Stories Hub / Novels and Novellas / The Pirate King Ch. 07

The Pirate King Ch. 07

by nakamook 04/25/17

This is part of an ongoing series - if you find yourself here without reading the others, I highly recommend going back and starting at the beginning! We'll still be here when you get back ;)

Alternate title: Falling for you

The closer the separation gets, the harder it gets to write. We'll get there, and then we'll get over it, but they're just so happy right now that they deserve their time. So a happy fun chapter of just being with the person you love and not thinking too, too much about how you're leaving them the next day.

Have fun, stay safe, peace and love to everyone reading this, etc. As always, comments and suggestions greatly appreciated.


I found the hallway leading up to the Captain's room frustratingly occupied. Wicky slouched next to the door, his face sour, his teeth bared. "You're not to go in."

"He said to meet me here." The blade Finn had given me was hidden at my side; I shifted it further out of view. It would be best if he would just let me in. I didn't want to have to kill Wicky.

No, of course that was a lie. I wanted to kill Wicky. I wanted him to suffer for his actions, his part in keeping the Captain from me, from causing the Captain pain when I could have kept him safe. Seeing him there, seeing him try to keep me from the Captain, again, seeing him between my body and my love (my love! Those words echoed in my ears, in my soul, in the deepest chambers of the sea, there were whales that learned the meaning of love that day, there were creatures of the deep that had never seen sun but knew what it meant to be loved by the Captain) again, it pulled at the anger that sat so close to my chest and pulsed in my ears with my heartbeat.

So yes, I wanted to kill Wicky. But this, this was not the way. This was not the place. There are a thousand ways to kill a man, a million ways to make him suffer. I had not decided which way Wicky would go yet, but I knew it would not be quick, and I did not want it to be so public. I wanted my time with him; I wanted space.

And so I did not move, instead waiting to see what would happen.

"The Captain ain't in," he lied. I raised an eyebrow. "And you're to go back to your cell."

Back to my cell, he said. The memory of irons tickled at my wrists, tugged at my mind. I looked around. It wasn't really that public. And how long would it be before someone else came up to try and see the Captain?

"Are you even fucking listening to me?"

I didn't bother to respond, instead calculating exactly how much time I had, exactly what I could do with him in those moments. If that would be enough. My hand began tightening on the knife. The sea began quickening in my soul.

"Fuck you, just run along, you fucking mutt, before I -"

Fuck it, I thought. It's going to have to be.

He was up against the wall, my knife at his throat, before he could say another word. I quickly found the knife he wore at his side and pulled it away, sticking it in the wall above his head and therefore putting it out of his reach. I knew it was too deeply embedded for him to pull out without great effort. Wicky was weak. Wicky was nothing.

His eyes flicked up at the blade, more frightened than I had expected, and I took a closer look. Well shit, I thought. It was the Captain's from the night before. The sea pressed against my eyes at the theft, whispering, crashing. "You," I told him evenly, the edge of my knife pressed dangerously against his skin, "were supposed to give this back."

Wicky could only squeak. I smiled at the sound, the way it slipped against the waves and was lost inside of me. I was going to enjoy this; I was going to enjoy this a lot.

"Sailor?" The Captain's voice caught me by surprise; he must have come out from his room at the sound of Wicky's body slamming into the wall. I wasn't really sure what to do. The Captain had never seen me violent like this, had no true concept of the things I held just under my skin. In any other moment I might have been worried about how this might have looked; with any other man I might have been concerned about the blood I knew that dripped from my body, metaphorically, and from Wicky's neck, literally. But this was the Captain, and he had felt the ocean broiling within me so many times, had seen it in my eyes and, instead of running, instead of bowing to my power, he had smiled and made me beg for him more.

At his voice a pit of desire opened up within me, and the sea crashed into it eternal, insatiable. I should have pulled the ocean back, not allowed it to sit the way it say, right under the thin membrane of skin that kept it barely at bay, but I found myself unwilling to let myself return to the nobody I had been pretending to be. I was not a nobody, had never been one to start with. I had no reason to pretend.

Not with him.

I cast my eyes over my shoulder slowly and found him leaning in the doorway, clothes clinging in all the right places to make my body scream for him. The sea was churning, my body become something more and to be so near him like that was divine, was torture. My hands tightened on Wicky, squeezing out another of his pathetic squeaks. As the noise reached the Captain's ears I saw the him smile, and felt the sea crash again. "My love," he said quietly, that same prickly voice he had used earlier, but now I was more, and now it was so much. It took everything in me to keep from moaning at the sensation his voice raised against my soul. "Put him down. I have bigger plans for him."

I heard his words, took them in, but the oceans I contained within were not calmed so easily. The lines of my wrist and hand that held the knife sharpened in defiance even as I knew that my body would do as he commanded. I sighed, letting Wicky slide down the wall. My eyes never left the Captain.

He walked up to us, his hand trickling across the back of my shirt as if it was nothing, as if he did not set my entire world on fire with his fingers. I shuddered, and Wicky twitched in fear in my grasp. I heard myself growl even as my fingers released his shirt. The knife still was tight against his throat, controlled by the sea.

The Captain was right behind me. I watched his eyes flick to the knife, his knife, buried in the wall.

"Huh," he said, turning his gaze back to mine. "Thank you for finding this, my love. Would hate to have to hunt down whoever had kept it from me."

The sea within me acknowledged the thinly disguised desire in his voice, the careful threat. His eyes churned in response. He leaned forward, pressing himself up against my body as he reached forward and took the hilt of his knife in his hand. His eyes were still on mine, my head turned away from Wicky to track this man, this perfect man, to let him see all the things I carried in my eyes.

He saw them all, I know he did. His expression never wavered, looking cool and calm and collected, and behind all of that so fucking hungry I couldn't believe he didn't take me right there, right in front of Wicky. Instead he braced himself against my body and yanked the knife from the wall. I reminded myself to breathe, and tried vaguely not to slice up Wicky too bad in the intense feelings that came with having the Captain tense against my back, his lips so close to mine.

"Careful," he murmured. "I think you're hurting him."

I didn't move. I wanted him to hurt. I thought I saw a smile flit across the Captain's lips.

"Captain," the man beneath me pleaded. Boring, I thought. Boring and pathetic. I should have let him go, would have if I were alone, but I wanted to see what the Captain would do. Wanted to see how far this would go. I think my eyes flared at the thought; I know something in the Captain's did in response.

He hooked his hand, still holding the knife, around my neck. I felt the cool metal resting against my chest and held very still, biting back the shudders that danced within my spine. The Captain shifted his weight behind me, coming over to the side on which I held Wicky. I let my head turn slowly as he moved, following his motions by touch and sound, and when my head had fully twisted there he was, waiting for me, and I nearly lost myself in the depths of his gaze.

His free hand danced down my arm until he reached the knife I held against Wicky's neck. "Mine," he told me, and of course it was and I handed it to him without another thought. Wicky broke away from me immediately, but what was Wicky to me? I had the Captain. And I would like to see him try to take that away.

I would love to see him try.

"Captain," Wicky rasped, but we were both distracted by more important things, like breath, and the way it could pool against skin so delicately and yet so intensely, or eyes, and the way they could say so much without the need for words.

"CAPTAIN." He was a fool for repeating it; a fool for drawing our attention to him. I was the sea, and the Captain was the sky, and our full attention crashed on this mortal and I don't know how he wasn't pressed flat.

"He," he managed to gasp, "is dangerous."

"Yes," the Captain responded slowly. He wasn't so much responding to Wicky as making his own statement, surprise and hunger hanging in the air in a physical way. The tip of the knife tapped my chest and I felt my body shake beneath it; not from fear, but from anticipation. "He is, isn't he?"

I turned my head and kissed the Captain's forearm, letting my lips brush drily against his skin. The tapping immediately stilled. I watched the Captain's hand tighten around the blade, felt his breath quickening behind me.

"Quite dangerous," he repeated quietly, and then he shoved me up against the wall. My surprised cheek pressed against the wood panel with more force than I had expected, my hands too slow or too unwilling to stop my forward motion. I wasn't ready yet to parse out which it was, just let myself enjoy the sensation of the Captain's arms tight around my shoulders and waist. I felt his lips against my ear.

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