#even now silver wants to be on equal footing with flint | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lupismaris · 5 years ago

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A Vulgar, Holy Thing (pt 1)

for @forbbidenarchives and the Black Sails 2019 Gift Exchange!

A quiet night in harbor leaves Silver brooding and pensive. So much had changed since he found himself with the damned page, he’d hardly be recognizable to the boy he was then. He’d relearned his body, relearned his place in the world, after Charleston, but now, despite his best efforts, Flint was causing him to relearn it all over again.

Silver/Flint rated Teen (for now)

hurt/comfort, first time (kinda), silver needs love warnings: self loathing, vague mentions of abuse, trauma aired to the room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062379

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My friend, you gave me so many great ideas for this fic that I was anxious to try and combine them all into the final product. This is going to be part 1 of a two part set, because I desperately want to continue it a bit further, but please accept this little fic with all my love. It was a challenge and an absolute joy to write, thank you for this chance.

Happy New Year xxoo- Jamie

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Despite his constant insistence that he hated the sea, hated the ships, hated the men who sailed them, and had at one point in his life wanted nothing more than to be rid of it all, Silver would admit, to the near silence of the evening, that he had grown to love the peace of a ship in the setting sun. He had grown to find the sound of creaking wood and the gentle rise and fall of the hull beneath his feet, a comfort. He had begun to listen for the faint breeze dancing among the bound sails, as one might for the call of a friend. The low rumble of the water as currents shifted beneath the ship, among the relative silence of the deck, had become something akin to spiritual. Something about it, when it all came together, offered him a moment of peace, not true peace, but something to hold onto all the same.

Tonight was different, however, as most nights in harbor were. The gentle lullaby of the ship was accompanied by the ambient sounds of merriment and human chaos, echoing out from the docks and winding streets of the port. Tortuga had always been a rowdy, wild place, a place Silver had often let himself get lost in, once his purse was well and truly secured. Down among the cobbled sandy streets the noise was a constant hum of voices and jigs, of shouting and singing, of metal hissing against metal as insults were aired in taverns and alleys.

Now though, as a spectator, and not one of the fools caught in the town’s chaos, it reminded Silver of the few times he’d watched a hanging, or when the nameless towns he had wandered through had held festivals, and he would sit up the hill, or in the window of his room at the inn, and watch the world go by, on the other side of some unseen glass.

Silver hummed low as his leg ached, the ship rising beneath him on a passing current and reminding him of his physical form. As if he ever truly needed reminding.

Now the glass, he reasoned, as he stood at the rail of the ship watching the lantern lights flicker in the twilight, was between the ship and the shore. The ship was his domain, his point of safety for however short a time he retained his position. The shore, in turn, was wilderness, unwelcoming to people like him, a place that, with each passing day, he understood less and less. He had never truly fit, among the port towns and the militias, among the taverns and the drunkards and the fishwives, but it was a strange thing to not only know it himself, but for the inhabitants of the shore to know it to. A crippled thief was not welcome, just as an able bodied thief was not, and now he could see it in their faces. It would almost be comical-

Silver’s thoughts were halted by new sounds, disrupting the quiet ambiance of the ship- the heavy thunk of wood against wood, the hissing of disturbed water. He was alone on deck, save for the few members of the skeleton crew with no real desire to go ashore. Most of the men had been grateful for a few days leave on the island, taking the time it took to replenish their stores and sell what goods they had acquired along the way from maroon island to blow off some steam. Silver knew most had found their way to the brothels and ale houses as soon as their feet hit the sand, not that he could fault them. Ships were lonely, especially if you didn’t prefer the company of a fellow sailor. But a few, Joji among them, had taken their positions around the ship to keep watch, leaving Silver to his thoughts.

He leaned over the rail to see one of the longboats below, newly returned from the docks with a pair of rucksacks being readied to haul aboard. No doubt the two crewmen tying the sacks to the line were only following orders given by Flint, and were anxious to rejoin their brothers in their merrymaking. Silver moved to where the line was draped over the rail and waved down.

“Anything good?” he called, taking the rope in hand and hauling it up. One of the crewmen, Dooley he thought in the dim light, shrugged, while the other lifted the sacks to make them easier to haul up.

Something for Flint then, Silver had been right. The captain had locked himself away the moment the ship had emptied and Silver had left him to it. No doubt the man was catching up on much needed rest now that he was more or less alone. Really, Silver should have tried to do the same, but sleep did not come easily anymore.

Silver gritted his teeth and braced his feet, pulling at the ropes as best he could with his weight unbalanced. He could only put so much pressure on the peg after all. He could see Joji making his way over, out of the corner of his eye, the faint clink of his swords the only sound the man ever made. But before Joji reached him, Silver felt a large, warm hand at the small of his back, accompanied by a soft sound of amusement.

“If you go overboard I’m leaving you to the fishes,” Flint said, reaching around him to grab the line, the hand on Silver’s back keeping him steady.

Silver felt a laugh bubble out of him like sea foam, leaning into Flint for a bit of support as they heaved together, and the sacks cleared the railing. “Like to see how long you’d last then, wouldn’t even clear the harbor before you joined me I reckon.”

“Oh, that’s cutting Mister Quartermaster.”

Flint kept his hand on Silver’s back for a moment, until he seemed confident that Silver had his footing. Then he crouched down to gather up the sacks, before waving down to the longboat to send it back to shore. Once his hand was gone, Silver felt a tremor crawl up his spine at the lingering warmth that seeped through his shirt.

It wasn’t the touch itself that left him off-kilter. No Flint’s touch was fast becoming familiar, even if the first of them had not been particularly friendly. It had gone from threatening and violent to gentle in a way Silver had never known before, soft in a way he hadn’t thought a man like Flint capable of. When Silver let himself think on it, which wasn’t often for fear of letting the thoughts run away with him, Flint touched him far more than a man really should, in his experience. But then his experience was not a good one, nor one that should be used as a reference by any means.

A hand at his elbow, fingers along his shoulder. A warm palm at the small of his back, between his shoulder blades, Flint’s thigh pressed against his as they sat around the fire at camp, fingers brushing his along the guide ropes that stretched across the deck- little, harmless things really. But singular all the same.

Silver started when Flint touched his arm, shaken once more from his thoughts.

“Help me with these then, if you’re going to just stand there,” Flint said, tossing one of the bags at him. Silver managed to catch it in time, keeping his balance on his peg. It was heavier than expected and he knew the sound of glass bottles when he heard it.

“Gone shopping captain? Whatever could a man like you be in need of?’ Silver teased, following Flint towards the stairs. He cast one last look at the hazy port, their longboat a black scar on the dark waters, and willed away the thoughts in his head. Which was easier said than done, with the faint warmth of Flint’s hand still lingering along his bicep.

“Curiosity killed the cat, did it not?” Flint asked over his shoulder, and Silver felt a thrill at the tell tale crinkling at the corner of his eye that meant he’d earned a smile from his captain.

“Your witticisms have gotten weaker with age I think.”

That earned him a soft, sharp, wry laugh as Flint slipped below, and Silver felt warm from the tips of his ears down to all five toes.

No it wasn’t the touch itself that always left Silver buzzing with energy he didn’t understand, it was the change in his body that came with each one. See, once he’d finally come to terms with the fact he’d lost his leg, he had begun the slow and rather miserable process of relearning his body with it’s missing pieces and gnarled scars. Silver had come to terms with the fact that Pain was now a constant and almost a comfort, it meant he was alive. He had learned that his body still didn’t respond to the touch of others, and to his own touch less than before. He learned and accepted that his leg would be numb at times and burning at others, feeling nothing or everything in equal measure. His body no longer moved as confidently, he was no longer as quick and certainly not silent. His shoulders always hurt when he used the crutch and his hips when he used the peg. There was no comfortable position for him to sleep in, if the nightmares allowed him to sleep. He’d become familiar with how his body felt, now that it had endured so much. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but he understood it now, in the months after Charleston.

But when Flint touched him, even in so simple and innocent a way as he often did, it left Silver reeling, and desperate to try and understand why his body felt so different in those moments.

Silver ducked his head as he descended into the hull, Flint a few strides ahead and already at his cabin door, lighting the lamps as he went. It bathed the corridor in warm hazy light, casting mischievous shadows across the wood.

When Flint touched him it felt like a spark, the heat of a candle or a small fire, just close enough to warm deep but with the risk of burning all the same. It was a sharp contrast to the unshakable chill in his bones. His muscles would feel different under Flint’s hand, looser at times, wound even tighter at others. His skin prickled and flushed ever so slightly and Silver always feared Flint might notice.

He’d be damned if he knew what it all meant. It was just yet another way Flint was upending his already volatile world.

“I half expected you’d go ashore with the men,” Flint said, as Silver closed the cabin door behind him. “Or did Billy take up the mantle of nanny?”

“Tortuga has never done a man good, a cripple even less so.” Silver passed him the sack he was carrying and made his way over to the windows. The curved glass gave the town a far away quality, the glittering lights of the shops and homes like stars.

“There’s pockets to pick, wagers to win, drunkards to argue with. Prostitutes to charm,” Flint said mildly, unpacking the first of the two sacks. “Enjoying the company of your devoted men.”

“Now you’re mocking me.”

The low hum Silver got in reply warmed him as the laughter had. “Never, Mister Silver. I’ve never been fond of Tortuga myself, so I find your choice to stay aboard rather sensible. Though we will both have to go ashore in the morning to oversee our cargo I’m afraid.”

“We can handle a hungover Tortuga I think, between the two of us,” Silver said with a shrug, listening as Flint finished emptying the bags onto his desk, the thunk of full glass bottles against the wood a familiar sound. “What are you up to Captain?”

“Wanting a few comforts does not make a man up to something,” Flint replied. Silver turned with a roll of his eyes. Flint had shed his coat and was hanging it in its proper place by the door. Silver took the moment, with Flint’s back to him and attention elsewhere, to simply look his fill.

It had been a few comfortable weeks since they had begun their alliance with the Maroons, since Silver’s infection had finally healed properly, and Flint no longer looked like a man becalmed. He’d filled out again, more so than before even if Silver was to wonder. The strength of his body was visible now, in the soft swell of his chest, and the breadth of his shoulders. He’d always been bigger than Silver, a fact Silver had become intimately aware of each time Flint had him pressed up against a wall, threatening him about something or another, their bodies flush. But now it was impossible to miss.

And much like those moments when Flint touched him, the quiet, fleeting moments in which Silver could simply admire him in turn, left his skin prickling with a foreign feeling.

He had admired men, and some women, before, but it had nearly always been for merely aesthetic reasons. The curve of their spine, the high arch of their cheek bones, the bright color of their eyes, the softness of their hair. He had admired Billy’s arms as they worked, Muldoon’s clever and quick hands on a pistol, Max’s dark curls as they draped over her thin shoulders. He had admired them all, in his own quiet way, but there had been no rise in him, noting that made him concerned.

Not till Flint, of course.

Always Flint, he thought to himself. Damn the man and his ability to confound everything he came into contact with.

As Flint turned, rolling his shoulders with a sigh, Silver dropped his gaze, pretending to be fascinated with the collection of goods that covered the normally immaculate desk. In a moment he was mildly fascinated-

Four bottles of fine, expensive wine if Silver had to guess, a shorter stout bottle with French on the label, two loaves of freshly baked bread, cheese from the market, salted meats from the butcher, olives and fruit that had somehow survived their voyage from abroad. Two bottles of salve, a few bars of soap that Silver could smell without even unwrapping them- Lavender he thought distantly. It was an expensive haul, a collection of comforts he hadn’t known in years, and never properly. A collection of comforts he never quite imagined is Captain wanting either.

“Surprised?” Flint asked, and Silver tracked his steps across the cabin, glancing up as Flint rounded the desk, standing opposite him with a small, shy, mischievous smile. He’d never seen quite a smile on him before. It was charming.

“Mildly. I half expected books.” Silver looked up with a teasing smile of his own. “Not the comforts of a rich man.”

Flint’s smile grew for a moment, before settling into the passive amused expression he often wore when they were alone. “I don’t particularly entrust my library to men who can barely read. Nor do I expect much from Tortuga, but there is one merchant I plan to visit tomorrow, in hopes of finding a volume or two. As for this-”

“What is all this even-”

“A taste of a life long forgotten perhaps, a whim,” Flint shrugged, but there was a look in his eye that had questions ripe on Silver’s tongue. He knew better than to ask, and the haunted look was gone in seconds. “Have you eaten?”

“No, haven’t been hungry, too much to do.”

Flint tsked in disappointment. “Silver-”

The disappointment cut more than Silver liked and he felt himself bristle. “Don’t be a hypocrite, you’ve not eaten since breakfast.”

“At least I ate breakfast. Think Billy doesn’t tell me when you forgo a meal?” Flint produced two glasses from a drawer in his desk, Silver watching his hands.

“Well I suppose a good bosun is always a bit of a rat.”

Flint chuckled. “Come then, and join me. Lend me your company a while.”

They were hardly ever apart, really. Where one went the other inevitably followed, if one was summoned both answered as if it had always been that way. But it was still a somewhat rare thing for Flint to outright ask for his company, if ships business wasn’t at hand.

Silver had given up thinking it strange, it was a far better situation than being at odds. And they’d found a way to a friendship of sorts, in the process, or so he liked to think. He didn’t really know how Flint felt on the matter, but they had sat opposite each other, besides a lantern in the dark forest with a cache of blood soaked gold freshly buried, and Flint had bared his throat to him. And from that night, something had shifted deep, deep down in the fissures of the earth, Silver thought. Something that now meant Flint wanted his company.

The mild surprise and vague skepticism must have shown on his face. Flint’s smile grew crooked, teasing, and he braced himself on his hands, leaning over the desk.

“Don’t tell me our king is afraid of a bit of finery? A bit of polite conversation?” he asked in a low, intimate voice. The empty title, paired with the warm timbre of his voice, left a funny feeling in Silver’s chest.

There was still space between them, half the desk and the chair that Silver stood behind, but it was close enough that he could see Flint’s eyelashes, see the freckles that dusted his nose, the flecks of grey in his green eyes. It would have been easy, to decline and leave Flint to his ghosts, to retreat back to the quiet of the ship and converse with his own demons until sleep came.

But he was lonely. He was tired. And it was so much easier to meet his captain halfway.

“Nothing about you is polite,” Silver replied, pulling out the chair and settling into it.

Flint huffed in amusement and reached for one of the wine bottles, studying the label before pouring them each a drink. Silver let out a sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him in a careless sprawl, grateful to be off his feet. He looked up at Flint with a tired smile when he was offered a glass.

“And to what are we drinking, Captain?” he asked.

Flint seemed to mull it over a moment, staring down at his wine before looking up at Silver and raising his glass.

“To us.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “To us?”

“And whatever sheer dumb luck and utter madness got us this far.”

It was said so frankly, and with enough bewilderment, that Silver was laughing before he could stop himself. Flint was watching him, eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, quiet laughter on his own lips, with something akin to fondness in his features, partnered with genuine amusement. It was a lovely sight to see on a man so war torn.

Silver nodded, sitting forward so he could knock his glass against Flint’s.

“To us and our rare breed of madness.”

The clink of glass echoed in the cabin as they drank, emptying their glasses and sharing another laugh as Flint refilled them before settling in his chair.

“To think,” Silver said, watching as Flint busied himself with the food, tearing the first loaf of bread into pieces for them to share, filling a tin plate with olives and fruit before reaching to do the same with the meat and cheese. “To think this is only the second time you and I have shared a drink.”

“Bullshit, we’ve shared plenty of drinks,” Flint scoffed.

“A glass of rum with the men doesn’t count, nor do meals in the galley or in camp,” Silver added before Flint could interrupt. “You’ve only once sat me down to share a drink, aside from this. Most would say that's a bad sign. Bad luck even.”

“I think the entirety of our relationship would be considered bad luck in the eyes of sensible men, Silver.”

“Even so you really ought to give our relationship a bit more consideration,” Silver continued, not missing the way Flint’s lips twitched as he teased him. “I mean consider the ramifications of it, this being the only time you’ve invited me to your cabin for, what was it you said, polite conversation, despite all our time together, if the men were to find out-”

“The same men who are already convinced we share a soul like some sort of ancient god?” Flint asked, placing the plates of food between them and sitting back. “We are talking about those same men yes?”

“I’m sorry are you captaining another crew on the side in your ample free time?”

Flint rolled his eyes, popping an olive into his mouth and reaching for his wine. “Now I remember why I’ve never asked you to dine with me, you are incapable of shutting that mouth of yours.”

There was the hint of a smile around the rim of his wine glass, a glint in his eyes, and the ghost of color in his freckled cheeks, and Silver, not for the first time, felt himself grieving- grieving for the fact that they were who they were, not merely strangers meeting in a tavern, or old friends sitting in the kitchen without a war waiting on the horizon.

Oh what things they could have been to each other, he wondered, what ways he could have coaxed that smile from Flint, if things had been different.

“Secretly I think you like my mouth,” Silver replied flippantly, instead of letting all his wistful thoughts slip free. He didn’t miss the way Flint’s smile seemed to sharpen as he sipped his wine, or how his eyes flicked down, then quickly back to hold Silver’s gaze again.

“Let us add it to the ever growing list of secrets we share, then,” Flint said. “Now, eat for fucks sake. Can’t have you wasting away on me all over again.”

Silver laughed weakly and did as he was told. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much around someone, even such little bursts of tired laughter. It was part of the shift in their dynamic, of course, but one he hadn’t expected. He had expected the soft sense of humor from Flint about as much as he’d expected him capable of a soft touch.

“I thought we were meant to make polite conversation, Captain,” Silver said examining a piece of cheese with a quizzical eye.

“Well we could always talk ships business-”

“God no you can’t ruin a fine spread such as this with something as common as ships business,” Silver said with an air of disgust, and Flint outright laughed.

“Right then what shall we talk about, Mister Silver? What will suit your appetite?”

“Will you tell me,” Silver asked after a moment, in between sips of wine and bits of food, “about the first time you had fine things such as these?”

Flint blinked, “I can’t imagine that actually interests you.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll be entertainment all the same. I must admit it’s something of a delight to see the most feared pirate of the new world being critical of his wine selection.”

Oh Silver was enjoying this new facet of their relationship, being able to tease in private, to make Flint smile his little smiles. He watched as Flint’s ears turned red at the tips, a little detail he’d never noticed before, and he was fascinated.

“Well to be honest, it wasn’t until… It wasn’t until I was grown that I ever had them,” Flint said eventually, shrugging. “I was poor as a child, orphaned young like most, and once in the Navy, it was a barren, simplistic life. The High Officers, the Captains, the Sea Lords- they all lived fine lives on land, but the rest of us? Not so different than this.” Flint sat forward and refilled his glass of wine, topping off Silver’s before settling back in his chair, a distant look in his eye, a look Silver knew well.

“Tell me?” Silver asked again, gently.

And after a moment, Flint did.

As they ate, not sparing a thought for the crew ashore or the passing minutes, Flint told him about the early years in the Navy- about his low station in life, how it set him up for an unfavorable career. How his shipmates had been against him from the start, taking whatever chances they were given to remind him of his place. About the miserable rations and the long hours, about the cat o’nine and the canings that awaited delinquents. And yes, he added when he saw the question in Silver’s eyes, a time or two he had been the delinquent.

They finished the first bottle and after a glass or two of water, Flint opened the second. This was heavier, a dry bloody red Spanish wine, the kind Silver had grown up with. He hummed at the first familiar taste and listened attentively as Flint told him about his examinations, about the thrill that had come with being called a Lieutenant for the first time, and how hollow it all had felt. It didn’t matter what title he held, no one cared. All they saw was a redheaded Celtic son of a ships carpenter from Padstow who had no right to their world. Silver listened enraptured, and maybe that was simply because of the sound of Flint’s voice, like some kind of lethal siren beneath the waves, as he was told about the first voyages to Nassau, to the shores of the colonies, to the continent.

It was like listening to the old sailors in taverns when he had been a boy, Silver thought, as Flint spoke with his hands, telling him about the first time he had taken command of the ship, after the captain had been wounded, how terrified he had been. If anyone could make a man fall in love with the sea, and with infinitely more, it was Flint, Silver reasoned. He spoke of the waves like a sailor spoke of the home left waiting on the shore, wistful and wanting.

The first time he had fine wine? Dinner with Thomas Hamilton, of course. Sure he’d had nice enough wine when he dined with his Admiral, and at whatever functions the Sea Lords had invited the lowly officers to. But Thomas, being Thomas, had served wines Flint had never in his life heard of, alongside dishes and puddings from the continent. What had been intended as a simple meeting at the Hamilton House to review their work schedule and expectations had dissolved rather quickly into a full dinner service before he could protest.

“And you had no idea, even then, the kind of man you were dealing with?” Silver asked.

The plates sat mostly empty between them, the second bottle of wine half gone, the rest of the food set aside for later. Flint was reclined in his chair, loose limbed and starry eyed, half lost in stories with Silver as his only tether. His glass of wine was forgotten in his hand where it lay draped over the arm of the chair.

He had expected the mention of Thomas to sour the wine on his tongue, to twist his stomach into knots with envy. Envy at the thought that Thomas had known Flint in a time of peace, and must have known a truer version of the man surely? Envy that Thomas had held Flint’s trust in a way no one else ever had, and ever would.

He expected the Envy, and it never came. How could it? With the soft far away look in Flints eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and with the knowledge that he, Silver, was the only other human alive who knew what the man had meant to Flint, who knew the kind of man Flint was?

No, envy wasn’t the word for how Silver felt, hearing the name of Flint’s lost lover. He wasn’t sure if the feeling even had a name, but Pride, pride was part of it of that he was sure.

“Did I know- did I know Thomas was the greatest pain in the arse I’d ever have the fortune of meeting, seconded only by yourself?” Flint asked, and the far away look in his eyes faded, the sharp green meeting Silvers gaze. “No but I learned damn quickly I’ll tell you.”

“Oh I am in esteemed company in your books, captain, I’m flattered,” Silver said, trying not to think too hard on why being considered in the same class as Thomas, as far as Flint was concerned made him feel a bit lightheaded. So maybe it was merely in their ability to annoy and pester, but he was equal to the man in something.

“You knew that already you shit,” Flint replied, sipping his wine, his voice boarding on what Sliver might call fond. “Now, the maddest thing he ever made me do, and I don’t think I ever thoroughly forgave him for this, was- he and his wife, Miranda, threw a ball.”

“A ball?”

“A ball, yes, you know the shit with the elaborate gowns and fine suits where you waltz and barely eat anything. Anyway, I’d only attended balls held by the Sea Lords and at those I was meant to be a uniformed wall flower of sorts, not to dance or involve myself in the frivolities but-”

“But the Hamiltons made you didn’t they?”

Flint made a face, as if he were reliving the night in his memories.

“Did they dress you up?” Silver pressed.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t try to wear your uniform?”

“Oh I tried, adamantly.”

“I bet you looked perfectly proper and utterly ridiculous,” Silver said and Flint snorted.

“The one blessing was I was young enough and low class enough not to wear a wig.”

Silver couldn’t help but laugh at that mental image. It was easier to picture now, what with Flint’s meticulously shaved head. But while he had never seen Flint’s hair fall past his chin, he could only begin to imagine what the chalky white, delicately curled wigs with their ribbons might have looked like on his captain.

“Yes, yes, alright, you’ve had your giggle.”

“You’d have looked absurd-” Silver wheezed, wiping his eyes. “So no wig but still some hideous suit?”

“Nah the suit was alright. Tightest fucking thing I’ve ever worn in my life, Thomas insisted on me visiting with his tailor and all. It was simple. Miranda had wanted us all to- to match in a way, so we all had various shades of green. Her gown, Christ her gown was something else. Emerald green and soft to the touch, silk or something I reckon. Thomas wore softer shades, light patterned waistcoat, silk coat, dark trousers. They were a pair destined for each other, you’d think, seeing them like that.”

“And you? Were you… involved then?”

“No, no, not yet, but looking back it was a near enough thing,” Flint smiled wryly. “Nah they had me in a simple dark colored suit, but my waistcoat was a shade of green that fell somewhere between there's. And of course, I was their guest, so I stuck close to one or the other for most of the evening. It… got us a few looks to be sure.”

Silver could scarcely imagine. He knew enough of the nobles, of the moneyed ladies and gentlemen who wasted away their days in garden parties and elegant estates. He knew the venom in their smiles, how gossip came more naturally than air. God, he thought, the madness it must have been, to know all this, to know the risks, and to fall in love anyway.

Though, as he watched Flint, taking in the rich dark green of his loose shirt, the flush that painted his cheeks and the hollow of his throat, the way his fingers were delicate on his wine glass- Silver was beginning to think that maybe he understood it after all.

He emptied his glass, sitting back in his seat with a sigh. “Was it as miserable a night as it sounds?”

“Not as bad as expected. Thomas always made for good conversation, and I was only expected to dance with Miranda at her request. Even then we maybe danced once, twice at most, since I still believed in propriety,” Flint made a face at that, as if to ridicule his past self. He looked up when Silver was silent. “What?”

“Nothing I just- I’m just trying to picture you of all people dancing.”

“Oh come off it-”

“No seriously, the dread captain Flint, terror of the new world, dancing? Not to say you aren’t a gentleman, Captain, by heavens I am having trouble conjuring up that particular image.” Silver chewed his lip, keeping his gaze intently on Flint, watching as the color rose in his cheeks. God he loved that sight. “Mm, nope, I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t believe it,” Flint echoed sardonically.

“That you knew how to dance.” In truth Silver could, what with Flint’s military poise and near perfect control over his body, of course he could picture him moving in tight, careful circles across the floor, or easily in a line of dancers with an unreadable expression. But he would have kept lying through his teeth if it meant getting to tease Flint a bit longer.

Flint looked torn between mild annoyance and laughter, lips twitching as he fought a smile. He knocked back the rest of his wine and Silver watched him wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. Then he stood, cleaning his hands on the sash that hung around his waist, and rounded the desk.

“Right then, up with you.”

“What?”

“I won’t have you doubting me in my own cabin, mister quartermaster. And clearly you won’t listen to mere words-”

“Oh come now Flint I was only teasing, you know I didn’t mean to offend,” Silver felt a sickening twist of guilt, had he gone too far? Had pressing and teasing about something tied to the Hamiltons been a mistake?

But Flint’s face was soft, his eyes keen as he reached for Silver’s hand. “No offense taken. But I find with these things, a demonstration is often the best proof. And I cannot demonstrate without a partner.”

He stood like a soldier, a proper Navy man with his shoulders set, spine straight, one arm tucked neatly behind his back, the other held out, palm up, next to Silver. The quiet power in his figure made Silver’s mouth go dry.

“If you aren’t too tired, of course,” Flint added. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any discomfort.”

“No-” Silver scrambled out of his chair as best he could, using Flint’s outstretched hand to pull himself up, to distracted by it all to feel embarrassed at needing help. “No I’m- I’m not too tired I just-”

“Just what?” Flint asked, moving the chair out of the way so they had enough space in the center of the cabin.

“I, admittedly, do not know how to, uhm… Dance. At all. Didn’t before and certainly don’t now with the uhm-” Silver made a face. He didn’t really think he’d be able to manage it now, with a heavy peg in place of his foot. He could taste the curdled anger on the back of his tongue, irrational anger at what a comical, miserable creature he was now, as if it was his fault.

But Flint seemed unbothered. “I’ve watched men with far, far less grace than you manage it. All you have to do is trust me, can you do that?”

Flint had yet to let go of his hand. Slowly, as if he were trapping a skittish cat, he pulled Silver closer, until there was mere inches between them.

“Trust me?” Flint asked again.

Silver could only nod. Fear, and that unnamed feeling that arose whenever Flint touched him- smiled at him, reached for him, confided in him, trusted him- had numbed his tongue and left his chest tight. He watched as Flint guided his arms into position, committing each touch to memory. Silver’s right hand was placed on Flint’s shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft to the touch. His left stayed in Flint’s right hand. He inhaled sharply when Flint’s left hand settled, warm and sure, at the small of his back, pulling him just a bit closer. He could feel the heat of Flint’s body, and the urge to curl into it like a stray cat was unbearable. Flint’s hand tightened around his and Silver forced himself to look up and meet his gaze.

Flint’s eyes were dark, the thin lines at the corners softened. This close, Silver could nearly count the endless constellations of freckles across his high cheekbones and strong nose.

“I suppose,” Silver said, trying to find his wit. “I suppose we don’t have the space, or the people for the kinds of dances one does at a ball?”

“Never much liked those anyway. Thomas taught me this one, he learned it from a Prussia friend of his. Said it was the kind of dance they did at smaller, more intimate parties,” Flint explained, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “Can’t remember what it’s called but it’s easy enough.”

“We haven’t any music.”

“We don’t need any. Now,” Flint pressed his palm firmly against Silver’s lower back, “keep your back straight, and give me a little of your weight, there that's it- shoulders straight for me, good.”

Silver almost held his breath. The heat from Flint’s touch was overwhelming, chasing the chill and the ache in his bones, the steady rise and fall of Flint’s chest against his own a new, grounding sensation.

“Best as you can, put your feet shoulder width apart, like so,” Flint stepped back to show him and Silver nodded, doing his best to mimic. “Very good. Don’t lock your arm,” he added, squeezing Silver’s hand. “Keep it loose enough that I can move it, but not limp.”

“So many details.”

Flint chuckled warmly. “Once we start moving you hardly notice them.” He waited as Silver adjusted his grip. “That’s it, very good.”

Silver couldn’t remember the last time anyone, let alone Flint, had praised him so much so quickly, especially for something as inconsequential as this. But oh, it twisted his chest up so nicely, and warmed him like the finest aged rum, leaving him aching for more. It was almost embarrassing.

“Now, there’s one thing I want you to remember-”

“Don’t step on your foot?” Silver asked, pleased at the wry chuckle it got him.

“Preferably, but no. Remember what I told you, during practice? About watching my eyes?” he asked, and Silver nodded, puzzled. “That does not apply here. If you look down you’ll overthink it, if you look at your feet or mine it’ll become complicated all over again. Just look at me, Silver, can you do that?”

Silver nodded.

“Watch my face, take a breath, and trust me.”

He waited until he was sure he had all of Silver’s attention. And really, Silver thought, what a funny thing for Flint to think that his attention ever truly strayed away.

“There you are,” Flint said softly, holding his gaze.

Silver felt seen, in that moment.

He felt seen and impossibly small.

And what’s more, part of him feared what it was that Flint saw that made his eyes warm as they did, that made his grip tighten ever so slightly.

“We move in a circle,” Flint began and Silver did his best to focus on his words and not merely his voice. “I lead, you follow-”

“The natural order of things,” Silver mumbled.

“Hush, you,” Flint squeezed his lower back and Silver couldn’t suppress the tremor it caused. “Now, I step back like so, and your foot comes forward. Right foot first-”

Flint stepped back with his right foot and Silver stepped forward, his peg following a bit more slowly.

“Now to the side- very good, small steps we don’t need to be crossing the room. Lean into me a bit more, let me take a bit more of your weight- there, perfect. Take a step back, right foot, let the peg follow it’s alright-”

Silver tried not to hold on tighter as he stepped blindly backwards, his eyes looking down on instinct, but Flint held him tight and moved with him.

“I’ve got you, Silver, I’ve got you.”

It knocked the breath out of Silver. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it. Flint’s voice was low, just loud enough for Silver to hear, his breath tickling his cheek.

“Look at me Silver, remember, eyes on me.”

Silver felt himself press closer, the fingers of his right hand clinging tight to Flint’s shirt. He nodded, looking back up at Flint’s face.

“There, one turn done-” Flint said with a hum, and Silver expected them to stop, for more instructions to follow.

But Flint kept moving, the same slow pace as before, guiding Silver in tight circles across the floor of the cabin. He began to count after the second turn, the faint “one, two, three, two, two, three” paired with a delighted “Excellent Silver, very good” when Silver began to take the cues himself without Flint pushing him one way or another, each step echoed by the dull thunk of iron against wood. The feel of Flint’s hands, the steady cadence of his voice kept Silver grounded and slowly he felt the fear begin to slip away.

He turned as Flint guided them, keeping his feet under him, his balance steady as he glanced to the right to see that they had circled the whole of the cabin, and Silver couldn’t help but look up with a bright smile and a bewildered laugh.

“Well now Captain, you’ve managed a miracle,” he said, his head tilted up to Flint.

“No miracle, Silver,” Flint replied, gently pulling Silver into him, their chests flush and his voice in Silver’s ear. “I had faith.”

The full body shiver was inevitable, Silver’s eyes slipping shut despite himself.

“Were I a wiser man, I’d think you were up to something,” he murmured, and he felt the laughter rumble through Flint’s chest.

“Good thing neither of us are all that wise, hm? Now, don’t lose count- one, two, three-”

After the third turn, or maybe it was the fourth, Silver was beginning to lose count, Flint stopped counting and the rhythm of his voice became a soft low hum. Their movements became lighter, more confident, taking them in across the cabin floor in broader steps. Silver could feel the reverberations of Flint’s humming in his own chest, feel the way his hand slid up his back to keep him close-

And for a moment, Silver closed his eyes, and let Flint carry him.

His skin was warm, prickling with the same energy that Flint always instilled in him. He could remember the first time he’d become aware of Flint’s touch and it’s effect, of his soft fingers and a gentle hand and the way it made Silver’s pulse skip. In the early days of his illness, a week or so after Charleston perhaps when the good doctor was still skeptical that Silver would survive at all, Silver’s nightmares had begun. The concept of nightmares hadn’t been new to him, he’d lived his whole life with them as his midnight companions.

Silver remembered waking to moonlight, his vision hazy with sleep and what might have been tears. He didn’t know where he was, why he was there, or why everything hurt as it did. He’d tried lashing out, tried to fend off whatever followed him into the waking world, but his body was sluggish and exhausted and wouldn’t move as he wanted. Even his voice seemed to have abandoned him.

A firm hand, impossibly gentle, had come to rest on his sternum, not holding him down but giving him something real to focus on. Sliver had clung to it like a child, gasping for air as another hand came to rest on the back of his neck, lifting him just enough for his chest to fill and his breathing clear.

“Hush, Silver, hush. I’ve got you,” a voice had said, familiar and foreign all at once. Silver had looked above him, his vision still swimming, to find Flint crouching on the window seat, his short hair copper in the dim light, leaning over Silver with a fearful, vulnerable look on his face. “You’re alright, deep breaths for me, pup. That’s it.”

Flint had gotten him some water and held him as he drank. Silver had tasted the faint bite of laudanum in it, but he had been too tired to argue over it. He’d fallen asleep again with Flint’s hand on his chest, the other gently brushing the wild curls out of his face.

When he awoke the next morning, Silver had been convinced it was as much a dream as everything else, a desperate feverish dream his mind had conjured to try and comfort him. It had happened before, dreams of Flint, of the night they had met, of their escapades on the warship and the days that followed.

But Flint’s hair had been gone that night, and in all of Silver’s dreams, his Captain had never given up his hair in grief.

It had left him shaken, realizing that Flint had played nurse that night, and likely so many others. But Flint said nothing, made no move to voice his displeasure, to change the new role they had undertaken together, and so Silver kept his confusion to himself and said nothing about how shaken the touch of Flint’s hand left him.

The brush of Flint’s mustache against his cheek roused Silver from his thoughts. He opened his eyes, the two of them still lazily moving about the room as Flint hummed. Flint still held him close, resting his cheek against Silver’s temple, so close that no light could slip between them.

What must they have looked like, Silver wondered, how strange a sight they must have been. He couldn’t hear the men on deck, the only ambient sounds the creaking of their ship as she kept them safe and warm, of the water below as it offered them berth for the night. But what a picture they would have made, if one of their men were to find them, Silver thought with a faint smile.

The greatest villains in the new world, wrapped around each other like lovers.

There was no one to discover them, and had there been, what could they have done? He knew some of the men gossiped, some had their theories. Billy would watch the two of them together some days, with a look that asked when a mateolage might be on the ships books. He knew what the whispers back on Nassau had been, especially after the loss of Miranda. If anything, all it might do is lead to questions from his men, as to whether John was well enough, whether he was strong enough, if he had to let his Captain half carry him through a dance.

No, no that wasn’t true, that was his own unhappiness talking there. The men would say nothing, they respected him too much, and they feared Flint just enough. They knew he was strong enough, Flint knew he was strong enough.

Silver smiled to himself, they were untouchable, the two of them.

And gods, he was tired of holding up the sky by himself.

Flint had slowed their pace some, still carefully guiding them about the room, humming a slower, sweeter tune. His nose brushed along Silver’s temple, the hand on Silver’s back tracing gentle, absent minded patterns into his shirt. Silver could feel each like a brand on his skin, goosebumps left in their wake. He looked to his left, at their joined hands, and in the beat between steps, he threaded their fingers together, calloused palms and work worn fingers interlocked. Silver could feel Flint lifting his head to turn and look, felt the low rumble of content in his chest.

As he did, Silver let out a breath and closed his eyes, tilting his head so that he could rest it against Flint’s chest, the way he had seen young ladies do. He felt Flint stiffen, their rhythm begin to falter, and for a moment Siver wondered if he’d read it all wrong. Maybe the lesson was simply a lesson. But Flint let out a heaving breath and pressed his face into Silver’s curls, the arm around his waist holding him tight, and Silver let himself settle, let himself pretend that for one night he wasn’t the Pirate King, and that Flint wasn’t his captain.

They were simply together, and he’d let Flint carry him a little while longer.

How long had it been since they started dancing? Silver couldn’t see the little clock Flint kept on his desk, didn’t open his eyes to check and see. Had it been an hour? Twenty minutes? Ten? Silver hadn’t realized how easy it was to get lost in another person, it had never really happened before.

He made a soft questioning sound as Flint brought them to a stop, still holding Silver close.

“Silver?” Flint’s voice sounded strange, hesitant and searching in a way Silver hadn’t heard before.

It took a moment for Silver to look up- they fit so well together and moving meant ending the fantasy. But he looked up with another questioning sound and leaned back so he could see Flint’s face.

His captain’s eyes were dark and searching, his brow starting to furrow as he looked down at Silver. He could see the familiar twitch in Flint’s jaw that meant he was thinking, thinking quickly, weighing the risks of whatever lay before him. The last time Silver had been the subject of such a look, it had been threatening, Flint trying to decide just how valuable Silver’s life really was to him. But now-

Now Flint was leaning in, watching Silver through his lashes. He paused, their noses brushing, and Silver held his breath, shifting his feet to try and steady himself. Flint’s grip tightened and Silver lifted his head to meet him, his peg slipping on the wood as he pressed closer.

Pain seared up Silver’s left leg as his knee gave out, the peg catching on a knot in the wood and slipping out from under him. Silver, cursing a blue streak, braced himself for impact as he fell backwards, as he had taught himself early on when the peg was still new, but Flint held him tight.

“Easy, easy-”

“Fucking cocksucking sonnova-” Silver growled through clenched teeth, his hands grabbing at Flint’s shoulders. He heard Flint chuckle dryly and looked up to curse him just the same, but Flint was hauling him up before he could get the words out.

“Easy now, save the bite for another time, pup,” Flint told him gently, getting his arm around Slivers back so he could act as he crutch and get him to the cot, the closest place to sit.

Well, Silver thought, that was one way to ruin a moment.

“Sorry, got caught on the fucking- it slips sometimes I-” he tried to explain, hands gripping his knee tight as if it might dull the pain. It never did but there was a comfort in the pressure.

“Silver, shut up.”

Flint had grabbed the wash basin and cloth from his dressing stand, and one of the bottles of salve from the desk, and crouched down in front of Silver, rolling up his sleeves. His brow was furrowed with the same lines Silver saw when they were on deck. Damn it, Flint couldn’t even have one quiet night without Silver making a mess of it all.

“Its fine, I’m sorry I’ll just- I just need a minute-”

“How long have you been wearing it today?” Flint asked

Silver didn’t answer. He refused to look up when Flint sighed.

“Stubborn pup,” Flint muttered, reaching for Silver’s trouser leg. When Silver flinched, he stopped and looked up at him. “May I tend to it?”

“I can do it-”

“I know you can. I’m asking if you’ll allow me.”

Flint’s hands rested on Silver’s knees, warm and gentle through the fabric of his trousers. The pain in his stump had faded to a low deep pulse. He wouldn’t be dancing again that night, if nothing else. Silver searched Flint’s face, for what he wasn’t really sure, pity maybe, revulsion, mockery- something that made this seem like a mistake. But Flint was watching him quietly, his eyes soft save for the worried furrow in his brow and the weary crows feet.

Silver nodded and sat back on the cot. The last person to do this for him had been the medicine woman in Madi’s village, and she had been firm and methodical in her work. He’d been too feverish to watch her work and part of him half wished he was feverish now, so he didn’t have to watch the way Flint’s hands rolled up both of his trouser legs to his knees.

Flint tsked at the sight of Silver’s knee, red and swollen from a long day on deck, something the impromptu dance lesson hadn’t helped.

“I’m sorry, I should have- pressed the matter, made sure you were up for it before hauling you back to your feet,” Flint muttered, his fingers working quickly on the leather straps that held the boot in place.

“No I- I liked it,” Silver said. “I’d have said yes regardless I think.” Flint glanced up. “You’re not an entirely shit teacher as it happens.”

The smile he got for that was small and shy, but genuine. Silver gritted his teeth as Flint carefully pulled the boot off, the night air cool compared to his burning skin. The stump was swollen and angry, the scars stark white against his skin. Silver snarled and looked away, not wanting to see the pity that had to be on Flint’s face.

But Flint said nothing.

He looked over the stump for a moment, checking for any cuts from the leather or unusual bruising. When he was satisfied he took up the water and cloth, holding Silver’s thigh as he gently washed his knee and the scarred skin below it. His touch was so delicate that Silver almost didn’t feel it through the ache, the drag of the cotton cloth adding to the redness and the sting. Flint shushed him as he worked, murmuring soft apologies as he rolled up Silver’s trouser leg a bit higher and washed the bit of his thigh that he could reach.

While Silver’s left leg dried, Flint turned to his good leg and proceeded to give it the same attention. Silver had trouble breathing, the careful press of confident fingers against his tight muscles, followed by the cool water made him shiver. He watched the muscles flex in Flint’s forearms, the back of his damp hands and didn’t know what was more maddening, that, or the calloused fingers that cradled his calf.

“I know we’ve had this conversation before, and I know what you’re going to say,” Flint began, reaching for the towel he’d brought over with him and drying Silver’s legs. “But you don’t have to wear the boot day in and day out, Silver-”

“I have to-”

“Keep up appearances and make sure they don’t begin to doubt your strength, yes I know. But there are no men here.” Flint sat back on his heels and reached for the bottle of salve. “Only me.”

“Flint-”

“And I’m starting to think, by now, there’s very little you could do to make me doubt you, or your strength.”

Silver stuttered, trying to find something to say as Flint coated his hands in salve, the smell of herbs heavy in the air between them. There was always something, there had to be something, there was always a catch in Silver’s experience and Flint-

Flint of all people couldn’t be different, could he?

Before he could find his argument, Flint took his stump in hand again, and it was all Silver could do to try and breathe as stinging cold shot through his nerves. He grabbed for Flint’s shoulder, trying to ground himself.

“Easy, easy, it gets better in a moment.” Flint worked the salve into Silver’s skin, gently tracing the scars and massaging the knots that seemed to be permanently above his knee. It made Silver squirm and curse, both hands holding tight to Flin’s broad shoulders, but soon the sting faded and a blissful warmth lingered in its place, the bruises numbed by the herbs and Flint’s careful attention.

“There we are,” Flint hummed, getting more salve and working his way up past Silver’s knee, to whatever parts of his thigh he could reach. Silver could feel himself trembling, the impossibly soft touch so foreign a thing it almost scared him. He watched as Flint coated his hands again and reached for his right foot, working his fingers against the ball of his foot, the tendons in his ankle. The whimpering sounds Silver made seemed to echo in the cabin and god Silver wanted to curl in on himself and hide, he sounded so pitiful. But Flint just encouraged him softly, answering each broken sound Silver made with a gentle hum, pressing his fingers harder until the knots gave way.

“You- you make no sense-” Silver gasped out, his chest heaving as Flint worked his way up his calf.

“How so?”

“Men- men’s hands aren’t made for this-”

Flint paused, looking up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen what your hands can do, I- I have been subjected to them as much as anyone. Men’s hands, they are not made for softness, for- for- ah!-” Flint began working again, Silver trying to hold onto his thoughts. “They aren’t made for kindness, in my experience, they aren’t made for gentleness. Only violence, only cruelties. I’ve seen the thing your hands can do, and here you- fuck- here you are-”

Flint dug his thumb into a rather persistent knot on the inside of Silver’s knee, pulling a ragged moan from Silver as the knot finally gave way.

“Shit-”

“Here I am,” Flint echoed, asking Silver to try and continue.

“Here you are touching me like this- you’re always touching me like this, like something delicate- and I don’t fucking understand it, Flint-” Silver forced out, his knuckles white with how tightly he held to his captain’s shoulders.

Flint was quiet for a moment, finishing his work on Silver’s right thigh and rubbing his hands back down his calf. He washed his hands in the basin and dried them, Silver watching through his lashes. His body felt heavy, half numb from the salve and exhausted from so many long days. His nerves were humming with the warmth of Flint’s touch, his hands trembling as he tried to pull them away. He made to settle them in his lap but Flint reached for them before he could, taking Silver’s hands in his own.

“Never had a man touch you like this before? With care?” Flint asked, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the back of Silver’s hands.

The bitterness in the laugh Silver let slip could have curdled milk.

“No, Captain- no one has,” Silver admitted softly, looking down at where their hands were joined. “Nor have I ever learned how. I am at a loss here, truly. Men have touched me sure, women too, but none of it was like this. It was harsh, as most men and women are-” Silver shook his head. “And here you are getting me all confused.”

Flint’s silence made Silver’s stomach coil tight. He ducked his head with a bitter smile. “Pitiful I know. I wasn’t going to say anything but you’ve gone and robbed me of my wit-”

“Do you enjoy it?” Flint asked finally.

Silver blinked and looked up with a small frown. “Enjoy what?”

“When I touch you, like this,” Flint lifted one of his hands, reaching up to tuck Silver’s hair behind his ear, fingers brushing along his cheekbone. “Softly.”

Despite himself, Silver leaned into the touch, chasing the shock of warmth it offered. Had he always been so starved for it? Or was this the result of a lifetime alone? To be so desperate for the touch he’d sacrifice all sense for it?

“Answer me, pup,” Flint trailed his fingers along Silver’s jaw, the pet name bewildering and right all at once. “Do you like it?”

“Would I be bearing my throat to you if I didn’t?” Silver asked, his breath stuttering as Flint’s fingers curled under his chin for a moment.

“You’ve done it before for other reasons,” Flint reminded him, watching his fingers as they found Silver’s pulse. “So tell me, do you enjoy it, when I touch you like this?”

There was the faintest pressure against his throat, Flint’s fingers tightening as if out of habit, but the fear Silver used to feel was absent. He let out a ragged breath and closed his eyes, pressing into the hand on his throat.

“Yes, captain.”

“You trust me to keep touching you like this?” Flint’s fingers continued their path down Silver’s throat, tracing the dip of his collarbone with gentle curiosity.

“Yes.” Later, Silver might look back and think he’d lost his damn mind, trusting Flint in such a way, but no, no it was the truth. There was no one he trusted the way he did Flint.

“Do you want me to keep touching you, pup?”

“Please-”

Silver felt Flint move, felt him rise up and press closer, felt his hand slip away only to settle on his hip, the other slipping around to hold the back of his neck. Silver had just enough time to open his eyes and see the soft, wanting look in Flint’s eyes before Flint was kissing him- so softly, so carefully, that Silver thought his heart might break from it.

Flint smiled, pulling back just far enough to look over Silver’s face, his thumb pressing gently against the hinge of Silver’s jaw. “ Good boy.”

More praise, god Silver couldn’t stomach any more unwarranted praise. He grabbed Flint’s collar and pulled him into another kiss, sloppy and needy until Flint got his hand into Silver’s hair and calmed him. He turned the kiss slow and sweet, coaxing Silver’s mouth open and tilting his head to deepen it. The hand Flint had on Silver’s hip moved, pressing against his lower back and pulling him to the edge of the cot, so that Flint was well and truly tucked between his thighs.

Silver’s hands trembled on Flint’s collar, desperate to touch but unsure. He’d never been here before. Any kisses had been for coin or cleverness, a trick or a ruse, never something like this. What did he do with his hands? What would Flint allow?

He must have made a small sound of distress, because Flint hushed him, fingers scratching at his scalp. “You’re alright, pup. What do you need?”

“I- I want to touch-”

Flint leaned back and lifted his chin, inviting Silver’s hands to touch his throat. It was such a stark show of trust that Silver stared at him, shaken.

“It’s alright, go on,” Flint told him, smiling softly. Oh, but that smile would be Silver’s undoing, he was sure of it.

Slowly, Silver traced the shape of Flint’s throat, the strong edge of his jaw. He combed his fingers through Flint’s beard and reveled in the sigh it earned him. How long had he waited for this, to touch the man before him, to know him in such a way? Had he even known that was what he wanted? Or had he simply wanted endlessly, wanted whatever he might be spared?

He cradled the back of Flint’s head as he was pulled back into a kiss, fingers petting the short copper hair, clinging to him for a lifeline. His body ached and hummed with a strange sort of want, exhaustion twisting into something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t lust, Flint deserved something far more than mere lust.

He let out a shaky breath when he felt Flint’s hands work their way under his shirt. They didn’t pull or push or force anything, simply rested, open palmed against his back, warming him to his core. Silver’s nerves were alight in a way he hadn’t known before, from something so simple as a kiss, a touch, the press of Flint’s body against his.

“Alright, pup?” Flint asked against his jaw, leaving lazy kisses in the wake of his words. Silver nodded, leaning into Flint like a moth pulled to a lantern.

“Did you plan this?” Silver asked, tilting his chin up, giving Flint room to mouth at his throat.

“Plan what?’ the mischievous innocence in his tone made Silver huff.

“This seduction. You planned it didn’t you?”

Flint hummed against his pulse, biting gently at it until a little mark appeared, Silver squirming under his hands. “A seduction makes it sound like I’ve tricked you into something, pup.”

“Oh does it?”

“Mm, and I did no such thing. All I did was ask you to dine with me and keep a bit of faith.”

“Ha, never- mm- never thought you a faithful man, in that respect,” Silver moaned softly as Flint left another mark on the hollow of his throat.

“I haven’t been for a long, long time. You must have brought it out in me.”

“The way you spoke- I thought- with everything that had happened…”

Flint lifted his head, not without nuzzling Silver’s jaw first. “I won’t say I expected any of this. But I am here because it is what I want. Because it feels right, Silver. I spent a long time in isolation, thinking it was all I deserved. I’m learning maybe that wasn’t true at all.”

“Because of me?”

“As I said, unexpected. Like the way you came barrelling into my life to rob me,” Flint teased, kissing the corner of Silver’s mouth as he laughed.

“Didn’t know I was robbing you at the time, to be fair.”

“Mm I suppose. But the point of it is, pup,” Flint said. “That if I’m not meant to be alone, then neither are you.”

“No one’s wanted me before, Flint, can’t fault me for thinking-”

“Hush, no one else matters, just you and me and what we want from this moment.” Flint rubbed his back gently, Silver leaning into him as the weight of the day and the warmth of Flint’s touch bled together. Gods he was tired.

“And what do you want from it, captain?” Silver asked softly.

“I want you to stay with me. Tonight, tomorrow. However long you can-” Flint cradled Silvers face in his hand, reverently, as if Silver was something precious. How strange to think that he might be.

“I don’t know how to-”

“I expect nothing from you Silver. Nothing. Tonight, you are going to sleep. You’ve been hard enough on your body today, and I’ve not helped matters. But I want you to stay all the same, and in the morning, you and I will sit down, like sensible men”- Silver huffed at that, “hush, like sensible men, and decide what we want. Alright?”

Silver looked at him, searching his face for something, anything that told him to run. He’d always run, there was always a good reason to. And sure, maybe if he’d had some sense in him, maybe if it hadn’t been Flint, he’d have found some reason to flee.

But all he saw was openness, trust, and an emotion he was too terrified to give a name to.

“You- you just want to sleep?” Silver asked after a moment.

“Well, I’d like to hold you a bit, but only if you’ll allow me.” Flint tilted his head, watching Silver with that same heartbreaking smile.

“I think I could allow it. On one condition.”

“Anything pup.”

“Kiss me again?”

Flint chuckled, and pulled Silver into a soft, lingering kiss, one that seemed, if nothing else, to make a promise.

They dimmed the lights and stripped each other down to their breeches, wandering hands mapping scarred skin in the dim light, trading lazy kisses as they went. Flint finding an extra pillow and blankets from his cabinet for the cot. Silver watched him as he went about the room, checking the door and the windows, washing his face and hands and bringing Silver some water. He was fascinated by Flint, always had been, but now the fascination had shifted. There was a whole new side to the man, soft and shy and sweet, and Silver was the one person in the whole world who was allowed to see that version of Flint.

That knowledge felt like a benediction.

The ship creaked and whispered around them, the water speaking softly against the hull. The docks still echoed in the distance with their revelry, but they were cradled in the safety of their ship. Silver crawled under the covers once Flint had settled, shy and unsure, and let himself be pulled under Flint’s arm.

“I’ve got you,” Flint murmured in the dark. Silver felt his fingers toyed idly with his curls, petting and soothing until Silver was tucked comfortably into his side, his exhaustion finally winning out. Flint’s body was warm and solid beneath him and Silver couldn’t help but smile as he found Flint’s hands and their fingers threaded together.

What a ridiculous sight they must make, in the eyes of the gods, he thought as he drifted. How strange a pair they were. How perfect despite it all.

For the first time in his memory, Silver slept the whole night through, curled into Flint like a ship that had finally found its way home.

#my fic #silverflint #@forbiddenarchives #black sails gift exchange 2019

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beanarie · 6 years ago

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past & pending 3, chapter 2

Welcome to the McGraw-Hamilton Bed and Breakfast, where no one ever calls ahead for reservations. the rest of the series (post-finale, everyone’s in love) is here, the previous chapter, where--spoiler alert!--thomas and flint just learned that madi has a girlfriend, is here

“We thought her distress was over you,” Thomas confides.

Silver’s smile is bitter and, frankly, more than slightly annoying. “Oh, it’s never about me.”

Thomas frowns at the trees. He loses all patience in the face of self pity. Despite not being well acquainted with Madi, he knows James is of the belief that she loves Silver, or, rather, that she did at one time. The rest, as they have well established, was his own fault.

“Allow me an uncomfortable question?”

A heavy silence follows. “Go on,” Silver says.

“Is there anything tying you to her, save penance, and, of course, the dogged hope of eventual absolution and a return to how things were?” Silver’s wide eyes are a response. They are not, however, an answer. “I ask in all sincerity. Confirmation that you are not consumed with flagellating yourself every time you leave here would be appreciated, especially given the ready alternative.”

Someone should lance this boil, incontrovertibly disabuse Silver of the notion that existing as someone’s sun, moon, and stars is the only way to be happy. The awareness of his own position prevents Thomas from making the attempt. He would offer the corpses James created in his name if he could. Being an ignoble villain himself, Silver would appreciate them more.

The house now in sight, Seydou takes off at a run, little Felix at his heels. Thomas runs a thumb across the patchy stubble on Silver’s jaw. “I miss the beard,” he says longingly, trying to impart the fondness that threatens to overtake him with tone and context rather than explicit words. “Refrain from shaving for the rest of your stay, hm? Consider it payment for the room and board.”

Thomas takes a step forward, but Silver’s fingers wrap around his upper arm, keeping him from taking another. He noses the back of Thomas’s neck and breathes in deeply. Well. Fuck subtle. Before Silver can disengage, Thomas spins on his heel. Silver’s mouth lets out a quiet huff of surprise before Thomas claims it for his own.

“The boys?” Thomas whispers urgently.

Silver’s wild eyes stray from his for mere seconds. “Inside.”

"Understand,” Thomas says, pressing a kiss to Silver’s throat. Yes, unsurprisingly, the man could do with a wash. That’s fine. “It is not that I lack the ability to control myself. I merely see no point in doing so."

The eyes he raises his head to see ask a very clear question. Why? “You know, I used to hear stories on the plantation. We weren’t permitted news of the outside world but I-“

“You had your ways”

“I did.” He tugs the hem of Silver’s shirt free of his trousers. Silver does the same to his. “I knew of Captain Flint, scourge of the new world, years before I knew it was my James they spoke of.”

“It wasn’t wholly outside the realm of plausibility. James, James can be terrifying. Did you know he took me to a hanging on our first outing together?”

“But what of Long John Silver, the only man he was said to fear?” “Many an hour I whiled away forming an image of you in my mind.”

Despite how far they’ve gone already, Silver’s expression is shuttered, like he doesn’t dare to accept what is on offer. “You talk too much.”

“And most days you spend too much time in the brambles of this mind to provide any semblance of worthwhile conversation. Will that be changing? We are all reasonably certain at this point James will not draw and quarter you for your transgressions.”

“That... was never a concern.”

He pulls a few of the hairs in the path from Silver’s stomach to his groin, causing a yelp Thomas will remember for quite a few nights to come. “Do not lie to me, John Silver. I’ve a keen mind and I have suffered. I could plot retribution the likes of which you could never conceive.”

He uses his thumb to breach the waistband of Silver’s trousers and press into the muscle underneath the sharp jut of hipbone. The body under his hands shivers. "Were it not for the myriad complications present at the moment, I would have you, right here, just like this. What say you to that?"

A slight laugh, a thin sliver of a cheeky grin. "What complications?"

“Villain.” Thomas smiles against Silver’s lips and swallows whatever response he would have gotten. This, at least, they can do without consulting a committee.

The bedroom door swings open at the same time as Thomas pokes his head in to say, "Oh, excellent. You're here. Come, villain. We have our quorum. We'll get our resolution and everyone will be much happier for it."

James nearly drops the shirt he's holding at the sound of that word coming out of Thomas's mouth, but then Silver hobbles in close behind, grumbling good-naturedly. "Is that to be my name now?"

Unruffled, Thomas smiles like he owns a secret. "Tell me it bothers you and I'll stop forever."

A very pointed silence reigns for a long moment. James ignores them until the spare clothes to donate to their guests are in a neatly folded stack. "You had some sort of agenda," he prompts.

"Surely you can guess," Thomas says.

James turns to address them. "Of course I could. But Silver is changing color and I'd to see how much closer to red he can get."

Thomas laughs and sits on the bed, jostling the stack of clothing but not tipping it over. Silver screws up his face in a futile effort to change his current complexion. "Fuck you both."

"There it is." Thomas winds an arm around James's waist. "Would you prefer a statement with fewer words?"

Allowing Thomas to get closer does not mean James agrees. "You've both had too much time in the sun and not enough water. His wife is a guest in our home."

"Not my wife." Silver looks down at his foot. "That- that was only ever an idea. A hope. And now we are... friends. Maybe, if I'm being generous. Anyway, she gave me her explicit blessing."

James looks at Thomas, who looks back at him, equally silently.

Silver sighs, drumming his fingers on his crutch. "You may have noticed she has taken up with a woman."

"So taking this step." James gestures to take in the three of them. "Now, under these conditions, would be your retribution?"

"What? No. We spoke candidly on what occurred during my months-long absence from her."

"You confessed everything?" James asks. So far Thomas has kept his opinions to himself. It will be interesting to see how long he is content to observe before deciding James and Silver cannot work this out between the two of them.

"She wanted to know what purpose I served here for so long," Silver says, meaning no, he did not inform her about his illness. "How you were able to allow me to linger after all that I had done, to you both. And I..." He lifts his chin, resolute. "I told her I love you."

Abandoning Thomas and the stack of clothes on the bed, James approaches a noticeably unmoving Silver. He leans in, gaze fixed on Silver's mouth. "Is that what you told her?" he says. He lays a hand on Silver's neck, his thumb sweeping over the point of his pulse.

Silver hums, flush still high on his cheeks. "It's the truth." He slumps forward slightly into James's touch. This happens every time. Touch Silver with even a hint of affection and he goes pliant and greedy like one of his barn cats.

James grins as he traces the underside of Silver's bottom lip. "That explains why you wanted to stay, not why we let you."

"Feel free to elaborate," Silver says. "I've already gotten Thomas's side of things."

From the other side of the room, Thomas laughs in a way that people who aren't James don't get to hear.

Good thing the chores are done for the morning and no one inside this room is responsible for preparing the next meal. All they have to do for the next few hours is work up an appetite.

The entertainment at midday consists of the younger boys bragging about their contributions to the repast.

"I'm just proud you didn't push each other into the water," Obi says. "I fully expected at least one of you to return soaking wet."

Madi, seated as far from Esther as their circumstances allow, lets her gaze flick toward each of the white men in a knowing matter. Being who she is, she's quite subtle, but James sees. She says, however, nothing, apparently content to help Khanyi pick out the stray bones left in her fish.

Possibly he is being paranoid.

~ Old remembered terrors force Flint out of a sound sleep, heart hammering, thundering, and eyes completely incapable of recognizing his surroundings. It’s too dark, it’s too dark. There are enemies about and he can’t remember who was assigned lookout.

“James,” says a voice that doesn't belong.

“Love."

"It’s all right."

"You're home safe."

"Everything is fine.”

A melody sinks into the bits of silence. Humming. Flint latches on, his breath coming easier, and he lays his head back down.

His traitorous mind refuses to rest, linking the tune to something he used to hear on piano. He thinks of Miranda, walking off to leave him in bed struggling with his ghosts, until the strains of her playing from another room remind him where he is. He thinks of her dry fingertips against his cheek as he would finally drift off to proper sleep. That tiny pull of a smile on one side of her face that signaled the end of an argument. The quizzical rosebud of her mouth when she read something she found deeply fascinating.

No one is touching him, but James can feel body heat creeping in on all sides and he can’t handle it. Reality is both too much and not enough. “Shut up,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, willing his mind to stop reeling. “Both of you.”

Silver rolls onto his side as though he's been out this whole time. James runs a hand lightly down Silver's back, and rises from the bed.

So many people between these walls. She should be here, too. She deserves to be here.

He can feel at least one pair of eyes following his progress, so he says, "We need firewood. And well water."

"Let him go be productive," Thomas orders Silver, just loud enough for his voice to carry. "I fucking abhor chopping firewood."

#black sails #black sails fic #silverflinthamilton #past and pending #my writing #things by beanarie

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celestialarcana · 6 years ago

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Your Blood, My Tears

Author’s Note: OMG GUYS IT’S TIME. Gotta get the fanfic out before anything is changed hahaha. Hope you enjoy this story of my CMC and Lucio.

Summary: The battle raged on outside, but a couple in the medical tent were in a way of their own. Pre-Canon tale with Lucio and CMC F Apprentice.

For hours there had only been the clang of iron, of steel against steel ringing out on the crowded battlefield. Every person who stood on the dry dirt had arrived with one goal, and that was to kill, since the majority of them found a gross satisfaction in the act of war itself. Seeing the blood pour from their enemy’s mouth as a sword was pierced through their abdomen, feeling the distinct crack of an axe smashing through bone, hearing the thud against the hard ground when the body finally fell, that was where the real satisfaction came from, not from the pittance of gold they had been given before and promised to double upon the end of the battle.

But now the smell of blood, once metallic and sleek against the dry heat, was now tinged with the bitter sting of antiseptic and the screams, once simple grunts and shouts as a means of release on the field, had now turned to cries of terror. The medical tent that had lied at the outskirts of the battle had slowly filled as the hours passed by, the injuries ranging from a simple cut that a first time fighter got in a stupid move and the most fatal of injuries, some taking their final breaths as the world moved past them.

Crying out over any other noise were two voices, both yelling at the other indignantly, their voices getting only louder and louder as seconds went by.

“You’ve got to stop moving!”

“No! I won’t allow it!”

“It’s the only way!”

“It can’t be!”

A blonde man with silver eyes and a woman with brown hair and green eyes remained in this screaming match as he tried to leave and she struggled to get him to stay on the table. Standing to the side and watching this battle was a younger doctor, a regular field medic with excellent bedside manners who had absolutely no idea how to breech this fight and start working. The blonde should have been barely conscious, but the adrenaline rushing through his veins as a response to the shock kept him alert, alert and bleeding onto the floor from the large gash on his left arm that was barely being kept together with a weak bandage.

The two kept yelling but the doctor finally was able to break in, albeit with a weak, “Madame, you should leave,” before the other two were now yelling at him.

“I’m not leaving!”

“We’re both leaving!”

And with that they were at each other’s throats again, the doctor truly at a loss as to what to do next.

“You are going to die you moron!”

“I would rather die than lose my arm! Can’t you do anything?”

With that, the woman jumped onto the table, straddling the man and pressing him down onto his back by pressing a knee hard on his chest. His breathing started to falter as she pressed down more and moved to apply more weight, but he wouldn’t stop resisting, trying desperately to get her off of him.

“I said do something! I’ve seen you heal before!”

“Yes, minor cuts and bruises! I can’t save this though, no one can!”

“What kind of magician are you?” The man spat out, vitriol in his voice as he stilled for a moment, his eyes as sharp as flint as his breaths turned shallower the longer she stayed atop him.

That comment seemed to break something in her and her hands went from resting on his chest to grasping at his collar, her fingers tightly coiled in the white blouse as she pushed him down harshly. Her knee pressed even harder into his chest as she dipped her head low, loose strands of hair covered in sweat brushing across his forehead as her eyes darkened and she stared at him quietly. It was the quietest it had been since the two had barreled in here only moments before, but she broke the silence with a sharp whisper, “One who doesn’t want you to die.”

Time seemed to stop around just the two of them, the doctor unsure of what to do next as he watched this unusual pair stare at each other down. He felt like an intruder to an impossibly private moment, as if he shouldn’t have seen what had just transpired. There was something about the entire image, this powerful woman holding this equally powerful man down as the sound of war rang on feet away and as the screams of others were nothing but background music to their personal battle. He couldn’t look away, he didn’t want to look away. He was captivated by the entire ordeal and he would have stayed that way had it not been for the other man’s annoyed grumbling out of no where and the harsh yell of the woman being directed his way instead.

“Did you hear me? I said let’s do it now!”

Within seconds he had sprung to action, his nerves dissipating as she leapt off the table and started looking at the binding on it, wrapping them around his legs tightly. The doctor tossed her a small vial, shouting, “Have him drink this!” while he went back to preparing his other items needed to perform the amputation. She held it to his lips and he greedily drank it down, eyes glazing over in seconds as the pure alcohol mixed with pain killer hit him. He started to lay back and she tied his other arm down, and by the time the doctor turned around, bone cutter in hand she was seated behind the man’s head, looking down at him before looking up at the doctor, eyes wild and gaze burning in him.

“Last chance,” he warned and she shook her head, looking back down at her companion, the two of them completely trapped in each other’s gaze. He tossed her a gag but the blond screamed, “No! Just do it!” Walking towards them, the doctor rose the curved blade but stopped from slamming it down when he heard another shout.

“Don’t you dare!” He screeched, the rage in his voice radiating through the tent. The woman now had his head in her hands, her palms resting lightly on him as she took in shuddered breaths, shaking her head furiously. Despite her ragged breathing, matching the blonde’s breath for breath as if they were completely in sync, the sweat on their brow seemingly falling in the same way, her eyes were filled with nothing but love. She ran a thumb gently across his cheek and he tried to pull away but the medicine had dulled his senses greatly and he was unable to move. Looking back to the doctor, she nodded to him and without hesitation he brought the blade down.

Immediately the tent was filled with a pained howl, and as the blonde cried out in pain and swore to some god that the doctor had never heard of the woman screamed with him, tears pouring down her face and onto his. As the knife curved around his arm, muscle tearing away and being cut out of the way the two stayed in their confusing state. When she stopped crying the tears would start to pour down his face, when he stopped swearing the words would roll off her lips instead. In the midst of it all the doctor couldn’t help but think that despite the fact that both would scream together it only was as loud as if it was one person alone. Their voices seemed to blend together, an almost perfect marriage as each increase in pitch was matched, each stilted breath taken at the same time. When he choked out “Stop” she just shook her head and placed her forehead against his, the two of them continuing to breathe the other in.

While he could have stared at the two of them for hours he had a job to do, and as the blood poured onto the dirt below them and the muscle pulled away he turned around and grabbed the saw, placing it against the bone and pushing through despite how loud the screams grew. He had to continue, he had to save this man.

It was his duty as a doctor.

Hours later, the three of them were silent. The blonde laid atop a threadbare cot, breathing finally down to a slow and regular pace after the first few hours post surgery when he had been taking labored breaths despite being fully knocked out. Through it all, the woman had been by his side never taking her eyes off of him. She wiped the sweat from his brow, checked the bandages to ensure they were tight, anything she could do for him she did it. She was seemingly blind to the world around her, her every action dependent on his.

Standing and watching from the side, the doctor couldn’t help but noticed that when the man started to twitch in his sleep, muttering incomprehensible words she would reach out and gently touch his face and within seconds he was still and peaceful and she instead was the one letting out a shuddered breath. Walking towards her cautiously, she looked up as she heard the shuffle of feet to her and gave a weak smile. He nodded at the stool next to her and she pushed it towards him with her foot.

Sitting down beside her, he fidgeted more and more as the seconds ticked by. “Umm, he’ll be ok,” he finally stuttered out.

She snorted at that. “Physically, sure. Mentally? Absolutely not. He’ll have to live with this for the rest of his life. He’s going to remember the moment that man’s axe plunged into his arm, ho’s going to curse himself forever for raising his arm and leaving himself exposed despite his arms. He won’t forget the pain as we stumbled to the tent, he’s never going to forget when you brought that knife to his arm. He won’t be able to return to fighting, which is the only life he’s know. He has plans, he’s ambitious! This is going to change that! And well, I know him. I know how he’ll react when he wakes up.” Her voice raised as she spoke, and her gestures became frantic before her voice dropped and she looked back over to her companion. His breathing had grown heavy again and she dutifully placed her fingers on his forehead and he stopped again.

“What’s that?”

“Hmm?”

“Uh, well, what you just did. It’s what you were doing during surgery right? Is it a spell?”

“Ahhh, I just shared his pain,” she said, humming at the end as she ran her fingers through the other’s messy blonde hair. Out of nowhere she turned to the doctor and placed her hand on his cheek, taking a deep breath in. In seconds, the stress and fatigue of the day was gone. He had been nervous and filled with worry over the condition of mostly everyone in the tent, and with the simple touch from her those feelings had disappeared, leaving him feeling refreshed, at least emotionally. While sleep might have been difficult before he now felt that he could fall into a deep and restful slumber that moment.

He looked at her in astonishment, but he noticed that she looked a little more tired than she had moments before, and in a second it hit him, his jaw dropping.

“You’re an empath.”

“Ding ding ding.”

“That’s what you meant by “shared his pain”.”

“My magic is heavily centered around my emotions. One of my stronger powers is to take or share the emotions or pain that someone is feeling in that moment, although I can do a lot more. He’s going to be so angry at me for that when he wakes up. He hates when I use that on him.”

“Why did you then?”

She snorted again, looking at the doctor with the most steadfast and determined look. “If you could help ease the pain of the one you loved, wouldn’t you do whatever you could? Even if it meant hurting you?”

It was immediately silent between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He sat pondering her words before he nodded, giving a distinct, “I would.”

She turned and smiled then, and he returned it before the two softly laughed.

“Sorry for our behavior before. He’s stubborn.”

“You both are.”

They laughed again and it fell silent before she turned to him and put her hand out. “I’m Catherine. This is M-, ah, Lucio.”

“Julian.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Julian. I will give you fair warning, Lucio isn’t going to be happy with you. It’s no fault of your own though.”

The two smiled and looked back at the blonde before a comment that Julian had heard earlier in the midst of a second operation popped into the front of his mind. “Ah,” he started and Catherine turned to him, a curious look on her face. “Umm, well, I heard a rumor that the man who might have been the one to injure Lucio was found in the middle of the field torn to shreds. No one had a weapon, or the strength, to do that and apparently it happened out of nowhere. Would you, uh, would you happen to know anything?”

He looked to her but she was now looking away, staring back at Lucio with a dark look on her face, a small smile spreading on her lips.

“What do you think, after what I’ve told you?”

The smile stayed on her lips but immediately disappeared when Lucio coughed and the dark look disappeared and concern filled her face. Had he not seen that shift, Julian wouldn’t have believed she was capable of it but looking from her to the man on the cot he knew that there was a connection between them that was unlike any he had seen in his lifetime.

And he didn’t want to ever do anything that would get him on either of their bad sides.

Especially that beautiful magician with the emerald eyes.

#count lucio #count lucio x apprentice #count lucio x mc #the arcana lucio #lucio x apprentice #custom apprentice #female apprentice #pre-canon #god guys one sleep and he’s here!!!!!!

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tinypiratebastard · 6 years ago

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Because @flintrage is currently writing his dissertation, I WATCHED XXXVIII AGAIN and now I can’t stop thinking about these moments:

“The other thing, hiding in the spaces. The one whose shape you first showed me.”

In this recitation of the story, Flint made Long John Silver: birthed him from his own darkness. Created a war which taught him loss and kindled his own hard rage.

“Whose mind I had in someways incorporated into my own.”

Throughout the narrative, it is important how Flint and Silver regard and relate to one another. The war, Madi and the maroons create an environment in which Flint and Silver are aligned: on equal footing. Of common mind and purpose. Two men creating each other.

“I unmade him.”

Silver destroys Flint. Out of love, out of fear. Out of a desire to rescue himself and his future.

“I don't care.”

“You will.

Someday, you will.

Someday.

Even if you can persuade her to keep you she'll no longer be enough.

And the comfort will grow stale.

And casting about in the dark for some proof that you mattered and finding none, you'll know that you gave it away in this moment on this island.

Left it in the ground along with that chest.”

Flint speaks Treasure Island into existence, and in so doing perpetuates the existence of Long John Silver and in turn destroying The Life Silver Wanted.

They make each other, they become each other and they destroy each other.

And now I am sad.

“A story is true. A story is untrue.”

#i am so tired but i am also COMPROMISED BY THAT SCENE #black sails #my messy thoughts #black sails meta

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dani-luminae · 2 years ago

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Finally putting my thoughts together to review For You I'd Steal The Stars!

Jim: [makes a rival] made some new friends

Morph: turns into a mini version of the rival

I see you, treasure planet reference!

Ashla: I can appreciate you taking down the last of the notorious Captain Flint's crew.

Jim, thinking about how he let Flint (his accidental father figure) go free: yep. I took them all down alright.

Jim going out of his way to impress people makes sense to me. He's got a history of bad behaviour and comes from a working class family. He's feeling like he has to prove he belongs here with these people and not squander the opportunity. Natural progression of his character development from the movie. And Ashla knows what's up but she doesn't think he has anything to prove and I think that's a good start to their relationship! telling him he should know his own worth. And then later taking responsibility and making sure Jim doesn't get in trouble for anything she started. Making sure they're on equal footing. And even though they're rivals, they respect each other and mesh well together already! If they learn how to work together and get past whatever animosity they have for each other they'll be a dream team 🥰

I can see shades of Lia in these two already. 🥰😂

I can see the slow reveal of Ashla's background building up. I can't wait to see it! (Captain Sigalu? The mentions of Ashla's mother? Solosar not being on good terms with the armada? It's slowly coming together.) I also can't wait to see what mischief these two get up to to try and erase their bad marks from their records, I can tell it's going to be really entertaining and probably gonna get messed up somehow because these two have to learn to work together before things can go their way. Because if everything came easily there wouldn't be much of a story!

Fabulous first two chapters, I'm really excited to see how these two work together in the coming chapters!!! And also how the rest of the story will go!!! 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

Yes the Treasure Planet reference!!!! Glad someone got it.

And lmao - uh, when Ashla finds out about Silver's escape (aided by Jim) she's just gonna sigh. It won't change anything about her perception of Jim because honestly, all but one of the crew is still incredibly impressive! And she knows a thing or two about getting attached to a parent figure in place of a bad/absent parent, so... she gets it. She doesn't approve, she just understands.

I'm really glad that Jim's new "gotta impress them all" attitude felt like a natural progression! I really didn't want For You I'd Steal the Stars to become another "Disney sequel that has to forget the main character's previous development," while also retaining enough of a character flaw from Jim. The journey to Treasure Planet took this hopeless kid and showed him that he has a future... now it's up to him to figure out how to grab on to that future.

And yet, Ashla sees him as he is. He doesn't need to impress her.

It is very important to me that in setting up these rivals-to-lovers that I established a sort of mutual respect in the first place. Jim knows he can't risk outright disrespect to his classmates, and Ashla sees right through him but also doesn't want to make it harder on him.

I'm glad you can see Lia in them already! Another slight challenge of writing a prequel is nailing these two characters with personalities that will evolve to become Lia's mother and father that we know in her time. I'm glad to hear I'm doing well!

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elijahlucius · 4 years ago

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a more complete and immersive picture of the world in three dimensions. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. Farmers had been charged with violations of a Clean Air Act and Right to Know laws, requiring them to monitor and report emissions. He could see some now, swinging from spar to spar and ship to ship. The magazine rankings do not include FCS teams such as Northern Colorado.. There were gardens bright with flowers and fountains sparkling golden in the sun. "We've hit a wall, fatigue issues," Van Gundy said. These days the Sistermen left open piracy to Salladhor Saan and his ilk and confined themselves to wrecking. I pronate, I think. Employees in MNCs also celebrate it where they dress up gruesomely and try to scare people with their makeup. "He knew the media were going to be on him all day and he'd had a haircut he looked sharp! I think he knows how to deal with it," Pietersen said. It is for the best. Tuesdays at the Japanese School House, Geil and Pajaro streets, Castroville. The passage twisted to the left. Viserion. Walt Disney World raised parking rates to $11 a car at its four theme parks this past weekend. His awards from World War II and Korea include Distinguished Service Cross, three Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts. It is also a $75.00 doll that is selling online at the official site. No, sir; it is to brassiere garcon fall upon the less wealthy class of our citizens, chiefly upon the non-slaveholder. Mirroring the impact of the original Monsieur Dior's 1947 New Look across the spectrum of fashion, there are few collections shown today that are not in some way a reaction to Simons's designs. The information I have gathered little by little has completely reassured me. Onward, forward and so forth! [1]. Under the deal, Under Armour becomes the official footwear supplier for the league. Looking at it you would have allowed at once that twenty years must have elapsed since its last meal. I'm going to go everywhere I need to go to make sure Flint is remembered. And every day on the trail was followed by a deep black night sky awash with stars, yet another reminder of nature's humbling grandeur and the Bugaboos enduring beauty.. Stannis Baratheon had descended on the Iron Fleet biciclete pret from both north and south whilst they were trapped in the channel between the island and the mainland, dealing Victarion his most crushing defeat. I can’t command you to be brave, but I can command you to hide your fears. He kept on talking so . By any standard, James was brilliant that night, what with 45 points and 15 rebounds in an elimination game on the road. Should the hour come, and I pray that it does not, we will light that beacon. I just want the damned numbers but I cannot seem to find them anywhere on the Post's vaunted Political webpage.. I will even write King Tommen, stating as much and asking for a pardon and the restoration of my lands and titles. It's maybe why I gave you the handle "Beautiful" so "if the shoe fits wear it," Cinderella, or "call em like you see em" I miss you, I miss your slow walk I miss your squeeze, I miss your shape, I miss the scent that is you, and I miss your taste, thick and full of my desire, I miss your love.

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bisexualpirateheart · 8 years ago

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182. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”-silverflint

Your Hips, Your Lips, Your Skin On Mine

“I’m probably going to have to cancel my class.” Flint propshis phone against his chin while he tries to balance his coffee and unlockinghis front door at the same time. He nudges the package that had been waitingoutside his apartment inside the door with his foot. At least it hadn’t beenleft in the snow this time. You’d think they’d know better than to leave artsupplies outside in December, but nope.

“What, why?”

“Apparently Idelle is getting married and she has to fly toBelize to do it.” Flint rolls his eyes. He still can’t believe it’s happening.It had come out of nowhere. He hadn’t even realized she was engaged, whichapparently she hadn’t been before yesterday. It was all a little rushed in hisopinion. Who the fuck just gets engaged and married like that?

“Anyway, it’s a shame cause it’s the last class of thesemester, but it’s too late to find a fucking replacement.” He sets his coffeedown on the counter and sighs.

There’s a pause from Max’s end and then, “I could get you amodel.”

“What? Really?”

“I mean.” Max hesitates. “Maybe.”

He can see her making her “considering shit from all angles”face even over the phone. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch except…some people are dicks.”

“What?”

“He has a disability. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No.” Flint says promptly. “All I need is a body that mystudents can draw.”

“Well, when you say it like that.” Max says and laughs.“I’ll talk to him and let you know.”

“You would be a lifesaver. I’ll owe you forever.”

“Mmm, I’ll remember that.”

Flint ends the call and takes a sip of coffee. Jesus, ifthis works maybe his whole fucking day isn’t ruined after all. Usually he hasbackup models but it’s the end of the semester and no one has time foranything. And all because Idelle had to go get fucking engaged and fly tofucking Belize to get fucking married.

Max calls him back an hour later and says her friend will beavailable to model.

“I gave him your studio address.” Max pauses. “And, uh,James…”

“What is it?”

“Just…be nice, all right?”

“I’m always nice to the models.”

“Nice and brusque don’t mean the same thing, you do knowthat right?”

“Look, I appreciate this man filling in so much, honestly Icould kiss him.”

“If you just pay him and say thanks, I think that will beenough.” Max says dryly. “Talk to youlater.”

“Later.” Flint says and ends the call.

* * *

Twenty minutes before class starts there’s a knock at the studiodoor.

“Come in.” Flint calls distractedly, setting the last easelup. He’s so thankful it’s the last class of the season. Everything’s been toobusy of late and he’s been so preoccupied. He just wants it to be done with sohe can start planning for next semester. Oh, and celebrate the holidayssomewhere in there. Maybe he’ll go somewhere warm for Christmas. Maybe not.Maybe he’ll just sleep and read and cook a lot of pasta.

“Hi.”

Flint looks up and it’s like time stops. He’s read thatphrase in novels a hundred times and scoffed at it every single time, but thisis the first time he’s understood precisely what it means. He’s aware of thedelicate frost on the windowpanes, the whole length of the studio with theeasels and drawing papers arranged around the platform. He’s aware of the airitself, a little too warm because he knows modeling nude in the winter isterrible, and he wants the model to be comfortable.

He wants the model.

That’s the full stop of that sentence in his mind. He wantsthe model.

Flint hasn’t seen a man this attractive in…ever. He’s neverseen a man this beautiful. How has he gone his whole life without gazing atthis man?

“Um.” He’s forgotten how to speak.

“John Silver.” The model says, holding out his hand. “Maxsaid you had a modeling emergency.”

“I, yes. Yes.” Flint nods. He crosses over to shake theman’s hand and that’s a mistake because now he’s touching him and Silver’s handfits perfectly in his, his fingers smooth and warm, his palm resting with justthe right amount of pressure against Flint’s. “I really appreciate this. Youhave no idea.”

He has to let go before it gets creepy. Don’t make it creepy, he tells himself.

“No worries.” Silver gives him a blinding smile. “Anythingfor Max.” He looks around the studio curiously. “Do you want me to change inhere or?”

Oh god, oh god, oh no,no, no no. Flint is going to see this man nude. He’s not sure he can takeit.

“There’s a bathroom through there.” Flint gestures towardsthe door.

“Thanks.” Silver smiles again and heads for it.

“It’s Flint. By the way.” Flint says belatedly.

Silver turns around. “Sorry?”

Flint clears his throat. “My name. It’s Flint.”

Silver grins. “Yeah, I figured.” He goes into the bathroomand closes the door.

Flint turns and goes over to press his head against the coldwindowpane. What the absolute fuck. What is he supposed to do?

Oh god, he’s going to get a chance to draw Silver naked.He’ll have to do charcoal. No…maybe just simple pencil. Flint’s caught up inthinking which will do Silver’s lines justice when Silver comes out of thebathroom in a plain dark blue robe that falls just above his knee.

And just as belatedly as he remembered his own name, Flint alsoremembers what Max said.

Silver’s left leg ends just below the knee. He has a skin-toneplastic prosthetic attached with light pink straps and he seems equally at easewith it showing as he was when he was wearing pants.

“Where do you want me?”

Anywhere. Everywhere.Flint swallows the words before he can say them. He will not be the grossartist who makes inappropriate advances towards the naked model, he will not.He refuses to do that. For the last fifteen years he’s been completelyprofessional with every model he’s come into contact with, whether he’s hiringthem for his classes, or personal art studies, and he will not ruin that streakwith one of Max’s friends.

“Um, yes. Over there.” Flint nods to the bench placed on theslightly raised platform.

It’s hard to breathe and he takes a moment to rearrange hispencils and brushes before he looks at the model again. This is going to beimpossible. How is he supposed to focus with a man like that in front of him?

Silver stretches and rolls his shoulders and Flintsuppresses the faint soft sigh that rises to his lips at the motion. “With myprosthetic on or off?”

“Which are you more comfortable with?” Flint says. Eitherone is a good exercise for his students. He can already envision the slightlydarker pencil strokes of the prosthetic against the paler shade for Silver’sform.

Silver shrugs. “I can go either way.” he says, and grins.

Flint pretends he didn’t hear that. There’s no way Silveractually meant that the way it sounds.

“Um….” Flint considers. “Off then? If that works?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Silver says cheerfully.

He starts to lean down to unfasten it and the robe falls slightlyopen and Flint looks away immediately. He’s the teacher here. He’s seen tons ofnaked people, professionals who are perfectly comfortable being nude aroundother people, and there’s no reason that he shouldn’t be able to focus on theart itself.

But my god.

Just that flash of svelte thigh and brief shot of dark hairat Silver’s groin makes Flint’s entire body tingle with pure lust.

Silver sits on the bench and sets the prosthetic aside. Thestump where his leg ends is puckered faintly in a feathery rough scar. For somereason Flint thinks he would like to kiss Silver there, and tell him howgrateful he is that he’s alive, whatever happened in the past, Silver’s alivehere and now, and the world is brighter for it. Obviously Flint doesn’t dothat, but he’d like to.

* * *

The students start coming in and Flint’s grateful for thedistraction. The sooner the class starts, the sooner it can be done and he cango bury his head under a pillow and scream with lust and frustration.

“Today we have John modeling for us.” Flint nods at him.“Idelle apparently is too busy being out of the country and getting married.”

There’s a murmur of conversation and congratulation, and hetunes it out, focusing instead on the way Silver’s smiling at the room. Christ,he’s even more devastating when he smiles. How is this fair?

“All right.” Flint says finally when he realizes the roomhas grown quiet while he’s been gazing at Silver. “Take your places and let’s getstarted.”

He turns back to Silver who raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Anyway.” Flint gestures vaguely at the bench. “Just takeany position that’s comfortable for you.”

Silver glances up at him, his lips twitching faintly withamusement and he hears what he said.

“Uh.”

“I’m fine with whatever.” Silver tells him. “Really. How doyou want me?”

Flint takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can. He walksover to Silver to show him. “Sitting upright. One leg drawn up, your handhere.” He arranges Silver’s body quickly and impersonally with his hands, notlingering over his skin at all, for once lost in the pleasure of havingsomething satisfying to focus on. Silver’s completely relaxed under hisdirection and Flint warms to him even more.

“There.” Flint steps back. “Good?”

“Works for me.” Silver grins at him.

“All right then.” Flint turns around quickly. A man couldlose his heart to a smile like that.

* * *

And then Silver loses the robe and resumes the pose andFlint is lost.

It’s not like Silver’s face is even completely symmetrical.It’s all his slightly off angles that draw Flint in. his mouth is a little toobroad, his smile slightly curved to one side. His curls a little too thick andtangled and his nipples are oddly perfect. It’s annoying how attractive theyare. If a student had just imagined those nipples, Flint would have told themthey were unrealistic.

They just are.

It’s fucking annoying how much all he wants to do is throwhis students out and stretch Silver into every pose available and spend all nightpainting him. Painting. Flint hasn’t painted in years. He’s mostly just teachingthese days and sketching in his spare time now. He hasn’t really had time togive his own art the focus he wants, or rather he hasn’t had the inspiration.And here it is right in front of him. Oh god, if he could have Silver for aweek, he’d paint all day and night until his bones ached and his fingers bleduntil Silver begged for Flint to let him move.

Flint would let him move of course, he would let Silver doanything he wanted, and then he’d lay him down upon his sheets and touch him –with his fingertips and lips and body until Silver writhed under him withpleasure.

Flint blinks and returns to where he is. The room is alittle too warm all of a sudden and he wants to go out into the biting air toregain his equilibrium and he can’t. The room is warm enough for Silver, tokeep his bare limbs from freezing on this December day and Flint won’t changethe temperature just because his idiotic imagination’s in complete overdrive.

He does duck into the back room for a moment to chug half abottle of water and try to get himself under control.

It works partially.

Silver’s eyes definitely travel to him when he comes backinto the room and Flint meets his gaze as best as he can: neutrally, like anartist. Silver’s just another classically breathtaking piece of art for him toadmire. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong about admiring art.

* * *

The first half of the classes passes all too quickly. Silveris a dream of a model. He’s perfectly composed, he doesn’t break his pose andhe’s beautiful to look at. Why the fuck hasn’t Max suggested him before?Flint’s definitely going to ask as soon as he has a chance.

He walks around the classroom, just observing as thesketches and paintings begin to emerge. While he does that, Flint’s constantly awareof Silver out of the corner of his eye. The sinuous swell of his thigh, withhis drawn up leg, and the way his forearm rests across it, like he’s gazing outover a faraway distance. Flint’s fingers itch to imagine what he’s seeing andjust like that he has to return to his own drawing table to quickly sketch afew lines before he loses the chance.

* * *

They break for ten minutes, with the students all going nextdoor to get a coffee, and Flint watches Silver stretch and tries not to beobvious with his staring.

Silver fits his prosthetic back on and pulls his robe on. “Mindif I walk around?”

“Of course not.” He watches Silver walk around the room, andgod, he’s going to fucking die.

Silver looks more at the studio itself than the easels thatcontain art based on him. He looks at the prints Flint has displayed on hiswalls, and the view from the windows, and the books on the bookshelf in thecorner, before he turns back around.

“Sorry, just needed a bit of a stretch.”

“That’s fine.” Flint says. “Doing all right? Need anywater?”

“Thanks.” Silver watches him as Flint gets him a waterbottle.

Now that he knows what the body under the robe looks like,Flint’s even more aware of Silver every time he moves.

“Were you okay earlier?” Silver asks abruptly.

“What?” Flint starts.

“It’s just you looked a little flushed and you disappearedfor a bit, and I just wanted to make sure.” Silver trails off. “There’s been thisbug going around and Max keeps almost getting it and everyone is poppingvitamin c like it’s crack, you know, nobody wants to get sick for theholidays.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m fine.” Flint says.

“Oh.” Silver says. “That’s good.” His gaze lingers on Flintfor a moment.

Flint clears his throat. “Yeah.”

* * *

The second half of the class is focused on Silver in adifferent pose. Silver sits with his back half to them, his head turnedslightly to one side, his hair shadowing his face. The smooth line of his backis unbearably lovely all the way down to the curve of his ass and Flint wantsto part those cheeks with his fingers, sliding his tongue down along the cleftof that perfect ass and make Silver fucking scream.

Flint takes a moment to draw another quick sketch of his ownbecause he can’t bear the thought that he’ll never see Silver again, never havea chance to draw him again.

He takes another circle around the room, making commentswhere it’s needed, offering a word here and there. Most people are taking hisclass simply for requirements or even fun, and Flint doesn’t fault them forthat. He doesn’t know what to do with them to be honest, but he’s not going tocrush their dreams just because they can’t paint a bowl of grapes like Monet.There are a few serious students and he gives them a smidge more attention andcriticism.

And then there are the assholes who think they’re actuallygood when really every breath they take is simply a waste of time upon thisearth.

“You’re ignoring the lower half.” Flint says slowly. Not somuch ignoring it, but simply drawing it differently. Dufresne has drawn Silverwith two completely able legs.

“I’m not ignoring it. I simply didn’t want to draw it as itwas.” Dufresne says back. He looks bored like he can’t believe they’re havingthis conversation. To be fair, he was the one who once said art was the expressionof a soul when it has nothing to say and Flint couldn’t even begin to parse themeaning or lack thereof behind that.

Flint’s eyes narrow. “Care to explain that comment?”

Dufresne shrugs. “I’m not taking art to draw ugly things. Idon’t want to draw a cripple.”

The word hangs bluntly in the air and Flint feels his handclenching tightly at the sound of it. He can’t punch a student. That would bewrong. In spite of the fact that he’s put up with Dufresne all semester, it’sstill unfathomable to Flint that the man would think making a remark like thatwould be even remotely acceptable. He doesn’t punch Dufresne, which he vaguelyprides himself on. He doesn’t grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag himover in front of Silver to beg his forgiveness for even opening his ignorantmouth in the face of such beauty.

Flint doesn’t do any of that.

What he does do is move in closely until he sees Dufresnereact visibly, body tensing at the sheer proximity of Flint, and then he leansin just a fraction more.

“Get the fuck out of my class room. Collect your gear and go.” He leans evencloser and Dufresne takes a step back. “If you even think about coming back,you’ll regret it.”

Dufresne nearly stumbles as he turns and practically runsaway from the easel. He grabs his coat from the row of coat hooks and runs outinto the winter air.

Flint takes a deep breath and then looks over his shoulderat Silver.

Only to find that Silver’s just looking at him, like hedoesn’t care about anything that just happened. He’s barely moved from hisoriginal pose. It’s only to a pair of perceptive eyes like Flint’s who arrangedhis pose in the first place that would even notice the slight differences, thefaint shifting of his leg, the subtle tension in his wrist as his arm rests alittle further on his knee.

How can he not care what just happened?

Flint turns around and looks at the remaining students. “Thecomments Mr. Dufresne just expressed are unwelcome in my studio. If any of youshare those opinions with him, you are welcome to leave as well.”

No one else moves.

“Good.” Flint says curtly. “Then we’ll continue.” He pausesand then looks quickly at Silver. “As long as you still want to.”

“Of course.” Silver says. In the next moment he’s returned completelyto his original pose and there’s nothing about his appearance to suggestanything has even happened.

Flint keeps watching him for the rest of the class, butSilver is a complete professional.

* * *

What’s ridiculous is just how wrong Dufresne is. Even if you weren’t attracted to men, you’d thinkSilver was beautiful, and Flint is very much attracted to men. But all on hisown, simply just existing, Silver is breathtaking. He has perfect form and justwith a few movements, he’s able to completely change his persona. A tilt of hishead this way, a crease of his mouth in that direction, and it’s like he’s acompletely different person. He has the students cracking up at the end of theclass when they start trying to get him to pose like famous art.

Flint finds himself smiling once or twice and then he sees Silverglance at him and he quickly ducks his head down, feeling his cheeks redden.

The last thing Silver will want after Dufresne’s comments ismore unwelcome attention.

* * *

Finally the session is done and Flint wraps it up, remindingeveryone that anyone who did a painting today that they can pick up theirpieces the day after tomorrow, and that he’ll have grades out by the end of theweek. A few students linger to tell him how much they’ve enjoyed the class andFlint barely has time to be aware of Silver pulling on his robe and slippingoff to the bathroom to get dressed.

As the last student leaves and Flint’s packing away hispencils, he hears the bathroom door open and close.

He looks up to see Silver standing there.

Silver in clothes is almost more unbearable than seeing himnude. The tattered plaid shirt he’s wearing over a plain black t-shirt. The wayhe sweeps his hair back into a ponytail. His worn jeans clinging softly to hisbody. If Flint saw him in a bar, he would make unreasonable excuses to himselfas to why he shouldn’t hit on him and then want to hit on him anyway. Silverwas meant to be worshipped and Flint can hear Hozier playing softly in thebackground porno of his brain.

Silver’s looking at his phone for a second as a curl driftspast his cheek and Flint imagines being the one lucky enough to tuck it backbehind his ear before he leaned down to kiss Silver’s cheek, pressing his bodyagainst Silver’s back, the entire length of his form fitting to Silver’s likehe was meant to.

A pencil cracks under Flint’s grip and he stares down atlike it betrayed him.

Silver looks at him worriedly. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Flint says. It doesn’t matter that evenhis art supplies think it’s been too long since he got laid.

Silver smiles a little. “Good session, I thought.”

“Look,” Flint starts. “I’m…sorry for what happened earlier. Whathe said.” He should have made Dufresne apologize, but he wouldn’t have meant itand somehow Flint knows that Dufresne himself doesn’t matter to Silver. It’sstill the principle of thing.

Silver shrugs. “I’ve heard worse.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Silver looks at him thoughtfully. “They’re paying you toteach this class, right?”

“Yeah.” Flint doesn’t see how that’s relevant.

“So you just tossed out a paying student? Why?”

“Because he was rude and ableist, and frankly, between youand me his art is terrible.” The last part just comes out because somehow, forsome reason, just throwing him out because of Silver doesn’t seem enough whenSilver’s looking at him with those intense blue eyes. Like Silver doesn’t thinkit was worth it. How can he think that,Flint thinks. How can he not know howmuch he matters?

Silver laughs. “Really.” He shakes his head. “Not a lot ofpeople would have done that. Technically he was just expressing his opinion.”

“Which was garbage.” Flint says coolly. “If he didn’t wantto draw your leg as it was, he could have come up with a hundred ways to workwith it, instead of simply erasing the existence of your stump.” He pauses.“But you don’t get anywhere in life, as an artist, or as a human, by ignoringhow things actually are and pretending they are different just because it suitsyou to do so.”

“Really.” Silver says again after a moment. “And how arethings?”

“Dufresne should havebeen grateful that he even got to lay eyes on you.” Flint wants to say, buthe keeps that comment to himself. It’s borderline inappropriate, he’s borderline inappropriate here andhe promised Max that he would be nice. He’s already ruined that by allowingDufresne in the same room with Silver.

“Realistic.” He says. “Just because you are the first modelwith a disability we’ve had this semester, doesn’t make it any more acceptablefor Dufresne to make comments about you, than it was for him to comment onIdelle’s body.”

“What?”

“My regular model, the one who’s getting married in Belize.”Flint shrugs. “Honestly, he only started with those comments after she turnedhim down for a date, but it really just showed how much of an ass he was. I’dhave kicked him out sooner but Idelle enjoyed seeing how much she could makehim squirm during class.” He shrugs again.

“Huh.” Silver says. “Well, anyway. It’s okay. Just so youknow, I’d happily model for you, or your class anytime.”

There’s just enough of a pause between ‘you’ and the words‘or your class’ to make them really sink in and Flint considers all the ways hecould see that happening before remembering this is Max’s friend and he’s aprofessional and he’s not going to fuck this up.

“Right, yeah, cool.” Flint says, and then winces. Did hereally just say cool?

Silver comes closer and then he leans into Flint’s drawingspace. “So…did you draw me?”

Flint swallows. “I may have made a few preliminary sketches.I mean, I had the class to consider, but I needed to…to….” Needed to make a memory so that I would always have you like that.

He wants Silver flat on his back with his arms thrown highabove his head, his mouth open in a loud moan, his eyes closed tight againstcoming, his stomach taut, his thighs wide, and a hand spread possessively overhis lower belly, a head over his crotch, moving steadily over his dick.

Flint looks down at the broken pencil on his table. He stillcan’t believe he did that and yet, it really seems like it’s been a while.

“It’s all right.” Silver says. “I’d like to see themsometime.”

“Mmm.” Flint says. “I don’t really show unfinished stuff toanyone.” He knows he’s being a dick now, and he knows this is what Max tried towarn him about, but he can’t help it.

Silver looks slightly disappointed but nods. “I get it.Anyway, I should be going.”

Flint realizes he’s forgetting something. “One sec.” He goesover to his desk and gets out his checkbook. He writes a check quickly andbrings it over to Silver. “Thank you again for stepping in at the last minute.I really appreciate it.”

“Like, I said,” Silver takes the check from him, hisfingertips brushing the back of Flint’s hand ever so briefly as he does.“Anytime.”

And then he’s gathering his bag and putting on his coat andgoing out into the falling snow.

Flint sighs and finally lets himself slump against thedrawing desk. What the fuck.

He wants a cup of tea so he ducks upstairs to his flat,which is just above his studio only to remember that he’s completely out ofmilk.

With a sigh he pulls on his coat and goes back down stairsand goes outside. The snow is light but steady and Flint curses it as he makeshis way to the corner store, buys a carton of milk and heads back home.

As he nears his doorway, he notices what he somehow missedbeforehand on his way to the shop. The figure huddling slightly in the doorwaynext to his studio, hunched over their phone. Silver’s still there.

“Um.” Flint pauses. “Is everything okay?”

Silver looks up. “What? Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”

It’s clearly not fine. His coat is thin and he’s shivering,exactly how Flint had worried that he’d shiver in his studio if it wasn’t warmenough.

“Then why are you still here?” Flint asks bluntly.

“The bus is delayed and I don’t have enough cash for a cab.”Silver’s mouth thins. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying about it.” Flint bites back. He’s not. Butwhy didn’t Silver just come back inside for fuck’s sake? “Come in out of thesnow to wait for the bus then.”

Silver gives him a look and then another at his phone andthen sighs and shrugs. “Fine.” Like he’s doing Flint a fucking favor byaccepting this suggestion.

Flint’s so annoyed at him that he almost doesn’t admireSilver’s ass in those jeans. Almost.

“Up the stairs.” Flint nods when Silver starts towards thestudio door. “I have an apartment above the studio.”

Silver gives him a look but goes.

Flint shows him in. “Make yourself at home. I was going tomake some tea.” He brandishes the milk like he had to have an excuse to havebeen out in the first place. “Do you want tea?”

“Sure.” Silver says.

Flint eyes him. “I can make coffee if you’d prefer.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s no trouble.”

“Really?”

“I said it was no trouble.”

“Coffee then.” Silver says and grins again, that grin thatmakes Flint a little too aware of his tongue in his own mouth and how it feelswhen he’s kissing someone, how it feels when he’s losing himself in a favoritesong, how much he wants to taste Silver.

He leads the way into the kitchen and Silver follows.

Flint puts the milk in the fridge and busies himself gettingthe coffee started. “So how do you know Max?”

“Art school.” Silver says, watching him. “How do you knowher?”

“Art school.” Flint says and smiles faintly. “She was mymodel for the first half of a semester and then I realized she was way moreuseful as a TA and then that evolved somehow, and I recommended her to a friendof mine and now she’s running his art studio.” And dating his girlfriend, butthere you go.

“Really.” Silver looks at him with new respect. “So that wasyou who got her that job.”

“I didn’t get her anything.” Flint says firmly. “I just introducedthem. Max got the job because she’s good at what she does.”

“Mmm, that she is.” Silver nods. “And what about you?”

“Mm, what?” Flint says.

Silver’s gazing at him thoughtfully. “Are you good at whatyou do?”

“It depends on what I’m doing.” Flint says, feeling the heatgathering in his groin and his belly.

Silver smiles, like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear. “I’dlike to see those sketches now.”

And for some inexplicable reason, Flint shows him.

He lays them on the kitchen table and finishes making the coffeewhile Silver studies them.

Silver’s brow furrows. “You drew me on a ship?”

“Look, I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it felt right.”He didn’t have the time to fill it all in, but it’s perfect in his opinion. Inthe sketch Silver’s half reclining, stretched out on a window seat in a ship’s cabin,gazing out an open window at the rolling waves below him. Flint had left thestump bare in that one, dressed him loose breeches and a shirt open to thechest, placing a crutch at one side of the window seat.

“Huh.” Silver says. “Interesting.” He looks up at Flintcuriously.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that.” Silver shakes his head. “I like seeing howpeople see me. It shows me what they think.”

“Like Dufresne.” Flint murmurs.

“Like him.” Silver nods. “I didn’t have to hear him speak toknow he was an asshole, his art gave it away.”

“And mine?” Flint asks before he can stop himself, and alsohe wants to know what Silver makes of it.

“I wouldn’t have thought of the ship aspect, but I like it.It’s imaginative, and rather romantic actually, if slightly impractical.”

“Impractical?” Flint frowns. “How so?”

“Can you imagine me on a ship?” Silver says dryly.

“Clearly I already have.” Flint says back just as dryly.

Silver grins, leaning back against the counter. “If I didn’tknow any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

“What?” Flint stares at him, feeling his face heat up again.

“Drawing me like that, like I’m just sitting there,daydreaming, waiting for some fierce pirate captain to rescue me and carry meaway on his ship. Almost like you were being my protector earlier, defending mefrom the dicks of the world.” Silver smiles, but there’s a faint edge to it.“It’s all very sweet, but you didn’t have to do that. I don’t need anyone toprotect me.”

“I never said you did.” Flint begins. He hadn’t meant itlike that; he can tell Silver can look after himself. “That doesn’t meansomeone shouldn’t take a stand when other people are dicks.”

“Good.” Silver says. “You do want to fuck me though.”

“Well.” Flint says. “Yes.”

He can’t help being honest about that.

“All right.” Silver says. “Let’s fuck.”

Flint blinks at him slowly. “I’m sorry?”

Silver smiles and reaches out a hand to brush up Flint’schest. “I like how you see me.” He says softly and leans up to kiss Flint.

* * *

The snow is still falling outside the window as Flint leads Silver into thebedroom. Even though he’s seen Silver naked before, this moment is new, thisprivate undressing, just here the two of them. Flint’s expressly aware of everymovement he’s making, every motion between them until Silver’s standing therenaked, looking up at him, and Flint’s heart beats a little too quick in hischest, like he’s just crossed a finish line for a race he wasn’t even aware hewas running.

“Where do you want me?” Silver whispers, teasingly.

And Flint slides his hands down to cup his ass, lifting him,and laying him down on the bed.

“Right here.”

Now he can do what he wants. He kiss Silver’s mouth, tastinghim, he can let his hands drift down his body, reveling in the gloriousness ofit. He can kiss Silver’s nipples, feeling them harden under his tongue’sministrations and then he grazes them with his teeth and Silver exhalesshakily.

“I need you to fuck me now.”

“In a minute.” Flint says, licking his left nipple again.

“This is torture.” Silver complains.

“Torture.” Flint raises an eyebrow. “Hardly. Torture waswatching you all afternoon, so close and yet so far out of my reach, knowing Icouldn’t touch you like I wanted. I could show you true torture.”

Silver grins at him. “Is that right?”

Flint pushes himself up to gaze down at him. “Is that achallenge?”

“I don’t tend to let people tie me up on the first date.”Silver says.

That’s a challenge; Flint can hear it in his voice and heanswers it readily. “Maybe on the second then.”

There’s a swell of pleasure in Silver’s eyes and then hereaches for Flint, drawing his mouth down to kiss again. “Seriously though, Ido need your dick in me now.”

“All right, all right.” Flint says, like it’s a hardship.Something’s hard at any rate, but no one has ever compared his cock to a shipthankfully.

He fetches the lube from his bedside table and slicks hisfingers. Silver’s already spread his legs and Flint slips a finger inside,watching his face as he does so.

Silver bites his lip as Flint stretches him. “More.”

So Flint adds a second finger and then a third, simplyenjoying the feel of Silver’s body under his and then finally, because he can’tresist, he strokes his prostate, just a slight brush of his fingertips andSilver gasps.

“That’s unfair.”

Flint grins and removes his fingers. He leans over and grabsa condom from the drawer. He turns back to see Silver gazing at him with anexpression that is pure lust.

Flint’s grin widens as he rolls the condom on. He positionshimself between Silver’s thighs. The first thrust is a little awkward and theyswitch angles slightly, until Silver nods approvingly.

Flint moves steadily in him, still slightly amazed this ishappening. He moves faster, caught up in the moment, even as he wants toprolong it. Silver shifts faintly beneath him, a frown creasing his forehead,giving Flint pause.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just a faint crick in my hip. It’s nothing.”

“Here.” Flint says, easing out of him. “Let me trysomething.”

He turns Silver easily on his side, sliding into him againfrom that angle. “How’s that?” It feels like heaven to him, but he wants Silverto be comfortable, so he doesn’t move until Silver says it’s all right.

“Much better, thanks.” Silver says, pushing back againstFlint’s cock, sinking further on it. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

Flint growls, gripping his hips tightly. He thrusts deeperinto Silver with even, tortuous strokes until his balls slap against Silver’sass. Silver moans, rocking back on his cock as he turns his head to kissFlint’s lips. His tongue slides hungrily into Flint’s mouth and Flint lets himset the pace as they move.

Flint encircles his dick with his hand, stroking Silver offas they fuck a little too fast, a little too needy, but needing the speed andthe friction, letting it build until Silver’s shouting hoarsely as he comes andFlint’s teeth sink into the curve of his neck as he joins him.

He should have asked before he did that, he thinks belatedlyand then does it again anyway, wanting to leave his mark on Silver so he won’tbe forgotten when this is done.

* * *

Flint lies on his back, catching his breath, and then herolls over. He can’t resist gazing at Silver as he is now, as he’s beenpicturing him all day.

Silver’s stretched out across his dark blue sheets, all palelimbs and dark curls. He grins lazily at Flint. “Admit it.”

“Admit what?” Flint says, just gazing at his stomach, theperfect line of it, the dark hair growing there down to his groin, and hiscock, which Flint has yet to taste and fully intends to rectify that soon. Heparticularly likes the way the mark looks on Silver’s neck.

“Admit that you want to draw me right now, just like this.”

Flint would blush if he had any blushes left, but they wereall spent in the heat of passion so now all he can do is nod weakly. It’s true. He can admit it. He’s not ashamedof his desire.

Silver stretches casually, one arm above his head, the otherresting on his chest as he gazes up at Flint, a sprawl of tousled curls andsated lust. “Then draw me.”

So Flint does. He fetches his pencils and sketchbook andsits at the end of the bed and draws Silver in stark lines and soft shadows,his eyes poring over Silver’s naked form until he’s filled several pages andfinally his fingers still and he can breathe again.

Flint sets thesketchbook aside. “Thank you for that.”

Silver smiles up at him. “I know what it’s like to dateartists.”

“Do you…” Flint murmurs, not quite jealously.

“Well.” Silver raises his other arm above his head,stretching them both with a sigh. “That’s not true. I know what it’s like to bewith an artist. It wasn’t the greatest of experiences to be honest.”

“Oh.” Flint says carefully.

Silver tilts his head and looks at him. “Hey, that hasnothing to do with you.”

“I know.” Flint says. He starts to move to the edge of thebed to get up, and Silver’s hand catches him.

“I want you.” Silver breathes, leaning in to press a kiss toFlint’s wrist. “Right now. Right here. Inside me. Again.”

“I mean, we just.” Flint says, but even as he speaks,Silver’s kissing him again, crawling onto his lap and Flint steadies him,holding as Silver rubs teasingly against his groin.

His dick’s definitely ready for another go.

Silver sinks down on him, exhaling slowly. “Fuck, you feelso good inside me.” He lets his head fall back as he rocks his hips. “I couldride your dick all night.”

Flint’s fingers squeeze his ass, making him moan. “Soundsall right to me.”

Silver chuckles breathlessly, and the sensation sends littlevibrations trembling through Flint’s body. “Sounds all right? Is that what apirate captain says?”

“I thought we weren’t doing that on the first date.” Flintmurmurs, aware of the slow steady squeeze of Silver’s body around his cock,Silver’s going to make him come too soon and he’s not ready, he doesn’t want toleave the warmth of Silver’s body. Not just yet.

“Mmmm, I forgot.” Silver catches his lower lip and sucks onit, making Flint’s cock throb harder inside him. “It’s hot. Can’t remember thetime I wanted to be on a boat.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Flintmurmurs and Silver laughs.

He keeps moving, slower and slower until Flint’s chest isheaving, straining with trying to hold out.

“Just come for me.” Silver whispers.

“I’m not wearing a condom.” Flint says belatedly. Silver hadjust sat on his dick bare and he’d let him without even a moment’s pause.

“Shit.” Silver freezes and then he looks at Flint. “Youdon’t have to believe me, but I’m clean, I swear.”

“I believe you.” Flint reaches up to brush that tantalizing curlback behind his ear. “Same.”

“So it’s okay?” Silver looks unsure.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” Flint asks.

Silver pushes himself up, rising almost all the way offFlint’s dick and then sinking back down. “I want nothing else.”

Flint stifles his groan and comes, Silver squeezing sotightly around him, he wants to scream aloud until they hear him in the streetbelow.

When Silver finally lets him slip out of him, Flint flipshim on his back, trapping him on the bed.

Silver gazes up at him with mirth in his eyes, waiting.

Flint just grins and then captures his dick with his mouth. Twocan play at this game.

Silver groans, hips bucking up against Flint’s mouth, as hisfinger slide through Flint’s wavy hair. “Mm, yeah, just like that, fuck, Flint,fuck, yeah.”

Flint wants to listen to him all night. He slings Silver’sthighs over his shoulders as he goes down on him, fingers teasing at Silver’sballs until Silver gasps and, his hand tightens in Flint’s hair. That’s all thewarning Flint gets before Silver’s coming down his throat and he swallows it,watching Silver’s face, as beautiful in this surrender as a full moon on a darkwinter’s night.

He kisses the tip of Silver’s dick when he lets it go, andthen Silver’s thigh, and then presses a final kiss to Silver’s stump before hesits up.

“Fuck, that was good.” Silver murmurs drowsily. And then helooks at the clock. “Shit, I have to be going.”

“Oh.” Flint says. “Um…is there another bus?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

“Look, I can give you cash for the cab.” Flint says. “I knowa check isn’t really convenient, but I didn’t have the full amount in cash onme. I have enough for a cab though.”

Silver looks at him, biting his lip as he considers Flint’soffer, and then sighs. “You know what….I’ll take it.”

Flint gets his wallet, feeling slightly jubilant as thoughhe’s won something by Silver accepting this. Instinctively, he knows Silverwouldn’t have accepted this from just anyone and it matters that he’s lettingFlint do this for him.

It’s not until he’s watching Silver get dressed that itactually sinks in what he’s just done. He fucked one of his models, not evenjust that, but a friend of Max’s. And even beyond that, he led Silver tobelieve there would be a second date when really, there shouldn’t have evenbeen a first one. Not that this was a proper date obviously.

“Um.” Flint says… He wants to say he’ll call Silver. Hewants to say so many things, but he can’t do any of that.

Silver’s younger than him. He could be with anyone he wanted.Flint works all the time, has no patience for people and no time for arelationship and occasionally a penchant for reciting poetry when he’s drunk. He’dbe a terrible boyfriend.

“So,” Silver says after a moment. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Flint says.

Silver reaches up and kisses him, a soft melting kiss thatmakes Flint want to clasp him to him and never let him go.

* * *

Two nights later, Flint finds himself at the bar where Annesaid they were going to meet for drinks, and then only cancelled them afterFlint was already there, so instead he’s just here drinking alone and thinkingof Silver. He can’t stop thinking about Silver.

He wants to see him again, but it would be a disaster. Hecan’t date Silver; he can’t date anyone. He was meant to be a hermit, alonewith his art.

“I see you didn’t find out drinks were cancelled until itwas too late either.” Jack drops onto the stool next to him, waving at thebartender. “Can I get a gin and tonic? Thankyou.”

“Hello, Jack.” Flint says, finishing his whiskey and raisinghis hand for another as well.

“Hello, James.” Jack says. He looks at him critically.“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Flint reaches gratefully for his freshdrink as they arrive.

“Something’s clearly wrong.”

“I had a thing. And it went wrong. And that is what’swrong.”

“Well, that was illuminating.” Jack nods. “Extremelyhelpful. Look.” He takes a generous sip of his drink. “Tell Daddy all aboutit.”

“I am not telling you a single thing unless you promise tonever refer to yourself as daddy ever again.” Flint makes a face.

Jack laughs and nods. “Just tell me then.”

Flint hesitates and then he decides what the hell. He mightas well tell someone and Jack’s had relationships. That’s a key component here.Actually having had a relationship in the last five years that had actuallylasted, which is not something Flint’s had or even thought about having. Hejust doesn’t date and usually it didn’t matter. Now it matters.

So he tells Jack the whole story, omitting a few details,such as Silver’s name, and the fact that it was Max who suggested him, and thefact that they were friends. Jack doesn’t need to know everything.

“And then he just drops the robe.” Flint gestures. “And it’sall gorgeous naked skin and he’s so gorgeous. Like a greek god, you know?”

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Jack tips his drink back. “I takeit the sex was had.”

“It was GOOD.” Flint says loudly. “Really GOOD.”

“I said HAD, not BAD.” Jack sighs and squints at his emptyglass. “We need more alcohol.”

“Yes, that we need.” Flint says. He doesn’t know why hedoesn’t talk to Jack more; he should talk to Jack all the time. It’s so easy totalk to Jack. “Did I tell you how beautiful his ass was?”

“Only a mere four times.” Jack sighs.

“Made in heaven.” Flint sighs too. “Meant to be held andcaressed and bitten. You have never seen an ass this beautiful, Jack, I’mtelling you.”

* * *

In the morning, Flint regrets his hangover and he regretsspilling his guts to Jack, and mostly he regrets that he ever gave in to theimpulse to sleep with Silver in the first place.

He resigns himself to not dwelling on the model anymore.It’s nearly the new year. It’ll be a fresh start.

He can’t bring himself to get rid of his sketches of Silverthough, so instead he tucks them in an old sketchbook and leaves them there.

* * *

On New Year’s Eve Flint stands on the doorstep outside Max apartment,balancing a bottle of wine and trying to act cheerful. It’s New Year’s Eve. Hecan do this. He promised Max. He remembers vaguely what cheerful is supposed tolook like.

“Come in already.” Max opens the door. “It’s freezing outthere.”

“Here.” He hands her the wine.

“Thanks,” She pointedly rises up on her tiptoes and Flintsighs and bends down enough that she can kiss his cheek.

“Jeez.” Max rolls her eyes. “It’s so fucking hard to beaffectionate with you.”

“What’s eating you?”

“What’s eating me?” Max looks at him like he’s donesomething extremely stupid. “You had a perfect chance to…” She pauses.“Nevermind. Look, I promised Anne I wouldn’t talk about this tonight.”

“Not talk about what?” Flint stares at her.

“You and Silver.” She hisses.

“What?” Flint doesn’t have a fucking clue what she’s talkingabout. How did she even know about that? Had Silver told her? Shit, he hadn’tthought about that.

“Anyway. Be nice.” She says, leading the way up the stairsto the apartment.

“I’m always nice.” Flint says as he steps through the door.It was a lie, but it was a lie in the spirit of Christmas, which he felt wasexcusable under the circumstances.

“No, you’re not and I meant be nice to Silver.”

“What?” Flint stops. “He’s here?”

Max points at Anne as she comes over to them. “Told you.”

“Um, maybe.” Flint looks over his shoulder at the door. It’snot too late; he could still escape.

“Don’t even think about it.” Max says. “If you leave now, Iwill never talk to you again.” She stalks off with the wine.

“She means it.” Anne says, looking up at Flint. “You bettermake it up to her.”

“How is what happened between Silver and me…” Flint pausesas he tries to consider just how much Max might know, “how is it really herconcern?”

“Because she’s fucking friends with both of you, you idiot.”Anne shakes her head. “So don’t be a dick and go mingle.”

Flint scowls but obeys. He makes his way over to the buffettable and stares at a tower of something. He thinks it might be cheese. It’swrong whatever it is. He hates it and hopes the person who designs it islactose intolerant. They clearly don’t deserve cheese.

“What did cheese ever do to you?”

Flint turns to see Silver standing there looking at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Flint manages a strained attempt at a smile. He wantsdesperately to say something else, but what can he say? Sorry I didn’t call you after we slept together because I’m too worriedI’ll fuck everything up?

“Um,” Silver clears his throat, “Well then, I’m going to geta drink.”

“I’ll come with you.” Flint says hastily. He’s just caughtsight of Jack and the last thing he wants to do is get caught talking to Jack.He’s just remembered the last time he talked to Jack and he can’t think aboutthat now.

Silver shrugs, and they walk over to the drinks table whereFlint quickly pours himself a glass of red wine. Silver goes with a beer andfor a moment there is silence.

“So…” Silver says and then looks like he wished he hadn’t.

Flint wishes he could just stand there looking at him,Silver’s wearing a red sweater that makes Flint’s fists curl with the desire towrap his fingers in its folds and pull him closer. It looks so soft, he canonly imagine how it feels against Silver’s skin.

Silver raises a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of hishead and the sweater rides up just enough for Flint to observe that (a)he’s notwearing a shirt under it and (b) that strip of skin along the top of Silver’sjeans is as delectable as ever.

“I…need the toilet.” He says abruptly and leaves before hecan beg Silver to let him lick him.

* * *

Jack’s leaning against the wall, telling some story to agroup of people and Flint tries to skirt around him to get to the bathroom andinstead Jack draws him in and starts telling a story about the time he hadtried to surprise Anne with roses, only to end up having to get thorns removedfrom his ass. Someone, not that Jack is naming names, mind you, Maxhe coughs, had put the bouquet on the bed and no one had noticed until it wastoo late.

“That’s romance then, for you, though.” Jack saysphilosophically. “Isn’t it, James?”

“Romance is really more your thing than mine.” Flint pointsout. He’s aware that Silver’s on the edge of the small crowd listening to Jack.He needs to get out of here.

“Ah yes, that’s true. James here, is far more the type toignore romance even when it’s staring him in the face.” Jack murmursconspiratorially to one of the guests, “He was so worried about doing the wrongthing, he didn’t even call his last one night stand back to say it was the bestshag of his life.”

Flint feels himself frozen in place. Oh god. This is worsethan he could possibly imagine. He can’t look at Silver; he can’t look anywhereelse.

Silver’s gazing at Jack with a peculiar expression. “What?”

“Doncha you know? Old James here had a fantastic date a fewweeks ago and told me the whole story, about how he didn’t want to fuck it upso he just left the young man hanging, as it were. Bit rude in my opinion, butthat’s James for you, ooww!” Jack complains loudly as Max pinches him. “Whatwas that for?!”

Silver’s gaze switches to Flint who turns around and goesstraight across the room and out on the balcony. Which he immediately regretsbecause it’s freezing, but he couldn’t stay in there. It’s easier to freeze onthe balcony.

“Is that true?”

Flint turns around and finds Silver standing in the doorway,gazing at him.

“You didn’t call me because you didn’t want to fuck it up?”

Flint sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, whenyou put it like that, it does sound rather a shit reason.”

“So it’s true.”

“Yes.” Flint admits. “I just…thought it would be better ifwe didn’t see each other again. I just didn’t want to ruin it.” He looks down.

And then up again sharply as Silver starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Flint demands.

“I thought you didn’t call me because of my leg, youdumbass.” Silver says. “It wouldn’t have been the first time, but I reallythought you were different and then you didn’t call, and well.” He shrugs alittle.

“Why would you think it was because of your leg?”

“Because that happens, all right?” Silver wraps his armsaround himself, glaring at Flint. “You’d be surprised at the amount of peoplewho want to fuck me, but just once, just for the experience. Fucking the prettyone-legged model. It gets old.” He looks down.

There’s snow falling on his hair and on his sweater.

Flint hesitates and then he moves closer. “That’s not why Ididn’t call, I swear to you.”

Silver huffs a little under his breath without looking up.“Does it matter why you didn’t? You still didn’t.”

“That’s true.” Flint concedes. “I suppose it matters if youstill want me to call.” He catches his breath, unsure of what he’s doing, butunable to bear the expression on Silver’s face another moment.

Silver hesitates and then looks up at him. “I still wantthat second date.”

Flint cups his face in his hands. “Good because I still wantto torture you until you beg for my cock.”

“Oh god, yes.” Silver moans slightly as Flint kisses him,and it’s a little early, it’s not even midnight yet, but somehow this is theirnew year starting right here, right now. Flint wraps his coat around Silver andkisses him again. In a minute, they’ll go inside, in a minute they’ll maketheir farewells and leave the party. Silver’s coming home with him tonight;somehow Flint already knows this.

But for now, here, in the falling snow and the winter cold,all he can think is the heat of Silver’s body melded with his, and how much hewanted this without even knowing it. How ready he was to fall in love.

#silverflint #ellelan #black sails fic #silverflint fic #modern au #nude modeling #brief use of ableist slur #this is all ellelan's fault

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stilljumpingback · 8 years ago

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(via Black Sails Episode 307 - XXV)

WELL-FORMED THOUGHTS

I keep wanting to prove that “civilization” is bad and the pirates are good. And I can definitely make arguments to that effect: Just this episode, we saw that civilization (personified by Woodes Rogers) is polite and reasonable when everything is going his way. He’s happy to let Jack go, “no harm done,” so long as he gets his cache. But as soon as he finds out that Spain wants Jack as well, Rogers easily betrays his promise to Jack.

There’s also Flint’s line about Rogers keeping the pirates from the beach by “keeping them in line with shame.” The perks of civilization are upheld by shaming people into submission. And when Flint refuses to submit to him, Rogers revokes pardons to the Walrus crew, thus explicitly making the pardons a means of control rather than of forgiveness.

But on the other hand…I don’t think it’s meant to be so simple as “these are the good guys and these are the bad guys.” I believe Rogers when he accidentally repeats 210 Flint: “If you insist on making me your villain, I’ll play the part.” He doesn’t WANT to do bad things, just as Flint doesn’t. This show is all about putting people into impossible situations so that their true feelings are revealed.

Perhaps the reason I empathize with the pirates so much is that they wear the worst of themselves on the outside, and slowly we see their goodness underneath, whereas civilization wears its goodness on the outside, and slowly we see its underbelly. Like Jack said, “We’re all villains in Nassau. Don’t think because you’re new you’re any different.” At least the pirates are self-aware about their darkest impulses.

FRAGMENTED THOUGHTS

Max is once more trying to convince Anne to go with her plan rather than Jack’s, and I GET IT. She’s scared that Spain is going to destroy Nassau if they don’t turn over the cache. But I’m totally empathizing with Anne’s pain and confusion here.

Flint standing at military attention while reporting to the Maroon Queen is Doing Things to my heart. Of course, he’s doing less fun things to the Queen’s heart when he suggests turning her home into a battlefield and answers her very good questions with “I don’t know yet.”

Madi joins the Walrus crew!!! But as an equal to Flint!!

Woodes Rogers wants to be the good guy so badly. But Jack eloquently and brutally puts him in his place.

Jack: Do you have a wife? Rogers: I do. Jack: How do you imagine she would feel if she were told you were suffering some awful, degrading abuse and that the only way she could end it would be to betray your trust? How do you think she would feel if she betrayed you, knowing she likely lost that trust forever, and then learned the whole thing was based on a ruse? And no one was harmed. We’re all villains in Nassau. Don’t think because you’re new you’re any different.

Max is legitimately upset that Spain now requires Jack along with the cache, meaning she lied to Anne. Eleanor fights to protect Anne, knowing how much Max loves her. THIS IS JUST SO GOOD. This is how exes should treat each other.

“That fucking chair. To gain it, it demands you win partners, call them friends, make them promises. To keep it, it demands you break them all. One day when all is settled here, we should burn that fucking chair.”

Max discusses the cost of becoming Eleanor in the same episode that Silver realizes the cost of becoming Flint! Good writing.

Max warns Eleanor that Rogers will abandon her if she continues to compromise his position with his men…so Eleanor sleeps with him (her go-to desperate power move). And I just? I know some people see their love story as great, and I can see that Eleanor does love Rogers. But this is not real love. She doesn’t trust that he loves her back. This is just Vane 2.0! I don’t ship it.

Vane finds Featherstone, who gets Idelle. I love this new, temporary triumvirate. Featherstone is worried that Rogers is a shit, and I am too!

Madi and Eme!! I love that Eme is still around, and more than that, that she’s secretly Mr. Scott’s agent! Black Sails writers, continuing to ask the good questions: “How can we make our female characters even more awesome?”

“I understand this is the place cowards come to beg forgiveness from a king. Sign your name to sleep easy, thinking all your sins have been absolved. But some sins even a king can’t make clean. You, all of you, every last rotten fuck on this island has crossed a man far less forgiving than old George will ever be. I come as his right hand. I come on a mission of mercy, to show you a path to his forgiveness. I come on behalf of Captain Flint.” “Captain Flint is dead.” “Not anymore, he’s not.”

It is VERY GOOD to have Dufresne pop up and remind us of who Silver used to be, right before Silver reminds us who he is now by stomping Dufrense’s head in. Repeatedly.

“Contented men have short memories” vs. “My name is John Silver, and I’ve got a long fucking memory” is SO GOOD.

Caregiver Flint is ALSO my favorite (along with Revolutionary Flint and Strategist Flint, if you’re keeping score), and his going to Silver and asking, “Are you alright? I wasn’t asking about the leg,” does so many things to my heart! And just like Eleanor and Max, we get two colleagues discussing the cost of power.

Flint: You were right. About the toll it took, playing this part. Losing Miranda, the things that losing Miranda drove me to. So I know what you’re feeling in the moment. Silver: I perceived its effects on you. What I assumed was sorrow, loneliness, and worst of all terror at the thing you were becoming. There is an element of this journey into the dark that I’m only now beginning to appreciate. Flint: What’s that? Silver: How good it feels.

My question is: is this true of Flint as it is of Silver? Did Flint enjoy the darkness? He explicitly told Miranda that he hated his role as Flint more and more every day. We’ve seen him do horrible things and then hide somewhere to cry. On the other hand, I have a hard time believing he doesn’t derive SOME satisfaction in what he does (especially things like destroying Charles Town). What do you think? Is Silver misreading Flint and experiencing something separate?

Mrs. Mapleton is madam again, and she reveals the origin story of Eleanor/Max! Which is basically that she suggested Eleanor get her rocks off with no emotional attachment, but then Eleanor got emotionally attached. This makes me love her even more, actually? It’s very Moulin Rouge.

Flint smiling at Rogers sitting on the beach oozes “Finally, a match for me.” This is made extra satisfying when we remember that Rogers’ plan actually came from Eleanor!

Flint’s FACE when he’s greeted with Rogers saying, “Lord Thomas Hamilton.” He was NOT expecting that. But as he is phenomenal, he regains his footing and smirks a, “Clever” at Rogers’ transparent ploy to align Flint with him.

Flint: So that’s what this is. We’re all reasonable men, we all want the same thing? You offer me a pardon, I accept it, this all ends? Rogers: Maybe. The pardons are on the table. No one is being hanged. No one’s even being tried. They’ve all been forgiven, just as you wanted. Just as Thomas Hamilton wanted. So what is it that you’re fighting for that I’m not already offering? Flint: Thomas Hamilton fought to introduce the pardons to make a point. To seek to change England. And he was killed for it. His wife and I went to Charles Town to argue for the pardons, to make peace with England, and she was killed for it. England has shown herself to me, gnarled and gray and spiteful of anyone who would find happiness under her rule. I’m through seeking anything from England except for her departure from my island.

FLINT IS STILL DEFENDING THOMAS I’M DEAD

It must feel so good to say Thomas’s name out loud, to school some arrogant guy who thinks he understands Thomas and get to say, “I know every nuance of Thomas’s plan, LET ME TELL YOU IT.”

I totally forgot how that scene with Anne played out! I was so upset for her, and then Vane appeared, and I was so relieved!

Anne and Vane (and Featherstone and Idelle) are very smart! Now that Jack and the cache are in the same place, it forces people who couldn’t care less about Jack (i.e. Flint) to rescue him in order to retrieve the cache.

It’s VERY enjoyable to see all my favorite pirates on the same ship. Jack isn’t there, but they’re talking about him, which I feel he would find satisfactory.

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vampbait-a · 8 years ago

Text

|| Cemetery Roses

|| Co-written with @cynaram and posted with permission.

It was not often that the Cemetery received visitors. Even during the day- evidence left behind was rare: the gates long closed to new interments. Official ones, anyway. Bottles, cans and other odd refuse littered the area surrounding the front gates, rarely cleared by civic officials. Only the bravest of youths would chance the grounds after sunset. No lovers found sanctuary for their kisses. It was a lonely, crumbling place, rumored to be haunted.

There were, however, the guests Laurelai planted among her roses.

She followed a stranger, one who thought himself brave and had chosen to trespass. Keeping to the shadows as he walked purposefully beneath the ruined and rose-covered arches. This was her domain- who did he think he was?!

Cabal had no particular affinity for cemeteries, or so he liked to think.

This one was uninteresting from a professional standpoint. He had no need for bones. Even someone who liked bones would have turned a nose up at these, turned to soft chalk by acidic soil.

But he had a pressing meeting with a vendor, and this had seemed like a reasonable spot: quiet, hidden, and amenable to a bit of violence if the vendor was tiresome.

Cabal had specified the northeastern corner. He hitched one hip onto a tomb, withdrew a cheroot and his silver matchbox, and prepared himself to wait. In his experience, punctuality was a virtue unknown to salespersons of extraterrestrial gases.

Ah. He must be friends with her new acquaintance. Laurelai smiled to herself at the memory of the other young man- now growing cold within her nest. This one was taller, cleaner, and decidedly more interesting.

Seating herself in full view on top of the stone arch behind him, Laurelai dangled bare feet over the edge and crossed her ankles. She was not an intimidating figure: though tall for a woman, she was slender and shapely, pale as moonlight and dressed completely in dark leather.

"You should take care not to step in the roses, cherè."

Cabal sprang up from the tomb with the speed, if not the lithesome grace, of a nymph surprised while bathing. Lit cheroot and matchbox fell from his hands as he grasped the handle of his bag and simultaneously tried to get his back to a solid surface.

Breathing hard, his spine pressed to a statue of a mourning angel, he tried to recover his dignity. He was being watched by an underdressed, acrobatic young woman without a care for the niceties. This was going to be a complication, wasn’t it?

He registered the accent and tried French. “”

Watching the human dance brought a smile to a not unlovely face; though the glitter of lavender eyes beneath raven-dark curls spoke of something less demure. Laurelai wondered if he was always so graceful, her own posture much more relaxed.

"<Are you always so nervous, darling? Look, you dropped your lovely treasure!>" He had earned points for his manners, and she smiled as she dropped to the grass some twenty feet below.

Graceful in her landing, she picked up his cheroot. She did not touch the silver matchbox, carefully avoiding the gleaming metal.

"<Have you business here? What kind?>"

He didn’t like the smile, which he suspected was at his expense. He didn’t like the ease with which she dropped to the ground. He didn’t like her taking his cheroot, though he had not planned to retrieve it.

“<Private business. It will not take long, once the other party arrives. Good evening, Mademoiselle.>” It was almost touching, his faint hope that she would return his polite good-wishes and depart.

He was not certain he had anything stronger to effect her departure. The Webley was an ungainly weight in his pocket, insurance against a double-cross, but it was an awkward deterrent and not always effective.

"Other party? There is no party here. Only me." How wonderful were his manners! Not at all like those men from the village with their bad teeth and calloused, groping hands. She walked slowly closer, smiling as she drew on the smoke.

"I am Laurelai," she purred, seeking to catch his gaze. His heart sounded like he wanted to run, and yet he appeared unphased- annoyed. How curious!

She offered him his cheroot.

"What is your name, cherè?"

When she started purring an unhappy suspicion congealed into a working theory. Oh, for the love of… she was playing with him, wasn’t she? Cabal was not adept at courtship rituals, but when it came to supernatural eating habits, this was not his first rodeo. There would be kittenish, provocative gestures of the kind that made Cabal obscurely uncomfortable, and then she would mesmerize him or use her feeding proboscis to lance him through the thyroid, or something equally recherché.

She advanced on him, forcing him to allow her closer or to flee. He imagined she would enjoy watching him nip between the tombstones, tripping over things and getting hot. The angel’s stone prayer book dug into his shoulder.

He didn’t feel like playing out the rest of the farce; he looked at her nose, as sincerely as he could. “Mademoiselle, may we dispense with the pretense? I am not easy prey, nor have I any quarrel with you. I….” She was close enough that he could smell the blood. “I see. There is no other party here.”

"You do not want any more?" Laurelai seemed disappointed that her first attempt to entrance the man was unsuccessful, but it made her all the more curious. She pouted, regarding him in silence as she finished his smoke.

"Oh, there was." Laurelai replied, sitting on a broken stone and crossing her ankles. She seemed displeased with the previous visitor, and sighed heavily. "But he was rude, and made water in my roses. I did not like him as much as I like you, cheré. You smell nice, and have manners."

“Consider it a gift,” Cabal said absently. This information, he hoped, put them on an entirely new footing. “The person you encountered earlier. Have you his effects?”

"How sweet you are! I like gifts." Laurelai decided that he was a flirt, and had begun musing over her options- undressing him with her imagination. "Oui, I have his bag." she smiled widely, displaying twelve canines that, although retracted, appeared razor-sharp. "I like you, cheré. What is your name?"

Cabal observed her fangs with displeasure. Yes. Not exactly a vampire, but too vampiric for comfort. He didn’t want to share his name. He didn’t want to risk a lie. He did not want to offend her while she had a) those fangs, and b) the substance he needed. He teetered between the options for a moment and settled unhappily on “Cabal. My name is Cabal.” He moved swiftly on to business.

“Mademoiselle Laurelai, I want a metal canister that I believe is in his bag. I came here prepared to pay him in cash. Would those terms be agreeable to you?” He hoped they would be. That would be unexpected but welcome.

"Cabal," Laurelai sighed and looked up at the stars, tasting the shape of his name on her tongue. She liked that, too, and swayed upon the broken headstone as she laughed.

The sound was pleasant- like a bell ringing between the tombs.

Then she seemed to vanish, only to reappear right in front of him.

"I have no need for money." she told him casually, noting the distinct chemical tang of gunpowder, as well as something else. "Why do you want them?"

Cabal managed not to twitch when she blinked into the air in front of him. Verdammnt vampires. You can’t look at them, and you can’t look away.

“I want the contents of the canister for my researches. That is all I will say about my work. And,” he straightened away from the stone angel, bringing them a few inches closer. He would not be intimidated, “while I want the canister, I am not willing to trade my heart’s blood for it. Do you have any other suggestions?”

"Why do you think I want your blood?" Laurelai tilted her head, inwardly impressed (and faintly amused) by Cabal's bravery. Most humans were afraid of her. She closed the gap between them, draping her arms over his shoulders and threading her fingers through his hair, as though they were lovers.

"What's in the bag?" she asked in a murmur.

“The fangs.” Curiosity arose, as unwillable as desire. “Are you not a hematophage? What is the name for your…. Do not touch me, Mademoiselle.” The small softening in his manner was replaced by flint.

He put his hand to the Webley. He didn’t struggle. Prey struggled.

"I do not know what that is,” Laurelai was drawn to his warmth, her own body as cold as a night wind, but soft and inviting. She looked confused by the sudden change in his demeanor; violet hues searching his face. Had she upset him?

Pouting, she withdrew.

"I thought you liked me. I thought we could be friends."

Cabal relaxed an iota as the predator released. “‘Friends’ is a high bar to set at first acquaintance, Mademoiselle.” He worked to calm himself. “’Hematophage’ means ‘blood-eater.’ Do you not live on blood?”

"Hmm." Laurelai sucked her lower lip as she withdrew the short distance to lounge upon the headstone once again. "You do not want to be my friend? Such a shame. I like you much better as my friend."

Then again, it might be nice to keep him around for a day or two, she mused, so nice to sleep beside a warm body.

His questions drew her from what was becoming a lurid reverie, and Laurelai breathed a heavy sigh, looking bored. "Oui," she murmured, again trying to capture his gaze. "I am Llamia."

It was a comfort, if an illusory one, to have her out of arm’s reach. Llamia. Folklore…. Vampire. Snake. Sorceress? What, Cabal wondered, would promote a useful lifespan: being the friend of such a creature, or not being her friend?

“I do not wish to disappoint you, Mademoiselle,” he temporized. “May we discuss the canister further? Tell me what you want, and perhaps I can aid you. Of,” he added, avoiding her gaze “my own free will, if you wish us to be friends.”

"Oui, the canister. It is in my nest." Laurelai ceased her attempt at mesmerism and lay down across the flat stone on one side. She regarded him expectantly, resting her chin in her hand.

He was smarter than most; it made her games more fun.

"Do you have something to trade? I like this canister, ma cheré, it is shiny."

Cabal was briefly at a loss. “I suppose I could find you something equally… shiny. Do you have all the comforts you desire? All the protections?”

Laurelai smiled, making no secret of the way her gaze wandered his figure.

"Oui, I desire... comfort." she agreed, liking his suggestion. How nice of him to offer! He was handsome, and certainly fit, she felt confident that he would make a lovely companion with his fearless manner. Laurelai wondered about his stamina, and what sorts of things he could teach her about humans. She sat up again, looking interested in what she assumed he meant.

Cabal seized on the suggestion he thought she was making with relief. “Conveniences for your lair, perhaps….” an offer of heavier clothes might be taken amiss, and she didn’t seem to suffer from the cold. “Unusual blood. The means to travel.”

"You would give me these things?" Laurelai perked up considerably, every iota of her attention now focused on the man Cabal. She rose on her haunches atop the crooked stone, her smile growing.

"Oui, mon amour, I like you very much!"

Suddenly, she had her hands on his chest- petting and purring, lavender eyes hooded as she looked up at her new paramour, nuzzling his jaw and smiling widely.

"I am happy you like me. I will give you this thing you seek."

Cabal was briefly pleased by her interest in the forms of payment he had suggested. This pleasure, all the warmth in his bones, and the faint but growing sense that he had some handle on this situation vanished at the happy “mon amour” that emitted from the monster’s lips. The next moment she was upon him again, fondling and pressing herself to him and purring again.

Two options flashed into Cabal’s brain. Firstly: correct her misapprehension as tactfully as he could. This option, he was aware, did not play to his strengths as a tactician. Secondly: allow this misapprehension to persist, however briefly. He could not clearly see where that option would lead and it terrified him.

“Mademoiselle. I would exchange some or all of them for the canister. I did not,” he added, inwardly keening with awkwardness, “mean to imply a more intimate relationship.” There. Death would, perhaps, be a blessed release from this conversation.

Laurelai was still learning English, and looked up at steel-grey eyes in mild confusion. His heart was racing, but he was stiff- unyielding beneath her touch.

Slowly, Laurelai's smile faded. She smoothed his lapels, only having understood half of what he had said.

"....no?"

“ “ The brief pause tried his nerves harder than a descent into a warren after something rugose. “<Perhaps I should go>,” he offered stiffly.

“<You are not like other men. Did you know that?>" Laurelai was disappointed, certainly, but not homicidal by nature. She sighed and stepped back, placing her hands on her hips and regarding him with a pout. Any other man (and most of the ones buried beneath her roses) would not have been able to resist her affectionate wiles. How unique of him!

"I think I like you, Monsieur Cabal. You are funny." Laurelai sighed, smiling a little in her mischievous way. She thought for a moment, seeming to work out some inner quandary.

"Would you.... be my friend, if I give you this thing? Come to see me again?”

Cabal was as fond as every other man of being told that he was not like other men. Cabal was extraordinary. He knew it, but it was under-recognized by the general population, at least in a positive light. (There were any number of people who wished to acknowledge Cabal’s starry specialness by burning him at the stake.) And although he was uncomfortable with the unpredictable Llamia and her frequent intrusions into his personal space, neither, he realized, had she done anything malicious.

Funny, she had said. He shook his head. “ “ If this was a trend, it was a disturbing one. He addressed her question. “” He did not dislike French as much as English, but its figures of speech made him uncomfortable.

Pleased with his lack of fear of her, Laurelai appeared to consider. She sat down amongst the roses, plucking one bloom so dark its petals gleamed like velvet in the moonlight.

"<What does it mean to you?>" She asked finally, tucking the rose into her hair.""

The strangeness of the conversation struck Cabal. Here he was, in a cemetery, negotiating with a creature of the night for his merchandise. She was, if he understood her properly, proposing he recompense her with his companionship. Few people had ever put a positive value on that. What was her object? He couldn’t imagine it was as simple as she said.

Maybe because he was preoccupied with this question, he was honest. <“Friendship is a matter of loyalty. Of pleasure in another’s company.”> He caught himself and started again. <“We are strangers, Mademoiselle, but we can meet for an occasional game, if we agree to a truce. I will not threaten your safety or autonomy if you will not threaten mine.”>

"Loyalty." Her answer came in English, and she nodded slightly as she listened to him speak. It was not often that Laurelai received honest answers to the questions she asked of her few visitors; the soil beneath her roses fed on the bones of liars and brutes.

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she stood. "Had I wanted to kill you, you would not have made it past the arches, cheré. You have my promise not to drink you, even if you do look tasty."

He nodded, lips a little twisted; it was true. “<Also, you will not subvert my will through natural or supernatural means. Are we agreed?>” He was already picturing himself home, in possession of the gas. He would sleep for a while, then start work. “<What do you play?>”

"<We are agreed.>" Laurelai nodded and stepped closer, smiling as she plucked another rose and offered it to Cabal. Her nails caught the light like glass; long and sharp.

She tilted her head slightly at his question, waiting for him to accept her gift and seal the agreement.

"I play." she clarified, smiling up at him. "I like the finding games, do you know? I am very good at finding things, cheré."

Cabal nodded and accepted the flower. He immediately started to feel foolish holding it.

“”

Laurelai's forward movement did not stop when the rose was taken: one cool hand cupping the side of Cabal's neck as she drew herself up on tip-toe to reach him. She did not lunge for his neck- instead pressing her lips to his in a kiss that muffled the word 'chess.'

Laurelai was nothing if not a talented kisser, and had left many a man feeling breathless without the need for mesmerism. This kiss was no different, and as she stepped back, she gave a little hum of satisfaction.

"I was right. You do taste like lemons."

“That…” had not been entirely unpleasant, damn the creature “…will not be a recurring feature of our relationship, Mademoiselle Laurelai. I will not take kindly to it, or to other liberties with my person.” Lemons? “Will you bring the canister here?” He would rather not accompany her to her lair, if that’s where it was stored.

"You do not accept my kiss? It is my bond." Violet eyes narrowed slightly as she gauged his reaction. How else did he expect her to seal her promise? Words were not things.

"You are far too pent-up, cheré. It is not good to be so repressed without un petit morte." she shook her head, as if sorry for him. "Wait here, I will get it."

“I had little choice but to accept your kiss,” he pointed out. “I accept your bond.” As for the rest, it was best not to comment, but why did so many supernatural beings take an impertinent interest in one’s personal affairs? He must never, he made a mental note, allow her to meet Zarenyia.

He took a quiet breath when the llamia left him. It might be a short wait or a long one; supernatural beings didn’t always have the same concept of time. The cemetery was a pretty spot, now that he looked at it. There was an unlikely profusion of roses.

The moment Cabal accepted her bond, Laurelai smiled widely. She somersaulted over the rusted iron fence surrounding the ruined chapel, moving with acrobatic grace and speed as she disappeared within.

The moon-shadows lengthened, leaving the rose arbor in deeper darkness. Inside the ruined carapace of the chapel, something rattled and fell over with a loud clang!

Some minutes later, Laurelai's wild crown of raven curls emerged from the steeple. The rest of her soon followed, a dark satchel slung across her back. The leap from the roof looked easy in the way she delighted in it.

Barefoot, Laurelai walked down the hill and dropped a blood-soaked satchel at Cabal's feet.

"Is this what you wanted, cheré?"

The chapel. This was her territory, then - and these, perhaps, her roses.

He brightened when she brought the satchel. “I believe so.” He laid the rose she had given him on a tombstone, picked up the satchel, and upended it carefully with a gloved hand. The canister was the largest object; Cabal held the pressure gauge up to the moonlight; the flask was full. Excellent. The rest of the man’s possessions were uninteresting. There was a recently purchased child’s toy. “A stupid profession to be in, then,” Cabal murmured.

“I will wish you good night, Mademoiselle Laurelai.”

The man Cabal's eyes widened when Laurelai presented her gift, and her slow-beating heart sang with pleasure. Smiling, she knelt and sifted through the pile of effects, lifting the toy- a cube of cubes with multi-colored sides.

She picked up the toy and turned it over in her hands, looking at Cabal curiously.

"You do not want this?" she frowned, wondering what could be more interesting about an old can in comparison to the Rubik's cube.

Laurelai stood, following Cabal to the gate, cube in hand.

"....You will come back, oui?"

“You may have it.” He was almost amused. There was something guileless in how she played with her plunder. He found it difficult to reconcile with her predator skill and her sensuality. Odd. Laurelai was odd.

He touched the corroded metal of the gate with his glove. “Oui. Je reviendrai. My business brings me to this town from time to time, and I will call on you the next time I am here.” Wary of further caresses from the llamia, he touched his hat in farewell and slipped through the cemetery gates, leaving her behind in her nest of death and roses.

He gave a guarded sigh as he bought his ticket home. He must remember to add llamias to his list of subjects to be researched, as soon as he had a moment. He had succeeded in purchasing his supplies, but he would have been happier paying cash.

[Fin?]

#cynaram #|| save tag #|| drabble #|| Laurelai #v: tbd

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