The Pirate King Ch. 02

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Will desire triumph over duty?
12.6k words
4.82
18.2k
31

Part 2 of the 24 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 03/14/2017
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nakamook
nakamook
262 Followers

The sailor has made his interest clear, but what is behind the Captain's strange reluctance? Fate has brought these two together - will duty tear them apart?

Still working out my release schedule - might continue to be weekly, might move to biweekly. This has gotten to be a little more than I'd expected, so apologies for all the exposition! Pinky promise there's some steamy stuff in there for you too.

This is part of an ongoing series - if this is the first you've seen, I recommend that you go back and read chapter 1!

*****

I was out of practice at waking up in beds that were not mine.

My years in the mines had taught me the importance of constant vigilance. I'd barely been able to sleep anyway, without the rocking of a ship, the gentle singing of the sea. How can you trust the land? It's likely to drop out from under your feet at any moment. I'd never felt safe on solid ground; in prison mines, even less. Deep repose, the kind that steals your bearing from you and lets you rest your soul as well as body, was foreign to me.

So when I woke, dazed and rested and not recognizing where I was, and found myself both bound and naked, I had an understandable moment of panic.

Then I felt the ship creak beneath me, heard the ocean's relentless whirl, and calmed. So long as I had the sea, nothing could harm me.

I let myself exist in that space, my freedom singing through my veins like rushing channels. The sunlight was warm and I was not in chains; the ocean called my name and I could finally respond.

I tried to sit up and bodily remembered the ropes around my wrists. This wasn't a real problem; knots couldn't hold me. But I found myself staring at these knots, as if they were something more.

The Captain hadn't wanted me to untie them.

I sighed and leaned back in the bed. The Captain.

I didn't understand what had happened between us the night before. I understood that he was an attractive man; I understood that my body had, somewhat inexplicably, reacted to that. I could deal with that. People had told me for years that men could be beautiful in the same way that women were. I supposed I had just found someone who had convinced me.

But no, it was more than that. Because he wasn't beautiful like any woman I had ever seen, or like any man could ever be. He was the most incredible sight I had ever seen collapsed into the skin of a human being. This wasn't an extension of something I knew; the way he made me feel was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Nothing about him was like anything I had ever known. Not the way his lips had felt on mine, when he had finally leaned down and kissed me. Not the way his hands had turned my skin to ice while lighting my soul on fire, threatening to make my entire body crack under the pressure. Not the way his mouth had felt, as his bit and kissed his way down to my...

I closed my eyes and pressed them against my arm, refusing to look down at the fully erect cock that had risen between my legs. I couldn't be turned on like this, not just by thinking about him so mildly. Had I not gotten enough last night? I was confused, so confused at how my body reacted to him. To the mere thought of him. He utterly bewildered me, in everything that he did.

It was not just his touch, or his body, or his gentle way of being so rough that confounded me so. It was the way he could command me. It was the way I wanted to do nothing more than make him happy, than to give him pleasure.

I looked up to my hands, still tied as a courtesy to this Captain. Why was I listening to him? He could ask me anything, and I would obey. I felt that in the very core of my being, but for some reason it didn't frighten me at all. No - I felt nothing but excitement.

I sighed. Fate would do what she would. I supposed it only made sense that after so much pain from fighting, the man who would accept my surrender would give me such pleasure.

Not that he'd accepted it.

That thought soured my mood instantly. His actions the night before had been so strange. Who was he to tell me what I deserved? Who I deserved? He didn't know what I wanted; he didn't know what I'd done.

Well, I thought. That was hardly his fault.

Still, he could have listened. I could have explained some things to him, if not all of it. I felt a ping of frustration at his lack of willingness to try.

I leaned back, trying to push all of this from my mind. There was nothing to do about it now. Later, perhaps, I could try to talk some sense into him. For now, I laid and enjoyed the feeling of being at sea.

In time, I had to get up. My body forced me - I really had to pee.

I undid the knots the Captain had left me in. He was very good, and it took me a few moments, but soon I was on my way to the bathroom.

I relieved myself, sighing contentedly. On the way back out the door, I caught sight of myself in the full mirror and did a double take. I examined my body closely in the polished silver. Rope burns scalded my wrists. Angry bite marks covered my sides, red proof of pain I didn't remember being in. On my neck, a few dark marks bloomed, bite marks and blood bruises from a rough mouth. A hand print bruised each of my thighs, yellow well on it's way to green, each finger distinct in it's pattern and grip.

I did a quick check for other damage, but I didn't see anything. I didn't bother to check my back. I didn't like looking at it. Besides, I already knew what damage was there, and it wasn't last night's fault.

All in all, it wasn't bad. I'd certainly had worse nights, and those hadn't had any joy to speak of. But if the Captain had seen this, after what he had said last night...

I stopped. Thinking about the Captain garnered a myriad of complex emotions that I was not in the mood to deal with. I pulled myself from the mirror and stepped into my breeches, found my shirt where it had landed, then returned to my reflection to see what could be done. The sleeves could be pulled down to cover most of the damage on the arms, but there was no way to wear my collar that wasn't obvious I was hiding something. In the end, I just left my neck exposed.

I sat on the bed and wondered what to do next. If I were playing nice, I would lie back down and tie myself back up, but that was kind of pointless now that I had dressed myself; it was obvious I had been up and moving about. I could read, perhaps. The Captain had an impressive chest of books.

My stomach grumbled. I hadn't gotten dinner the night before, or breakfast yet. I looked at the door. It was stupid to go out and wander around the ship. It was literally asking for trouble. After all, as far as the men knew I was supposed to be in the cells. I was a prisoner.

Who cared about the other men. The ship was filled with nobodies. There was only one man who could command my attention, and I was busy putting him from my mind.

I unlocked the door and strode out into the hall.

I figured the mess must be somewhere near the dinner hall they'd taken me to the night before, so I retraced the steps as best I could. The closer I got, the stronger the smell of cooking became, so I knew I had to be on the right track. Soon, I could hear chattering voices darting through the hall. I followed the mix of sensations to the doorway of a cafeteria.

Enough eyes looked up as I ducked through the doorway that I caused a stir. Half of those eyes started and reached for blades; the other half blinked drowsily at the unrecognized face. That motion set of a ripple of similar reactions through the rest of the ranks, until the entire room was a silent bristle of suspicion and knives and half awake eyes.

"Hello," I said. "Is this where I could find some breakfast?" No one answered, so I took it upon myself to find out. I walked though the benches, stepping carefully around the gathered ranks until I reached the cook. "Could I get some food, please?"

"Crew only," he told me sourly.

"I've been informed that my status is prisoner." I didn't believe it, but I knew better than to go against the rules with cooks. I leaned down on the counter and peered into the kitchen. Pots boiled over with delicious scents, roiling through the small space and almost overwhelming me with homesickness. The kitchen had always been my favorite place on any ship. "I don't know if that counts for anything, but I'm very hungry."

"Prisoner, huh." He looked me up and down. "Well, they did say you were big."

I shrugged and spread my hands. Didn't really have much to say to that.

"I already sent your food up with the Captain." He turned to walk away.

Uh-oh, I thought. That meant I probably didn't have much time before a confrontation. I felt a tingle grow in my stomach and tried to kill it fast. "That's odd, he sent me down for it." I smiled as brightly as I could.

The cook looked me over carefully. His eyes noted my overly bright smile, a gesture I was obviously unfamiliar with, then moved to my lopsided shirt and landed last on the love marks on my neck. His scowl grew. "You know what you're doing?"

My smile dropped. "I can handle myself."

He shook his head a little sadly.

In the end, he hurrumphed and handed me a platter filled with bread and a delicious smelling porridge. I thanked him warmly, genuinely. I was hungry, and the food looked good. Then it was time for me to try and find a seat.

I turned; all eyes were still on me, the room deathly silent. I picked a spot close to the door to make my attempt.

"Is it alright if I join you?" I kept my voice genial and firm. The men looked like they'd rather say no, but people have a hard time refusing a direct request, and space ended up being found. The made me sit with my back to the door, however, which made me uncomfortable.

The guy across from me leaned over. "They say you took down fifteen guys when you came from the other ship."

I shrugged. "The last time I heard it told it was twelve. When they settle on a number, you let me know."

To my left, a sailor chuckled. "It was ten at last count, actually. I'm Finn."

"A pleasure," I replied. I didn't offer a name, and he didn't ask. We shook.

"So where'd you stay last night?" Finn and the others leaned forward.

"The cells," I answered easily, my attention on my porridge. It was rich and filling, a hint maybe of... cinnamon? I glanced up at the cook, curious about where he'd gotten this particular recipe, but he was busy at his work, his pinched face red from the heat of the small kitchen.

"Uh-huh." Finn waggled his eyebrows, not bother to hide his inspection of my neck. "And how'd you find them?"

"The cells?" I looked at him, feigning surprise. "Fine, I suppose. How does one ever find cells?"

My casual answer put them off their questions for a little. I focused in on the porridge. I couldn't tell if it tasted familiar in the face of everything so strange that was happening, an anchor that my brain was creating for me, or if I actually recognized the construction. Either way, it was delicious. Conversation flowed around me comfortingly, and I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that things could settle back to normal.

Suddenly the little guy across from me looked up. He was a young kid, towheaded and sparkly eyed in a way that made me nervous. "Heard you had dinner with the Captain."

"Yes."

They all looked at me. There were a few whispers as those not caught up asked questions from those in the know.

"You talk to him?"

"Yes," I said again. I wasn't sure where the line was here, how much the Captain would want his crew to know. There were a few guys unabashedly pointing at the marks on my neck. I tried to look unconcerned.

"Well?" Finn prompted. "How did you find him?"

"Yes," I heard a voice behind me ask. The room stiffened around me. "How did you find him."

It wasn't a question so much an accusation. The voice was cold, dispassionate in its anger. Icy, it rolled over my shoulders like a frost, threatening my spine with a shiver. I quietly put my spoon down, the clank of metal on wood the only sound in the silent hall, and looked at Finn.

"The Captain?" I stated, as easy and unconcerned as I could be. I did not care about the Captain, I told myself. I heard my own lie in my head, anger brewing in my veins like a storm, surprising me with it's sudden ferocity. Who was this man, to come and tell me what I should feel, and what I should think, and who I should sleep with? Who was this man to deny me,me, a chance to speak my mind?

Well, I thought. Let him hear me now.

"Honestly," I heard myself say, "I found him to be quite arrogant."

I felt the ripple move through the room again, felt the sailors pull back from me. The Captain's eyes burned the back of my head. I didn't care. Let him try to set water aflame. I picked my spoon back up to continue eating. The little guy across from me stared, aghast.

"What are you doing," he whispered. "Do you want to get killed?"

"Arrogant would be the right term, yeah," I continued, a little louder. "Thinks things can hold you when they clearly can't. Knows what's best for you, even if you say otherwise." I turned and met the Captain's eyes. "Tries to tell you how you're supposed to feel."

"You," he said, eyes aflame. "Come with me."

I took another bite of porridge. The room might not have been breathing, it was so still.

"Come with me."

"My name," I said to my bowl evenly, "is not you."

I heard Finn suck in his breath.

The Captain could have screamed, then. Many men would have. Many captains, especially, would have screamed and threatened and tried to make me what they wanted. How many had already done just that? Maybe that's what I was testing for, maybe that's why I pushed. Maybe I wanted to see if he would try and make me submit, like so many in my life had before, an easy out for me to make my move and go. A quick exit from the strange vortex he put me in, just by existing.

But he didn't yell. I knew he wouldn't, really. So perhaps what I really wanted, what I selfishly craved was the way my body reacted when he came right up behind me and pressed one hand to my neck and his lips to my ear.

"Stand up," he said, and I stood. "Walk." It was all said in an even tone, in a dangerous tone, in a way that made my whole body shiver with it, anticipate what he would tell me to do next, and I hated it. I loved it. My body sang with the vibrations as I made my way before him through the door.

He pushed me through the hallways with his presence, a mirror the the pulling he had done the night before. I opened the door to his room and walked in. I heard him lock it behind us, the soft click signalling things I didn't want to hope for.

"Get on your knees." I did, shivers floating down my spine. The bed squeaked as he settled down behind me. I waited.

"What am I going to do with you," he finally asked. "You run away, you talk to me like that in front of my men -"

"You didn't give me a chance to talk to you alone," I countered. "We could have had that conversation here, last night. Or this morning. Instead, you left me. Tied up, like a dog."

"Not like a dog, I thought -" I heard him sigh. "We went over this. You are a prisoner."

I made no attempt to correct him this time. Let him think what he wanted if he was so determined that this was what I should be.

"If you want to talk, fine. Talk. Talk to me, instead of running and forcing a confrontation in front of my men."

"I tried that last night," I reminded him. "You told me to be quiet."

"Oh, and you do whatever I tell you?"

"Yes." The word was so simple, so stark in its honesty, that it brought him to a stop. He breathed it in, held it in his lungs for a moment, and I almost thought that he would accept it. Then he exhaled forcefully.

"No. You don't. I told you to stay, and you ran." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "Why are you toying with me like this?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to."

"Yes," he said angrily. "You do."

"I really don't." I turned to look at him. Sitting there, leaning over like that, I could see his entire chest shadowed beneath his shirt. I ate him up with my eyes, feeling what it did to my body. "It just... happens."

His eyes were hard, so hard. I wanted the rest of him to be the same. "Well. Stop."

How could I tell him that I was helpless against him? That my body would do whatever it needed to to be with his? It was more than that - more than just bodies, but I wasn't sure of that yet. At the time, all I knew was that I needed to press myself into him until I couldn't tell where our separation began.

"I want you," I told him.

"No." His gaze broke from mine. "You don't."

And that was to be the end of that, and I tried to make myself respect it, even as the frustration grew at being told who and what I wanted.

His gaze had fallen on the rope I had left curled on the bed, perfectly coiled. He frowned. He grabbed at the rope, looking for tears or signs of breaks. "Who even untied you?"

I shrugged. "I had to pee."

He was quiet for some time. When he finally moved, it was to crouch before me. The movement brought him to my eye height, searching my face like he had been since we'd met. I met his eyes steadily, willing him to understand that I was telling him the truth.

"Does it bother you? To be tied?"

"No." It had been unkind, to say what I had.

"Because if it does -"

My words came out curter than I meant. "It doesn't." He looked surprised at my shortness, but I was tired of being not believed.

He reached out and carefully tilted my head, looking at the sides of my neck, the dark bruises I hadn't been able to hide. His inspection was quiet, and intense. I shivered beneath his touch and watched his face for any signs of what any of this meant to him. What I might mean. I tried to keep myself from feeling disappointment when I saw nothing but frustration, pinned between those eyebrows of his.

"I didn't even notice..." He trailed off, tipping my head this way and that. His gaze shifted to my chest, where he could see the top of a bite mark peeking out from my off-kilter shirt. "Shit" he finally sighed. "Alright, let's get your shirt off."

I didn't move.

"I want to see what damage I did."

I ignored him, staring at the floor.

"Listen. I'm not going to hurt you again, you don't have to -"

I jerked my head up. "Hurt me?" I couldn't believe how dense he was. Was he truly concerned about that?

He blinked. "Well, yeah. Isn't that what you're worried about?"

"No." I sighed. This boy would be the death of me. "Look at me." He did, his eyes roving my arms, my chest, my face. I reached out and cupped his face in my hand. His eyes met mine, shocked and confused as I stared him down. "Do you really think you could hurt me?"

"Yeah. I mean." He pulled away. "Didn't I?"

"No."

"Take off your shirt."

I shook my head. I didn't want him to see what he had done. I had a feeling it wouldn't help my case.

He grabbed my chin and made our eyes meet. "Take off your shirt."

Even through all of this, I still recognized his command.

He stepped back as I pulled the fabric over my head, taking in the bruises, the bitemarks, the ropeburns. He frowned and came closer, inspecting them, his face dark and closed. "I'm sorry," he told me again. "I didn't realize; I should have been in control."

That reaction was exactly why I hadn't wanted him to see. "Believe me when I say this is nothing."

He ignored me. "I shouldn't have had sex with you, not at all."

I grabbed his hand again. He wouldn't look at me. "I just told you. This is nothing." It was frustrating to be ignored, to have my voice not even acknowledged.

"I promise you," he said as he stood, "it won't happen again."

nakamook
nakamook
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