The Pirate King Ch. 07

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'treally 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 wouldlove 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, "isdangerous."

"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.

"Makes me dangerous," he whispered, pressed up against my back. I moaned to feel how hard he was against me, and he rewarded me with a quick bite to my earlobe.

"Captain," Wicky all but wailed. I felt the moment as the Captain must have, so close to his body. The moment where the Captain let himself think about his response the man, or ignore him completely, just pressing against me closer, listening to the moan that slipped from my throat. The moment after that where he sighed, knowing that he would have to deal with the large-foreheaded nuisance that was keeping us from bliss. The gentle kiss he placed on my neck as he prepared for his movement.

"Wicky." His voice was dark, a different sort of darkness than what I was used to. When he used darkness against me, when he invited me into his dark, it was dangerous, yes, it was cold, but it was from a place of love, from a place of pleasure. This?

This was a vacuum. There was nothing there. It was past dark, it was pure emptiness. His hand slithered from my chest, pulling his knife with it. I shivered as the cool metal moved past my skin, slipping over my shoulder, sighed as the Captain pulled away from my body. Waited patiently as he did what he needed to do.

"If you don't like what you see, then I suggest that you leave." It was not a suggestion. Wicky left.

My body was shaking, waiting for my Captain to return. I knew that he was taking his time, enjoying the things his absence was doing to me. I heard him toss the knife into the open door behind us, heard it skitter across the floor of his room. Wanted my body to do the same.

His lips found their way back to my ear. "And you," he whispered. His hand, now free of the knife, made its way to my hair and I groaned even before he yanked my body back by my short tresses. He drug me into the room that way, and I would have it no other way; the roughness shook the pieces of me that had been hidden for so long, brought them screaming to the surface. I wanted him to see me like this, dangerous and everything that I was supposed to be, everything that I would become. And then I wanted him to make me submit before him, to show him that I was his, no matter who I was or had been or would be.

He had barely shut the door when he began pushing me down. "Knees," he commanded, panting, not bothering to mask the need that pulsed just under his skin. I dropped before him and he moaned. I had an idea of what he had in mind. If it wasn't in his mind yet, I wanted it to be, and so I looked up at him with eyes that would have scared any man, should have scared any man, and opened my mouth.

He looked down at me there, the sea incarnate, ungovernable, eternal, infinite and impossible and on my knees for him and cursed so long and low I thought hell would rise up and swallow us both.

Then his hands were at his waist, fumbling with his pants. He was shaking so badly I thought I would have to help him, but then his pants dropped and his cock was there. I made a noise of glee and lunged for it, but his hand was immediately back in my hair, holding me at bay.

"My pace," he commanded me, his voice raw and ragged. He reached down to touch my face and found he was still holding Finn's knife. "Shit," he muttered, throwing it across the room. It landed somewhere with a clank and then his hand was on my chin, pinching my cheeks. "My pace," he said again, his eyes so intense. I nodded against his hand. He watched me for a moment, his eyes fluttering, his breath hitching to see me there, so helpless in his hands. Then he released my chin and pulled me towards his cock.

I took him in my mouth. He was so hard already, so large and stiff and my mouth had to stretch to accommodate him. He didn't give me a chance to get used to him, pulling my head down on his shaft, his eyes locked on my face.

As soon as I gagged he let me back up, then pulled me back down again, stopping just before the point I had stopped at before. I felt his care in his trembling hands, in his careful control, and reciprocated with moans and a rolling tongue that caused him to tighten his hand in my hair and quicken his pace.

I knew he didn't want my hands near his cock; I knew that this would violate his 'my pace' command. But his balls, I thought. I could touch those and not distract him from his pace. I carefully lifted my hand and took his sack in the palm of my hand.

He moaned and drug my mouth further down his cock than it had ever been. My eyes rolled in my head at the sensation of his cock in my throat even as I gagged, choking. I was so full with him, so filled with need and his cock and I pulled to go even deeper even as he yanked me back and set me to a faster pace.

Before long I could feel his muscles straining against my hand, his balls drawing up under my palm. "Fuck!" I heard him cry, and he pulled my head back off his cock just as his body came to climax. I felt the warm cum splash across my face and opened my mouth to catch a taste.

He stood there for a moment, panting. Then; "Up." I stood, feeling his voice slip under my skin and raise goosebumps. He shoved me to the bed and I let him push me onto it, falling backwards onto the sheets. His breathing was ragged as he climbed up next to me, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, drawing him close.

"Mine," he whispered with determination and I couldn't help but smile.

We laid there so long that I imagined that he might have fallen asleep. That was fine with me; his breathing was even and soft against me, slipping into the rhythm of the the waves that crashed forever under my skin, and I was happy with that. If this was all we ever did, I would have still come back for him, still ripped apart worlds for him, calmed the ocean and slammed it back to storms, for him.

"Sailor," he murmured. I kissed the top of his head gently. His hand began to trace circles on my stomach. I smiled at his affection, trying to hide the shudders that his fingers brought to my spine. "My love," he continued, whispering the words against my chest, and there was no hiding the things those words did to me. I moved to kiss his head again, then froze as his hand slipped down to my waistline. "Pants."

I lent my hands to his crusade, unbinding the laces and slipping them over my waist. As my cock sprung up for him, already hard and ready, he sighed in content. "Wanna make you feel good," he whispered, fingers tracing the length. I shuddered beneath him. "Gonna make you feelso good."

His hand wrapped around my girth and I gasped, warm pits of pleasure spreading up through my body. With his other hand he drew up my shirt even as his mouth found his way to my neck, nipping and kissing the sensitive skin he had laid there earlier. I moaned and writhed beneath him. Then, suddenly, I felt his hand rub against my nipple.

I cursed and jerked, my body lighting up with sensations I had never felt before. I was still too much, the sea so close, and my skin felt stretched somehow, like the nerves were already on high alert. And those nerves, and there... "Captain," I begged, although I wasn't sure what I was begging for, "sir." He responded by closing his fingers against the sensitive flesh and pinching hard, and whatever words I would have given up were lost in a sudden stream of curses and moans.

I felt him smile against my neck and then his mouth was gone, moving down my body. His lips kissed their way over my chest, teeth scraping whenever he wanted a reaction, until suddenly they were on my nipple.

My back arched, my entire body twisting. How could one small bit of skin be so sensitive? I moaned and bucked beneath him as he licked and kissed. I couldn't help it, my hand came to his hair and grabbed hold of his head. I needed to touch him, needed to hold what he was doing to me. He let me press my hand against him, slipping his other hand over my chest and thumbing my other nipple. All the while he never stopped working my cock, his hand working the shaft, fingers coming up to rub the tip. It was entirely too much, and I was lost to him, lost all sense of what I was supposed to be doing, and when he took my nipple between his teeth and bit my body practically shook apart.

"Make you feel so good," I heard him mumble, his lips moving down my stomach, then across my hipbone. Teeth nipped at my skin and I gasped. His mouth moved and then he bit again, harder, and I cursed.

He made me ride the line between pleasure and pain, pushing the limits that I had never known could be tested, seeming to know exactly what should be pressed and what should be left alone. I teetered there; no, I had nothing to do with it, I was under his control and he kept me there, the sensations so strong they were practically overwhelming. I had no thoughts but the feel of his teeth, no way of existing but the things his hands were doing to me. Storms rose up and were quelled in a moment under his touch, maelstroms calmed and reopened at his whim. It was nearly terrifying how greatly I felt for him, how much he made me, and then he bit lightly just at the base of my cock and I couldn't help it, I came.

It was such a violent and surprising pleasure that I shouted. My eyes squeezed shut in the face of it, unable and unwilling to take any more stimulus in, just wanting dark and warm and but he didn't let me go through it gently, instead reaching up and finding my nipple and twisting and I shouted again as another wave of sensation crashed through my overly stimulated body.

As the last of my shakes shook my core, he lifted his head to my neck, then my lips. I kissed him gently, still lost within myself in the face of what he had done to me. He brought his cum-covered fingers up to my lips and let me lick them clean, catching up some of the cum that he had left on my face along the way. He smiled hungrily down at me.