AU Bijou Fic - Plunder
It was a good day for sailing.
Tristan settled himself more comfortably against the coarse rigging rope, carefully threaded hands keeping him upright as the ship surged over rolling waves. The sun glinted brightly in his eyes, dashing across the choppy water while the wind teased long strands of hair free from his braid to whip playfully around his face.
On the deck far below, the sailors went about their duties under the watchful eye of the burly first mate. Safeer’s red face made it obvious that he was bellowing orders with all the clout of a quartermaster but, up in the rigging as he was, Tristan couldn’t make them out over the rhythmic pounding of the sails.
Which, of course, was exactly why he was up there in the first place.
Then a shout from the crow’s nest had Tristan forgetting all about staying out of sight. He was on his feet in an instant, paying no concern to life and limb as he leaned dangerously far forward on the rigging. One hand came up to shield his eyes from the sun, the other anchoring him to the ropes as he squinted eagerly against the glare.
The sight of white sails against the endless water startled a whoop of excitement from Tristan’s throat that had barely faded from the air before he was swinging down the rigging to the deck, as quick and sure as a monkey on the knotted ropes.
His boots hit the polished wood with a thump that had half the crew looking curiously his way. Tristan grinned archly, then threw a significant look at Safeer.
The first mate nodded once, then began barking out a new set of orders, very different from the last. The deck sprang to life as Tristan found himself caught up in a swirl of restless activity, sailors hurrying back and forth with eager looks on ruddy faces as they brought the ship around and began the chase.
Tristan’s ship quickly closed the distance between it and its heavy-laden prey. The little sails on the horizon grew inexorably larger as they approached, small figures in various stages of panic clearly visible on the deck.
“Run out the guns Mr. Starks!” Tristan ordered when they were close enough, striding briskly towards the portside railing as his men rose the black flag on the mast behind him. “All men at the ready!”
Tristan took a moment to check his pistols and additional powder, noting with approval that most of the men around him were doing the same. The comfortable weight of his cutlass dragged at his side and his hands tingled with the anticipation of wrapping around the well-worn hilt once again.
Tristan glanced sharply to the right. “Ready Safeer?”
A sharp nod and a wicked grin. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“Good.” Pivoting with confident grace, Tristan faced his crew as they loomed ever closer to the unprepared merchant ship. “Come on men!” he declared. “Let’s make those Spanish bastards regret running afoul of the Jasper Demon!”
A ragged shout rose up from the men and Tristan checked his sword in its scabbard as he turned back to the matter at hand
“On my mark, Mr. Starks!” Tristan bellowed, attention on their rapidly approaching prey. “In three…two…one… FIRE!!!”
Cannon fire exploded through the air and everything went to hell all at once. Tristan grinned to himself.
It was a good day for sailing, but an even better one for plundering.
+++++
The damn fool, William swore to himself, stumbling into a half-full cask of water as the ship lurched sharply to starboard. He’s hit a reef.
Before he could go up on deck and give their incompetent excuse for a helmsman a serious tongue-lashing, the ship lurched again and a sound like thunder shuddered through the air. It took him only a moment to realize - it’s cannon fire - and then he was running, scrabbling among the supplies for something, anything to fight with. His hand closed on the hilt of a rapier and he pulled it free with a jerk, nearly stumbling in his haste.
Deliberately not thinking about how long it had been since he’d held a sword, William surged up the steps to the main deck, shouldering open the door with nearly enough force to take it off its hinges. A sword flashed through his peripheral vision and he ducked instinctively, scrabbling away from the two men hacking at each other with savage intensity.
The ship was a seething mass of people, the plainly clothed deckhands trying desperately to fight off the horde of pirates spilling up over the edge of the deck. Screams and gunshots pierced the air, the furious clash of metal on metal sending light skittering across the decking and sending William’s head to pounding.
A scuffling sound caught his attention and William turned just in time to avoid a wicked-looking sword wielded by an even wickeder-looking pirate. The pirate swung again and William blocked frantically, his thin blade bending warningly under the pressure.
The pirate leered at him, baring blackened teeth in a macabre grin. William’s jaw tightened. He was not going to be beaten here. Drawing on half-forgotten fencing lessons, he parried swiftly and jumped back, out of range. The pirate stumbled, caught off guard, and William moved, lunging in under the other’s guard to deliver a sharp swipe right across his belly.
Red danced along the bright blade, splashing over William’s shirt and leaving stains on the fine white fabric. The pirate doubled over with a gurgling groan, sword falling to the deck with a ringing crash. Thick hands grappled desperately at the blood and guts starting to ooze out of the gash, William all but forgotten in the panic.
Sickened, William turned away from his opponent, trying to ignore the wet, meaty sound of a man’s innards splattering all over the deck. There were fewer brown jerkins in the fray now he realized, a heavy, sinking feeling in his gut. And the ones left were not doing well. Picking a random direction, William started sliding alongside the railing, trying to stay out of sight.
A green-clad pirate rounded the corner of the cabin in front of him and William reacted instinctively, lunging in to attack.
The pirate bellowed in pain and anger as William’s blade pierced his shoulder, and swung wildly with his sword, trying to return the hit. Jerking his own sword free, William retreated quickly, trying to get away.
The pirate stalked after him, snarling fiercely. William’s back hit the railing and he froze, thinking frantically of a way out. Not changing expression, the pirate moved in for the kill, cutlass gleaming painfully bright as it surged towards William’s unprotected chest.
Swords clashed and William gasped unintentionally as the impact jarred all the way up his arm. His opponent’s blade whispered threateningly close to his chest, stirring across his shirt and leaving shallow cuts in the fabric. The pirate leaned in mercilessly and William realized in horror that he couldn’t stop him. He was going to die.
A body crashed through the railing on his left, tumbling into the sea with a strangled scream. William’s attacker glanced up sharply, distracted, and William let himself slump to the floor, legs crumpling bonelessly without the heavy pressure keeping him trapped. A sword slashed towards his head but William was faster, bracing himself hard on his heels to tear straight through the tendons in the man’s leg.
The pirate collapsed, sword still swinging viciously close even as his mutilated leg buckled under him. William scrambled desperately out of the way, eyes wide as the pirate crawled after him, murder written all over his face. He stabbed frantically at the man’s arms, face, shoulders, whatever he could reach until the pirate finally sagged down with a gurgling groan and was still.
Breathing hard, William got shakily to his feet as blood flowed freely across the once-clean deck. I just killed a man, he realized numbly, the thought tinged with shocked disbelief as he stared at the ruin of the pirate’s face.
“Morir pirata!” rang sharply across the deck, and William jerked his eyes away from the gruesome display to look towards the stern. The ship’s captain was there, battling desperately with… a woman? No, William realized, a young man, not much older than himself, dressed in a gold trimmed red vest and loose matching pants, the laces of his white shirt gaping open to show off flashes of surprisingly pale skin for a sailor. A tail of fiery red hair whipped through the air around him, dancing like a banner as he darted and weaved wraith-like around the captain.
As William watched, the red headed pirate twisted away from the captain’s blade, avoiding the killing thrust with an ease William wouldn’t have believed possible in a boy so young. Grinning with fierce exultation, the pirate leaped up with a roundhouse kick that sent the captain thudding to the deck, sword clattering down beside him with a noise like thunder.
Broad, familiar hands lunged for the blade but the pirate kicked it out of the way before the captain reached it. Planting both feet firmly on the deck, the pirate smiled down brightly at the captain and, without pausing, plunged his sword into the man’s heaving chest.
“No!” William yelled thoughtlessly, taking an abortive step forward before he realized what he was doing. The pirate’s head jerked up, sharp eyes fixing on him from halfway across the ship.
William ran, whirling towards the helm in a frantic need to get away. Two pirates loomed in his way and he didn’t slow, just stabbed each of them through the heart and kept going, mindless of the blood splattered across his face and down his front.
Then he was staring at the sea over the edge of the ship and he skidded to a stop, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword as he tried to figure out what to do now.
“The problem with fighting on a ship,” a voice purred impossibly close in his ear, the whisper ghosting across his senses even as the sharp tip of a cutlass pressed unhurriedly into the small of his back. “Is that there’s never anywhere to run.”
William didn’t think, just spun sharply on his heels, sword blade up to parry the strike he knew was coming. Sparks flew as the blades clashed off each other, and William felt a moment of triumph at the look of surprise on the pirate’s surprisingly delicate face. Then green eyes sharpened lazily on him and his sword was on the floor before he’d even seen the other move.
“Tough luck kid,” the pirate smirked, sword making slow circles just above William’s chest. “Wrong person to pick a fight with.” The sword stilled, right over his heart, and William refused to look away, calm as he looked death straight in the face with all the dignity he could muster.
An eyebrow raised in response. “Interesting,” the pirate murmured. The sword tip on William’s chest clinked faintly as it brushed against the necklace hanging free from his shirt, and he could see the way green eyes zeroed in on the contact with a thoughtful tilt. “Very interesting indeed.”
Then the pirate’s sword blurred through the air and something hard and solid crashed into the back of his head and the world went black.
+++++
The merchantmen had largely given up after he’d killed their big, swarthy skinned captain so he’d decided to let them go once he had what he wanted. He’d left them enough food and water that they’d probably be able to get back to land, provided they could mend the holes his cannons had put in their ship of course. And by then, the Faerie Queene would be halfway to Trinidad, well out of reach of the Spanish navy.
Once he was satisfied that things were going to plan, Tristan returned to his cabin, giving Safeer explicit directions not to bother him unless something incredibly drastic was going on.
Safeer had just given him the look and told him to go have fun. Tristan had grinned and obliged.
The cabin was pleasantly cool as he entered, a welcome respite from the merciless heat of the Caribbean sun. Tristan shucked his vest over the corner of his table, placing his sheathed cutlass on top after a moment’s consideration. He was more than a match for his guest with or without it.
The boy was right where he’d left him, slumped unconscious at the foot of the bed, head lolling low over his bound chest. There was blood on his face and in his hair, a large matted clump where Tristan’s sword hilt had bashed into the side of his head. His shirt, probably once a very good quality piece of clothing, was stained beyond repair, more red than white and nicked by countless shallow scratches. The boy’s sword had skidded overboard when he’d knocked it out of his hand, but Tristan doubted it had been his to begin with - he’d fought like someone who’d learned how without ever getting into a real fight. He’d been pretty good despite that, but a prissy sword like that was better off lost anyway.
Pouring himself a brandy from the decanter secured to the side board, Tristan debated how long he ought to wait for the kid to wake up. He had, as his mother would have once said, no patience for being patient and now that their prize was safely on board he was eager to see if he could yet claim another. There was no such thing as too much after all, especially for a pirate.
As he stood, sipping his drink and admiring the way long lashes spidered over smooth cheeks, a low groan shuddered through the quiet cabin. The boy shifted slightly, raising his head with an aching slowness that paid mute evidence to the headache that bash on the head must have given him. Hands twitched as the boy tried and failed to lift his arms and those delightfully blue eyes snapped open in alarm. Tristan could see him taking in the dim interior of the cabin, finally gazing at Tristan himself with a wariness so perplexed it was practically a question.
Tristan grinned. “Yo chico,” he said, saluting with his drink. “Habla ingles?”
The boy was silent for a moment, then glared at him narrowly. “Apparently better than you speak Spanish pirata,” he spat and, oh his voice was lovely, foreign accent rolling richly over the scathing words. Tristan decided he could forgive him, just this once, when he sounded that pretty.
“Why would I want to speak Spanish?” he asked, his own distinctly non-English lilt clearer in his native tongue. “Only heathens and thieves do that.”
“And you aren’t both, pirata?” the boy demanded, and Tristan was impressed by his sheer brave stupidity.
Tristan sighed marginally. “Privateer,” he corrected, stepping forward to stand in front of the bound youth. “In the proud service of Her Majesty Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England.”
“Queen!” the boy scoffed. “She’s nothing but a Protestant whore playing at being royalty!”
Tristan slapped him. “I’ll not tolerate such words about Her Majesty,” he informed his captive coldly. “And I wouldn’t be so quick to condemn if I was you. Not unless you want to take a short walk off the side of the ship.”
The boy eyed him warily. “Will I be expected to negotiate for my freedom?”
“If you like,” Tristan shrugged. “Although it’s not really up to you whether you go free or not.” The boy opened his mouth, probably to insult him again, and Tristan dangled the pendant he’d taken off the kid in front of his face.
The boy’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“This is yours, right?” Tristan asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway just to be irritating. The boy’s expression went cagey and Tristan was pleased to see that he wasn’t a fool, even if he was Spanish. He made a show of looking at the distinctive pattern etched into the metal, smoothing his fingers over the neat grooves. “If this crest really belongs to you, we can make almost as much of a profit on your return as we have from the contents of your ship’s hold.”
“Verdin!” the kid snarled, straining against his bonds, and Tristan didn’t really care what the word meant, although the sheer loathing in the tone was entertaining. “You soulless English dog!”
Tristan smirked, letting the chain swing back and forth in front of outraged blue eyes. “Now that’s not a very smart way to talk to your captor.”
The boy stiffened at that and Tristan could almost see the thoughts swirling around in that pretty little head. “My captor?” he said slowly, and Tristan nodded to help him along. “Where is the captain of this… vessel?”
He loved this part.
“Tristan an Senmae,” he introduced himself, bowing low enough that his braid swept along the floor. “Otherwise known as the Jasper Demon.”
Recognition jolted through those expressive eyes at the name, and Tristan had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning at the visible pallor that swept over that blood-stained face.
“Younger than you were expecting?” he asked cheekily, cocking his head to the side with an arrogant smirk. “I’ve been a pirate for longer than you’ve been on this earth, chico.”
The kid bit his lip, hard, but his expression was surprisingly clear as he glowered at Tristan. “Don’t address me that way, pirata.”
And, oh, that was a little bit of interesting. The way the words were just a bit shaky but the kid wasn’t backing down, didn’t turn into a babbling mass of ‘I-don’t-want-to-die!’ like so many of them did when they realized just who was grinning at them.
Tristan smiled, showing teeth. “Well!” he declared with affected surprise. “You certainly sound like an aristocrat. Maybe it really is yours.”
The boy was still glaring at him, and Tristan let his grin become just a touch speculative.
“Only thing I can’t figure out chico,” he said. “If you’re a beloved son of the renowned Hunter family, what are you doing floating around on a cargo ship in the middle of the Caribbean? Run away from home? Or do your parents not love you enough?”
Bingo, he thought as the kid went alternatively outraged, then pale, jerking his head to the side to break eye contact. Tristan couldn’t say he minded really, the boy was almost as pretty in profile as he was from the front. It did make him wonder why the boy was unfavoured enough to get treated as a shipping guide though, since he looked as much like an aristocrat he acted. Tristan’s eyes swept leisurely over his unwilling cabin-guest, appreciating the fine, aquiline features and dark, wavy hair that contrasted beautifully with the kid’s fair skin, so pale it almost glowed in the dim light of the cabin…
Tristan blinked. Ah. So that was it.
“Or maybe,” he chuckled, gratified by the way furious eyes swung helplessly his way. “The reason you’re out here is that dear Daddy can’t stand the sight of his half-breed bastard. Bet you’ve got a nice English name to go with that lily-white skin, don’t you?”
The entire bed lurched as the kid flung himself towards Tristan. Tristan laughed, avoiding the clumsy lunge easily.
“Watch it, chico!” he warned, catching the kid by the shoulders to keep him from tumbling nose-first to the floor. “You’ll bruise that pretty face of yours.” He grinned wickedly. “And you wouldn’t want to waste a bargaining chip like that.”
The kid glared at him, uncomprehending, and the look of sharp rage in those eyes startled a flare of heat in Tristan’s veins that made the crotch of his trousers feel uncomfortably tight.
Suddenly Tristan could think of a much better way to humiliate his unwilling guest.
“What are you doing?” the kid demanded as Tristan sat down on the edge of the bed then turned the kid around to face him. “Unhand me!”
Tristan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so.”
Spreading his legs to cage the boy’s body, Tristan hissed as the movement stretched the seam of his trousers across his stiffening length. He offered the kid a sideways grin, enjoying the look of confused alarm on the bloodstained face.
“Why don’t you convince me to be nice to you?”
“Wha…” the kid began, then trailed off as he realized his position had him staring straight at Tristan’s crotch. Lightening snapped in blue eyes as they shot up to Tristan’s face. “You can’t be serious!”
Tristan shrugged. “Why not? You’re pretty enough. And until your dear Daddy decides to ransom you back, you belong to me as much as the cobalt in the hold does. Or would you rather I give you to the crew for all their hard work today?”
The kid, Tristan noticed with interest, seemed to be trying not to hyperventilate. “You… you expect me - me!... to, to…”
“Suck me off,” Tristan supplied helpfully. “Start you off easy. Come on, chico.” He let one hand drift down to loose the laces on his pants. “Let’s find out if you’re as good a cocksucker as your momma must have been.”
“Bastardo,” the boy hissed, furious. “Púdrase en el infierno, pirata despiadado! Mi padre le buscará...”
Something cold and solid pressed threateningly against the side the kid’s head, ending the string of Spanish with a strangled gasp.
“You know the best thing about being a pirate?” Tristan asked mildly, cocked pistol held rock steady against the boy’s temple. “You always get what you want.”
Blue eyes were huge, devouring the kid’s face as Tristan freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and looked down expectantly.
“Well?” The hammer of the firearm clicked loudly in the silence. “What are you waiting for?”
Slowly, reluctantly, the kid leaned forwards towards the bed, the look of outrage and disgust on his face only making it sweeter when full lips parted to slide hesitantly over the head of Tristan’s cock.
“That’s it,” Tristan encouraged, angling his hips to give the kid better access. “Have a good taste, chico. Get it wet.”
The kid growled in fury, the sound vibrating around Tristan’s sex and making his eyes cross with the sensation.
“Oh, do that again,” he ordered, his accent coming out thick and husky. The area around the kid’s eyes tightened rebelliously and Tristan nudged the pistol barrel warningly against his head.
“No funny business,” he commanded. “And no teeth. You wouldn’t want me to get startled and lose my grip, now would you?”
The kid eyed him with a mix of hatred and entreaty that made Tristan smile, pleased.
“I thought not. Better hurry up then, before I start losing interest.”
The look didn’t change, but the kid leaned forward obediently, his warm, wet mouth sliding like velvet down Tristan’s heavy length. Tristan groaned at the sensation, the awkward, tentative touches of lips and tongue as the kid tried to figure out what to do thrilling him to no end. He’d always loved buggering virgins. When you stole someone’s innocence, no one could ever get it back.
“Yeah sweetheart,” he urged. “Just like that. You like it don’t you? Getting filled by someone else’s cock with no control whatsoever.” Blue eyes flashed again and Tristan used his free hand to seize the boy by the hair, dragging him further forward onto his cock.
The kid thrashed, choking, and Tristan gasped at the rippling spasms of the boy’s throat around him. He let the kid back off - just a little to catch his breath - then plunged in again, fucking that tempting mouth with hard, demanding strokes.
“Nngh!” the kid managed, trying to regain his balance while his hands were still tied at his sides. Dark hair fell heavily over hollowed cheeks, the kid’s pallor standing out even stronger now against the bloody smears marring his face.
Tristan grinned sharply, hips still rocking rhythmically. The kid looked damn good on his knees.
“Ugh, so good chico,” he breathed, thrusting into the warm tunnel of the kid’s throat. “You’re my kind of treasure. A little practice and you could be a pro - my own private cocksucker. Would you like that, cobalt boy? Being kept eager and waiting for my cock?”
Blue eyes blazed up at him through sweat-darkened bangs and Tristan was impressed all over again when he didn’t see the tracks of tears cutting through the dust and blood caking that pretty face. The kid had balls, that was for sure.
And speaking of which…
Tristan wedged a booted foot between the boy’s spread thighs, rubbing against his soft cock. The kid writhed, trying to escape the touch, but the press of cold steel at his temple quieted him quickly enough. Tristan grinned and pushed harder, feeling the boy’s cock begin to fill and stiffen unwillingly. Moaning again, the kid gave an aborted rock of his hips, unable to control his body’s instinctive reaction.
“Hungry for it, are you?” Tristan focused his attention on that growing bulge, amused by the way the kid’s already spread legs stretched out even further, messing with his tenuous balance and leaving Tristan free to set the pace and make the boy take it. He could feel himself getting closer, it’d been far too long since he’d last had any plunder quite this satisfying. He increased the pressure on the kid’s crotch, both for the heady pleasure of making the chico want him when he didn’t, and for the intensely pleasurable tightening of the boy’s throat muscles when he came, bucking hard and still delightfully, defiantly silent.
“Yes,” Tristan hissed, speeding his pace as the kid shuddered and trembled beneath him. “Not gonna want to share this, chico, you’re so sweet. Ah…!”
And then he was coming, the world going white-black as his cock pulsed deep down the boy’s throat. The boy choked, unprepared, and Tristan held him down, come spilling over red lips and dripping down the boy’s pointed chin when he couldn’t swallow it all.
“Phew,” he declared finally, slumping contentedly as he lowered his gun. “Thanks sweetheart.”
He leaned forward to press a demanding kiss against the boy’s mouth, licking his own essence off swollen, frowning lips. “You’re a little bit of a good time, aren’t you?” he asked, just to see the kid’s nostrils flare angrily.
Tristan pulled back and propped his chin in one hand. “So, you going to tell me your name now, sweetheart?”
Baring his teeth, the boy glared at him in absolute bloodlust. “When my father hears of this…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tristan brushed the thought aside indifferently. “I’m sure Daddy will have all sorts of bad things to say about me when he pays your ransom. They always do.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or rather, if he pays your ransom. He didn’t stick you out here in the Spanish Main out of a deep and abiding love, I’d wager.”
Tristan could practically see the hate radiating off the kid, but there seemed to be little he could say to that. Tristan smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Tucking himself back into his trousers, Tristan let go of the kid and stood. Without any support, the kid thudded heavily into the side of the bed and Tristan stepped around him carelessly.
“You sit tight now, chico. We’ll get you settled in the brig for a nice long trip to Trinidad, then see where we go from there.” The kid looked considerably less than thrilled at the news and Tristan felt the sudden urge to see how long it would take to fuck that obstinacy out of him. A long time, hopefully, his cobalt boy was a lot of fun to play with. And he was too good a fighter to want him broken.
“Don’t look so glum,” Tristan encouraged, pausing just inside the door. “Your Daddy’s going to come rescue you, right? And if he doesn’t, well,” he grinned at his proud, bloodied, obstinate, come-stained guest. “You’re going to make a damn good pirate.”
~owari
Bonus points to anyone who can guess where Jasper's from (the country I mean) and who the lovely red-headed Queen Bess is :)
Tristan settled himself more comfortably against the coarse rigging rope, carefully threaded hands keeping him upright as the ship surged over rolling waves. The sun glinted brightly in his eyes, dashing across the choppy water while the wind teased long strands of hair free from his braid to whip playfully around his face.
On the deck far below, the sailors went about their duties under the watchful eye of the burly first mate. Safeer’s red face made it obvious that he was bellowing orders with all the clout of a quartermaster but, up in the rigging as he was, Tristan couldn’t make them out over the rhythmic pounding of the sails.
Which, of course, was exactly why he was up there in the first place.
Then a shout from the crow’s nest had Tristan forgetting all about staying out of sight. He was on his feet in an instant, paying no concern to life and limb as he leaned dangerously far forward on the rigging. One hand came up to shield his eyes from the sun, the other anchoring him to the ropes as he squinted eagerly against the glare.
The sight of white sails against the endless water startled a whoop of excitement from Tristan’s throat that had barely faded from the air before he was swinging down the rigging to the deck, as quick and sure as a monkey on the knotted ropes.
His boots hit the polished wood with a thump that had half the crew looking curiously his way. Tristan grinned archly, then threw a significant look at Safeer.
The first mate nodded once, then began barking out a new set of orders, very different from the last. The deck sprang to life as Tristan found himself caught up in a swirl of restless activity, sailors hurrying back and forth with eager looks on ruddy faces as they brought the ship around and began the chase.
Tristan’s ship quickly closed the distance between it and its heavy-laden prey. The little sails on the horizon grew inexorably larger as they approached, small figures in various stages of panic clearly visible on the deck.
“Run out the guns Mr. Starks!” Tristan ordered when they were close enough, striding briskly towards the portside railing as his men rose the black flag on the mast behind him. “All men at the ready!”
Tristan took a moment to check his pistols and additional powder, noting with approval that most of the men around him were doing the same. The comfortable weight of his cutlass dragged at his side and his hands tingled with the anticipation of wrapping around the well-worn hilt once again.
Tristan glanced sharply to the right. “Ready Safeer?”
A sharp nod and a wicked grin. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“Good.” Pivoting with confident grace, Tristan faced his crew as they loomed ever closer to the unprepared merchant ship. “Come on men!” he declared. “Let’s make those Spanish bastards regret running afoul of the Jasper Demon!”
A ragged shout rose up from the men and Tristan checked his sword in its scabbard as he turned back to the matter at hand
“On my mark, Mr. Starks!” Tristan bellowed, attention on their rapidly approaching prey. “In three…two…one… FIRE!!!”
Cannon fire exploded through the air and everything went to hell all at once. Tristan grinned to himself.
It was a good day for sailing, but an even better one for plundering.
+++++
The damn fool, William swore to himself, stumbling into a half-full cask of water as the ship lurched sharply to starboard. He’s hit a reef.
Before he could go up on deck and give their incompetent excuse for a helmsman a serious tongue-lashing, the ship lurched again and a sound like thunder shuddered through the air. It took him only a moment to realize - it’s cannon fire - and then he was running, scrabbling among the supplies for something, anything to fight with. His hand closed on the hilt of a rapier and he pulled it free with a jerk, nearly stumbling in his haste.
Deliberately not thinking about how long it had been since he’d held a sword, William surged up the steps to the main deck, shouldering open the door with nearly enough force to take it off its hinges. A sword flashed through his peripheral vision and he ducked instinctively, scrabbling away from the two men hacking at each other with savage intensity.
The ship was a seething mass of people, the plainly clothed deckhands trying desperately to fight off the horde of pirates spilling up over the edge of the deck. Screams and gunshots pierced the air, the furious clash of metal on metal sending light skittering across the decking and sending William’s head to pounding.
A scuffling sound caught his attention and William turned just in time to avoid a wicked-looking sword wielded by an even wickeder-looking pirate. The pirate swung again and William blocked frantically, his thin blade bending warningly under the pressure.
The pirate leered at him, baring blackened teeth in a macabre grin. William’s jaw tightened. He was not going to be beaten here. Drawing on half-forgotten fencing lessons, he parried swiftly and jumped back, out of range. The pirate stumbled, caught off guard, and William moved, lunging in under the other’s guard to deliver a sharp swipe right across his belly.
Red danced along the bright blade, splashing over William’s shirt and leaving stains on the fine white fabric. The pirate doubled over with a gurgling groan, sword falling to the deck with a ringing crash. Thick hands grappled desperately at the blood and guts starting to ooze out of the gash, William all but forgotten in the panic.
Sickened, William turned away from his opponent, trying to ignore the wet, meaty sound of a man’s innards splattering all over the deck. There were fewer brown jerkins in the fray now he realized, a heavy, sinking feeling in his gut. And the ones left were not doing well. Picking a random direction, William started sliding alongside the railing, trying to stay out of sight.
A green-clad pirate rounded the corner of the cabin in front of him and William reacted instinctively, lunging in to attack.
The pirate bellowed in pain and anger as William’s blade pierced his shoulder, and swung wildly with his sword, trying to return the hit. Jerking his own sword free, William retreated quickly, trying to get away.
The pirate stalked after him, snarling fiercely. William’s back hit the railing and he froze, thinking frantically of a way out. Not changing expression, the pirate moved in for the kill, cutlass gleaming painfully bright as it surged towards William’s unprotected chest.
Swords clashed and William gasped unintentionally as the impact jarred all the way up his arm. His opponent’s blade whispered threateningly close to his chest, stirring across his shirt and leaving shallow cuts in the fabric. The pirate leaned in mercilessly and William realized in horror that he couldn’t stop him. He was going to die.
A body crashed through the railing on his left, tumbling into the sea with a strangled scream. William’s attacker glanced up sharply, distracted, and William let himself slump to the floor, legs crumpling bonelessly without the heavy pressure keeping him trapped. A sword slashed towards his head but William was faster, bracing himself hard on his heels to tear straight through the tendons in the man’s leg.
The pirate collapsed, sword still swinging viciously close even as his mutilated leg buckled under him. William scrambled desperately out of the way, eyes wide as the pirate crawled after him, murder written all over his face. He stabbed frantically at the man’s arms, face, shoulders, whatever he could reach until the pirate finally sagged down with a gurgling groan and was still.
Breathing hard, William got shakily to his feet as blood flowed freely across the once-clean deck. I just killed a man, he realized numbly, the thought tinged with shocked disbelief as he stared at the ruin of the pirate’s face.
“Morir pirata!” rang sharply across the deck, and William jerked his eyes away from the gruesome display to look towards the stern. The ship’s captain was there, battling desperately with… a woman? No, William realized, a young man, not much older than himself, dressed in a gold trimmed red vest and loose matching pants, the laces of his white shirt gaping open to show off flashes of surprisingly pale skin for a sailor. A tail of fiery red hair whipped through the air around him, dancing like a banner as he darted and weaved wraith-like around the captain.
As William watched, the red headed pirate twisted away from the captain’s blade, avoiding the killing thrust with an ease William wouldn’t have believed possible in a boy so young. Grinning with fierce exultation, the pirate leaped up with a roundhouse kick that sent the captain thudding to the deck, sword clattering down beside him with a noise like thunder.
Broad, familiar hands lunged for the blade but the pirate kicked it out of the way before the captain reached it. Planting both feet firmly on the deck, the pirate smiled down brightly at the captain and, without pausing, plunged his sword into the man’s heaving chest.
“No!” William yelled thoughtlessly, taking an abortive step forward before he realized what he was doing. The pirate’s head jerked up, sharp eyes fixing on him from halfway across the ship.
William ran, whirling towards the helm in a frantic need to get away. Two pirates loomed in his way and he didn’t slow, just stabbed each of them through the heart and kept going, mindless of the blood splattered across his face and down his front.
Then he was staring at the sea over the edge of the ship and he skidded to a stop, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword as he tried to figure out what to do now.
“The problem with fighting on a ship,” a voice purred impossibly close in his ear, the whisper ghosting across his senses even as the sharp tip of a cutlass pressed unhurriedly into the small of his back. “Is that there’s never anywhere to run.”
William didn’t think, just spun sharply on his heels, sword blade up to parry the strike he knew was coming. Sparks flew as the blades clashed off each other, and William felt a moment of triumph at the look of surprise on the pirate’s surprisingly delicate face. Then green eyes sharpened lazily on him and his sword was on the floor before he’d even seen the other move.
“Tough luck kid,” the pirate smirked, sword making slow circles just above William’s chest. “Wrong person to pick a fight with.” The sword stilled, right over his heart, and William refused to look away, calm as he looked death straight in the face with all the dignity he could muster.
An eyebrow raised in response. “Interesting,” the pirate murmured. The sword tip on William’s chest clinked faintly as it brushed against the necklace hanging free from his shirt, and he could see the way green eyes zeroed in on the contact with a thoughtful tilt. “Very interesting indeed.”
Then the pirate’s sword blurred through the air and something hard and solid crashed into the back of his head and the world went black.
+++++
The merchantmen had largely given up after he’d killed their big, swarthy skinned captain so he’d decided to let them go once he had what he wanted. He’d left them enough food and water that they’d probably be able to get back to land, provided they could mend the holes his cannons had put in their ship of course. And by then, the Faerie Queene would be halfway to Trinidad, well out of reach of the Spanish navy.
Once he was satisfied that things were going to plan, Tristan returned to his cabin, giving Safeer explicit directions not to bother him unless something incredibly drastic was going on.
Safeer had just given him the look and told him to go have fun. Tristan had grinned and obliged.
The cabin was pleasantly cool as he entered, a welcome respite from the merciless heat of the Caribbean sun. Tristan shucked his vest over the corner of his table, placing his sheathed cutlass on top after a moment’s consideration. He was more than a match for his guest with or without it.
The boy was right where he’d left him, slumped unconscious at the foot of the bed, head lolling low over his bound chest. There was blood on his face and in his hair, a large matted clump where Tristan’s sword hilt had bashed into the side of his head. His shirt, probably once a very good quality piece of clothing, was stained beyond repair, more red than white and nicked by countless shallow scratches. The boy’s sword had skidded overboard when he’d knocked it out of his hand, but Tristan doubted it had been his to begin with - he’d fought like someone who’d learned how without ever getting into a real fight. He’d been pretty good despite that, but a prissy sword like that was better off lost anyway.
Pouring himself a brandy from the decanter secured to the side board, Tristan debated how long he ought to wait for the kid to wake up. He had, as his mother would have once said, no patience for being patient and now that their prize was safely on board he was eager to see if he could yet claim another. There was no such thing as too much after all, especially for a pirate.
As he stood, sipping his drink and admiring the way long lashes spidered over smooth cheeks, a low groan shuddered through the quiet cabin. The boy shifted slightly, raising his head with an aching slowness that paid mute evidence to the headache that bash on the head must have given him. Hands twitched as the boy tried and failed to lift his arms and those delightfully blue eyes snapped open in alarm. Tristan could see him taking in the dim interior of the cabin, finally gazing at Tristan himself with a wariness so perplexed it was practically a question.
Tristan grinned. “Yo chico,” he said, saluting with his drink. “Habla ingles?”
The boy was silent for a moment, then glared at him narrowly. “Apparently better than you speak Spanish pirata,” he spat and, oh his voice was lovely, foreign accent rolling richly over the scathing words. Tristan decided he could forgive him, just this once, when he sounded that pretty.
“Why would I want to speak Spanish?” he asked, his own distinctly non-English lilt clearer in his native tongue. “Only heathens and thieves do that.”
“And you aren’t both, pirata?” the boy demanded, and Tristan was impressed by his sheer brave stupidity.
Tristan sighed marginally. “Privateer,” he corrected, stepping forward to stand in front of the bound youth. “In the proud service of Her Majesty Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England.”
“Queen!” the boy scoffed. “She’s nothing but a Protestant whore playing at being royalty!”
Tristan slapped him. “I’ll not tolerate such words about Her Majesty,” he informed his captive coldly. “And I wouldn’t be so quick to condemn if I was you. Not unless you want to take a short walk off the side of the ship.”
The boy eyed him warily. “Will I be expected to negotiate for my freedom?”
“If you like,” Tristan shrugged. “Although it’s not really up to you whether you go free or not.” The boy opened his mouth, probably to insult him again, and Tristan dangled the pendant he’d taken off the kid in front of his face.
The boy’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“This is yours, right?” Tristan asked, knowing the answer and asking anyway just to be irritating. The boy’s expression went cagey and Tristan was pleased to see that he wasn’t a fool, even if he was Spanish. He made a show of looking at the distinctive pattern etched into the metal, smoothing his fingers over the neat grooves. “If this crest really belongs to you, we can make almost as much of a profit on your return as we have from the contents of your ship’s hold.”
“Verdin!” the kid snarled, straining against his bonds, and Tristan didn’t really care what the word meant, although the sheer loathing in the tone was entertaining. “You soulless English dog!”
Tristan smirked, letting the chain swing back and forth in front of outraged blue eyes. “Now that’s not a very smart way to talk to your captor.”
The boy stiffened at that and Tristan could almost see the thoughts swirling around in that pretty little head. “My captor?” he said slowly, and Tristan nodded to help him along. “Where is the captain of this… vessel?”
He loved this part.
“Tristan an Senmae,” he introduced himself, bowing low enough that his braid swept along the floor. “Otherwise known as the Jasper Demon.”
Recognition jolted through those expressive eyes at the name, and Tristan had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning at the visible pallor that swept over that blood-stained face.
“Younger than you were expecting?” he asked cheekily, cocking his head to the side with an arrogant smirk. “I’ve been a pirate for longer than you’ve been on this earth, chico.”
The kid bit his lip, hard, but his expression was surprisingly clear as he glowered at Tristan. “Don’t address me that way, pirata.”
And, oh, that was a little bit of interesting. The way the words were just a bit shaky but the kid wasn’t backing down, didn’t turn into a babbling mass of ‘I-don’t-want-to-die!’ like so many of them did when they realized just who was grinning at them.
Tristan smiled, showing teeth. “Well!” he declared with affected surprise. “You certainly sound like an aristocrat. Maybe it really is yours.”
The boy was still glaring at him, and Tristan let his grin become just a touch speculative.
“Only thing I can’t figure out chico,” he said. “If you’re a beloved son of the renowned Hunter family, what are you doing floating around on a cargo ship in the middle of the Caribbean? Run away from home? Or do your parents not love you enough?”
Bingo, he thought as the kid went alternatively outraged, then pale, jerking his head to the side to break eye contact. Tristan couldn’t say he minded really, the boy was almost as pretty in profile as he was from the front. It did make him wonder why the boy was unfavoured enough to get treated as a shipping guide though, since he looked as much like an aristocrat he acted. Tristan’s eyes swept leisurely over his unwilling cabin-guest, appreciating the fine, aquiline features and dark, wavy hair that contrasted beautifully with the kid’s fair skin, so pale it almost glowed in the dim light of the cabin…
Tristan blinked. Ah. So that was it.
“Or maybe,” he chuckled, gratified by the way furious eyes swung helplessly his way. “The reason you’re out here is that dear Daddy can’t stand the sight of his half-breed bastard. Bet you’ve got a nice English name to go with that lily-white skin, don’t you?”
The entire bed lurched as the kid flung himself towards Tristan. Tristan laughed, avoiding the clumsy lunge easily.
“Watch it, chico!” he warned, catching the kid by the shoulders to keep him from tumbling nose-first to the floor. “You’ll bruise that pretty face of yours.” He grinned wickedly. “And you wouldn’t want to waste a bargaining chip like that.”
The kid glared at him, uncomprehending, and the look of sharp rage in those eyes startled a flare of heat in Tristan’s veins that made the crotch of his trousers feel uncomfortably tight.
Suddenly Tristan could think of a much better way to humiliate his unwilling guest.
“What are you doing?” the kid demanded as Tristan sat down on the edge of the bed then turned the kid around to face him. “Unhand me!”
Tristan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so.”
Spreading his legs to cage the boy’s body, Tristan hissed as the movement stretched the seam of his trousers across his stiffening length. He offered the kid a sideways grin, enjoying the look of confused alarm on the bloodstained face.
“Why don’t you convince me to be nice to you?”
“Wha…” the kid began, then trailed off as he realized his position had him staring straight at Tristan’s crotch. Lightening snapped in blue eyes as they shot up to Tristan’s face. “You can’t be serious!”
Tristan shrugged. “Why not? You’re pretty enough. And until your dear Daddy decides to ransom you back, you belong to me as much as the cobalt in the hold does. Or would you rather I give you to the crew for all their hard work today?”
The kid, Tristan noticed with interest, seemed to be trying not to hyperventilate. “You… you expect me - me!... to, to…”
“Suck me off,” Tristan supplied helpfully. “Start you off easy. Come on, chico.” He let one hand drift down to loose the laces on his pants. “Let’s find out if you’re as good a cocksucker as your momma must have been.”
“Bastardo,” the boy hissed, furious. “Púdrase en el infierno, pirata despiadado! Mi padre le buscará...”
Something cold and solid pressed threateningly against the side the kid’s head, ending the string of Spanish with a strangled gasp.
“You know the best thing about being a pirate?” Tristan asked mildly, cocked pistol held rock steady against the boy’s temple. “You always get what you want.”
Blue eyes were huge, devouring the kid’s face as Tristan freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and looked down expectantly.
“Well?” The hammer of the firearm clicked loudly in the silence. “What are you waiting for?”
Slowly, reluctantly, the kid leaned forwards towards the bed, the look of outrage and disgust on his face only making it sweeter when full lips parted to slide hesitantly over the head of Tristan’s cock.
“That’s it,” Tristan encouraged, angling his hips to give the kid better access. “Have a good taste, chico. Get it wet.”
The kid growled in fury, the sound vibrating around Tristan’s sex and making his eyes cross with the sensation.
“Oh, do that again,” he ordered, his accent coming out thick and husky. The area around the kid’s eyes tightened rebelliously and Tristan nudged the pistol barrel warningly against his head.
“No funny business,” he commanded. “And no teeth. You wouldn’t want me to get startled and lose my grip, now would you?”
The kid eyed him with a mix of hatred and entreaty that made Tristan smile, pleased.
“I thought not. Better hurry up then, before I start losing interest.”
The look didn’t change, but the kid leaned forward obediently, his warm, wet mouth sliding like velvet down Tristan’s heavy length. Tristan groaned at the sensation, the awkward, tentative touches of lips and tongue as the kid tried to figure out what to do thrilling him to no end. He’d always loved buggering virgins. When you stole someone’s innocence, no one could ever get it back.
“Yeah sweetheart,” he urged. “Just like that. You like it don’t you? Getting filled by someone else’s cock with no control whatsoever.” Blue eyes flashed again and Tristan used his free hand to seize the boy by the hair, dragging him further forward onto his cock.
The kid thrashed, choking, and Tristan gasped at the rippling spasms of the boy’s throat around him. He let the kid back off - just a little to catch his breath - then plunged in again, fucking that tempting mouth with hard, demanding strokes.
“Nngh!” the kid managed, trying to regain his balance while his hands were still tied at his sides. Dark hair fell heavily over hollowed cheeks, the kid’s pallor standing out even stronger now against the bloody smears marring his face.
Tristan grinned sharply, hips still rocking rhythmically. The kid looked damn good on his knees.
“Ugh, so good chico,” he breathed, thrusting into the warm tunnel of the kid’s throat. “You’re my kind of treasure. A little practice and you could be a pro - my own private cocksucker. Would you like that, cobalt boy? Being kept eager and waiting for my cock?”
Blue eyes blazed up at him through sweat-darkened bangs and Tristan was impressed all over again when he didn’t see the tracks of tears cutting through the dust and blood caking that pretty face. The kid had balls, that was for sure.
And speaking of which…
Tristan wedged a booted foot between the boy’s spread thighs, rubbing against his soft cock. The kid writhed, trying to escape the touch, but the press of cold steel at his temple quieted him quickly enough. Tristan grinned and pushed harder, feeling the boy’s cock begin to fill and stiffen unwillingly. Moaning again, the kid gave an aborted rock of his hips, unable to control his body’s instinctive reaction.
“Hungry for it, are you?” Tristan focused his attention on that growing bulge, amused by the way the kid’s already spread legs stretched out even further, messing with his tenuous balance and leaving Tristan free to set the pace and make the boy take it. He could feel himself getting closer, it’d been far too long since he’d last had any plunder quite this satisfying. He increased the pressure on the kid’s crotch, both for the heady pleasure of making the chico want him when he didn’t, and for the intensely pleasurable tightening of the boy’s throat muscles when he came, bucking hard and still delightfully, defiantly silent.
“Yes,” Tristan hissed, speeding his pace as the kid shuddered and trembled beneath him. “Not gonna want to share this, chico, you’re so sweet. Ah…!”
And then he was coming, the world going white-black as his cock pulsed deep down the boy’s throat. The boy choked, unprepared, and Tristan held him down, come spilling over red lips and dripping down the boy’s pointed chin when he couldn’t swallow it all.
“Phew,” he declared finally, slumping contentedly as he lowered his gun. “Thanks sweetheart.”
He leaned forward to press a demanding kiss against the boy’s mouth, licking his own essence off swollen, frowning lips. “You’re a little bit of a good time, aren’t you?” he asked, just to see the kid’s nostrils flare angrily.
Tristan pulled back and propped his chin in one hand. “So, you going to tell me your name now, sweetheart?”
Baring his teeth, the boy glared at him in absolute bloodlust. “When my father hears of this…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tristan brushed the thought aside indifferently. “I’m sure Daddy will have all sorts of bad things to say about me when he pays your ransom. They always do.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or rather, if he pays your ransom. He didn’t stick you out here in the Spanish Main out of a deep and abiding love, I’d wager.”
Tristan could practically see the hate radiating off the kid, but there seemed to be little he could say to that. Tristan smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Tucking himself back into his trousers, Tristan let go of the kid and stood. Without any support, the kid thudded heavily into the side of the bed and Tristan stepped around him carelessly.
“You sit tight now, chico. We’ll get you settled in the brig for a nice long trip to Trinidad, then see where we go from there.” The kid looked considerably less than thrilled at the news and Tristan felt the sudden urge to see how long it would take to fuck that obstinacy out of him. A long time, hopefully, his cobalt boy was a lot of fun to play with. And he was too good a fighter to want him broken.
“Don’t look so glum,” Tristan encouraged, pausing just inside the door. “Your Daddy’s going to come rescue you, right? And if he doesn’t, well,” he grinned at his proud, bloodied, obstinate, come-stained guest. “You’re going to make a damn good pirate.”
~owari
Bonus points to anyone who can guess where Jasper's from (the country I mean) and who the lovely red-headed Queen Bess is :)