The storm had finally settled, the night had come in quickly, and the adrenaline of almost being on the bottom of the ocean had finally started to dissipate. Tiredness washed over not just me but everyone as they made their way to the lower bunks.
I had one last job before I could tuck myself in with everyone else. Our food rations had split open, and dried meat tins and cuts lay on the floor. As a sign of goodwill, I aided the cook in collecting our food back up into the kitchen. The Captain tapped my shoulder as he walked to his quarters in silence, enjoying the fact that we were all still alive for the moment. Other men moved past me, some tapping my shoulder also before they disappeared into the darkness of the other rooms to go to sleep in the hammocks.
Before long, the tins were collected, the meat was stored back to where it should be, and the cook gave me an extra helping of gin as a thank you for helping out. I was more of a floater, moving to whoever needed my help, and in return, I got a little more of a good life compared to the others.
The cook smiled as he took the left for his own room, locked away with the ship doctor on the opposite side of the decks with the men. I took a swig of my dry, metallic gin; it wasn't good compared to that on the mainland, but the burn spread to my limbs to warm my cold body. I was too busy enjoying my small helping before hands held my waist softly, I knew who it was, but I still jumped out of the hands and moved away.
Peter stood in front of me with a menacing smirk, like he enjoyed my shock. "What the fuck are you doing? What if someone were to see?" I asked, looking behind us to ensure we were alone.
"Calm down, my boy. No one but us and God." It was a whisper, but it felt like the bellows of a banshee.
"Don't say that!" I grunted back with gritted teeth.
I moved towards the bunks before being pushed into the cabin beside me by a solid hand from Peter. He closed the wooden door, trapping me in the small cabinet filled with shelves and spare clothes. We were hardly in a space that was silent from the outside, but better than where we were.
His rough hand held the gold cross that haloed around my neck, my most expensive personal item left by my mother. "I forgot, you can be a whore for a man, but the Lord's name in vain is a big no- no." He wagged his finger in my face condescendingly, and I pushed it away with a roll of my eyes.
"I'm no man's whore." I mumbled, hiding my face by looking past the man who had trapped me in the storage cabinet.
His hair was tied back, his large winter coat was missing, possibly in the pile of wet, cold clothes that needed to be dried in front of a fire. The tattoos that were burnt into his skin had started fading, a warning that he had been a pirate in another life, but had survived the gallows to work for the Navy. His skin was noticeably more tanned than mine. The first time he had me, he said I was white, glowing like an angel, but I brushed it off with a blush at the time.
Nodding at my comment, his face didn't look convinced. "Then shout."
"What?" I asked, shocked he would even mention bringing attention to ourselves.
"If you're no man's whore," he paused dramatically, pushing a lock of hair out of my face as he leaned in closer. His nose bumped mine, his hand threaded into my hair to hold me still. "Shout you're no man's whore, and that there's a Molly in here trying to get the good Christian boy to bend over for him."
Lips touched mine, not soft or gentle, hard and with a purpose. His beard scratched my skin deliciously, burning, and pulling me in for more. I could have screamed, but I didn't want to; my mouth opened to feel his tongue against mine. He also tasted like gin; he must have finished his last portion and came looking for me like I could make him forget his misery like the gin could.
With rough, hard hands, he held my head in a twisted, clenched fist, and the other wrapped around my waist to pull my body to his. He was huge, much larger than myself with more years of heavy lifting and hard labour under his belt. I held his arms tightly, his forearms supporting me as the grip on my hair pulled me tighter and higher than I was tall.
When he was done with me, he dropped me back on my feet and pulled at my trousers. I wanted to tell him no, tell him that the last time was the last time he would ever have me. I would get home, find a nice girl, and she would make a husband out of me, except I didn't. I let him pull at my clothes until he exposed my cock. He did the same to himself, harder than myself as he enjoyed the little game of chase more than I had. I knew he liked the chase more than I did, and I played his game without even knowing it.
Peter put both of our cocks together in one hand, thrusting into his tight, rough grasp. The precum spilling from the head of his cock nudged mine, slicking my cock until the grasp had become fluid and soft. I didn't need to thrust into his hands as his thrusts combined with his fist moving was enough to pull a small moan out of me.
"Sh. Shout or silence, my boy." He chuckled, happy he was winning a game he couldn't lose. He fingered the cross again before pushing it between my lips. "Suck on that, keep you quiet." He winked, and the idea of doing something so profane to something so scared felt wrong, vile, and against everything I had been taught when I accepted the gold Cross into my mouth and sucked as he had instructed.
Doing as he instructed caused him to continue, and to silence himself, he hid his face in my neck. He panted and gasped, my skin breaking out in goosebumps. If it were all real, then Peter's pants of lust would be the only sin that could be considered Holy. It always sounded guttural, like he was grunting from deep in his chest, breaking through the silence imposingly.
