On the Tides of Desire

Author's Note: This is just some Gay Pirate Porn I wrote for a friend of mine (PlagueClover). Dark and twisted a bit, I do hope you all enjoy it as well.

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On the Tides of Desire

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Arturo Colina stood on the bow of his ship with an extended spyglass raised to his eye. The salt tinged winds that snapped at his long coat told him a storm was brewing, but he saw a prize far more exciting upon the horizon. A singular ship, flying British Naval colours, but certainly nothing more than a merchant's ship.

Grin curling his lips Arturo lowered the glass and snapped it shut. Grasping some nearby rigging he spun and faced the half of the crew that were currently on deck. Sweaty from their work beneath the sun they looked up at their captain with baited breath.

"Drop the sails. We have quarry and a prize afore us," Arturo said, and the crew let out a great cheer before they rushed to their positions. Warnings were called down into the hold below as sails were dropped to let the wind catch in the sails.

The Plaga Trebol cut through the waves as the wind filled the canvas above. Arturo was grinning as he dropped down to the deck proper and began to make his way to the helm. Cavalier boots stained with salt tapped against the boards of his deck while his sailors scurried along the rigging. Below he knew they were preparing powder and weapons to storm the vessel ahead.

Climbing the steps to the helm, Arturo paused by the woman currently behind the wheel. Her red hair, even held beneath a bandana wrapped around her head, still managed to flutter in the wind. She turned green eyes to him, sweat glistening on her features. A few beads rolling along her neck and into the cleavage offered by the partially open blouse she wore. Catching the furrow of her fine brows though, Arturo rolled his eyes.

"Yes Raicheal?" Arturo asked of her as the crew upon the deck broke into a shanty. Something about stealing a lady's bodice.

"You feel the storm no? We should be looking for safe harbour, not chasing a lonely merchant vessel. One flying the bloody White Ensign no less," his first mate said, her Irish accent colouring every word.

Arturo frowned, pulling out his spy glass again and looked towards the distant ship that was slowly growing ever closer as the Plaga Trebol was carried across the sea. He took a long look then closed the spy glass.

"Nope. Just a White Ensign. Not bloody at all," he said.

"I will fucking hit you," Raicheal said.

"Listen. If its flying the white Ensign, they have something of value. For them to risk a storm and go without an escort, its something secret. That, I want in my hold. Besides, since when do storms ever bother you?" Arturo asked the woman.

"They don't. But they'll bother this ship. Still, you're the captain. Let's see what they got, and hope its worth your curiosity," Raicheal said, and Arturo glanced upwards. He could easily see the flapping cloth of the white ensign now.

"Helmsman," Arturo shouted above the din of his rowdy crew's shanty. By God they really could not sing well. A few shouts carried Arturo's single word down below decks, and soon enough a stocky man emerged from below. Barefoot he moved up the stairs.

Without a word spoken Raicheal released the helm, and the newcomer took her place. The Irish woman frowned at Arturo, before walking down the steps.

"I'll get my weapons," she said.

"Excellent," Arturo said and pulled out his spyglass again.

The merchant vessel was close now. There was a man at the aft waving a flag, trying to hail them. Behind him though, redcoats with their muskets were lining up along the edges, in their perfectly disciplined way.

"Seems they're suspicious already boys. Fly the Jolly Roger, let's make them soil themselves," Arturo commanded, and a man grasped two flags before scampering up the rigging to the peak of the mast.

The black fabric bearing the white skull and crossed bones was soon snapping openly in the wind, just as Raicheal emerged from below decks, a cutlass and axe on each hip, along with four flintlock pistols strapped in a sash and strapped across her belly. Arturo gave her a simple nod before he looked to the vessel ahead.

The man that had been waving flags had tossed them away and Arturo could see orders being shouted. The redcoats levelled their muskets towards the Plaga Trebol. Waiting a few more heartbeats, Arturo smirked.

"If they're willing to die, it's got to be something good. Fly the bloody red," Arturo shouted, and a cheer went up among the crew. The black of the Jolly Roger was pulled down, and in its place the red flag bearing the skull and crossbones flew.

The flats of axeheads and cutlasses began to crack against the railing of the ship as they came closer. Arturo looked over the side of the ship, but saw no cannon ports. Just a beautiful hold waiting to be emptied. He turned to look at the helmsman.

"Get us in cannon range, keep us out of musket range," he said, before shouting at the riggers to adjust the sails.

The helmsman spun the wheel, as pulley's hoisted sails upwards.

"Load the chain shot," Arturo shouted, and the command was carried to the gunners below decks.

Moving to the edge of his ship, Arturo looked down over the railing. Below he knew the gunners were loading the powder, the wadding, and the two heavy iron balls connected by thick chain. They were ramming it all into place before preparing the fuse and opening the ports on the side.

When the ports opened and the muzzles of the cannons poked out, Arturo looked up. They were alongside the British vessel now, though far enough away that it was difficult to make out the faces of the soldiers.

"Fire," Arturo shouted, and listened to his crew echo the single word.

The boom sounded and great wafts of smoke billowed upwards from the cannons as they launched back inside the ports. Arturo though watched the first volley as those chain linked cannon balls sailed across the sea between him and his prey.

The hit was a violent fury as chains tore through masts and sent the great beams toppling to the decks. Men ran and screamed as large splinters shot out and struck them. He even watched one low shot tear off a man's head, and smash another's to a bloodied pulp.

"Grape shot," Arturo didn't take his eyes from the vessel, or the soldiers aboard it. He could see the panic now among their crew; they had no way to fight back and the Plaga Trebol was well armed.

The pirates aboard stomped their feet and kept cracking their weapons against the ship's railing. They jeered and shouted as they stirred the cauldron of their own blood lust. In their midst Raicheal had her cutlass and axe raised above her head, stirring the pot as only she could, all while the gunners prepared their next volley.

Once the cannons pushed out from their ports again, Arturo gave the command to fire. The boom of the cannons echoed over the waves that both ships plowed through. Tiny iron balls flung to the other ship, and while the Redcoats tried ducking for cover, the railing and few barrels on deck provided little. Men were torn to pieces, blood splashed across the deck as screams filled the air.

"Give em another," Arturo demanded as the other helmsman attempted to steer his ship closer to bring the Redcoats in range.

"Prepare to board them you dogs," Arturo yelled and some of his crew even howled as they stomped their feet.

Grappling hooks were pulled from barrels, and hooked planks were pushed up from below decks. A few of the British soldiers were aiming their muskets, about to fire when the cannons went off again. More men fell, chunks of them torn away from their bodies. Only a few managed to fire, and their shots mostly hit the sides of the Plaga Trebol. One pirate clutched at his gut, blood flowing freely between his fingers. Others pulled him back as the ships came closer, the Redcoats trying to reload.

But legendary British discipline did no good for their sea legs, and soon the grappling hooks were being thrown across the gap between both ships. Planks dropped down, grasping onto the railing of the other ship.

As the merchant vessel's crew tried desperately to pry them loose, Raicheal led the charge across shouting something in Irish. Arturo laughed as she jumped amid the British, her steel catching the sunlight before quickly getting smeared in crimson. The foe fell before her, with split skulls and ribs, or slashed throats.

In her wake, the remainder of the boarding party charged forward. Their own cutlasses raised high as they fired flintlock pistols at the British. Arturo saw an officer step out from a cabin one hand behind his back as he fired at the invading pirates.

As smoke burst from his weapon, a man fell from the plank with a hole through his chest. The officer should have paid more attention to Raicheal though, as her axe buried in the man's gut. He let out a most ungentlemanly scream as he doubled over. The Irish woman then put one of her flintlocks against the side of his head and fired.

As whatever hopes and dreams he had painted the stairs leading up to the helm she tossed the used weapon and broke another sailor's nose. A pirate soon cut him down, and Arturo moved to climb up onto one of the planks.

Sabre in one hand, pistol in the other, he strode to his prize while his crew cut down all who resisted on the deck. Blood was sticky upon the wooden planks, and pirates hauled open the door to delve into the hold. It did not take long for the screams to echo up.

"They had their chance you dogs. The Bloody Red flies now," Arturo shouted, making his way towards the cabin beneath the helm. The very one the officer had emerged from.

He stepped over corpses, very few of them his own men, and opened the door calmly.

Stepping inside the cabin Arturo immediately caught the waft of sex. Closing the doors behind him to shut out the sounds of slaughter, he looked about. He spotted a hammock against the back wall that must have belonged to the captain of the ship. Before that officer had taken it over of course. There was also a table covered in documents, maps, and a single plate of food.

On the other side of the table though sat a very handsome man, bound in iron manacles and gagged. Dark eyes looked up from under dark bangs, regarding Arturo calmly. The pirate captain smirked, letting his eyes run down over the shirtless captive, savouring the olive toned skin and the hard muscle that he saw.

"Well, this is a bit of a surprise," Arturo said as he walked around the table, he eyes descending further as he let the tip of his blade scrape across the wooden surface between him and this beautiful man. A man who made no attempts to speak, or show a hint of fear.

A simple pair of trousers were snug around his hips, but he wore nothing upon his feet. His eyes though followed Arturo, almost with curiosity.

While outside the sound of fighting was fading, Arturo lifted his sabre until the point was grazing the clean shaven cheek of the captive before him. The steel slid beneath the fabric of the gag, pressing hard against skin, but the man didn't flinch. Just stared.

"Well, aren't you the curious one," Arturo said, and let his eyes go over the documents. They mostly looked like letters of some sort. Private perhaps. It was a shame he didn't read English, but with the officer dead and not knowing who the receiver was, blackmail seemed too distant a prospect to bother with.

A look at the map showed him little except the Atlantic ocean, the coast of the 13 Colonies, and of course Britain itself. There was a plotted course running from the Carribean back to London, but no other hints. So Arturo pulled on his blade, removing the gag from the captive's mouth as silence fell outside.

With the linen clear, Arturo couldn't help but admire the man's soft lips. Not a hint of cracking from the salt on the air. Just perfect, and inviting. The man smiled, and Arturo felt himself stiffening within his trousers. Oh this man was certainly coming with them.

"So, why do they have you all chained up. It's like a silver platter for me," Arturo said, and a rough laugh slipped from him. It was deep and slithered right into Arturo's libido. He was almost painfully erect, and he was tempted to see what the man would do with his cock if he pulled it out now.

"Because the British like to think they have things under control," the man said in his deep rough voice. It scraped across Arturo's mind, and had his mouth watering. His eyes trailed downwards again, to the man's crotch, and found the hint of an erection of his own pushing against his pants.

Well, that explained the sex smell in here. And perhaps a hint to what was in the letters. And why the officer had been so late onto the deck.

"They have lots of ways to control. So why the chains for you?" Arturo asked, pulling his eyes upwards again.

"Because they believe I'm dangerous," the man said, and at that Arturo chuckled. He let his sword run along the man's shoulder, down over his chest. He pressed hard enough to indent the skin, yet the man still didn't flinch.

"So why not just shoot you?" Arturo said with a smirk.

When the doors opened he stepped away from the man, not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him. He kept his sabre up, pointing towards the man's chest before glancing over to see who was coming in.

Raicheal stood in the doorway, spattered in blood. It caked her face, ran over her face, down into her cleavage.

"There's not a bloody thing on this ship worth taking. We took a crate of lemons for our own larder, and some salted beef, but the rest of the hold is filled with beaver pelts. From Quebec if the stamps on the crates are right," she said, before turning her eyes towards the chained man.

"Maps show the course coming from the Carribean, nothing about Quebec," Arturo said with a frown, glancing back at the maps, then up at the man seated before him. He suddenly wished he'd kept someone alive.

"We should slit his throat and leave the ship stranded," Raicheal said, earning a frown from Arturo, though he couldn't take his eyes off the gorgeous man before him. A man who stared at him with those beautiful dark eyes.

"No. I think this ship was dedicated to bringing him to England. I say we keep him, see what advantages that can bring us," Arturo said. Was this man the secret that this ship had plunged out to sea for?

"It won't bring anything to us except death and trouble," Raicheal said, and the man didn't even move. He fascinated Arturo. Turned him on. He also had no intention of this being a completely wasted attack.

"He comes back with us. That's my final word," Arturo said, tearing his eyes from the stranger to glare at his first mate. She returned the look, and from the way her hands were flexing around the grip of her axe, she had fully intended to do far more than slit his throat. That tickled at the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure why.

"Very well. Where is he staying?" Raicheal asked, and Arturo looked back at the captive.

"My quarters. Might as well keep him comfortable."

Over the next half an hour, the crew of the Plaga Trebol carried what little haul they deemed worthwhile back to their own hold. It was enough to restock some provisions and save on costs back in harbour, but nothing else. The pelts wouldn't even fetch a good price, unless they happened to find the precise merchant. And that was going to be more hassle to fence than it was worth.

The crew had all stared at the stranger as he was led from one ship to the other. Raicheal stood on the helm glaring, but the captive didn't so much as glance at her, instead keeping his gaze directly ahead as Arturo himself directed the man to his personal quarters and left him there in his chains.

Returning to the deck, he ordered the merchant vessel burned, and soon had the Plaga Trebol sailing back south west. Back towards safe harbour before whatever storm was brewing reached them. Though there still wasn't a dark cloud in the sky, the wind was an ill one. It suited the crew's mood after the lack of booty to be found.

Standing on the helm, Arturo looked back. In the distance he saw the flames upon the sea as the British vessel burned. The wind caught in his face, blowing his ponytail back, and he sighed as he looked forward.

"Can't win them all captain," the helmsman said, and Arturo nodded, picturing his first mate's hand flexing around the haft of her axe.

"Certainly can't Marcel. But a loss still stings," Arturo said, and the helmsman shrugged.

"It does. So long as we don't do anything stupid to make up for it. The lads still live, and we got food and rum. And you got that little man of yours," Marcel said, turning a playful smirk to his captain.

"Yes. Yes I do. Keep us steady Marcel, get us to harbour or at least safe waters," Arturo told the man, listening to his 'aye, aye' as he descended.

Pausing at his door, Arturo glanced back to see Raicheal running a whetstone over her axe. Her eyes glaring at Arturo's door. He shook his head and sighed, and opened the way to his quarters. Only then did Raicheal slip her axe into the loop at her hip and descend below decks.

Closing the door behind him, Arturo pulled off his tricorn hat and put it on a nearby peg. Walking into the small little place of privacy he had, Arturo stopped when he saw the stranger laying naked upon his hammock. His hands drifted to his cutlass, though his eyes ran across the naked skin of the former captive.

"Who are you?" Arturo asked, drawing his blade and taking a step forward. His toe hit one of the manacles that had been around the man's wrist, making the chain rattle across the floor.

"You may call me Ohtli. And I must thank you for getting me off that ship. I have never been one for chains," the man said and slipped his legs over the edge of the hammock, keeping them open wide and revealing everything to Arturo's eyes as they moved along the tuft of hair from navel to erection.

His lust swirled through him, and his own cock stiffened again, pressing firmly against his trousers.

"How'd you get out of those chains?" Arturo demanded, and Ohtli shrugged, before gesturing at the floor. Arturo glanced downwards, seeing the man's discarded garments as well as the manacles and chains.

The iron looked melted and torn. Raicheal's fear came storming at him all at once. Arturo shot his head upwards, but Ohtli wasn't there.

A curse on his lips Arturo spun to get his first mate, and instead came face to face with Ohtli. The man's hand clasped around the captain's throat and picked him up with ease. A simple slap numbed Arturo's fingers, and his sabre clattered on the floor.

Both hands clawing at the fingers digging into his neck, Arturo was powerless against the other man as he was slammed against the wall. The power he held in him was intense, and Arturo was beginning to suspect that whatever Ohtli was, he wasn't human.

He should have listened to Raicheal.

Legs kicked desperately against Ohtli's chins and the wall of his cabin, Arturo hoped someone would hear. Until he remembered Marcel's words. The way he himself had been staring at Ohtli since discovering him. The kicking would only make everyone think an entirely different dance was happening.

Ohtli was smiling up at Arturo, who felt utterly powerless. Weak. And worst of all, still intensely aroused.

Lowered until his toes just barely touched the ground, Arturo struggled to find breath. Struggled against his own flesh as it demanded more of what was happening to him. Or perhaps that was his mind. He wasn't sure now as Ohtli came forward. The firmness of his broad chest against Arturo's shirt, the hard length of his cock pressing against Arturo's thigh.

Then the press of those beautiful lips against his own. Arturo couldn't stop the choking muffled moan, those lips everything he had hoped they would be. The smooth skin of Ohtli against the stubble colouring his own jaw. His lips opened, and Ohtli's tongue thrust inwards. Almost pushed into his throat.