A Pirate's Conquest

by Vivienne Cox

  “Don’t, I’ll spend myself.”

  “If you want…”

  “No. In you, Jamie, nowhere else.”

  The boards rough against his knees, James gasped. “Yes.” Alexander bent to him, kissed his lips again, licked the taste of himself from within them and around them. “Come, up with you.” The whisper was against his cheek, and James moved, standing, hands aiding him as he swayed giddily.

  The bed was so close. He fell back, pushed, guided, brought down. The light slanting in the window blinded him, and he could only feel as he was turned and Alexander’s body settled against him.

  “I want ye, Jamie. Tell me you want me too.”

  “Christ, Alexander.” He could hear his own desperation threaded in the words, in his voice. “Fuck me. I want to feel you.”

  “How much?”

  “Ah, how can you? Jesus, yes, I want you so much I’ll kill you if you don’t do it.”

  “Better. Why?”

  “Because I love you, you bastard!”

  “Yesss…” And Alexander pressed him tight to the bed, and a mouth was kissing his back, sliding down, biting as it went, making him start and jerk at each press of sharp teeth, making his cock leak against the sheets, untouched, trapped. A bite on his arse made him cry out, but then the biting stopped and instead the mouth was licking, sucking his skin, sliding down, into his cleft and into his hole. He groaned, clutching at the bed, the sheets, finding a pillow and using it as an anchor as the tongue – so hot, so hard, so bloody skilled – fucked him. Inside him. And that thought alone made him sob, his face buried in the pillow, his teeth biting hard at the cotton.

  Never had he imagined. Never. Overwhelming, outrageous, so good. He could feel Alexander’s nose buried in his cleft, feel every swipe of tongue, every intrusion, each one deeper than the other, each one opening him, until he felt stripped, peeled, every inch of his skin a mass of sensation.

  The air was cold when the face moved. Thomas whimpered and clutched his pillow as Alexander braced himself over him.

  “How long’s it been?”

  “How… What?” He turned his head to speak, though his lips felt alien.

  “Since you were fucked?”

  “Not. I mean, ever…” He licked his lips and tried again. “Never.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that bad? From somewhere he found the will to turn his head, to look in Alexander’s eyes. “Sorry…”

  Arching over him, Alexander kissed his shoulder, then his mouth, hungrily. When he leant back, his eyes were sloe-black. “Don’t be.”

  Hot, hard flesh slid between his arse cheeks and James gasped. “Yes… Alexander, I want this.”

  No words, but the mouth kissed him once more, hard on the pad of muscle where his shoulder met his back, just where he knew the scars were worst, and suddenly Alexander was braced over him one handed, the other sliding over his hole, finding it, pressing his cock-head to it. “It’ll hurt, but not for long.” And he pressed in.

  Biting down on his lip, James arched off the bed. A hand slid around his chest, cradling him sweetly as the cock ripped him open. The pain was like nothing else. It burned, tore, clawed at him, opening him body and soul as he was claimed. There was no air, no breath. Then Alexander moved again and James was panting, heaving air into his lungs, crying out as Alexander, his own body shuddering, pushed hard, and somehow was deep inside. They lay still, panting. Sweat dripped onto James’ neck, and the pain slowly dissipated.

  “It’ll be good, soon.”

  James nodded, though even that movement spiked pain from his arse. He groaned. “Alexander, please…”

  He felt the nod. And the deep breath that Alexander took. Then with a slow slide, he felt the thickness that impaled him move; back then forth, slow as the tide. He expected the same unutterable pain, but instead there was something that felt close to pleasure. Almost sobbing, he clutched the pillow, the cotton absorbing the sweat that stung his eyes, his teeth biting down as the slide began again, and he felt pain that slipped to pleasure, and then back, though each time it was sweeter, until he moaned, and his head lifted, for all he felt was the wholeness of being possessed, and the perfect completion of being taken.

  “There, feel how good it is.” Alexander’s voice, soft, strained.

  “Yes…”

  Alexander moved his braced hands, mattress dipping, and the penetration deepened. Suddenly James moaned, for this time there was intense, sudden pleasure that flowered through him.

  “See?”

  Oh, he saw. Felt. There was still the foreignness of being so stretched and filled, the pain of it too, but there was more. Curious, he flexed his arse, and heard Alexander curse him. Though he thought it a good thing, so he did it again.

  “Jamie, you’ll kill me…”

  And Alexander fucked him slow and deep, until the hard strokes lifted his cock, made it stiff where the pain had stripped arousal away. Raw, scraped between his stomach and the sheet, it was suddenly painful in its need. “Alexander, please…I need…”

  Hands gripped his hips and tugged. “Come, lift.”

  Still joined, with Alexander’s balls tight and scratchy against his own, he lifted slowly, until he was kneeling, braced on his elbows. Alexander’s mouth was on his neck, biting hard as he slammed in again. James clawed at the bed and screamed as Alexander’s hand gripped his length, stripping him back, thumb digging hard into his slit. Once, twice, the charm was there and as the strong hand pumped him and the thick cock rode him, he came, Alexander’s name stuttering from his lips, his whole body breaking in the waves that ran through him, through the pain and the overriding pleasure and the racking pulses of his seed shooting up from his balls.

  Breath heaving, head hanging, he stilled, propped on quivering arms.

  Alexander leant close, whispering roughly, wildly. “Now Jamie, now lean back.”

  Guided, he sat up, moaning softly as the cock in him seemed to slide even deeper. Alexander was sucking his neck, moaning words that were indistinguishable. Still hard in Alexander’s hand, his cock seemed to spasm, and as Alexander flexed his hips and took his own pleasure, the world turned to scarlet and James came again, spattering seed high as he felt the heat of Alexander’s filling him inside, and he heard the indescribable delight of his name on those lips, being screamed in pleasure as Alexander came.

  ::::

  Chapter 26

  The weight of a body lay heavily on his back. He tried to move, but a sharp pain shot up his spine and made him hold quite still, though the body stirred and that was painful enough.

  “Jamie, damn, forgive me.”

  Alexander lifted and breath became easier. He shivered when the softened cock slid from his arse, and the warmth of spilled seed seeped out onto his thighs.

  “Wait.”

  Too lethargic to think of anything else, he lay still as the mattress dipped, and after a moment Alexander returned with a damp cloth that he swiped gently between his cheeks. Turning onto his side, James watched as Alexander cleaned himself, then tossing the cloth away climbed back onto the bed, settling at James’ side. James smiled at him, though the other man was frowning slightly.

  “What?”

  “I should’ve gone easier.”

  “I will grow accustomed to such pastimes. At least, I hope to.”

  “Aye.”

  “Good.” He felt smug, warm and very content.

  “But there are better ways to break in a virgin.”

  “Oh, please.” He laughed softly, breathily as his body reacted in strange and interesting ways to the movement. “I liked it.” He considered. “No, I didn’t like it, I adored it. You think I have release like that every time?”

  Alexander ceased frowning. “That’s true, you did sound content enough.” He settled back and slid an arm under James’ shoulders, bringing him closer. Without reluctance, Thomas rolled onto his side, one arm around Alexander’s waist, his hand stroking gently over a faint ridge of scarring.

/>   “Better than content.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” James could feel the smile that was spread over Alexander’s face.

  The sun had long set, and the cabin was lit by flickering candlelight. James lifted his hand and traced a pattern onto golden skin, nothing determined, just a twisting shape that his fingertips found pleasing. The scarring was quite deep. He wondered idly what it was. Or what the story would be: shark, dragon, Scylla.

  “It’s from a shackle.”

  Alexander answered the question he had only thought.

  “On your waist?”

  “To act as a tether. They prefer them like that.”

  James stilled his hand, wincing. “Who?”

  “The keepers of Bethlem Hospital.”

  Ah, god. Poor man… “Alexander.” He lifted his head and looked into calm, sane eyes. “Who put you there?”

  “Bedlam is the place for all lunatics, firestarters and sodomites!” He was clearly quoting someone. “I managed to fit on all three counts.”

  “Maybe two, but you’re not mad, Alexander. You sail your own line, but you’ve no madness in you.”

  “There is. Sometimes. Back there I was worse. The city hated me, and I hated it. I burned my father’s house. At the time it seemed eminently sensible.”

  Without judgement, James shrugged. “Then mayhap it was.”

  “You’d forgive me anything, wouldn’t ye, Jamie?”

  He smiled, sad for the Alexander who had lived in chains. Glad that he had flown free. “Not anything, as such…”

  “Most things, then?”

  “Aye, most things.” The pirate was grinning in a most self satisfied way. James poked him, just under the ribs. “No taking advantage!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Which seemed remarkably unlikely, but not altogether unpleasant. With a smile of his own, James settled back, his hand around the scars he had found, his touch tender, his own aching wrists clear enough knowledge of how harsh the making of those deep scars had to have been.

  In the quiet, with the wind lifting and the Siren once again sliding through the waves, Alexander slept. Pressed tight to his chest, James lay awake, half drowsing, listening to the heart beating under his ear, to the waves as they swept by and the whispers of the ship herself, her timbers chattering softly through the night. One by one the candles guttered, and he may have slept himself, for at some point, Alexander was gone and, when he looked up, fresh candles were being lit, one by one by a naked Alexander Cruise. Uncurling, James watched him unashamedly. Slim and strong, his skin was golden, the dark hair black in the half-light. He was lovely. Not mad at all. But it was easy to see how he could seem so.

  “Drink?”

  James nodded, and watched as Alexander slipped past the curtain, returning after a moment with a bottle and two glasses. “Rum?”

  He laughed softly, though it faded into a wince as he sat up and his spine took his weight.

  “Ah, looks like you need it. Rum cures all ills.” Alexander ignored the glare directed at him. “Honest, ‘tis true.”

  The headboard was a lovely place to rest. “Give me some then, Cruise. I think you might have damaged me.”

  Blithe, Alexander sat on the bed next to him, and poured a glass. “I checked. No blood.”

  “Oh, I feel so much better.”

  “Drink.” James obeyed. The first sip was delicious. As was the second. Somehow he was at the bottom of the glass. The rum’s warmth spread through him happily, and he sighed lushly, turning his head to Cruise. “You’re right.”

  “Mm, if you ever get a tattoo, drink plenty o’ rum first.”

  “I will.” He thought about it. A pattern inked on his skin. Not if he was going back to his old life, but if he stayed. If there was a place here. If he could live with being nothing but a pirate’s… what? Whore, companion, lover, fellow pirate for God’s sake? No, not that.

  “You look very serious.”

  James hesitated, then lied. “I was wondering what I’d have. What tattoo.”

  “Oh. Well, you could have anything you wanted.” Alexander refilled James’ glass, and his own before putting the bottle down on the table at the bedside. “Birds.” Which earned a frown. “Beasts, ships, words – how about ‘mother’ in flowing script? No? Oh well, Um, you could have something nautical, like an anchor, or naked wench. The men are fond of those, especially the ones who’re too ugly to see the real thing.”

  “Maybe a Cruise, like yours, but not in flight. A little Cruise sitting in a tree. Or two Cruises!” He giggled softly at the idea. Then he remembered something. “You know, Cruises stand for lechery?”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Ah, yes. Elizabethan poets were always going on about them.”

  “Lechery.”

  “Mm. Suits you so well.”

  “I chose it. My real name’s very boring and doesn’t stand for lechery at all, more like deathly boredom and high-toned morality.”

  “Your father’s name then?”

  “The one and only.”

  A question lingered in James’ mind, and because of the rum he asked it. “Why did you burn his house?”

  “Because I hated ‘im.” Alexander shrugged, as if it was of no consequence at all, which perhaps it wasn’t. “And ‘e deserved it.”

  “Good reasons.” James lifted his glass and they toasted the fact, drinking deep.

  Taking the glasses, Alexander put them away, then he turned back, shifting until he was lying down. He tugged at James’ hand. “Come on.”

  Movement was easier with the rum inside him. In fact nothing really hurt at all. Sighing happily, he wriggled down and curled onto his side to face Cruise. For a long while he just lay and looked, staring at the pirate’s face, at the patterns braided into the fine beard, at the curl of his moustache, the way his eyes seemed so intent, so alive with intelligence even when lazy with sex and sleep. All the while he knew that Alexander was examining him in the same way, and he hoped he appeared in some way favoured, though he had no illusions, for he knew he was not a handsome man. If he had been such a thing he would have proposed to Elizabeth the day she turned sixteen. That he hadn’t, now only gave him a faint feeling of relief. He hadn’t, and so his life had changed and allowed this to happen. Even O’Connell seemed a fair bargain, for this happiness. Though he would have scorned anyone who could have said such a thing at the time. See, Thomas, you’ll live through this and the pain will bring you heaven. He’d have laughed long and loud. If he’d been capable, which most of the time had been quite unlikely.

  He started when Alexander’s hand brushed his face.

  “What’re you thinking of?”

  “You.”

  “That’s good.” Alexander smiled innocently. “I hope.”

  “Oh yes, good.”

  “Enough for you to kiss me again?”

  “Alexander, you don’t have to ask.”

  Brought closer, he felt Alexander’s arousal as their lips met. Hard and wanting though they had not long since spent themselves so well. It was so exquisite to be desired so passionately. His own cock lifted, as eager as a boy’s, so it was hot and ready, bumping against its fellow as, quite lazily, Alexander slipped his hand between their bodies and clasped both shafts, squeezing as he pressed forward.

  Gasping into the kiss, James let the pleasure rise over him, the sweetness of it like honey after the rutting that had gone before. Moaning softly, he pulled Alexander to him, cupping the firm buttocks, pulling him near as the hand pumped slow and firm, the rhythm so right, so perfect. There was no hurry. He stroked the fine, warm skin under his hand, and kissed, the touch so light it was merely a breath between them, a skimming of skin on skin, of tongue against tongue.

  Gradually the shift of fist over cock grew faster, more firm. Still slow, it became insistent, the point of no return reached. James heard Alexander’s quiet breathing snag in his throat, and Alexander
’s cock was pulsing hard along his own, and the body in his arms was shuddering, gasping, with harsh, eager sounds. The heat spilling over his skin was all it took, and James came too, held tight, their seed warm and sticky between them.

  ::::

  chapter 27

  The next morning he couldn’t move. In any way.

  Crawling like a sick and palsied man from the bed, he made it to the pisspot but couldn’t face anything else. While Alexander was up and dressed, humming to himself as he made himself ready, James simply climbed back into bed and groaned.

  “Breakfast?”

  “No. Dead men don’t eat.”

  “It’s not that bad!”

  “It’s not your back and arse.”

  Leaning over him, Alexander smiled wickedly. “Ah, but it will be next time.” His hand cupped Thomas’s groin through the sheets, and when he felt the reaction he laughed. “See, not dead yet.”

  “Just you wait.”

  “Oh, I am, I am.” A kiss on Thomas’s nose, and he stood back. “Tonight?”

  Thomas simply pulled the covers over his head and cursed volubly.

  He only half awoke when Alexander left to go up on deck, though he roused for a kiss that left him drowsy in the cold morning light. It was gone noon when he awoke again. The aches were not so sharp this time, and he managed to rise, wash after a fashion and dress, all without whimpering too much. Using the head was a different matter. Not helped by the amused looks he got from various members of the crew, a few of whom seemed to feel it necessary to impart their own cures and remedies. Which meant that he and Alexander (or just Alexander, or just himself) had been loud enough for the men to hear what was happening. And his own limping appearance had merely informed all the busybodies exactly what had been done to whom.

  It was all acutely embarrassing. But not so that he would have changed a moment. Or that he wouldn’t do it again. Just as soon as he stopped shitting fire.

  They sailed into a small storm in the late afternoon, and everyone ate cold food, and worked through it, apart from James who took to their cabin and curled up in bed with one of Alexander’s books. He dozed for a while, then pulled the covers over himself and slept, awaking in the dark, with Alexander’s cold and wet body against him. Smiling at the familiarity of it all, he warmed the other man, came under his insistent hand, returned the favour and fell asleep remarkably content.