The Pirate King Ch. 06

"Huh," I heard him say. His hand released from my hair to trace down my cheekbone, coming to a rest on my chin. His finger brushed against my cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped from my eye.

My eyes, I thought. I've closed my eyes. I wasn't quite sure when that had happened, but it wasn't what I wanted. At least, I didn't think it was. It was hard to think in the sudden stillness that enveloped my soul, the punctuating, racking quakes that swept through my body still.

I let my eyes float open and found his only inches from mine, hot and hungry, and felt my breath stop dead in my throat.

"You can move your hands now," he told me, and I let them drop, shaking, from the headboard. He watched them with that same hungry expression and I shivered. It was all too extreme, all too at once, and I found my head slipping forward to rest in his neck, seeking the warmth and darkness that I knew I would find there.

"Shit." His hand was back in my hair in an instant, a welcome and comforting pressure. "You okay?"

I nodded, too lost in the everything he had created inside of me to find words.

"Was that too much?"

I shook my head. He corded his fingers through my hair, a simple rhythmic motion that slowly helped bring me back to where I needed to be. I breathed, just breathed. I had never felt so spent, so emptied of everything and yet filled with the intensity of the world all at once. His fingers slipped over and around my hair, shaking further shivers down my spine. He felt them and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"You sure you're alright?"

I nodded again, pressing a kiss to his chest. I felt him shudder beneath me and did it again, slower. More deliberate. Thought about what would happen if I added teeth.

"You really do like this, don't you?" he murmured, shaking me from my thoughts, I kissed his chest again. "You know," he continued, the shaking in his voice just enough to give me goosebumps, "I had convinced myself that my memories of howmuch you were, how much you made me, were just excuses. Or dreams."

I slipped my arms around him as he shook another shiver loose in my body.

"A dream," he repeated, kissing my head. The fingers in my hair caught, began to pull and tug. My sensitive skin sang, and I made a noise that caught the breath in his throat and held it there until I stopped. "Oh, the things I could do to you," I heard him whisper, and this time he said it I knew that he would, and that made the words all the more unbearable.

That was how Natch found us when he slammed into the room without knocking.

I didn't lift my head from the Captain's shoulder; I wasn't ready to face the world yet, and I knew the Captain would care for me. But I could hear what happened. The door opened as Natch entered, then the door latched behind him. There was a yelp as he realized what was before him, and a quick scuffle.

"Wicky is on his way here right now andhe will kill you." Natch's words were strangely muffled; I peered over the Captain's shoulder to see why and found that he had turned around and buried his head in his arms, double protection against the sight of the two naked bodies entwined before him.

All around me, the Captain sighed. "How long do we have?"

"Like, three minutes. Tops."

The Captain leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "Why do you think, my love? Should we stay?"

My love, I thought. My love. I looked up at him, my face open and flowing with all the things those words had done to me.

"He will kill Ghost," Natch said again. "He has made that very clear."

"And I am the Captain. I think that should count for something." His eyes had not yet left mine. My love, I thought again. I reached up and touched his face.

"Cap, respectfully." I could hear the nervousness in Natch's voice; I took a moment to wonder if he was nervous for me or for Wicky. "I don't think that will make much of a difference."

I lifted my lips and kissed the Captain softly. He kissed me back, so delicately that something inside of me broke. The sea rushed into the cracks, and it sang. My love, my thoughts echoed. My love.

"Captain," Natch pleaded.

The fear in Natch's voice broke through my pleasant haze. I sighed and lifted my head away. "I'll go, Natch."

The Captain frowned down at me. I smiled back up at him. "They can not keep me from you. And they will know that I am yours."

His eyes drifted to the marks that must decorate my neck. I could feel them tingling still, the air more sensitive around certain spots of skin. He confirmed my suspicions as his eyes caught in those spots, his grin growing. It wasn't a grin, truly, not as a grin would be defined. It looked like a grin, but the expression was dark, as dark as his eyes, as dangerous as his voice, and I felt my skin prickle in anticipation.

"Well, then. Let's get you dressed." He pulled himself off of me, calling me to follow with a finger under my chin. It was impossible to break my gaze from his, his eyes commanding mine so effortlessly, so deeply. I crawled over the bed and allowed him guide to to standing.

He found my pants and handed them to me, then smiled that smile again. I felt a shiver threaten my spine.

"I have just the shirt for you," he told me softly. No, not softly, not really. I shouldn't pretend that a quiet voice is soft, because his voice was hard, pricked my skin like so many needles. I watched him carefully as I pulled on my breeches. The stack of shirts he had gathered for me days ago were still there, pushed off to the side, a reminder of our mutual misunderstanding and rejection. Now he rifled through them, seeking out his prize. When he found it he held it aloft, grinning.

"Don't lace the front," he commanded me. I nodded my understanding and pulled the cloth over my skin.

It was soft, the fabric well-worn and gentle against my delicate nerves. More importantly, it sat loose around my shoulders, baring my neck and chest for the world to see. The Captain stepped back and took me in, that hungry look bleeding into his smile.

I stood and let him stare, not trying to hide how my body trembled and shook.

He stepped back up to me and pulled me down for a kiss. "Brings out your eyes," he murmured, and I grinned against him.

"Captain." I had forgotten all about Natch. He was still facing away from us, unwilling to look at our naked bodies, but unwilling to leave us until he knew we were safe. "He needs to gonow."

I sighed. The Captain put a finger on my cheek and guided my lips to his once again, taking his sweet time. I could feel notes of desperation in the kiss, even as he tried to hide it behind nonchalance, even as his hand was so light against my skin.

"He's here, oh fucking -" Natch was bouncing up and down, the stress in his voice palpable.

I pushed the Captain from me gently. We could hear Wicky shouting as he came down the hallway. "They can't keep me from you," I reminded him. He frowned but had no other response, merely stepped back and let me move as I would. The sight of him there, covered in the marks I had placed on him, the cum that he had coaxed forth from my body, it was enough to make me want to run back to him, to take him in my arms and damn whatever would happen when Wicky came through the door.

But I needed to make things good for him. And this was the way to do it.

I bent down and grabbed the manacles. "He'll expect me as he left me."

I watched him blink at that for a moment. "Wait," he said, frowning. "Wicky put you in the irons?"

Oops, I thought. But I didn't have time to fix it, not really. I kissed the Captain in a glancing motion as I moved towards the window. "You should get dressed."

The captain grabbed my arm. "I'll kill him."

Wicky was right outside the door. I could hear him arguing with the guards. "Please, sir," I said, and watched his frown deepen even as his body shuddered. "Don't."

"But he -"

"Sir." He met my eyes, and this time I was the sea, and he saw it. It wasn't a threat, though, not like so many of these sailors saw it. It could never be a threat. Not for him. How could the ocean threaten the sky? How futile, how inane. Instead, I met him with a promise, and I watched his eyes harden and sparkle as he understood. "I want him for my own."

There was a banging on the door, and the Captain and Natch both turned their full attention to the noise. I took the moment to slip out through the window.

Whatever happened next in the room, I don't know. I would have loved to see what happened when Wicky burst, angry, through the door and found Natch alone with the naked and obviously recently sexed Captain. I would have loved to see Natch try and deal with this moment; I would have loved to see the Captain's smile.

But instead I busied myself with making my way back to the cells. The return trip was much easier than the trip out; I had no worry to weigh me down, and this time I had my full arm span. I was back at the cell window in no time, confident that Wicky was still trapped in the confusion I had left behind in the Captain's chambers.

I peered into the small window. All looked to be still, which of course made sense; why would they guard an empty cell? I slipped my body into the small opening, dropping to my feet just as the door at the end of the hall opened.

I met Ichor's shocked gaze with a finger to my lips. He stared at me, mouth agape, as I slipped into the cell that had been mine for less than twenty minutes, took a deep breath, then reattached the irons to my wrists.

I had just enough time to give Ichor a look filled with every polar gale that had ever screamed before the door slammed the rest of the way open and Wicky all but spun into the room.

He gaped at me, manacled and standing easy in the cell he had put me in. I watched him take in my mussed hair, my relaxed stance, the marks on my neck. The shirt that was obviously different than the one I had been wearing ever since I had crashed onto the deck of this ship and upset his world.

I felt myself begin to smile.

Wicky's face turned bright red. His open mouth twisted, readying to form words. I watched his body bunch under him and made mine ready to receive his anger, my smile growing.

But before Wicky could move, a hand reached through the door and clamped down on his shoulder. It was not a friendly touch, and he winced under its pressure. I followed the hand up to a wrist, then a shoulder. A marked neck. Finally the Captain's dangerously grinning face stepped into the room.

My stomach did a flip. It had barely been minutes that we had been apart, yet seeing him again fed anticipation to my soul at an unsustainable rate.

"There you are." He smiled as he spoke, and I bit back a shiver. "There was some - confusion - about your whereabouts." At the word confusion, he had squeezed Wicky's shoulder so hard the man had squawked. I couldn't keep the smile from my face. I would have loved to watch the small man squirm in pain, would have loved to see what the Captain's words did to him, but my eyes were caught and held by the Captain's. My gaze was locked with his, commanded by his eyes, his to control. Always his.

He made his way over to my cell. I felt my breath quicken as he approached. Finally, he broke his eyes from mine to take in the damage I had done to the door on my way to him. I watched his face carefully, wondering what this display of violence might mean to him, but his expression was closed off, his emotions tucked away somewhere where I could not read them. "I think this man deserves commendation, Wicky. You put him in a broken cell, and yet here he still is." His eyes found mine again, and I drew in a deep breath. His eyes had only deepened, his hunger somehow grown. "He obviously knows how to stay when commanded."

At the flare that blazed in his dark eyes I almost moaned.

"I. He was not. This cell was empty!" Poor Wicky, I almost thought. My gaze was still locked with the Captain's, his eyes pumping the threat of vulnerability - no, the promise of it - through my entire core. I wanted to drop to my knees right there, to submit before this man who was my world. I wanted to be his, in every possible way. I watched his eyes drift to my neck, and I tilted my head back so that he would have a better view. He took in every mark in turn, and I hoped that he was sizing them up, deciding which would need to be redone. Imagining where new ones would fall.

His eyes continued to drift further down, and I watched them land on my irons. I knew this was despite himself, but I didn't care. I loved his eyes on me, loved what I could do to him, loved what I could do for him. I pressed my hands against the restraints slowly and watched him suck in his breath.

"And. His clothes! The marks, the, the." Was he still talking? I stretched my hands out, showing my Captain my captivity in full. Before me, he shifted just the smallest bit, his gaze stuck on those irons.

"Ichor!" Wicky turned to his man, and I felt my head turn as well. Ichor had seen me out of my cell, might have seen me come in from the window. Before me, the Captain frowned at my sudden change in demeanor. "You saw it, the cell was empty. Say it! It was empty!"

But Ichor was not saying anything. Instead, he was looking at me, and I was the sea.

I watched him gasp for air in the face of everything that he faced, the sudden decisions that he was having to make. I raised a single eyebrow and met his eyes steadily. I wonder what he will chose, I thought idly. A red-faced first mate, or life.

Ichor was no fool. "No," was all he said, shaking his head wildly. He repeated it a few more times, slowly backing up against the far wall.

When I was convinced that Ichor was not going to voice anything I did not want, I turned back to the Captain. I found him leaning on the bars of my cell, smiling and amused. "You," he said, hunger making the wonder in his voice sharp. I smiled back, a little confused but very willing to give him whatever it was he wanted.

The Captain was just opening his mouth, perhaps to give me the instruction I so craved, perhaps to tell off Wicky, perhaps just to tease me further, when the door opened again.

We all turned to face the most recent intrusion. "Oh, the sea have mercy, there you are!" Cookie bustled up to me, grabbed a ring of keys off the wall as he came. I watched, amused and surprised, and he slid himself into my cell and positioned himself between the Captain and I.

"I have been looking for you everywhere, sorry Cap, need him for help with prep, hope you won't mind, now we must be going,yes now, out you go lad, out, out,out." He hissed the last word, pushing my unyielding body. I shrugged, dropping the irons on the floor with a regret that genuinely surprised me and smiling at the Captain. The Captain, in response, grinned lazily back. He knew where to find me.

Cookie caught the exchange and shot the Captain a look so dirty he actually took a step back, surprise blossoming on his face fast and angry. I snorted my amusement and followed the cook out the door before the Captain had a chance to respond.

As soon as we were alone, Cookie turned his ire to me. "Gods all and the sea herself, do you have any idea what you're doing? Half the ship wanting you dead, the other half talking openly about leavin' with you, lad, a hornets nest, a hornets nest, and then you up and gomissing." He drug me through the hallways with a mindless determination that he usually saved for onions. "And then they're saying you're in the Captain's quarters? Boy, are you mad?"

"No," I answered, but he was already steaming ahead.

"He isnameless. And on top of that there's the world of hurt he's already piled on you, you're just asking to be hurt again, and I won't be the one picking up the pieces of your heart off my kitchen floor, oh no I won't, not Alan Turnbeck, I'll kill him myself before I see the day he breaks your heart -"

"Cookie." I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, still amused but now just a touch worried. This man was Minnie's brother, I reminded myself. He meant every word he said. He let me halt his forward motion, turning to me with his arms crossed and his eyes filled with anger and concern. "It's okay," I told him. He frowned up at me, and I smiled back. "I promise."

He grumbled something about 'those damn marks' and keeping my head down, and I knew that he had heard what I needed him to. I patted his shoulder and walked with him to the kitchen.

Lunch was an interesting experience. I was a bit surprised that I had been allowed to stay in the kitchen and work after Wicky had been so obviously invested in my capture; apparently, so were the men. One by one they made their way up to the counter, taking in my unbound hands, my new shirt. Their eyes always seemed to get stuck on the marks that graced my neck, courtesy of the Captain. One or two of them opened their mouths, but well-timed throat clears from Cookie shut them up quite well.

You don't piss of the chef.

In time all the men had been served. Cookie came up behind me, waiting even as I was. The whole room was waiting, pretending that it wasn't, a contained mass of bated breath and furtive glances shifting through the mess. I felt Cookie's hand land on my arm, but I wasn't going to leave just yet. The Captain knew where to find me. The Captain knew...

And then he was there, filling the doorframe with his hungry smile and demanding eyes. I heard a gasp go up through the men as they took in the marks on his neck that mirrored mine and did my best to stifle a smile. The Captain didn't bother, his grin sliding easy and dark across his face as the sight of me.

He strode through the mass of nobodies, his body cutting through the thick air as if it were nothing, as if these men were nothing to him, and my smile broke through as I realized that they were. Nobodies, a vast expanse of nobodies, and through them waded the Captain.

My love. My everything. My only.

I took the bowl that he handed me. I felt his eyes on my back as I filled it, making my motions smooth and deliberate for him, a performance for one, the only one that mattered. I was careful to let my shirt slip past my shoulder, exposing half my chest and every single mark to the air. Behind me, I heard the Captain carefully let out a breath.

"Your soup," I said softly, turning back to him. The intensity in his eyes hit me so hard it almost knocked the air from my lungs, but I gathered whatever shreds were left and crafted them into a word, a plea. A promise. "Sir."

His eyes crinkled in happiness and I pressed the bowl into his hands.

Behind him, benches scraped across the floor as men stood in shock. No weapons, no one coming for him, I had time to think before he lifted his hand to my hair and pulled my lips to his.

I think Cookie made a noise behind me. I think more people stood behind him. They must have, because when he pulled away, smiling, nearly the entire room was on its feet. I was aware of that in only the smallest of ways, just as I was aware that Cookie had pressed the handle of a paring knife to my hand before moving off to stand just on the periphery. Just.

"Your men," I said quietly.

"After lunch, come to my room. We need to discuss your marooning." His voice was all business, but his hands were anything but. His fingers slipped down my neck and traced the the dark bruises he had coaxed from my skin; I shuddered under his touch.

"Yes sir," I voiced obediently. Beside me, I heard Cookie make a noise of incredulity.

"And I'll take my dinner in my room. You will serve me."

"Yes sir," I said again. I could feel Cookie glowering.

He smiled and I leaned down instinctively. His lips pressed against mine for just an instant before he was gone, leaving me off balance and almost falling over the counter. I could hear him chuckle as he twirled and left the room.