by Sean Michael
“What are you doing?” the man on the bed asked, voice rough.
“Looking out of a prison, apparently. Go back to sleep.”
The captain chuckled. “If you’re trying to appeal to my conscience, Butcher, you’ll find that I don’t have one.”
“I simply ask that you honor your word. I doctored you. Let me go.” He tried to open the port hole.
“I gave you my word that I would release you when I no longer have need of you. They are your words, not mine. I still have need of you.”
“I have bound your wounds and stitched you up. What else do you need from me?”
“Use your imagination, Butcher.”
“I am not a butcher! And I refused to waste my talents patching up your band of ruffians!” Stephen stamped his foot, fury filling him.
“I would have thought you had more imagination than that.”
“Pardon me?” His head ached, as did his chest, a dull, pained sensation that refused to fade.
“Warm body. Love the curls, Butch…” The captain’s eyes closed, the big body once more lax on the bunk.
Stephen rolled his eyes. The captain was obviously rotten with drink and pain. He tried the door, growling as he found it locked. Fine. He would find a weapon, take the wounded man hostage and demand his terms. Immediately—the ship lurched—as soon as he finished being ill.
Chapter Two
John floated in and out of sleep for several hours, but he couldn’t be sure what was real and what wasn’t. The pain and the whiskey and the stuff the doctor had given him made everything kind of swim. The rocking of the boat was real, though. Familiar, as right as his own skin.
He opened his eyes at the sound of retching.
Ah, the slender doctor with the fine curls. Those curls were damp with sweat now, skin pale as the bandages on his chest as the man curled over the chamber pot, gagging. The retching wasn’t sexy, but the sweat and pallor did nothing to diminish his desires for the doctor. If it wasn’t for his damnable injuries, he’d have had the man already.
After setting the pot aside, the doctor wiped his lips with a handkerchief, swaying a bit.
“You’ll get your sea legs in a day or two.”
Those eyes popped open, glared at him. “Let me go home.”
John grinned, absolutely delighted by the man’s ire. “No.”
“Bloody liar.” The man turned, refusing to look at him.
He chuckled. “I didn’t happen to lie to you. Yet. But you should know that I don’t take offense at being called a liar.” He didn’t get a response, simply a snort. “It’s a good lesson for you, actually. Make sure you pay attention to what you are agreeing to. If you had insisted on my promise to take you home as soon as you’d finished patching me up, then my keeping you would be a lie.”
“I obviously haven’t the practice at dissembling that you have.”
“Oh, you’re young yet, Butcher, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of practice.” He was having fun. It would be even better if his wounds didn’t ache so.
“I am the governor’s physician and betrothed to the admiral’s daughter. They will come for me.”
“Excellent! We’re out of practice, which is how I ended up with the wounds.” His crew had grown soft, forgotten how to take a ship—how to come out on top.
The doctor seemed to shrink a bit, pull into himself. John couldn’t have that. “Come here.”
“No.” Simple. Stubborn. Angry.
“Don’t make me get up, Butcher. Come here.”
“Amuse yourself by hurling threats from afar, Pirate.”
John hauled himself up, holding back his groan and his wince. Damned wounds were more painful now that they’d been treated than they’d been originally. He got to his feet, barely swaying at all. The doctor stayed seated, curled forward.
He made his way over and leaned down to grab the man’s collar. The doctor stood quickly, brandishing a heavy statue, using its weight to knock him backwards. John stumbled back to the bunk, sitting down hard, winded, dizzy. “If you kill me, my crew will have you, then kill you.”
“I have no wish to kill anyone. I simply wish to return to my home. Tell your men to allow me a rowing vessel and I will find my own way.”
“No.”
“Please. I have no wish to harm you. I have taken an oath to support life, but I will not remain on this ship.” The man was gray, swaying, hands trembling.
“On the contrary, Butcher. You will stay until I say that you may go.” Stubborn fool. Once he was no longer injured, John would enjoy that stubbornness. It would lead to many lessons, he was sure.
“I will not.” The statue was raised in those long, trembling hands. “Forgive me, Lord.”
John snorted and smacked the statue from the doctor’s arm, sending it crashing to the floor.
“Hells!” The doctor stumbled back, tripping as the ship lurched, going crashing to the ground.
John rolled his eyes. Goodness, the man needed to find his sea legs and he himself needed to be back on his feet. When the doctor didn’t stand again, he looked down, frowning at the blood seeping from a cut on the pale temple, the bruise already showing.
Damn the man to Davy Jones’ locker.
“Havers!” John shouted for the man as he lay back on his bed. Well, if the butcher proved to be more trouble than he was worth, they could grant his wish and toss him overboard. The doctor came around just as Havers burst through the door, the action knocking the man down again. John rolled his eyes. “Help the man up. I suppose he’ll have to share my bunk.”
John hauled himself up again so Havers could get the doctor into the bunk, then lay down, crowding the man against the wall. “Get his bag and doctor him up as best you can. And I need another shot of whiskey.”
Eyes the color of stormy seas fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. “I… My goodness…”
“You fell. Twice.” He poked the man in the side, earning himself a glare and a wriggle. “I imagine you’ll live.”
“It seems as such, yes. You, stay out of my bag! Those are my tools!”
“Calm down, Butcher. He’s just looking for something to clean up your head with.”
“Clean up my… Oh. Oh, my…” Those long fingers brushed along the mark, coming away bloody. “Messy.”
John grabbed some gauze from Havers and dabbed at the cut. “You’re fine.”
“Of course I am. I’m a pirate’s captive on a leaky boat headed God knows where. I’m perfectly fine.”
“My ship is not leaky.” John bristled.
“Leaky and smells of pitch.”
“It’s the best boat on the Pacific, you dandy.” How dare the man insult his beautiful lady?
“I am Governor Sheffield’s personal physician. I am not a dandy.”
John snorted. “Well, it seems that Governor Sheffield has lost his physician. Very clumsy of him.”
“Lost? I have not been lost!”
“Call it what you like, the good governor—himself a scoundrel, I’ll have you know—will have to find himself a new doctor.”
The doctor suddenly seemed to realize that he was lying on a bunk, sitting up suddenly. “Why have you chosen me to harass?”
“Because you react so beautifully, Butcher, with your curls flying about and your cheeks stained red.”
“I am no butcher!”
The frustration and fear and panic were clear in those maddening eyes. Oh, it was arousing, that look. John leaned in and licked the man’s lips. The doctor squeaked, scrambling back against the wall.
“Are you mad?”
“You wouldn’t be the first to make the accusation.” He crowded the doctor into the corner, pain all but forgotten in the wash of pleasure at having a toy to play with. “Havers. Get lost.”
“Don’t leave me here with him! He’s crazed!” The doctor’s eyes shot left and right, panicked.
“They respect and fear me too much to interfere.” John brought their mouths together, grinding his lips aga
inst the doctor’s.
The doctor was not as big a ninny as he appeared, however, and instead of freezing, those fingers pressed against his wounded thigh, driving him back.
“I am no woman! Have you lost all your senses?”
John growled, wishing again that his wounds were healed. “If you were a woman, you wouldn’t be in my bed.”
“You make no sense!” The slender man scrambled to the end of the bed, breath coming quick and light.
“Perhaps it is you who make no sense. Has that occurred to you?” He must be feverish, trying to get into a battle of wits with a doctor.
“Of course not! I am a learned man, well-versed in logic.”
“Yes, yes.” John was bored of the rhetoric at this point and tired, his wounds aching—especially his damned thigh, no thanks to the doctor—and he wasn’t up to simply taking what he wanted and enjoying it. “The brilliant Butcher. You’ll have quite the tale to tell when you are finally released, though I imagine you’ll keep the best parts to yourself.”
“The best parts?” The man was either truly innocent or the best actor upon the seas.
“You’ll find out, Butcher. All in good time.”
“Your thigh is bleeding.” The man went from scared to sure faster than the wind. The doctor unfastened the bandage then worked in a soothing salve.
It felt good enough, in fact, that he refrained from pointing out that if the good doctor hadn’t been poking it in the first place…
“Dammit, man—what’s your name?” John demanded.
“Doctor Stephen Grey.” The butcher wrapped another bandage around his wound.
“Grey the Butcher,” he muttered. It had a good ring to it. The man would make an excellent pirate.
“Doctor Grey.”
Stubborn bastard. Beautiful, stubborn bastard.
John chuckled. “Of course.”
Those stormy eyes met his, so tumultuous. “If you refrain from attacking me, perhaps your wound will heal.”
“I believe you attacked me, Grey. With that god-awful statue.”
“I’m your captive. I’m supposed to attack you.”
Oh, a sense of humor! Impressive. John chuckled, lying back, eyes closing despite his best efforts. The doctor’s cool hand fell on his forehead.
“Rest, you pirating bastard.”
He turned his head toward John’s hand, murmuring, the touch surprisingly comforting.
“What on God’s earth am I to do?” Grey’s soft whisper faded as John sank into sleep.
* * * *
Stephen spent hours carefully tying the captain to the bed, making sure the ropes were strong against the bed posts before binding wrists and ankles. Honestly, he appreciated the need for his help, but it was time to let him go.
He found a kerchief to use as a gag, should he need it, and patted the Captain’s cheeks. “Come now, rise and shine. I need you to tell your men to take me home.” He was rather proud of himself, really. It was a clever plan.
The Captain moaned, the sound surprisingly sultry, almost wanton. He readied the gag, carefully wetting the captain’s lips. The blue eyes opened and the captain shifted, frowning as he couldn’t move.
“Shh. I don’t wish to gag you. I don’t wish to harm you at all. I simply wish to return home. You must understand.”
One of the captain’s eyebrows went up and he started to chuckle. “Oh, Butcher, I do admire your pluck.”
“Well, that’s something, indeed.” Stephen met those eyes, trying to make the man see reason. “All I ask is that you tell your men to return me to Santa Maria. I will tell no one who kidnapped me. I will do you no harm.”
“No.”
He clenched his fist, almost shaking. “Why will you not listen to reason?”
“I have no need to listen to reason, only to my desires.”
“I have you bound. You are my prisoner, now. Does that mean nothing to you?” His heart pounded deep in his chest, thrumming.
“I am your prisoner for as long as I allow it and no longer.”
Well, now, that made no sense. “The ropes are sure, sir. I vow it.”
The captain growled, arms flexing. Then there was a roar and the bedpost holding the captain’s right hand secure split, tearing from its base.
“You are quite correct. The ropes are sure.”
Stephen blinked, staring, completely taken aback. “Bloody hell.”
The captain laughed. “Oh, poor Butcher. Good for you for trying.”
He was speechless. Utterly. Completely.
“One thing you need to realize, Grey. I am the captain and this is my ship. Things will go my way here.”
“I…” Stephen backed away, unbelieving.
“You are a sweet, innocent boy, far away from your much beloved civilization. You will learn to appreciate my allure. I am sure.” The captain shook off the bedpost, then the rope, and began to untie the rest of his limbs.
“I…” Stephen swallowed hard, heading toward the door, praying that by some happenstance it would be unlocked. It wasn’t, and the captain’s laugh filled the small room. Panic suffused him, his vision going sparkly around the edges.
It wasn’t long at all before he was pressed up against the door, the captain’s long, hard body against his back. “Even if you escaped, Butcher Grey, there’s nowhere to go.”
His breath came quick and shallow, heart trip-hammering within him. Please. Please. He only wished to return home. The captain growled softly and rubbed against him, something hard and hot poking at the small of his back.
“R-release me. Y-you’re wounded.” Stephen tried to shrink away, wincing.
That maddening chuckle came again. “I am not that wounded.”
“You are mad.”
“Perhaps.”
His shirt was pulled away from his neck and something hot and wet slid along his skin. The captain’s tongue.
“What are you? Stop!” Stephen twisted, trying to break free.
The captain let him twist, but only enough so that now it was his back pushed up against the door. The captain’s lips covered his, the kiss hard, fierce.
Stephen cried out, stunned and scared, and he beat his hands against the captain’s strong shoulders. Never! He had never even… He was a gentleman! Beast! The only result his efforts seemed to afford him was to be pressed more tightly between the door and the captain. The kiss never broke, the captain pushing his tongue into Stephen’s mouth and sweeping through it.
Stephen made desperate sounds, fighting with all he was. Never in his life had he been so truly frightened, so scared that he thought he would not bear it. The captain just swallowed each sound, making purring noises, rubbing that hard cock—oh sweet lord, it was the man’s penis that was hard and hot and poking against him—into his belly. He sucked in his stomach, pulling into himself, trying to escape that maddening touch. The next affront was the captain’s hands, pulling open his blouse, tearing it apart.
“No! Unhand me! Help! Someone, please! He’s gone mad!” With a sudden burst of strength he slid free, tearing his skin as he tore past the hinges and put a chair between himself and the madman.
The dark eyes were hot, amused, pinning him to the spot. “You are a fiery one. I like that.” The captain stalked toward him.
Stephen grabbed whatever was in reach, hurling things at the encroaching man. “Help me!”
The captain batted each incoming object away with ease and pulled the chair away from him. “Now what?”
“I… You’re a beast.” He feinted toward the door, then scrambled for the bed, grabbing one of the posts and staggering under the weight. Good lord.
The captain grabbed the other end and tugged it from his hand. “Excellent choice. The bed is much softer than the wall or the floor.” He was pushed down onto his back on the mattress, the mad pirate following him down, pressing against him.
The room was whirling, his heart pounding. “Let me go.”
“But Butcher Grey, can you not tell I have
need of you?” The captain ground their hips together, cock hard and insistent against him.
“You have need of a clergyman, to help you excise this demon.”
“I am at peace with my inner demons, Butcher. Are you?”
Before he could answer, the captain again brought their mouths together, tongue invading him. Stephen’s eyes met dark blue, his entire being so confused, so scared, so completely overwhelmed by situation and happenstance. His captor’s groan vibrated in his mouth and the captain slid a hand along his ribs, the touch firm, but not painful.
Stephen tried to shift away from the touch, tried to shrink away. However much he pulled away, though, the captain’s hand just followed. Then one thick thumb slid across his nipple, the nail dragging slightly. A bright sensation filled him and he jerked away, crying out. The rogue’s eyes twinkled down at him and the touch was repeated.
“Stop!” Tremors moved through his body.
“Why?” The captain stroked that finger across his nipple again.
“It’s unnatural. I do not belong here.” His voice sounded rough, husky, scared.
“Your point?” murmured the pirate and plundered Stephen’s mouth again, his other nipple treated to the same rough touches. He was breathless, burning alive. His captor half rolled off him, giving him hope, but instead of leaving him be, the captain pushed a hand into his breeches, grasping his shaft.
“No!” No one had ever touched that but him. No one ever!
“Yes,” insisted the pirate captain, moving his hand relentlessly.
To Stephen’s mortification, his body began to respond, fill. He closed his eyes, thinking of the most vile things, squeezing his legs tight around his testicles so they ached.
Control…
The captain’s good leg pushed between his, spreading them as that hand continued its torture.
“Please. Please, do not do this.” His member filled and grew for the vile touch, eager without his giving it leave.
“I do as I please.”
Stephen screamed, spending the last of his fading energies to rail and hit, wriggle and fight. The pirate moaned, hard shaft sliding against his side as his own was pumped mercilessly, the captain seeming to be spurred on by his struggles.
