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  • The Pirate King Ch. 01

The Pirate King Ch. 01

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First story, so bear with me here!

Comments and suggests always appreciated and welcomed.

A sailor finds himself falling hard for the pirate captain that captures him. But he has a plan, and this does not fit into it. Will he be able to set aside his strange desires to get to where he needs to go?

When you're the captain of a pirate ship, you're used to things going your way. If they don't, you can usually make them. But when a man shows up at your doorstep, tied, and begs you for a kiss... well, that just seems too easy. Doesn't it?

********** *

The ship getting taken by pirates was kind of fucking up my plan.

I'd had a plan. Not a good one, but one that had been working for me. Hit a guard over the head. Check. Make my escape. Check. Pick the locks on the shackles they had on me, ditch the metal constraints in the river, and get down to town. Check, check and check.

Get on a ship, use a fake name. Get hired as a sailor; I'm a big guy and they can always use more men. Get a job. Get a wage. Get out of the city. All of that, all a big check. Now the plan had been for me to get off the ship at the next port. To take the money and run, start again somewhere new. Somewhere where they didn't know my name.

Not incredibly original, I know. But having a plan was important when things get tough. Having a purpose is sometimes the only thing that gets you through. And this plan was important. It was going to get me back to where I belong. It was going to let me kill the man who'd taken my life from me in the first place.

So yeah, the pirates were throwing a bit of wrench into things.

They'd pegged us for the merchant ship that we were, taken us in less than twenty minutes. It's important to be able to recognize skill when you see it, and I saw it in them. I watched them, mechanically unloading our cargo, our captain wringing his hands. I could have fought to save the cargo, I guess. I could have helped the captain, helped his Majesty. But neither of them had ever been much of a help to me. Besides, I wasn't interested in what they were doing with the merchandise; I wanted to know what they would do with us.

We waited around, hands bound, some of us nervous and all of us alert. I watched the pirate crew move between our ships. We hadn't fired a volley, hadn't taken any of their crew. And, if I still knew anything about anything, and these were the southern pirates I thought they were, that should keep us safe. Around here, they were more prone to flights of mercy than the strategy of razed grounds. In the event of capture, this was supposed to translate into lighter prison sentences.

I spat.

Finally, the pirates sent a delegate over to explain what was going on.

"Alright, you lot. Here's how this shakes down. We don't wanna have to hurt any of you, and we don't want any of you to hurt us. Part of not hurting you is not leaving you alone in the middle of the sea unarmed. We're not unreasonable, see, just trying to make our living. But, we can't leave you with the means to shoot us, either. See our dilemma?"

And sure, I did, but I also saw something else. Someone else.

He'd walked out onto the quarter deck of the ship across from us, an attractive thing in it's own right, a light little schooner that leapt through the water like it was dancing. The dip and pull of the ocean made the man hard to focus on, but once I'd seen him I wasn't going to let anything take him away from me. His red hair whipped wildly around, mirrored by his black cloak, by the sails and the ropes around him. He was an extension of the ship, and the ship an extension of the sea. In the midst of these southerners, surrounded by people I didn't spare a second glance, he demanded my attention. He looked like a pirate. He looked like a commander. A commander of men, a commander of fleets. Fuck, he looked like he could command the ocean and she would obey.

He looked over at me, and for a moment our eyes met.

Then the rolling of the sea took him from me. When the deck bobbed back into sight, he was gone. I searched about frantically trying to track him down, but it was futile, the deck empty of commanders and filled with nobodies. I thought about letting it pass, whatever had just occurred. It had been a strange moment, something so intoxicating, so demanding even at such a distance. What a feeling he had given me, in just that glimpse. I wanted it back. I never wanted to feel it again.

I shook my head at myself. Whatever was happening, it didn't fit into my plan. I had a solid chance at making it to my destination, if I just stuck to what I had set out to do. A good shot at making it out of this alive, and then making it on to my real goal.

Then again, since we'd been attacked we'd most likely be returning to port. Port was not a good place for me right now, with His Majesty's men and the bounty hunters swarming. By now they most likely had the wanted posters up, too. Besides, I wasn't returning to land. I wouldn't. I needed a new plan, and I needed it fast. But instead of thinking about what was going to happen, I found myself searching for the man I had just seen.

I scanned the ship, ignoring the man in front of me. He was asking something, but he was short and demanded nothing of me so I just looked over the top of his head. The wild red hair was nowhere to be seen. The black cloak didn't flow. Then, suddenly, blissfully, I caught a glimpse.

Just a glimpse, that's all it took. The plan had already been fucked. I didn't have another one ready to go. So when I saw the glimpse, when I caught sight of him for that moment, it was over. I was done. The man in front of me said something again, impatient, but he wasn't enough, certainly didn't command me and I pushed past him and headed toward the other ship.

They hadn't learned yet, these men, that ropes can't keep me. They hadn't the time or the experience to know these things, and so they had tried knots instead of steel to keep me tied down. Good knots, sailors' knots, but there is no knot that can hold me, no rope that my fingers can't undo. These men might have learned to be sailors, but I had been born one. And so I left them in the dust.

I heard them coming after me, the men, but I didn't care. I was on their boat faster than they could think to react, faster than they could even really understand what was going on. I move quickly for my size. But they caught on soon enough and I felt them pulling at my limbs, trying to stop my headlong plummet into their space. It might have worked, and I might have been escorted back to the merchant ship, but I caught a flash of black and a whip of red and bulled through the last of the men and then there he was. He turned just as I approached, my limbs dangling men, my shoulders turned to hooks for them to hang, my back even carrying one. But their extra weight was nothing, not compared to him. I stopped a few feet back, halted by his very presence.

His hair was not red, not the way I'd thought it was. The light had lied to me, had played tricks on my mind, had danced through his thick curls and reflected colors that shouldn't exist. Even as I watched, it happened again, the sun picking up hues and pushing them to my eyes, blacks and browns and purples, indigos, royal colors, godly colors. Sunsets and nightscapes, all hidden in his curls. I wanted to watch his hair capture sunlight all day, but the kinks fell into his face, and I saw his thick eyebrows, the way they drew together and pinned frustration in place like a specimen to study, and then I saw the lines of his cheekbones soft and sharp and everything, and the sweep of his lips, his lips, his lips, frowning out at me, and staring out from all of it, controlling all this wonderful terrifying mystifying experience were his eyes, dark and deep and demanding, and I wanted him to demand of me. I wanted to be able to do everything that he asked.

"What is this," he asked, not to me but to the men trying to hold me back. They must have said something, but all I saw were his eyes, his lips, the way his brow furrowed even more.

"Well," he said, still not to me, but close enough that his voice rubbed against me and I wanted to press against it, just to be nearer to him, "he's here now." He looked at me then, looked me over, those eyes threatening to consume me. I wanted them to. I wanted them to light me on fire, wanted to turn to ash. At least then I couldn't feel the intensity of whatever it was I was feeling in that moment. At least then it would be over.

"Bring him to dinner, I guess." He turned and walked away. The moment ended. Somehow I was still standing.

"Dinner with the Captain," one of the men holding me said. "Lucky guy."

I looked at him, wondering if I looked as shellshocked as I felt. I must have, I guess, because the man began to laugh.

***

They tied me up for dinner.

I was tired of being contained. I had worked hard to escape exactly this. They used rope again, just added extra knots, and maybe it was because they were sailors that they were confident or maybe because they didn't know me, but they thought they had me good. They didn't, but I wasn't going to run this time. I sat in my chair and waited for the man they called the Captain to arrive.

My heart was racing, watching the door. What was happening to me? I'd never had a reaction like this before, not to anyone, not to anything. I'd navigated winter squalls in lifeboats. I'd killed men who wanted to kill me, and ones who didn't. I'd moved with fleets through channels as narrow as each ship was wide. I'd faced down mermaids and harpies, I'd killed a sea god and drank it's blood, I'd laughed in the face of prison guards and their whips. Hell, I'd faced down whole prison gangs. And that was on land. One pirate captain couldn't scare me.

Then he walked through the door, and my heart leapt into my throat.

He'd changed from before, or at least taken off his cloak. His shirt was carelessly unlaced down his front, baring more of his dark skin than I'd expected, his chest almost in negative to his white shirt, though what was a chest to me? His pants fit well, very well, and they showed off his hips, were tight through his ass, but I'd seen people's asses before, had seen men naked, so what was his ass to me?

I swallowed and looked down at the table.

"Well then," he started, rolling up his sleeves, and his forearms were muscled, and scarred, and I imagined them holding me, but what were his forearms to me and I didn't need to be held by anyone and I tried to look away, I really did. He took me in, frowning. What were lips that swept to me. What were eyes that demanded.

"You're tied."

I felt a strange thrill at the way he said that, at the way his eyes caught on my bindings. I shrugged, the best I could manage at the time. I didn't trust my voice. He looked to the men standing somewhere off to my left.

"He's big," the one said, while the other wheedled, "He took down like 12 of us earlier."

The Captain sighed. He leaned on the table, one leg crossed over the other and frowned further. (What is a brow that furrows?) "Why did you board our ship?"

Their ship? Every ship on the ocean belonged to me. I could have told him that, could have taken myself from this chair and shown him, but instead I felt myself shrugging. His eyes followed the motion of my massive shoulders without emotion.

"You need to answer truthfully before I can let you go."

He took me in, took as much of me in as he could see, as much as wasn't hidden by the table. I was glad there were parts hidden by the table. "Come now, answer honestly."

I shook my head. I couldn't explain. I couldn't say anything. And how do you tell someone that you boarded their ship, as he thought of it, that you came to them for them? How do you explain a pull so magnetic to someone in the center of it?

"Fine." He threw up his hands. "Don't talk. We'll drop him off at the next port, I guess." The last part was addressed to the men behind me. He turned to leave.

"No!" The word erupted from my mouth, as much a reaction to him leaving as a reaction to his decision. What was happening to me? No man could control me; I was the sea, I was the ocean incarnate, and no man should ever make me feel like this, should pull me physically from my seat as he left the room. He turned, and saw me pushing against my rope towards him. I watched him take it in, watched his eyes travel the parts of my body that fought to be released, caught the moment of hunger in his eyes and I sat back. I wasn't ready to deal with that, not yet. He blinked the hunger away.

"You want to stay?" He sounded completely unfazed, as if I had not just watched him visualize things I couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Yes," I told him.

"Why?"

There was silence.

"Give me a reason."

I didn't have one. Or maybe I did, but I wasn't ready to say it yet, so I just stared at him with eyes that I didn't ask to beg, but that did it anyway.

What were eyes that begged to him, of course.

He sighed. "I can't let you stay if you don't have a reason."

"Please, sir," I said, and I saw that hunger again just for a moment, watched his body hitch in its usual smooth motions. I could use that, I thought. I wanted him to want me, found myself willing to do anything to feel his touch. I pressed up against the ropes, experimentally, carefully, controlled, and watched his eyes fall to my chest, my wrists, watched his hands tighten. "Let me stay."

He stayed that way for a moment, then looked up and to my left. "Leave us," he commanded. I heard a door open and close, and then we were alone.

My heart pounded.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked me.

"No," I told him. I looked at the lines of his body, saw them move, knew how to make them move for me, wanted to make them move for me. "Yes," I amended, and finally finished with, "maybe."

"What do you want." His voice sounded almost defeated. "Did someone send you?"

I shook my head. I watched his dark curls fall into his face, wanted to brush them away. I wanted to touch his face, draw it closer to mine. I wanted to feel him close to me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. What was happening to me? What was this man doing?

He drew closer, and I almost lost myself. "Tell me," he commanded, his voice cool and even, "what you want."

"You," I answered, because he'd asked, because his eyes demanded, and my body tingled with the word and I watched his eyelids flutter.

"To kill me? To lower my guard so you can attack?" He leaned on the table next to me, just around the corner, his tight pants out of sight, his open shirt terribly visible, and I didn't ask my body to press towards him, and I don't think he asked his body to shudder watching mine.

"I wouldn't do that." I was helpless, in front of him. He should know that, seeing me. How could he not see that?

"You couldn't, or you won't?"

"I couldn't. I don't know."

He leaned across the table, leaned in so close I could feel his breath. I whimpered, grabbing the handles of the chair. "Tell me what you want."

"You," I told him again, and leaned forward to kiss him.

He leaned back and thought about that.

"Please," I said, the rawness in my voice catching us both by surprise. I could feel myself giving up control, feel it melting in the face of desire. There was no plan. There was no back-up, no way out of this. There was only him. "Just one kiss."

"I don't kiss prisoners," he told me, eyes on every inch of me showing but my face.

"Please." I wanted to tell him that I wasn't a prisoner, not really. I couldn't be, not a ship that was really mine. Besides, I could get out any time I wanted, that I could have left a thousand times over, but I stayed in my ropes for him, for the way he looked at me in them, the way his eyes widened, but my body was pressing against them and his eyes were doing the thing and I couldn't find the words. He walked the rest of the way over to me. I couldn't imagine him drawn by me, and yet that's how he walked, like he didn't quite have a choice. I willed him closer.

He rounded the edge of the table, and his eyes finally traveled past my stomach, further down my waist. I watched him take in my broad hips and muscled thighs. I watched his eyes catch on the bulge in my pants, watched him see how hard I was for him, from him, and watched him swallow.

"Please, sir," I said, and arched towards him. I watched him jerk a bit at that, saw the way his hand clenched and unclenched, his eyes all over me and his body so close.

"One kiss," he whispered, and he touched my face and I actually gasped from it, his fingers light after the weight of wanting so badly. They traced my cheek, my jawbone, and then he lifted my chin and brought his lips to mine.

It couldn't have lasted as long as it felt, and it couldn't have been as short as I think it was. It felt like eternity. It felt like nothing.

It wasn't enough.

When he lifted away, my whole body tried to lift with him, to follow his command, but the ropes held me down. He left the place where I could reach and I let my teeth scrape against his lip, let myself try to pull him down just for a moment before he was gone. I stayed there, pressed up against my restraints, and he watched, hovering just out of reach, his hand on my face.

"You," he said, and his voice was ragged, and I almost made a noise because the sound was so perfect, must have made a noise because his fingers dug into my chin, "you can't stay here tonight, can you."

I shook my head.

"All tied up," his words caught as his eyes traveled the length of my body, his gaze trapped by the knots on my limbs. He cleared his throat. "Who knows what could happen. Someone could try to hurt you, or you could get out, try to hurt my crew. It would be irresponsible to leave you here."

I nodded.

"Alright, then." His voice had returned to normal. Cool, almost bored. But his hands shook as he untied my restraints. "I'll take you to a cell. Make sure you have everything you need."

I was happy to be spending more time with him, happy that he would be escorting me. Happy for any amount of anything he would give me. But I have to say, at his words my heart sank.

He finished untying my feet and went to move to my hands. In the motion, he suddenly found himself kneeling between my feet, hands over my lap.

He paused, slowly looking up to meet my eyes. They were wide, seeing him there, a moment of pure panic and want. Gently, he placed a hand on my inner thigh. That single touch, the simplest of gestures, pushed all my air from my body in a rush, and I was left dizzy. I thought I saw the quickest of smiles before he removed his hand and turned his attention to freeing my arms.

Soon, I could stand. We found, however, that the men who had tied me originally had decided the most secure method was tying the initial knot around my wrist itself, so that if I broke free of the chair, there would be rope still attached to me. We both looked down at these knots, leading out to lengths of thick twists, a leash for each wrist. We followed the lines and found the ends in the Captain's hands.

I looked up and met his demanding eyes.

He moved away, putting space between us. Then he turned and faced me. I waited, waited to see what he would ask of me. Suddenly, decisively, he tugged on the lines, putting pressure on my wrists. It wasn't enough to pull me forward, but forward I went, listening to the lines, listening to him, and my body tingled with it, rushed with it. He pulled again, and again I stepped forward, but just a step. I wanted to run to him, wanted to kiss him, wanted to do so much more that I didn't even know how to think about, but all he was asking of me was a step and so that's all I did.

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