that made me moan and shout, the aftershocks of the incredible orgasm he had given me pushing me past the point of knowing what came out of my mouth.

I could feel him inside of me, and I called out to him, told him I wanted him, begged him for more, and he gave it all to me, everything I wanted in that moment. And in that moment, all I wanted was his cock thrusting deep within me. In that moment, all I wanted was to be here, before him on my hands and knees, and I couldn’t begin to care what that meant.

He was getting close, getting to where he needed to be, his hands tightening on my body, his rhythm growing faster, his answers to my pleas growing hoarser and more stunted. I could feel his desire in the way he gripped my hips and I responded, rocking back against him and calling for him, asking for more, always for more.

Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

It startled him, I think, and he slammed into me with more force than he’d intended. “Fuck,” I screamed, but it was pleasure not pain. I turned my head into the bed.

“Fuck off,” he roared at the door. Then he reached down and lifted my head from the cushion by my hair. “Loud,” he panted. “Come on, I need to hear you.”

“People at the door.”

“Fuck em.”

The knock came again.

“Fuck off,” he repeated, managing to sound even more pissed. He increased his rhythm, his hand still on my hair, and I couldn’t keep the sounds in my throat out of my mouth, didn’t even know they were coming from me, just knew I didn’t want him to stop, needed him not to stop.

The person knocked a third time.

“FUCK.” The Captain shoved himself from my body, causing me to crumple to the bed in a stunned stupor. He strode to the door, ripping it open to reveal three very frightened sailors. “What?”

They gaped at him, naked, shiny with lube and sweat and my cum, and the braver of the three peered around him and found me, tied naked on the bed, gasping for air and dazed.

“Talk,” the Captain demanded, and all three began to babble at once. He took a deep breath and held up his hand. There was silence. Then he pointed at the middle one. “You. Go.”

“Ship, merchant. Been chasing her for the last 15 minutes.”

“And no one came to tell me when she was first sighted because…”

All three blanched. There was a long moment of silence. Then, the designated speaker swallowed. “You sounded busy,” he whispered.

The Captain slammed the door in their faces. He was very still for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Fuck me,” he muttered. When he opened the door again, the men were all still standing there, wide eyed and shell shocked. “What kind of ship.”

The man looked relieved to be on familiar territory. “Looks an Indiaman, Cap. British”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Prep the cannonware, 12 on the side we’ll be approaching on and 7 on the other. Half salvos, and get the sails prepared. We’ll make a pass and then come about.”

The men nodded. One of them, the same one that had let his eyes wander to me, slowly dropped his eyes to the Captain’s cock, still semi-hard even after the topical conversation.

The Captain slammed the door in their faces again.

“Fuck,” he said. He pushed his hair from his face, gathering clothes and weapons. “Sounded busy.”

I moved to get up, but he pointed the sword that he had just acquired at me. “No. This is no place for you, and I’m not fucking done with you. You stay put. I’m finishing what I started when this is over.”

Tingles ran down my spine as I nodded, mute in the face of that proclamation.

He rushed out the door, pulling his breeches on as he went. At the last moment, he turned around and pointed at me. “Stay!” he shouted.

I waited all of a minute before I untied myself and ran out the door.