The Pirate Ing

This is part of an ongoing series - head on back to chapter one and catch up for the best experience! We'll still be here when you get back :)

Alternate title; Minnie's Breakfast Special

Sorry this took a bit; had some issues with my control panel. Thanks again for your patience! Next chapter will be up in a week.

As always, feedback and comments appreciated!

*****

I woke up the next morning to find the Captain's body pressed against mine.

Sometime in the night the covers had been pushed back from the Captain, removing any barrier to this happening. As a result, or maybe inevitably, his body had found it's way into my arms, his forehead resting against my collarbone, his breath dusting my chest. He, in turn, had draped his arm over my hips and held me tight. Our legs were mutually entwined; I could find no single fault there.

I didn't want to move. I had never felt so complete as in that moment; it was as if I had been as a song without the melody for years, and hadn't known. He was my melody. He was the sky and I was the sea. We were meant to be, inextricable, unbreakable together.

But I needed him to make that decision for himself. Awake, and sober. And I didn't want him to think I had come to him the night before for this, or for more. I ignored how my soul berated me and began to pull myself away.

He tightened his grip against me. "Don't go," he muttered against my skin. I froze, every molecule in my being listening to his command. My body tingled, sparks radiating out from where his words had touched me, landing in my stomach and setting my entire body aflame. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be under his spell. I nodded and settled back against his body.

He was still for a bit, and I thought he had fallen asleep again until he spoke. "I thought it was a dream."

"I'm here," I told him and kissed the top of his head. I would never leave him again, not truly. There would always be a part of me with him, a part of him with me. I felt him sigh against me, his body melting into mine.

"You're shirtless."

I didn't really know how to respond to that. I knew how this looked. "I needed to clean something up last night."

"Shit." I could feel his scowl, feel his eyebrows knitting against my chest. "Did I throw up?"

"It's okay."

He didn't say anything to that.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hazy," he admitted. "And my head hurts."

"Will you let me get up so I can get you a glass of water?"

I felt his hand tighten against me, then, but he agreed. I lifted my hands over him, mindful not to hit his head with my manacles. The noise drew his attention.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, "Did I do that?"

He looked so scared, so upset, that I immediately gathered him back up into my arms. "Of course not," I told him. "Why would you think that?"

"I remember," he started. He wasn't looking at me, and that made me nervous. "I woke up, and I saw you, and I remember being happy seeing you like that - shit!" He hid his face in my arms. "I thought it was a dream."

Warmth passed through me as I felt him take refuge in my embrace, watched him turn to me for comfort. I wanted to sing; if you had asked me in that moment to fly, I would have tried, I believed the world so possible.

I took hold of his chin and lifted it so that his eyes met mine. "You didn't do this. This," I said, rattling my irons, "was someone else." I smiled at him, seeing him take this in. "Although you did say it was hot."

"Fuck." He pulled from my grasp and hid again as I chuckled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I reassured him. "You were drunk."

"But I still knew. I know how much you hate these." He drew a finger over the links.

I watched him, waiting. Eventually I prompted him. "So is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Hot." I muttered the word into his hair.

His finger froze. "No," he whispered. "It makes me livid." He paused for a moment. "Who did this?"

I didn't feel the need to protect Wicky from the Captain. My motives were selfish; I wanted that man all to myself when he drew his last breath. "They thought it would keep me from you."

He thought about that for a moment. I watched as a frown moved over his perfect lips, his beautiful face. "Maybe it should have." He pulled himself up, lifted himself from my arms. "You shouldn't have come; I'm dangerous when I'm drinking." Quietly, he added, "And you said I wasn't to touch you again."

"You asked me not to leave you." I stayed where I was, looking up at him. Dangerous? I thought. He'd been nothing but affectionate. I suppose he'd attacked Natch, but he'd been deterred easily enough. "And I was wrong."

He didn't move right away, and I was afraid that my words hadn't reached him, that he carried his guilt so tightly wrapped that even my presence wouldn't convince him of my word's legitimacy. Then he reached down and gently corded his fingers through my hair, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I lifted my head into his hand, and he released whatever breath he'd been building up, whatever tension he'd let himself create.

We stayed like that for a long time, just existing. His fingers passed through my hair again and again, each time more steady, more sure of their path, their right to exist on my skin. I tingled under his touch. I needed more, but I knew he wasn't ready. I could wait. For him, I would do anything.

"Did I... I mean, I didn't hurt anyone last night. Right?'

I shook my head, I little surprised by the question, then reconsidered. "You held a knife to Natch."

"Natch?" His fingers froze; he sounded genuinely surprised. "What for?"

I let myself run my hand over his skin, enjoying the texture, the way I could convince his blood to drop beneath the skin and leave patterns in the wake of the pressure I applied. He wasn't going to like this answer, I thought. "May be that he leaned against me," I said. He cursed. "I had my arm around him, too."

He was quiet a long time, fingers still against my head.

"Jealous?" I asked.

"No." He sighed. "That boy deserves to have people in his life he trusts to touch. Fuck," he finished, frustrated. "What else happened?"

"I took the knife." You asked me not to leave you, I thought. You touched me so sweet my heart broke and healed, all in an instant. "You were nothing but affectionate."

He frowned. "Overly?"

"No, no, just." I brushed my fingers over his stomach lightly and thought I saw him shiver. "Sweet."

He nodded, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. I closed my eyes and let his warmth flood my being. "I should have keys that fit those, you know."

I looked up to him, saw him looking at the irons. If he wanted me to keep wearing them, I would. At this point I understood that I was safe around him.

He pointed at the chest across from the bed. "Under the back left corner of the covering. That's where it was last time I needed it, anyway."

I nodded and rolled out of bed, immediately heading for the bathroom.

"Hey! Where are you - That's not -"

I emerged with his cup of water that I pressed to his hands. "You need to stay hydrated."

But his eyes were wide and staring, and only then had I realized what I'd done.

"Oh," I said, knowing exactly what he was reacting to. "I thought maybe, the other night..." but of course he hadn't seen it. We'd left my shirt on; the scars had been covered.

"I didn't know," he whispered. His hand was in his hair, pushing his forehead smooth. "I didn't - fuck, sailor."

I sat down on the side of bed and watched him struggle with this. "They're not as bad as they look," I lied, trying to keep my voice soft. He laughed incredulously and then immediately put a hand over his mouth.

"I didn't know," he repeated. "Fuck, how did I not see those?"

"I hid them," I told him. It was as simple as that. I reached out and took his hand. The rattling of the manacles caught his attention. He didn't seem to be able to look away; I pulled my hand back.

"Take them off," he whispered, his voice shaky.

I looked at him, concerned. "Captain -"

"

Take them off.

" He looked away. "Please." I could hear the pain in his voice and moved quickly to the chest where he said I would be able to find the key. It was right where he said it would be, and I removed the irons as quickly as I could.

I turned to find him staring at my back again, and was surprised and horrified to find that he was crying. "Hey." I moved towards him quickly, concerned at what effect I might have had on him. "I'm here, I'm okay, everything is okay."

As I reached him he turned away, trying to turn his pain to anger but I would have none of that. I grabbed his hands in mine and searched his face. "It's okay." I let my voice tap against his chest as gently as I knew how, turned my words into lapping waves. "We're safe here."

"I'm sorry."

My hand moved up to cup his face, caressing his cheek. I wiped away a tear and felt it's ocean wetness against my finger. He sighed and leaned into my hand, leaned into it with his breath, his body, his very expression. He had nothing to be sorry for. Why was he apologizing? I kissed him on the forehead and tried to make him understand.

"I didn't... You've been hurt before, and then..."

"You did nothing wrong," I whispered, understanding his concern.

"Fuck." I smiled at his eloquence, tracing my fingers over his chin.

"I'm okay," I reminded him again.

"But you weren't." He wasn't looking at me. "And I hate that. To think of you in pain..."

I didn't have anything to say to that, but it filled my stomach with a warmth that was wholly unknown to me before I had met this man. I kissed his hairline gently and felt the exhale that proved to me that he was going to be alright.

We stayed like that for a moment, my hand on his chin, my lips on his head. Then he reached up and laid his hand on mine. "I just." His voice was almost to quiet to be heard. "I can't believe I'm touching you."

I wanted him to touch me more. He was being so ginger, so careful, but I had a feeling that was as much for him as for my perceived self. I nodded against his head.

His hand tightened on mine. "Why," I thought I heard him say.

"What?" He didn't respond, and I lifted his eyes up to mine. "Why what?"

"Why did you come back?" He met my gaze for an instant then looked away. "Those scars on your back. You've been hurt before, you should know to stay away."

Those words emptied out whatever warmth I had been feeling. You are nothing like this, I wanted to tell him. You are worlds apart from this. This was hell and betrayal and death, and you are light and darkness and everything that I need but I had already told him this, or versions of this so many times and I didn't know how to make him believe it so instead of trying to find words I simply lifted his lips to mine and kissed him.

The kiss was not passionate. It was not full of fire, or sparks. But it held the ocean, and the sky, and everything that was right in a world that tried to keep us so wrong and by the end of it I wasn't sure which of us I had been trying to console, because I was crying too.

I looked down at him, tears in my eyes, and smiled. "How could I stay away?" I asked him, and I watched my words slip into his soul and become like stars and he reached up and kissed me again.

I kissed him back, lingering and sweet. I never wanted this to end, just lying with him, existing in the simplest of ways. When he lifted my head it was only to rest his forehead upon mine, lips just out of reach. I had shifted down below him, and his thick black hair cascaded around us, sheltering us from the world, keeping us contained and safe and away from those who would have us apart.

Who could have us apart? He was my world, and could begin to believe that I was his. He lifted my chin, gently, raising my lips to his again, and I lost myself in the realities we created.

They were instantly shattered when a knock sounded at the door.

He didn't let me pull away, not right away. He kept his fingers on my chin, tighter now, as if he could feel something slipping away from him. It wasn't me, I wanted him to know. It would never be me. I was his, now and forever. I lifted myself and kissed him deeper, taking advantage of his surprise to break from his grasp.

The noise he made as I pulled away could have broken me, if I were not so sure that I would return. "The door," I said quietly, sliding out of bed.

"They'll go away." He caught hold of my hand and pulled me back. I let myself be sucked into his orbit for another kiss, soft and long and forever and the only thing that mattered. But the knock came again, and I pulled away.

He fell back against the wall and watched me, frowning, as I shoved the manacles under the bed. My shirt would be out of sight in the bathroom, and even if they came in it was unrecognizable. I looked around for a place to hide.

"What are you doing?" I held my finger to my lips and decided that just behind the door would be the best spot; I could open it to conceal my body. There was nowhere else to hide my bulk. I positioned myself and nodded to the Captain, my finger still on my lips.

He nodded back, then called for the knockers to enter. The door opened, but no figures stepped through.

"Just wanted to see if you needed anything, Cap. Breakfast, water..."

"No, thank you Ichor. I have everything I need." His gaze traveled to me for a moment, and I felt my heart flutter.

"Aye, Cap. We're right outside if you find you have need of anything. Just shout." The door began to shut.

"Wait." The Captain held up his hand, peering out. "Is that Natch?"

The door froze. "Aye, Cap."

"Will you send him in?"

"Uh." I could sense Ichor's hesitation, but couldn't tell if it was Wicky's influence or worry for his mate. "Yeah, Cap. Whatever you want."

The door stayed ajar as he leaned out to get Natch's attention. I was a little concerned at the Captain's nonchalance; he couldn't know that Natch was a friend. But I trusted him, unequivocally. He would keep me safe.

The door opened a bit; Natch's voice floated through. "You wanted me, Cap?"

"Aye." He gestured him in, then held up his hand. "Hold, that's far enough. And leave the door open." Natch obeyed unthinkingly. The Captain had given me perfect cover from prying eyes, and I was thankful, but I still didn't know what he wanted with the boy. From the way Natch stood before him, nervously, he didn't either.

The Captain swung his legs from the bed, and I watched him, worried. He looked vaguely unsteady on his feet as he made his way over to Natch. Natch, for his part, also looked vaguely unsteady watching the Captain approach.

When he reached Natch, the Captain put his hand on the smaller man's shoulder. I saw him tense, unsure of the intention, but it was just to steady him. He was hungover, and possibly still a little funny from the hit he took to his head. I frowned as he gathered himself.

"You alright?" he asked Natch. Natch nodded, a little hesitant. "Good. I'm sorry for what I did, how I acted. You didn't deserve it."

"It's alright, Cap." He patted the Captain's hand, and the Captain smiled. I could see his legs shaking. "I should know better than to touch -"

The Captain was going down, I suddenly realized. I closed the door behind Natch, causing him to spin. As the Captain lost balance I darted forward, catching his frame before it hit the floor.

"

Ghost

," Natch hissed. "Holy fuck, you fucking idiot."

"Whoah," the Captain mumbled.

"Do you know what Wicky will do when he sees you here?"

I didn't answer, my eyes on the Captain. "Why am I so unsteady?" he asked me, clinging to my shoulders.

"You hit your head." I guided him back to the bed. "And you need food."

"I'm fine." He leaned around me. "You shouldn't feel like you can't touch - did you call him Ghost?"

"

He will kill you,

" Natch hissed. "He'll kill me, for being here with you, oh, holy fuck."

"Natch," I said calmly. "Please go to the kitchen and tell Cookie I need a Minnie's Breakfast Special."

"Are you even listening to me? He's on a rampage, trying to figure out how you busted out of your cell -"

"Don't say I need it then." I gazed at him levelly. "Get it for the Captain."

He stared back at me, his mouth stuck open. "Okay," he finally said. It was the only option I had given him, and I was pleased to see him take it. "Just." He shook his head. "Okay."

I walked him to the door. "Knock to be let back in. Once, then twice, then once again." He agreed, still shaking his head.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered. I opened the door and let him out into the hall.

"He calls you Ghost?" The Captain was giving me one of those funny looks again. I shrugged.

"It was a joke."

"Didn't sound like one." He readjusted, trying to get comfortable. "And since when does Natch listen to you," he muttered. I climbed into bed next to him and he fell quiet, his arm reaching around my shoulder to pull me close to him. I responded by wrapping mine around his waist, letting my cheek rest on his chest.

Before long my other hand had found its way under his shirt, exploring the perfect expanses of his skin on his stomach. He shuddered under my fingertips, letting his body react as it would to my gentle enquiry.

"How come," he asked quietly, "I have a shirt on and you don't?"

"I already told you. I had to clean something up."

"Yeah," he said. "Me." He pulled me closer to him. "This isn't the same shirt I was wearing yesterday."

"No," I admitted. "It isn't."

"Why didn't you just leave me shirtless?" He traced his fingers up my arm and I shivered. "I want to be closer to you."

I felt my fingers slow. I wasn't sure how much of this he wanted to hear. How much I was supposed to have heard. "You seemed to want to stay clothed," I settled on.

His fingers paused at that. I could feel a moment of hesitation dripping from his fingers over my skin, and it made me shiver again, this time quite unpleasantly.

"Not for you," he said quietly. I looked up at him, concerned, and he met my eyes with his dark ones, intense like I hadn't seen them since the night before. "Whatever I said last night, it wasn't for you."

I nodded, and he shifted his body down so that our eyes were level. I lost whatever concern I might have had in his eyes, in his lips, in the way they touched my skin. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him as close to me as he could get.

"Closer," he whispered, shedding his shirt. I hated that motion for a second, hated how it came between his lips and my body, but in the next instant I found that everything was perfect because he was perfect and his chest was perfect and it was there for me. How long had I waited for this? How long had I denied myself? I let one hand explore his chest, feeling the way he pressed his bare skin against mine. I couldn't pretend that my body didn't react to this, and he didn't pretend not to notice, pressing against the growing bulge with his leg.

I let forth a small gasp at the motion, felt my breath begin to come in a less controlled rhythm. I put my mouth against his neck and let him feel the change in my breathing, wanted him to know what he was doing to me. What he always managed to do to me.

"Closer," he whispered again. I knew what he wanted, knew an order when I heard it. My mouth refused to leave his neck, worshiping it's perfect arch, it's softness that made him moan and hard lines that made me crumble. My hand reached down, skimming over his stomach until I reached his waist and there it sat, fumbling at the laces of his breeches. When I got them loose he kicked them off impatiently, pushing his cock into my waiting and trembling hand.

To feel him, to feel him like this, it was a dream and a reality all collapsing into a supernova of feeling and I bit his neck to keep it all inside. He moaned and tilted his head back, gave me what I wanted and what I wanted was him.