Work Text:
Ryan could count on one hand how many times “instinct” had gotten him in trouble, and this instance was going right on his middle finger.
(Okay, fine, two hands, but still.)
In all fairness, it wasn’t like the island had featured a glowing neon sign that said “pirates docked here” in bright, flashing letters. No, those assholes had parked their ship on the other side, and laid in wait for unsuspecting ships to pass by. Like, for example, Ryan’s.
Which was why his crew (those bastards) were now sailing in the opposite direction (presumably to get help as fast as possible, but Captain Urvidian was at the wheel and a chain of rum islands were on the way), and Ryan was sitting in the wet sand, at high-goddamn-noon, no less, with his hands and feet bound and murder in his heart.
“What my biggest question is,” said one of the two pirates keeping him guard, a stout woman with messy brown braids and freckles just about everywhere, “is why the boss decided to hold this guy instead of, y’know, the captain.”
The tall, unimpressed-looking man next to her shrugged.
“I actually don’t think he knows he’s got the wrong man. This should be interesting.”
He gently poked at Ryan with his foot, who responded by glaring at him with the hatred of a thousand suns.
“Can’t say I share his taste though,” the man continued, gazing down at Ryan with bored scrutiny. “He’s a bit scrawny for me.”
Ryan’s face pinkened, and he snapped back, “I imagine someone in your position would have plenty of subjects to compare me to.”
The woman snickered at this. “Aw, Pegs, look! He’s a real bonafide navy man alright. Got the fancy speak and everything!”
“It’s not ‘fancy speak’” Ryan replied tersely, “it’s English. Although, you two certainly don’t seem to know any.”
She laughed again. “And feisty, too!”
The man she called Pegs rolled his eyes and hummed noncommittally. “Yes, but he’s a little too talkative for my taste. Thalia, if you would?”
Thalia grinned in a way that Ryan did not like at all, and drew a pistol from the holster slung low on her hips. “With pleasure.”
Ryan saw the butt of it coming towards his face before his could blink, and the next thing he knew was a splitting pain, and then darkness.
--
The moment Akmazian got a look at the man Thalia and Peggy had dragged back onto the ship, he made a face.
“Ladies,” he said, voice dripping with false eloquence, “what was the one thing I asked you two not to do?”
“Mess up his face,” Thalia replied mock-crisply.
“Mhmm. And, did you two do that?”
“Nope,” Peggy said, maintaining a perfect poker face.
Akmazian glanced down at the unconscious man at his feet. His face was beaded with sweat from the heat of the day, and his hair, so strawberry blonde it was almost pink, was mussed from the trip back to the main ship. There were several cuts and bruises on his skin that Akmazian could see from where he had obviously put up a fight, and an egg-sized lump just to the left of his right temple.
He did not look like a man who would be happy once he woke up.
Akmazian raised an eyebrow, and gave the two filthy liars in front of him a long look. “So, you just found him like this?”
“That we did, sir,” Peggy answered flatly.
“With a big-ass lump on his head.”
“Yep.”
Akmazian stared for a moment longer, before gathering the man into his arms (the guy had been through enough; sue him) and shooting Peggy and Thalia a glare. “I’d fire both of you if I could,” he said.
“We’re well aware, sir,” Thalia quipped with a fake smile.
“And we’re absolutely not judging you at all for forcing us to go through all the trouble of capturing the son of a high ranking naval officer, all because you thought his picture in the paper was ‘hot’,” Peggy added.
“Both of y’all can go to hell,” Akmazian called over his shoulder as he headed to his cabin.
“Better hope that's not what he tells you!” Thalia jeered after him.
--
The first thing Ryan felt when he came to was quite possibly the worst headache in the world. And that was coming from the man who, long ago, had once done three shots of morphine in under an hour.
Long story.
The second was the burn of ropes around his wrists and each foot. His hands were obviously tied together, and his feet had been lashed to the legs of what felt like a chair. He could feel the gentle rocking of the waves, but the air smelled like the inside of a ship. A hint of sea salt permeated the air, along with a stronger scent of sandalwood. There was a scratching sound of what might have been a pen from a few feet in front of him, and a soft humming from its owner.
Right. So. Ryan was on a pirate ship, bound, with no resources that might help him, and most likely in the captain’s quarters. A captain that, from the man named Peg’s words earlier, had a less than honorable interest in him. Fantastic.
Cautiously, he opened one eye, and then immediately both regretted it, and wished he had done it sooner.
On the other side of the room, the man humming and holding the pen was writing at his desk. He seemed to be completely unaware of Ryan’s newly regained consciousness, and was scribbling away at what looked to be a small book. Long, thick brown hair fell in gentle waves over his shoulders and framed his face. His eyes, a deep, tropical green, darted back and forth across the pages, his tongue darting out occasionally to lick a pair of chapped, full lips. His skin was dark, even darker than Ryan’s, and littered with a mixture of faint freckles and scars. The linen sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a pair of toned forearms. He looked up at the sound of Ryan’s breath catching, and immediately grinned.
“Sleep well?” he asked languidly.
Ryan regained enough of his composure to snap, “Yes; I dreamed I was standing over your corpse.”
The man, captain, Ryan supposed, put his hand to his chest (which the loose laces of his shirt amply exposed) in mock-hurt. “Why Commander Dalias, I’m hurt. We barely even know each other.”
“You kidnapped me, you bastard. And how the hell do you know my name?”
The captain gave him a lopsided smirk. “I made it a point to.”
Without thinking, Ryan bit his lip as he felt a blush creep onto his face, and dug his nails into his palms. He noted the sharp little intake of breath from the captain when he did so, and filed it away for later. For escape purposes. Obviously.
The captain continued to gaze at him with a sort of easygoing interest, and Ryan cursed inwardly as he felt his face burn even hotter. He knew what the captain was up to, of course. As a man of the military, Ryan was taught how to recognize all sorts of interrogation tactics, and this was certainly one of them. He didn't actually know what information the captain wanted to get out of him, but it couldn't be anything good. All this… taunting, was obviously meant to lull him into a false sense of security before the real interrogation began. Well, he wasn't going to let some two-bit pirate roughen him up enough to talk, even if he did have disgustingly gorgeous eyes.
Ugh. He was probably a siren, too.
“I don't suppose you're going to tell me your name,” Ryan said, trying to discreetly slip his feet from their restraints.
The captain shrugged, and, to Ryan’s surprise, said, “I suppose I might. Akmazian.”
He stuck his hand out to shake, before glancing down at Ryan’s bound ones. “Oh, right.”
He continued to stare at Ryan’s hands, before letting his gaze slip… lower.
Ryan, fully red-faced at this point, cleared his throat pointedly and growled, “My eyes are up here, Captain.”
Akmazian’s gaze returned to Ryan’s face, and he grinned wider. “I know.”
He laughed at Ryan’s flustered sputtering and jutted a hip out, placing one hand on the chair’s armrest for support. Ryan leaned back at the proximity, which only made Akmazian laugh again. “Everything alright, Commander?” he asked teasingly.
Ryan thought for a split second before sitting up, drawing himself up to his full height, and puffing his chest out a little. “Peachy,” he snarled in a voice that suggested less of that, and more of a slow, painful death.
Akmazian smiled smugly in response, and leaned a little closer. “Really? You look awful flushed.”
Holding his gaze, Ryan said coolly, “I don't know what the hell kind of game you're playing Captain, but it isn't one you'll win.”
Akmazian raised an eyebrow at this. “Y’think this is an interrogation?”
“Obviously.”
He gave Ryan an unimpressed look. “Oh darlin’…” Then, without warning, it returned to a smirk, but this time, far more heated. “If I wanted to get information from you, I have much more effective ways of doing so.”
Ryan shrank back into his seat before he could stop himself. “O-oh really?” he replied, a slight tremor making the defiance in his voice much less effective. “Like what?”
In response, Akmazian pushed off of the armrest and slithered around behind the back of the chair. He leaned over the top of it, so close that Ryan could feel his breath on the shell of his ear. He shuddered, feeling a shiver race down his spine as Akmazian said, “I could offer you… riches. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams.”
Ryan stared straight ahead tautly. "At the expense of others," his voice sounded rough even to his own ears, "knowing these riches would be stolen? I would refuse."
He heard a laugh from behind him, and suddenly the breath at his ear was gone. Akmazian swung around to Ryan's left and balanced himself on the armrest again.
"What if I offered the release of your bonds over the shackles of your rank?" he mused, pointedly letting his eyes drift back down to Ryan’s bound hands.
Ryan looked because he could (and maybe, just maybe, just a little bit because he wanted to) with the captain’s attention elsewhere. And, fine, okay, the view wasn’t terrible. And, alright, alright, he might have discreetly crossed his legs as best he could when Akmazian looked away.
He shook his head to clear it, and belatedly answered, “I would escape, capture you, and let the sharks have a few bites at you before you hung in the gallows for your crimes.”
There was a moment where he could have sworn the pirate's expression fell, but when he looked again, he looked bemused rather than disappointed with his answer. Akmazian raised an eyebrow, obviously not convinced. “Would you? Well, don’t I feel special.”
Akmazian towered over him, leaning forward enough so that Ryan pressed even further into the chair to maintain some kind of distance. "What if I offered you my bed," he placed his hands on the armrests and leaned forward, "over those of my men?"
Ryan’s heart was pounding in his ears by now, their lips so close he could feel the ghost of a kiss. The scent of sandalwood was thicker, so heady that he barely managed an “I…”
And that, as they say, was the point of “fuck it”.
It happens to everyone. Maybe you’ve tried every plan but the stupidest. Maybe every person has failed you except the craziest. Or, maybe you’ve been kidnapped by an admittedly gorgeous pirate captain who’s very obviously trying to seduce you, is making you question your preferences and commitment to the law, and is reminding you of the fact that the crew of your ship isn’t exactly appealing, and really, everyone has their limits.
So: fuck it.
This time it was Ryan’s turn to surge forward, maneuvering his hands so that they could pull at the strings of Akmazian’s shirt, and tugging him down far enough to close the gap between them.
Akmazian pressed back immediately, the force of the kiss nearly pushing the chair onto its hind legs. He righted it and moved onto Ryan’s lap, reaching up a hand to cup his jaw. They kissed feverishly, Akmazian’s lips parting in surprise with a swipe of Ryan’s tongue. He moaned into the other man’s mouth and shifted closer, the friction making Ryan gasp and dig his nails into Akmazian’s chest. The warmth, the lips, the weight of another upon him; god, he had needed it.
Breathless, Akmazian pulled away for a moment, noting with pleasure Ryan’s eyes, blown dark and wide with lust. He grinned. “How eager are y’all to escape now?”
Ryan matched his gaze and leaned in once more. “Untie my hands,” he said, “and I’ll show you.”