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The boy was beautiful. He was wiry and nimble, and his unblemished dusky skin was as smooth as that of any girl. It was slick too, with sweat, and his dark eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones as he moved slowly up and down in Flint’s lap, one calloused hand pumping his own cock as he was riding the captain in the deep seat behind the desk, the other splayed across his face as he hungrily sucked his own fingers.
Flint’s hands wrapped the boy’s bony hips. Slowly, methodically, the captain pushed the body down hard on his cock, lifted it and slammed it down again, a tide of dark lust that offered him blissful amnesia, a moment’s respite of that world of violence and blood in which he’d immersed himself - had had to immerse himself, if he ever were to fulfill the promise he made a madman and his wife.
Between the thrusts the boy floated above his captain, like a seagull drifting on the ocean wind. He saw the man underneath him, always strangely impassive, as if, while his body was acting out this primal dance of lust, his mind was miles away. To the boy it didn’t matter. If this was all he would ever get, it was more than he’d ever dared to dream of. Flint was his captain, his king, his god - a giant among men, a living legend. When fortune favoured him with a chance to offer up his body to the man, he’d taken it with both hands, his mouth, his cock and without any reserves.
Eventually he felt how Flint’s cock within him grew even harder. He sucked in his breath and gasped, clenching his buttocks to increase the pressure until he felt the captain release his seed in short spurts of hot liquid. The sensation drew him over the edge and he climaxed, even in this moment aware enough to cover his release with his hand and catch most of it. Exhausted he fell forward against Flint’s shoulder, for that one moment too far removed from the world to notice anything.
“Hello, Billy.”
Billy Bones deliberately shut the door to the captain’s quarters and walked back up to the deck. He grabbed the railing of the Walrus with both hands and squeezed until his fingers hurt and the angle was deeply imprinted in his palms.
Think! He thought to himself. His throat was dry and while sweat trickled down his back, he was cold, so goddamn cold. You did not just see that.
Except that he’d never been a particularly good liar, not even to himself. So it was no use to start now. What had he just witnessed?
I walked in on him banging the barrelboy, that’s what.
A wave of nausea hit him. He fought it down with a few deep breaths. He tried to focus on the water below, the comforting sight of the furrows the Walrus drew behind her. On the familiar scent of salt and tar and wood. The sensation of the ship creaking and groaning beneath his hands and… unbidden, the image rose up in his mind’s eye again. The captain sitting in his chair, same as always, his hair tied back, his clothes unruffled, his entire posture unperturbed as if he didn’t have a spent and naked barrelboy draped across his chest, as if the smell of sex was not thick in the air…
“Jesus.” Billy whispered.
What now? What was he supposed to do with this? If the men got wind of this… Could he tell Gates? Should he?
The following days were a right nightmare. He avoided Flint at all costs, busying himself with the neverending task of keeping the Walrus in good shape, likewise the crew who easily slipped into disorganisation if they weren’t properly disciplined.
But at night… Oh god, the nights were the worst. During the day he worked himself until he was exhausted so he wouldn’t have time to think before he fell asleep, but he couldn’t repress the dreams. Confusing they were, hot and shameful, fragmented scenarios out of which he would tear himself awake, soiled and panting.
Billy Bones never went to a fuck tent or a brothel. He’d never felt the need to. His body had been asleep, quiescent. Until now. No matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t shake off the prickly sensation as if his skin was too tight, and he finally understood what drove the men to the whores of Nassau or any other port they landed with such desperation.
But it was not a woman’s embrace he craved, nor soft breasts or a deep warm cunt. In his dreams he was haunted by the mocking green eyes of Flint, felt the taut muscles of the arms holding him, the strong tighs, a heavy cock and Jesus, I’m going to be sick, he thought, not for the first time.
“You alright, boy?”
Gates popped up beside him.
“Yeah. Fine.” he shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.
“Good.” The old man nodded. “Good.”
He left the boatswain where he was, and Billy smiled ruefully. Of course Gates would take notice. The quartermaster of the Walrus was a shrewd one. He’d taken Billy under his wing, grooming him to be his successor as every man of the crew knew.
Once more he felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. He was not just letting the crew down. He was letting Gates down, and he didn’t know which was worse.
One afternoon, a few days after the incident, found him observing the barrelboy. He knew Henry as well as any member of the crew. He’d come with the ship and he’d been up in the rigging ever since he’d convinced a captain to take him aboard. He was quick and nimble, and his sharp eyes and strong stomach made him a natural candidate for the post in the crow’s nest. Nothing set him apart from the rest of the crew, but Billy could not forget the sight of the boy’s lithe, naked form in the captain’s lap. Nor could he forget how unperturbed Flint had been when Billy walked in, as if nothing out of the ordinary had been going on.
No, not just unperturbed. The longer Billy mulled over it, the more he became convinced the captain had issued him a challenge. But was that even possible? Could Flint see what Billy had, up until now, been unaware of?
The door… the door to his quarters hadn’t been locked, had it? The captain had been fucking the lookout, fully conscious of how people looked upon sodomy, and had left his door unlocked. Was the man insane? He is, his inner voice told him pointedly, and this is yet another symptom of his insanity.
Flint had been expecting him, Billy suddenly recalled. He’d told the captain he’d come by to report… but… no, no, that implicated the impossible. Or at least something so improbably he couldn’t allow himself to go there.
Then Gates’ voice tore through his jumbled thoughts.
“Oi Billy! The captain wants you!”
For a split-second the boatswain misunderstood and the initial stab of heat in his groin sent a flush of embarrassment across his face. He recovered quickly. He raised his hand in acknowledgement, hoping against better judgement the quartermaster hadn’t noticed his momentarily confusion, and made his way to the captain’s quarters in what he hoped was a casual, ordinary way.
When he stood in front of the door he raised his fist to knock, but then lowered it again, uncertainly. He never knocked when the captain expected him. Why would he now? As long as nothing changed, well… nothing changed. If he acted normally, same as always, then maybe Flint would do too. Insane , his inner voice reminded him. He firmly banished it to the back of his mind. With a deep breath he opened the door and announced himself. “You asked for me, captain?”
Flint stood with his back to the door, looking out of the window. As always the captain was dressed the part, and Billy, his shirt only barely covering his torso, wondered not for the first time how a man could stand to wear such a constricting coat with these temperatures.
Upon hearing the boatswain’s voice Flint turned around and said: “That I did. Come in, and lock the door behind you.”
Billy swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He tried to gauge the mood from Flint’s face, but it was unreadable. Or was that mockery behind his eyes? Was the man laughing at his obvious discomfort?
When the captain arched an eyebrow he flushed and turned around to bolt the door. His movements were clumsy, his fingers slow as they fumbled with the lock. His heart pounded hard and fast and he felt like he did when he was poised for a battle.
Finally the lock slid into to place.
He straightened and turned around, then started. While he was fiddling with the lock Flint had crossed the room, and caught him with his back to the door.
Even with Billy the taller and likely the stronger of the two, it was beyond the shadow of a doubt who was in command. Flint possessed fervor, was filled with an intensity, a drive that far exceeded the will of normal men. And now his focus was solely on Billy, who imagined the ferocious will fixated him to the spot.
For a moment, one that seemed to stretch into eternity, they stood there in silence. Then Flint raised his arm and placed his hand around Billy’s jaw, without once breaking eye contact. Billy swallowed again. The space between them seemed thick and churning at the same time, and a terrible heat flowed from the fingertips against his skin through his treacherous body and pooled in his groin where he grew painfully hard.
“Captain… I…” he croaked. Desire and disgust fought inside him and to his dismay tears welled up in his eyes.
Flint searched his face, the green eyes no longer so cold and distant. Billy did not know what he was looking for and he himself did not dare look away. He could not, his face still caught in that iron grip.
The captain moved his thumb and it took Billy a moment to realise the man was caressing his face, tracing his jaw, brushed past his bottom lip and teased out a shiver until the digit finally came to rest on his chin. Somehow his other hand had moved behind the boatswain’s head, exerting gentle pressure there, and Billy lowered his head in accordance until their mouths came so close their breath mingled.
Before their lips touched however, the pressure relented completely. Trapped in the spell it took Billy a moment to realise that Flint was waiting for something. For him. For acquiescence. He opened his eyes - when had he closed them?- and with a barely perceptible nod he surrendered.
The moments leading up to their kiss brought Flint back to that wonderful, terrifying moment when Thomas had revealed his intentions to James. But the moment their lips touched, things in the now took a very different turn. This was no gentle, slow journey of discovery. This was raw, carnal need , a desire of the flesh. This was Flint, taking what he wanted, and right now he wanted his boatswain, and have him he would.
Hungrily he pushed further, both his hands now behind Billy’s head to pull it into him while he claimed ownership of that sultry mouth. He drove Billy against the door as he sought friction, the erratic movements of their hips almost overwhelming.
Flint then noticed his boatswain was shaking all over. He forced himself to step back, let go, which elicited a deliciously pained sigh from Billy. They faced each other, both panting heavily. Billy’s eyes were glazed over with lust and it was all Flint could do not to tear his clothes off and ruin him there and then.
“You alright, Billy?” he asked instead.
The subject of his question huffed and let his head fall back against the door. It took some time for the shaking to subside, and some of the urgency bled out of the atmosphere.
He understood. As captain he was unconcerned with how the men perceived him, as long as they furthered his purpose, but that didn’t mean he lacked empathy. He usually just pushed it aside. What he wished to attain was far greater and more important than the opinions of a few men. But here, now, had little to do with James McGraw and his crusade. This was Flint and Billy Bones, and if he wanted to own Billy he would have to give him leeway. The man would have to come to him of his own free will, or at least be under that impression.
He filled two cups with rum and offered one to the boatswain. Billy drained the cup in one go, drawing Flint’s eye to his throat. He wanted to explore that bristly skin with his tongue, wanted to trace the tendon in his neck down to the clavicula, wanted to roam that tanned, muscular body until he knew it as well as he knew the Walrus. He wanted the man to kneel in front of him so he could fuck that delicious wanton mouth hard and deep and…
He realised Billy was staring at him. The boatswain’s breathing was shallow and rapid, and he repeatedly licked his lips. A sheen of sweat covered his face and chest, and his nipples were visibly hard under his dingy shirt. And not just his nipples were hard, Flint noted as his eyes wandered over that tall, inviting body.
“Say it!” he commanded.
Billy blinked. His eyebrows knotted together. His eyes were no longer glazed. They pierced now, told Flint the magnitude of what was happening had dawned on him.
And for the first time the captain felt a shadow of a doubt. Billy Bones was a free man. All this time he’d proven, time and again, that he would follow no master, that he was beholden to no one. This unshakable resolve was what Gates had cultivated, knowing it would enable Billy to excel as quartermaster one day. Billy Bones was able to hold his own, to protect the rights of a crew against those captains who believed themselves to be exalted above the men they were supposed to serve.
That man could not share the bed with the one man he was supposed to withstand and remain impartial to.
Had he made a mistake? Flint had seen Billy Bones, recognised… something… in the man that had ignited his passion. But now he began to wonder if the risk he’d taken would not only cost him the pleasure of taking the man apart, but everything else as well.
What a fool he’d been! A short-sighted fool, whose lust would cost him everything he’d worked so hard to achieve, would cause his desperate efforts, his sacrifices to be in vain. And Thomas…
While the barrelboy served as convenient relief for his desires, the boatswain meant more to Flint. Bones commanded his respect and he ached for a connection that surpassed the mere physical. And did that attraction not imply treachery? Did it not debase the memory of Thomas, his love for Thomas?
Billy eyed him as if he’d never seen him before. The incomprehension on his face snapped Flint out of his ambivalence. Thomas and James were part of a different world. Flint, he was Flint. A decisive, ruthless man. The persona of Flint was the means to an end and of course Flint had his needs that needed to be met.
He pushed his doubts aside. His jaw tightened, his green eyes turned to stone again and when he saw the flicker of fear in the boatswain’s eyes his lips quirked into a predatory smile.
I need more time. Billy barely registered the thought. He couldn’t think straight, felt as if he was drunk off his arse. Drunk with lust. And to his horror he heard himself say: “I’m alright, captain.”
There went his final chance to escape this madness.
Flint nodded. He put his cup down on the desk and with that terrifying smile he advanced. Billy trembled. Despite his height and strength he felt powerless against the arousal that washed over him when Flint drew him in. Once more a fire roared through his veins, fanned by the collision of their lips, by the way their bodies instinctively sought friction. He moaned when their cocks touched through the thin linen of their pants, gasped when Flint started to undo the buttons.
“Try to keep them clean,” the man breathed against his skin, his tongue trailing a path of intense pleasure over Billy’s jaw.
Billy blanched. Leaving the captain’s quarters with such obvious stains would mean their death sentence. Urgently he felt about for the buttons of Flint’s trousers, deftly loosening them.
The captain drew his head back and there was laughter in his voice when said “In a rush, are you?”. But his smile disappeared when Billy closed his hand around his hot, hard cock and the way Flint exhaled sharply made Billy want him even more.
It was the first time he touched another man’s cock and his hand was in the wrong angle but despite that it was another discovery in an increasing multitude of pleasures.
He grunted in surprise when Flint returned the favour, his own cock now held in an unfamiliar hand.
The influx of sensations was almost too much to bear. Billy struggled to discern the separate stimuli - rough lips grazing his throat, the hand at the base of his skull that held him put, the unreal pressure of a hand smaller than his own wrapped around his cock, stroking and massaging it’s bared head in an unfamiliar rhythm, his own palm trying to rub against the length pressing into it - but he got lost in a maelstrom of pleasure. It was so much, too much, and just when he thought he could endure no more Flint dropped to his knees and swallowed his cock.
Billy was beyond coherence. He buried his hands in Flint’s hair, raked his skull, slammed deep into his throat, knowing only that this, this was what he wanted, what he needed, the culmination of all the feverish energy that coursed through his body. He brought one arm to his mouth and with a muffled cry he came hard, releasing his seed in erratic spasms until he was dry, done, and collapsed to his knees, leaning heavily on his arms, riding the current until he would be able to control his own body again.
When he finally looked up he was greeted by the sight of Flint, fully dressed, fully composed, watching him from the window just like he’d been when Billy entered the quarters earlier. An hour ago? The boatswain had no clue, but it seemed a lifetime. It was. For Billy, everything had changed. Between then and now his entire world had been upended. For Flint? The captain regarded him unblinking from a distance that far exceeded the few feet that separated their bodies. Nothing about him hinted at what had happened and if Billy couldn’t feel the cold air brushing his bare thighs he would almost believe nothing had happened at all.
Hesitantly he got to his feet and adjusted his clothes. Suddenly he felt exhausted, empty, and a foreboding sense of unease chilled him to the bone. Flint said not a word, just watched him, and Billy didn’t know what to say. After a moment he just left the room, leaving the captain to his own devices.
“We’re making landfall by the morrow!” Gates announced as he clapped Billy on his shoulder. “Let’s see what Nassau has to offer us, eh boy?”
The boatswain said nothing, just turned his dull stare at the direction the Walrus was turning.
“Everything alright, Billy?”
Jesus fuck, he thought, I wish everyone would stop asking me that. Jesus.