Bare Knuckle

"You might be onto something," Regan said, "It feels right to wrap your hands like this."

"Can't imagine the coat has that much freedom of movement," said Bonney.

"You'd be surprised. The problem is the ship. It's too damn small. The deck only has so much surface. Can't really run around, chase things. It feels like I haven't stretched my legs in forever."

Bonney tilted her head. It made sense. Their claimed parade grounds had space. Not quite to a horizon, but enough to rough and tumble over and over and over again. Her legs were stretched more or less the right amount. Probably could do with a bit more, but she couldn't complain. The rough linen bit the skin between her fingers. Regan bounced on her feet and rolled her neck. More things to slip through and open, more gates to waltz through. Bonney took the time to interlace her fingers and roll out the joints. The cellar let her stretch, but not this much.

Regan was the first to put up her hands and hold out a fist. Bonney took the courtesy with a light tap and settled back into the balls of her feet. The wind picked up for a second and died down into stillness. Regan preferred a little more stoic stance.

Bonney moved first and nothing hit. There was no body to crack, and she retreated. A hand tried to catch her and found nothing. She smiled. Regan smiled too, breaking through the silence with a soft sigh. Bonney kept her hands up. The blood settled into a simple current sitting in her stomach. It ran with her breath. Regan waivered in time with the current. It slotted together, and Regan moved next.

The blow hit a forearm and they parted. Slow, so incredibly slow. They paced and circled, savoring the tension between them. Caged bears in a pit, playing and pawing and everything slotted together. Riley called from the audience, and it was nothing important.

Regan stepped and something finally hit in the intended way. The pain was sublime as a fist connected under Bonney's ribs. And she took the pain. She took the pain in her soul and the blood rushed to the hollow, forcing the bruise down into the soft pale of her skin. The poor thing never got the chance to purple. Bonney responded with a kick to the kneed that merely glanced along the intended path.

Regan had training, plain and simple. She had real fights and real bodies and real ways honed through drills and spars. It tempered the brutality and gave it focus. Regan merely stumbled through the primal forces running through her body. It told her to duck, and she ducked. It worked. It told her to hit, and she hit. It didn't work, but there was nothing that her singing instincts could do.

She was laughing. That simple realization almost got her a fist across the cheek for her troubles, but then Regan started laughing too. It was fun. It was simple. Bone and flesh colliding with equal strength, breaking planks and stones and bottles for no other reason than they were there to break. Destruction of bodies and nothing more. It broke them. It forged them. It unmade and made and led them through the dance. Regan took a knee to Bonney's stomach. Bonney listened to the song of her venom and leaned into it, moving their bodies closer and they both went to the clothed stone. A spider web of cracks wove themselves from the impact. The crowd finally let out a single gasp. The glass shattered and they were finally exposed to pure violence.

Bonney felt her fist hit the stone and her blood orgasmed through her sensation. Impact, something tactile and real to break against. The cracks grew finer, and Regan put up her guard. Neither of them could smother the thought that came when they felt each other's body. There was a large shape running between them and the blood simply responded. Bonney brought down another fist and something else broke. It was her pinky. Bonney had a bruise already fading across her cheek, too. Even and equal, pain for pain, blood for blood. Regan was still smiling, even as a thin line of blood slipped from the corners of her mouth. She raised her hips and Bonney was thrown off. She was back on her feet before Regan could respond.

The crowd responded and was aghast with their rising lust. They were not supposed to respond, more so than a polite clap or a knowing nod if emotions ran high. Someone came up to Riley and changed their bet. There was more money on Regan. She escaped the guard and had something violent in her stride. That must mean she was supposed to win. Riley did nothing to persuade or suggest anything at all. He just took the money. Bonney took a step, and her weight shifted a bit more than she intended. Riley winced at something in her neck twinged. Pain, split between them and everything aligned.

They met together arms crossing and shattering and bruising the other with a simple motion. The feet dug into the cracked stone, drawing the power of the earth up through their hips, turning their whole body with enough power to level a castle wall. Something gave and something split, the air cracked with a thunder strike and the air rushed in to fill the silence. Bonney felt her leg give out and she crumpled.

They both fell under the power of the other. The cold stone raced up to embrace them with open arms. Bonney smiled. Regan smiled. They both fell, but Regan hit the ground first. She knew it. Bonney knew it. The crowd might not, but they never mattered in the first place.

---

Bonney smelled lavender in the air, and it was nice. She didn't know the scent, but it seemed to carry the name she gave it well. It could be lily or something else that started with 'l.' She didn't know that many words that started with 'l' at the moment. She barely knew any words at all.

There was bed. She was on one of those. There was morning. It felt like one of those. And there was pain, the memory of it, the feeling it, the wonderful joy and the terrible agony. Bonney felt good. That was one more word that came to her. She started at the bottom of her being and slowly worked up, taking stock of what was where. Everything was as it should be. Everything existed and interconnected and moved when she wanted it to, if a bit reluctantly. The pain lived in her head and even that was slowly fading as whatever bruised matter floated through her skull retraced the pathways and repaired the damage. She slept through the worst of it.

And there was something else in the bed with her. That was fun. Something snored and shook and even that grating noise had its own wonderful little pulse of joy. Then a stomach growled, and it might have been hers or it might have been the others. She turned and saw a few strands of dark hair poke under the blankets. Not Aoife, but she figured that from the snoring. Aoife drooled, but she didn't snore.

Regan sprawled and shoved and tried to pull more blankets to herself. Bonney didn't let her. Bonney was a good blanket. She was a very, very good blanket, and Regan needed to know that. So, she simply rolled over, draping an arm across her chest, putting more of her body into hers and simply waiting. They were both nude. That was another word she remembered. It was one of her favorites.

Regan hugged her tightly once she realized there was another body near her. It was taller than hers, which was something rather novel. The sleeping mind didn't quite realize it. There was a hand stroking her hair and that was also quite novel. Most of the hands she knew saluted her, or clasped hers in a strong, tight shake. Every so often, a hand would go to her breasts or her stomach or her arms or her thighs, but never really anything above the neck. It was nice to have her hair stroked, especially when the nails dug in a bit to her scalp.

The little tingles of sensation ran through her nervous system, down into her fingers. They gripped harder on the provided body, and the provided body gripped back. The circuit ran its scurries until all the underlying machinery interlocked and started up. Bonney yawned and that set off the rest of the motions. Regan yawned in response and found herself buried in Bonney's chest. She did not move for a long, long moment.

"You lost," Bonney said, with a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You really are eager, aren't you," hummed Regan.

"And you're not?"

"I am, but there's something to a moment of silence in the early morning. Most of the time, alarm bells get me up. If it's not the bells, then its shanties. Surprisingly noisy on the open sea. Give me quiet."

Bonney gave her quiet and there was something to it. There were flowers in the windowsill. Bonney put them there a few days ago and it was about time to change them out. There was the sea from her window in the early morning light. There was a Regan slowly tracing circles on her stomach. The blood congregated on the spots and took the little sparks down deep into her body. It was starting. The machine changed and grew and shifted. Bonney was getting hard.

For once it was slow, her arousal. No real moment when the clock ticked over to the next, but just a slow waving growing in her stomach as she was touched.

"You really have no training, do you," said Regan. Bonney shook her head.

"That's what threw me off. I was looking for something in there. That, and I'm too used to holding back."

"I couldn't tell you what I was doing, honestly. I think I hit you at some point. And you hit me."

"Yeah, yeah, we did. Did everything fix itself?"

Bonney nodded.

"Good. I'd hate for anything to last on you."

Bonney kissed the top of her head again. She wanted to kiss other parts of her, but they were so far away. The blood collected in her leg, and something clicked. It wasn't even pain, just a moment of discomfort followed by slight relief. She kept growing harder, snaking down her thigh and starting to lift off her flesh. Her stomach clenched and rolled her the touch. The hands went up and up and up and found her chest. Bonney laid back into the mattress.

"Not even going to ask where we are before we get into it," Regan sighed.

"I'm here," said Bonney, "Anything more is a little pointless."

Regan huffed a short laugh.

"We're in my room, above Riley's," Bonney said. Regan's laugh turned to a mock groan.

"I was hoping to be in the Governor's mansion. I know for a fact that he has a wing for Navy big wigs," she said.

"We have a governor?" asked Bonney.

"Yes, you have a governor. And a mayor, and probably viceroy overseeing the expeditions out into the new world. There really is nothing going on in that head of yours, is there?"

Regan did not get a kiss for her last remark. There were traces of an insult in there. It might just be Bonney thinking about it too much. The hands did not stop. The hands kept pulling from Bonney that wonderful spark and ignition. The blood grew hot and steaming. Not quite boiling, but enough to whistle a kettle or two. Bonney kept to her quiet and her stillness.

"Are you alright," Regan hummed, "You're just kind of lying here. You can ask for more. The dock is too small for you. It seems kind of off, I guess, to see one of us just moving boxes. I could put a good word in with the Navy.

"The day I met you," Bonney said, "I put in a good day's work, treated some children to hand pies, got drunk and went to a whore house. Are you telling me the Navy can offer me something better than that?"

Regan stopped touching her and looked deep into Bonney's eyes. They were dark now, barely shifting with the rising heat of her body. Rock steady, even as the vast rolling plains, seeing into every aspect of the singular moment.

"I don't think so," Regan shrugged, "I could go for some hand pies, honestly. Maybe I'll get some when I leave."

"Assuming you can walk," Bonney said.

"There we go. Not quite the silent stone I thought you were. You do have some fire in you."

Bonney shrugged. She felt warm and flush, so that was probably true. Her length was still hardening, but that felt nice and beautifully hot. Regan was garnering her little pocket of warmth in her little space of existence. Something was poking her leg and that was nice and fun. It was big. It prodded and moved her and all the noises she heard the other night made sense. Something else clenched in her body and that was something else to explore. Bonney had won a bet, however. That meant she had to collect. Riley told her that was how it worked.

Regan did the collecting for her. There was a brief flirtation with Bonney's chest, but it faded as the hands slid lower. Not that much lower. They found Bonney's length and started stroking. The hands carried callouses and strength, pulling ropes and tying knots, balled fists and pistols and cutlasses against pirates and sea monsters and other unfortunate navies out in the water. She was good. She was very good. Not fancy or gentle, but practical with her pleasures.

"Had to do this so many times on the ship," Regan sighed, "can't really do any of this with the crew. None of them can take the pace, and there is a bit of decorum to protect."

"That's terrible," said Bonney, "No one should have to do decorum."

"You're really convincing me. Maybe see if I can bring three of Cian's girls with me. But I don't think they'd settle for months at sea. And I'd have to share them with the others. Authority is terrible."

"Don't you get to give orders too?"

"Oh, absolutely. That's the best part. But then you have to watch people fuck up those orders. And I'm not immune. I have my own orders to fuck up."

Bonney let the hand do what it wanted to her. It was skilled. It was good. It was nice and centering. She liked the hand better now. The rigorous work gave her more heat. The heat caught into her breath, sparking and steaming. Heat, she was simply heat. She snaked an arm around Regan and started pushing her work in different ways. She wrapped and pawed at the heavy chest, feeling the muscle underneath rise and fall in time with her breath. Her heartbeat fluttered down into her stomach and added to the rising clench. Bonney gazed over the sheets. Her tent had a double on her, bobbing and weaving as the other hand that was not hers worked and moved.

Bonney kept moving Regan down. They both knew the end goal, but it needed a token resistance. A prize not earned was not a prize. Bonney had already done the work to get her current partner in bed with her, but anything more had to have work done. Regan flowed and moved, carrying down the riverbed of Bonney. She settled on her stomach for a moment, kissing the hard muscles and deep lines. There was so much hidden in the strength. It burned and it hummed in time with her heartbeat. There was something poking her cheek, but that could wait for a moment. There were more important things to play with.

Bonney let her work. Her hands snaked back up and settled behind her head. Everything was nice and slack and aching in the best way. Every bit of work settled in her muscles, the fibers slowly coming unwound and lightening until they were feather soft. Her body unwound and realigned as the other did her work.

"I think you're bigger than me," whispered Regan. Bonney shrugged. She hadn't seen hers, so she couldn't confirm. It wasn't really that important. She was being administered to and the size was not as important as the actions made against it. It twitched and bobbed and responded to the attention. Then it went back to its hard stillness. Regan kissed the abs again and felt her hand creep up to Bonney's chest. Those were smaller than hers at least, although she didn't tell Bonney that. She was already insulted once today.

Regan was nice to her now. It was all soft kisses and touches, warm, salt chapped lips still smooth and still loving. Not nearly as skilled as Madame Cian's girls, but she didn't have the practice. Just instinct and firsthand knowledge. She kept kissing and pressing and doing her best to let the terrifying length know that it was no longer a threat. It was here to make friends. It wanted to be friends with her. Bonney sighed and shifted and opened her legs. It was getting hard to be comfortable with all the movement. She needed to be comfortable.

Regan sat at her tip and leaned down over the summit. She could see the world turn from her perch. Over the horizon to unsullied beaches, shorelines with no map, lands without a single soul setting foot on the sand. And right at the base, was home and safety and everything known. The first time she felt the feeling, but not the first time she saw it being felt. It was exhilarating, that odd trill in her stomach that said to push on and pull back in equal measure. She could still smell the whores baked into her skin. So many times, again and again and again. Or it just could be Bonney at her basest self. She kissed the tip, and the tremors ran down and into Bonney's spine. She sighed and Regan shivered. That meant she liked it. Regan liked it too.

Bonney sighed again as her head slipped into her mouth. She was new at this, very new. Too much trepidation, too much caution. Bonney still liked the demure touches on her body. They were fun to explore.

Her own hands crept down Regan's body, along her spine, the muscles, the mound of her ass. All well-toned and defined, all harder than iron and speaking to their similar strength. The strength begat work and the work begat more strength. An endless loop of escalation that would only end in some form of desolation. Their bodies would break and sunder and they would look back on the power with forlorn glee. Bonney slipped her hand between Regan's thighs. Regan was excited. Her entrance wept scant tears. Bonney moved her fingers and began her own little exploration of something new. The whores usually took care of this themselves before they came in. Regan mumbled and moaned and shimmied her hips. She liked the clumsy petting. It was new for her too. So much attention paid to the obvious suspect, this poor thing had been neglected. She hissed the length again and felt Bonney's heartbeat through a thick vein.

Bonney moved again, the cot creaking in protest. It needed to be quiet. And Regan needed to be somewhere new. Bonney took her legs. She lifted them and moved them until they were on her shoulders, and she was so close to Regan's core. So close, so incredibly close, Regan's own mammoth length twitch and pooling, the entrance weeping, every part of her eager and hungry and trembling. Bonney kissed the base and Regan went still. She liked the cautious touching as well.

They kissed one another and slowly grew bolder with each second. It was the same body that bruised their knuckles. It was the same body they had themselves. It liked touches and kisses and strokings and lingering thoughts. Bonney did not know if she was bigger than Regan. She was more concerned with figuring out the mouth thing Regan tried. It was simple, and it could be simple, but she started moving her tongue when she had the head in her mouth. Regan liked that and did it to her. Bonney liked that as well. She wanted deeper and Bonney responded, both escalating the depth until it hurt, backing off and trying against. Repetition and practice, the slow road to mastery, each second spent learning and playing. Bonney moved a hand back to Regan and started petting. Regan liked that, so Bonney got the same in response.

They were a closed loop. Every action fed into a reaction and that reaction fed back into action. Together, they locked themselves together, bobbing and choking and gagging and touching. The venom, their venom, sang in harmony, with its companion. They started humming down in their core. Regan had her third of length warmed in her mouth. Bonney had slightly less than that, but it was enough for Regan. Her stomach clenched and her legs tensed. The cot creaked and whined again, and Bonney held her grip tight as Regan broke free with a sharp gasp.