by Sean Michael
John stabbed a piece of meat with his knife and ate it with relish, watching Grey managing with only his knife and his bread to maintain his polite and prim mien.
“A pirate I may be—and a barbarian, too—but I assure you, I am not stupid. I would take care not to make the mistake of believing that I am. Those who have in the past have found themselves separated from their belongings, their loved ones, and many, their lives.” Stupid men did not become captain of their own ship.
“I never accused you of stupidity, only baseness.”
“I have played the dandy, Grey. Does that surprise you? I know it does not surprise you to know that I far prefer my ‘baseness’ as you call it.” He leaned forward. “Being civilized gave me nothing but heartburn.”
His words surprised a laugh from the butcher, the sound welcome and real, intriguing. He grinned, watching the way the pale eyes lit up, Grey’s whole face becoming lighter for a moment.
John might have said something more, but Tom knocked on the door and barreled in without waiting on a reply. “I’ve the fork and a spoon, Cap’n. And you should see the hold! There’s a whole chest full of fancy stuff for eatin’. Cookie came with to tell me what was what, and there’s even stuff he don’t know what it is.”
“Bring it on up, lad. I’ve a mind to eat with my fingers off the governor’s best plates.”
“Beast.” Grey took the fork from Tom, cleaned it on the remains of his blouse. “Thank you.”
“There was some swish clothes down there, too, Cap’n. You want me to find some for the butcher?”
He shook his head. “No, just the plates.” He turned his gaze back to Grey. “I like the looks of the butcher as he is.”
Flesh peeking from the torn blouse, the tattered ends no longer covering the front of Grey’s leggings.
“You are evil incarnate.” Grey ate his stew more quickly now that he had the spoon.
Tom gasped at the insult, but John only laughed and handed over his bowl of stew to the boy. “Take that and soak your bread in it, lad. You need some meat on your bones.” He waited until the door closed, just grinning at Grey. “Perhaps I am, but I doubt only evil enjoys seeing one as lovely as you all debauched.”
“I am not.” Grey stood, moving about the cabin, buttocks taut and hard.
“Well I shall have to try harder then, to make sure that you feel as debauched as you look.” He stood as well, stopping Grey in his tracks. “Your lips are swollen, your clothes in tatters and you have this…” He stroked over the dark, lurid marks on Grey’s throat. “You should see yourself, Butcher. I am sure even your shaft would rise at the sight of yourself.”
Grey jerked away. “I’m sure I look as an animal.”
He licked his lips. “No. No, Grey. You look all man to me.” A fact his cock was rising to agree with.
“Behave yourself.”
“I thought we had already established I wasn’t very good at behaving?”
“You cannot blame a man for hanging onto hope, Pirate.”
John cornered Grey by his bed and cupped Grey’s head, tilting it. The light from the tiny porthole shimmered over Grey’s features, the reflection from the water leaving it dappled. “No, I would not have you hopeless.” He would not lose that fight and passion.
“You quite confound me, I swear.”
He could smell Grey’s musk. He stepped closer, his erection kissing his belly, and breathed deeply. “I imagine that doesn’t happen to you very often.”
“No. Not often, but entirely too often where you are concerned.” Grey stepped away.
John reached out and let his hand slide along Grey’s ass. “Good.”
Those pale brows lowered, Grey pulling away. John growled a little and settled back against the wall, hand wrapping around his cock. “You going to put on a show for me, Butcher? Stalk around the room and tell me what an animal I am?”
“I will not.” That stubborn chin lifted, Grey’s gaze fastened to his own.
John stroked his erection, sliding his palm along it, thumb caressing the head. “I can smell you, you know.”
“Then allow me to bathe.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t a complaint. But that’s an excellent idea.” Grey would have to get naked to bathe. He knocked on his door. “Tom. Bring water. Lots of it.”
Grey gave him a surprised, untrusting look. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Grey.” He managed not to smile, his hand slow on his shaft, his stroke lazy, enough to keep himself feeling good, but not to come. Not yet. “I’m sure you’ll come up with an appropriate way to show your gratitude.”
“I swear not to slit your gullet.”
John threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll take it.”
There was a knock upon the door and John let go of his shaft to allow Tom in, the boy dragging a large bucket full of water. “Good lad.”
He went to the drawers beneath his bunk and opened one, finding one large and one small cloth, along with a packet of soap he’d purloined from a lady aboard a small vessel several years past and liked the smell of.
He handed it over along with the towels. “There you are, Butcher. Bathe.”
Grey took the rags of his shirt off, started washing his face with the cloth.
John slid his hand down over his chest, along his belly to wrap again around his cock, the thick heat jumping against his palm as he watched. Grey steadfastly refused to look at him, simply washing and rinsing, cleansing himself. John worked with what he was given, enjoying the sight of Grey’s pale skin and light muscles as they became wet. He groaned as the cloth went across Grey’s little pink nipples, his hand working harder along his cock.
The breeches came off next, the knit cloth beneath so thin as to be near see-through. He didn’t try to hide his groan, his hand moving faster, his breath becoming shorter. He could see no reason to wear such a piece of clothing aside from arousing one’s self—or one’s lover.
“Beast. Such noises you make.” Grey pulled away his underclothes, the soapy rag cleaning the cock hidden there.
“I would hear them from you, Butcher.” His voice was husky, his pleasure evident in it. “I would have you take yourself in hand and find your pleasure. I would even have you look upon me to aid your search for it.”
“I would never, never abuse myself so!”
Look at the fire in those cheeks.
“A shame, that. You do not know what you are missing.” John stroked himself harder, groaning as his thumbnail dragged across the very tip of his erection. He would be buried inside those pale cheeks soon and Grey would love it.
Grey washed his thin legs, and shook out the tattered pants well before donning them again, hiding the fine buttocks, the heavy sacs.
“And there’s another shame. Hiding such beauty from the world. Even from yourself.”
It wouldn’t be long now. He would come soon. John stepped forward, intent on painting the doctor’s sweet belly with his seed.
“Men left Eden long ago.” Grey stepped back, the two of them almost dancing.
“Which is why we search for paradise where we can find it, Grey.” He nodded toward his cock, still flying through his hand. “I find it as often as I can.”
He moved closer again, a moan catching in his throat as he shot, spraying Grey’s stomach. Grey’s eyes flew open, shocked, even now.
Humming at the lazy sensation his climax had left in him, at the sight of those pretty eyes so full of surprise, John stepped even closer, rubbing his shaft in the mess on Grey’s belly, letting the man feel the heat of his flesh. “Now you smell like me.”
“I…I…I…”
Oh, look at Grey sputter.
“I had just cleansed myself!”
“Are you saying I’m dirty, Butcher?”
“I am saying you made me dirty, Pirate!”
He laughed, his hand taking over what his shaft had started, making sure his seed was well-rubbed into Grey’s skin. “There’s a lot of things I will m
ake you. No longer a virgin is the one I anticipate the most.”
“Your pleasure in destruction is a true pathology. You do realize that?” Grey’s muscles were tight, jumping beneath his fingers.
John continued to touch, to watch his fingers slide on Grey’s skin, utterly fascinated. “Would you like to make a study of it? Of me?”
“You are too dangerous to study, too dangerous indeed.”
He nodded. “And that, dear Butcher, is the smartest thing you’ve said since you’ve been here.”
He bent and took Grey’s mouth, hands sliding up along the bare chest. He wondered how long it could take before those surprised gasps would fill his lips, before those hands pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. He caught them in his own, tugging them behind Grey’s back, bowing the slender body so that Grey’s belly pushed against his.
Grey moaned, struggling, panting into his lips. Oh yes, the fight, the passion, still as intoxicating as it had been the first time. His butcher had such strength in him—a core of steel. John tugged tighter on Grey’s hands, pulling the man back even farther and rubbing the two of them together. Grey’s cock began to grow hard, stiff and firm against his belly. Yes. Grey’s mouth might protest, those hands might push but the man was clearly aroused, clearly needed and wanted. Just like any other man. Just like him.
His laughter filled Grey’s mouth.
Grey’s hips rolled, entire body shuddering and shaking, eyes wide. He used Grey’s own hands, pushing them against the man’s ass to bring their bodies closer together. The heat and hardness of the man could not be hidden by the thin breeches. The struggles became less random, more rhythmic. A groan came from deep inside John and he matched the movements of Grey’s hips, letting Grey lead this dance.
“You have satyrisis, truly. It is unhealthy.”
“Satyrisis?” John laughed. “No, my dear Butcher. What I have is you.”
“No!” The word was pure fury, Grey’s hips rutting against him.
He spared a moment to wish Grey’s breeches, thin as they were, no longer impeded the glide of their flesh together, before sliding his lips along Grey’s neck. “No? It feels very much like aye to me.”
He tightened his hold on Grey’s wrists and scraped his teeth along one of his marks on Grey’s neck. That earned him a cry, deep and raw, the doctor’s chin lifting. Grey’s mouth kept saying nay, kept complaining and denying, but Grey’s body… Oh, Grey’s body told a most different story.
He pressed his tongue hard against a gently swollen mark, shifting just enough so that Grey’s erection had the solid muscle of his thigh to rub against. He felt the motion when it changed from a struggle to escape to a struggle to climax. John let go of Grey’s hands, cupping the doctor’s ass and guiding him, helping him find a rhythm that would drive him to what he needed.
“I… I…” Grey’s hands found his shoulders, expression wild.
John brought their lips together, cutting off Grey’s words. He was interested in no more of the man’s protests, not when it was quite obvious how much Grey wanted. His own erection slid against Grey’s belly with each movement Grey made.
Grey groaned, pushing into the kiss, for the first time truly responding, the sensation enough to steal his breath. John’s hands tightened on Grey’s ass, tongue sliding along Grey’s, encouraging the kiss, the push of hips. He began to forget the battle and lose himself in the response. The heat between them grew, bloomed like a storm over the Cape. Their tongues tangled, the kiss so much more, so much better with Grey’s response, with that need laid out to be devoured. Grey’s motions grew restless, random, soft sounds just pushing into his lips. His grip on Grey’s ass firmed, guiding the man’s hips, so the motions had purpose again.
As confounding as the fight had been, the surrender was a fascination, Grey’s plummet into passion catching all his attention. He watched Grey’s face, felt the muscles bunching and releasing beneath his hands, and against his cock. The need there was everything he’d imagined it would be.
Groaning, John pushed at Grey’s breeches, sliding them down past the man’s hips, releasing the thickened shaft. Grey jerked, skin soft and fiery where it rubbed against his thigh. So hot. He growled a little, sucking on Grey’s tongue.
He grabbed one of Grey’s hands again, bringing it around to his cock. Those fingers closed around his flesh, then opened, then closed again. The war within Grey was delicious and John bit at Grey’s lower lip, making a soft noise. More Grey. John wanted more from the man. The little sting caused Grey’s fingers to squeeze, touch him, feel him.
“Yes!” He pushed against Grey’s hand. “More.”
“I-I.” Grey groaned, pushing back into the kiss, hand squeezing him.
He moaned, pushing his tongue into Grey’s mouth and deepening the kiss as he slid his hips and his cock through Grey’s hand. He didn’t leave the good doctor hanging, either, wrapping one of his own hands around Grey’s cock, showing Grey what felt good.
They rocked in time with the ship, driving toward their passion, their climax. Grey was quite good at this dance, a natural once he gave into it. John couldn’t wait to see Grey’s face as he came. Grey’s eyes went wide, needy, the hunger pure and undeniable.
“That’s it, Grey. Let go. Give in to the pleasure of it.” His hand moved faster, bringing Grey ever closer to the edge.
“I… Don’t. I don’t…” Grey’s head fell back, throat working.
“But you do, Butcher. You are.” He latched onto Grey’s neck again, tongue delving into the little hollow where Grey’s collarbones met. The taste was so good, so male and hot, flavored by Grey’s need.
Heat sprayed over his fingers, Grey convulsing as his cry filled the air.
“Aye. Oh, yes, Grey.” The scent was magnificent and John breathed in deeply. It was sweeter somehow this time. He wrapped his hand around Grey’s on his own erection, kept it moving. Grey leaned against him, face hidden from him, fingers still squeezing his flesh. A kinder man might have left it at that, but he was a pirate—the captain of pirates—and as he felt himself draw close to finishing, he took Grey’s head in his hand and tilted it so that those pale eyes could watch his face as his seed spilled from him.
He groaned, holding Grey’s gaze as he came.
Grey stumbled back a half step, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He chuckled as Grey nearly tripped over his falling hose, but his hands were gentle as he tugged them back up and redid the clasps. “You see, Butcher? The same seed that pulses from me also finds a home in you.”
“I…” Grey shook his head, trembling visibly.
“Were magnificent, once you left your silly notions behind.” He cupped Grey’s cheeks and brought their mouths together again, pressed their bodies close so that he could feel that trembling against his skin.
Grey’s lips were sweet, parted and swollen, shock and satiation keeping them open for him. His tongue swept through, his kiss lazy, taking and tasting Grey’s mouth. He knew this trembling, pliable man in his arms would not remain so for long. Soon enough Grey would recover and his misguided notions of civility and decorum and propriety would return full force.
Still, this moment was quite delicious, near reeking of victory.
John slid his hands down to cup Grey’s ass again, enjoying the feeling of the twin globes within his hands, bringing their bodies close. Grey’s skin was hot, almost feverishly so, the trembling growing stronger as John devoured Grey’s mouth.
They settled onto the mattress, his hands smoothing over Grey’s skin, refusing to allow the man a moment’s respite, refusing to allow Grey a moment to think. He slid the breeches away once again, their bodies sliding together skin on skin from head to toe.
Grey tensed, shivering against him. “I cannot. My clothes.”
“They were in the way.” He wrapped his hand around one beautiful buttock again, tugging Grey close.
Grey closed his eyes, relaxing against him, breath slowing, bit by bit.
The butcher, sle
eping in his arms. By choice. John smiled. Oh yes, he was accustomed to winning all his battles.
He gave in to his own exhaustion, the pleasure and his wounds hurrying him to sleep as well.
* * * *
Stephen had gone mad. That was, of course, the only logical solution. He had gone quite mad and possibly—no, almost definitely—the marks that bastard had left upon his skin had somehow befuddled him. Perhaps he had broken a vessel. That was it. A broken vessel. Fouling what little sense he’d had.
Stephen nodded, stitching his blouse up—yet again—while the great pirate snored. Perhaps he should bash the man’s head in, remove the problem altogether.
A knock came to the door, and the snores stopped, but it didn’t seem that the pirate woke.
“Sir?” called Tom. “I have your evening meal.”
Stephen stood and opened the door. “He’s sleeping, Tom. I was considering bashing his head in to stop the awful sounds escaping him, but your knock appeared to do the trick.”
Tom’s eyes went wide at his words, then the lad giggled, coming in to put the tray on the table. “If you rub his back, it makes him stop snoring.”
“My plan was much more entertaining, young master Tom.”
Tom giggled again. “You sound like a pirate.”
“That’s because we’ll make a pirate of him yet, Tommy.” The captain sat and stretched, muscles going tight and then relaxing.
“That is highly unlikely, Beast.”
“You can call me John, if you like. Though I must admit, I rather like Beast. It has a certain ring to it.” John’s lips twitched. The pirate was laughing at him.
Tom giggled again. “Do you want anything else, Cap’n?”
“No, we’re fine, lad. Thank you.” John’s eyes slid over Tom’s form, then Stephen’s own.
Stephen rolled his eyes, going back to his mending. Next time he would bash the man’s head in. Truthfully.
The pirate actually pulled on a pair of breeches, the material tight, outlining the generous cock. “Look at you. Stitching so carefully. I’ve a shirt that needs mending. You can do that next.”
