AN: I was given a prompt by a lovely little grey sunglasses-wearing sphere on Tumblr: "If you're still taking prompts for the WinterHawk thing then how about pirates verse? Or a/b/o verse?" Seeing as I can't write smut to save my life (never mind the fact that I'm still too scared of A/B/O to even attempt writing something in that universe!), pirates it was. And boy, did I have a lot of fun coming up with this! (And yes, I did listen to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack during the process. It was most helpful.) I researched the Naval ranks to a slight degree, but it's not like I'm going for historical accuracy in this one, so pinch of salt, people :P

We Dream of Oceans Free

The only reason Clint Barton knew that last night wasn't a dream was because he woke up, early, to the feel of lips being pressed gently against the back of his shoulder. Sighing, he stretched out his muscles, the feel of another body against his left side almost too good to be true. The lips, moving systematically from his shoulder to his neck, never stopped as he shifted. "Still here?"

"It would appear so," a warm voice replied, hot breath flowing over the back of his neck. "Do you want me to leave?"

Too many times he'd woken up to find that the hope of James Barnes still being in bed beside him was just that – hope. Rolling over, Clint lifted a hand to cup the back of Bucky's head, pulling him down as he murmured, "Never." Kissing him was the same as it always was: deep, blissful, and with just a hint of rum; that didn't mean he would ever get bored of doing so.

When they parted, Bucky flopped back down on to the bed with an intensely satisfied groan. "I love it when you come here," he said, grinning with his eyes shut. "Councilmen get such amazing beds, even for lowly guests such as yourself."

"If Mayor Morse knew I was letting scoundrels like you in he would revoke such a privilege."

Bucky opened one eye, the brow above it raised. "You mean I'm not the only scoundrel in your life?"

"You're the only one I take to bed." Said scoundrel chuckled, and Clint shifted onto his side. He reached out to trace the tattoo on Bucky's exposed shoulder, a star he'd somehow coloured red, and though he always claimed it was something the crew of his ship did Clint suspected there was a deeper meaning to the symbol. "What if we get caught?" he asked softly.

"Not gonna get caught."

He snorted. "Is that still your motto?"

"Sure it is." Bucky moved to fold his arms under the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling, a smile on his lips. "I've avoided the noose for a while now. Can't hurt to assume I'll continue to do so."

"There are more ways for pirates to die than the scaffold."

"Mmh. Scurvy, drowning, bar fights, naval ships…" His eyes slid to Clint, who frowned at the insinuation.

"Thought we agreed to put that behind us when we were alone," he said, turning onto his other side.

Behind him, Bucky rolled his eyes. "I know it'd never be you, but come on – how many of your stuck-up crew mates have sworn to eradicate my kind from the seas?"

There was no use denying such an accusation. Just the other day, Clint had overheard a few sailors from a fellow vessel, the Xavier, complaining about 'sea-vermin' and expressing their desire to sink every last pirate ship they laid eyes on. Clint had never seen eye-to-eye with Captain Summers, but he'd heard similar sentiments from his own crew on the Shield, even though Admiral Fury had expressed some mercy when it came to dealing with pirates.

Lost in thought, Clint was brought back to the present by the feel of a rough hand sliding over his abdomen as Bucky settled himself against his back. Their feet automatically entwined at the end of the bed, and Bucky's nose pressed into the short hairs on Clint's neck as he breathed deeply. "I had a great dream, you know," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "We were on the same ship together," he began, "on the same side. It was our ship, and we were part of an amazing crew. The best in every one of the world's oceans. Had all the big names on one deck: Captain Steve Rogers at the helm, with Sam Wilson as his First Mate, falcon and all. Tony Stark as blacksmith, kept her sails tidy and her guns gleaming. Thor Odinson was the navigator, best weather interpreter of any trade route. That cabin boy everyone keeps talking about – Parker, or something like that. Few people climb rigging like him. You were one of them, of course, an unparalleled scout who could spot land as if his eyes were made of telescopes." (Clint glowed from the praise.) "There were tough old dogs like James Logan and Luke Cage, newer whelps like Daniel Rand, even a woman – Natasha, obviously." Natasha Romanov, the only female pirate Clint had ever had the fortune to meet and one of Bucky's crew mates. She was beautiful, but God, she was deadly. "Oh, and that friend of yours – Butch Bander, or whatever – he was our cook."

"Bruce Banner was your dream-ship's cook?" Clint spluttered.

"Can't explain it," Bucky said as Clint laughed. "He got real angry if we complained about the food, though. Swear he turned into the kraken or something."

"You have bizarre dreams," the sailor told him, bringing the hand across his stomach up to his lips. "What was it called?"

"Hm?"

"The ship. Did she have a name?"

He could feel the smile spreading against his hairline. "The Avenger."

"The Avenger…" It did sound good, especially if they were together without being against one another. "And what was her purpose?"

Bucky was silent for a moment. "We maintained justice on the sea," he said softly. "We weren't pirates, but we weren't part of the Navy, either. We just stopped bad guys from doing bad things. Protected the shores. Explored, expanded the maps, found treasure for people at home."

"Like who?"

"I don't know, do I? I mean, anything I get I tend to sell so I can send some of the money to Rebecca. If I find something I think she'd like, I do the same. But you…" He chuckled. "Maybe you could send treasure to Bobbi."

"What?" As Bucky laughed, Clint tried to roll over and hit him on the arm. "Don't be ridiculous! You know she'd never accept anything from me."

"But this is a dream, Clint," he insisted with a wink. "Anything's possible in dreams."

Taking in the sight of Bucky relaxed, happy, and safely beside him, Clint sighed. "Don't I know it."

"Hey, where're you going?" Bucky asked as Clint threw back the bed cover.

"Just to the toilet," he grunted, reaching down for his undershirt. "I won't be gone long, so don't even think about moving until I get back."

He could feel Bucky smirking at him. "Or what? You'll clap me in irons, Mr Barton?"

"If I thought it'd do any good," Clint muttered, rolling his eyes as he left the bedroom. He joked, but thinking of Bucky in manacles only made him think of what would happen next, and it wasn't just a stint behind iron bars and a branding.

The rest of the Morse household sounded blessedly quiet, but he still tried to make as little noise as possible as he attended to his business, nearly resorting to tiptoeing back to the guest room in an attempt to avoid the creakier floorboards. Once back behind the closed door, he slid back into bed and started to return the favour for Bucky's earlier activity; against the exposed plane of his back, Clint placed light, delicate kisses wherever he could comfortably reach. He lingered over some of the multitude of scars Bucky had accumulated over the years: long, thin, raised, smooth, white as pearls despite the exposure to the sun the pirate's complexion suggested. Coming across a new one, jagged and pink, halfway down his right side, Clint gently inquired about it.

"Novokov again," Bucky mumbled, his face half-buried in the pillow. "Swear the bastard wants to kill me."

"Hasn't Karpov done anything?"

He grunted. "So long as we do what he says and keep the Russian going, he doesn't care whether we get along with each other or not. But between you and me –" he twisted his head to smirk at Clint – "he'd be more pissed at Leo for cutting my throat than if I cut his."

Still astounded by the Russian pirates' behaviour, even after countless tales of their antics, Clint was about to ask further questions when a knock at the door had them both freezing where they lay. "Mr Barton? Are you awake in there?"

"Uh, just a minute!" Clint called, hissing "Under the bed!" to Bucky, who was already complying. After neatening up the pillows and rearranging the covers, he bade his unexpected visitor to enter.

Barbara Morse poked her head around the door, smiling broadly when she saw him still in bed. "Well now," she chimed, fully entering the room. "What would your captain say if he saw you in such a state at this time of day, Mr Barton?"

"Clint," he corrected automatically, "and Admiral Fury gave us until noon today to be back on board the Shield. I am merely taking advantage of the time that is given to me, Miss Morse."

"Bobbi. And yes, I suppose you are," she mused. She stepped closer to the bed; her long blonde hair had not yet been done up for the day, and Clint had to resist the urge to touch it as she sat down on the edge of the mattress (if the day should come when he decided to marry, Bobbi would make a beautiful bride, of that he had no doubt). "What is the next venture for the Shield and her honourable crew, then?"

Clint faltered. He wanted to tell her – the mayor's daughter showed a keen interest in the machinations of the Royal Navy, and he enjoyed talking to her about it, but to let her in on Admiral Fury's latest plans would be to inform Bucky of them too, information Clint couldn't be sure he wouldn't take back to The Red Russian. "We're looking for artefacts," he eventually said, "though what we're looking for I don't know, exactly. That, and we might have a lead on some pirates that are nearby." The last part was not entirely true. Not yet.

Bobbi always reacted a bit like a child at the mention of pirates, her blue eyes lighting up almost as bright as the Caribbean itself. "Do you think they could be looking for the treasure too?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I say we were looking for treasure?"

"'Artefacts' is just another word for treasure. Don't think me so naïve, Mr Barton."

"Clint, and I do not think you so naïve as you are presumptuous, Miss Morse."

"Bobbi. And you did not answer my question."

Despite himself, Clint felt the corner of his mouth tug up in a half-smile. "I have no idea what these pirates are up to," he admitted, knowing full well that Bucky could hear his every word, "but we intend to find them and I believe this time we shall."

"Well, as long as you don't get yourselves blown up in the process. I've heard these sea-bandits can be quite sneaky when it comes to that sort of thing," she warned, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"And you would know, would you?" She turned away in a vain attempt to hide her smile, but Clint found himself smiling with her anyway. "So now you know my activities for the foreseeable future, but what does the mayor's daughter have planned in her busy schedule?"

Bobbi sighed dramatically. "Oh, only the usual. Accompanying my father here, attending a social there, all the while keeping an eye out for potential suitors – though I know he would have no real argument against me choosing a man such as yourself."

It was something she always brought up whenever her father insisted he stayed over, and, as much as Clint liked the young woman, he never felt quite ready to accept her family's approval and move to begin courting her (like any normal man would have done by now). "You know why I can't ask his permission at present, Miss Morse," he reminded her gently, falling on old excuses. "I'm still too caught up in the sea. And with my position in the Navy, we would hardly see each other –"

"It's Bobbi," she interrupted sadly, "and, yes, I'm well aware of your situation. But know that I have my eye on you, Mr Barton, and that I intend to have you back on land for good one day."

"Clint. And yes, I'm sure you will," he agreed. They shared another smile, and after a moment of silence Bobbi rose from the bed and made to leave. Climbing out of bed after her (and fumbling to keep the covers around his lower body), Clint asked, "Why did you come to see me? It can't have been to make small talk; that always happens over breakfast."

That mischievous twinkle returned to her eye. "Oh yes, how silly of me – a message arrived for you late last night, but you were already asleep so Father instructed that you be given it this morning. It came from Lieutenant Commander Coulson, and contained a correction to the times originally laid out to you by Admiral Fury. He wants you on board HMS Shield in…" She craned her neck to check the clock hanging on the wall. "One hour."

Clint balked. "An hour?"

"Yes. Good day, Mr Barton."

"Clint," he mumbled automatically, even as the door closed. He remained standing, bed covers clutched at his waist, trying to come to terms with the lack of time he suddenly had remaining and only vaguely aware of movement behind him.

"You two make quite the couple, you know that?" The bones in Bucky's back cracked loudly as he stretched. "Although I have to say, I'm pretty sure she's only into you because of those fantastical stories you tell her."

He blinked. "Bucky…"

"She's a keeper though," he continued, pulling on his trousers. "Not many sailors can claim to have a mayor's daughter after their attention, I'll guarantee you that. I think you should stop making excuses and talk to her father already."

Startled, Clint turned round to face him. "Excuse me?"

Bucky smirked. "Your kids would cause more trouble in town than pirates, I bet."

"You're okay with this?" he blurted.

The smirk wavered, and Bucky's composure slowly fell as he quietly asked, "Did I say that?"

Suddenly feeling like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, Clint swallowed thickly and avoided the other man's gaze. There was nothing he wanted more than to spend the rest of his life with Bucky, but Fate, it seemed, would not allow it. "Bucky, you know why I have to –"

"You're right, I do," he snapped, yanking his shirt over his head. "What I still don't get is why you insist on wrapping yourself up in a fucking uniform and the demands of society when you could come back to a life of freedom and excitement with me."

Clint shook his head. "I never took to that life, Bucky. I have to do the right thing."

"Even if that means throwing me in a cell to await the hangman's noose?"

"Thought you never got caught?" Clint tried, but the attempt at joviality was useless and he gave a small nod, muttering "Yeah," as he dropped his eyes to the floor once more.

A heavy silence clung to the air between them, so thick that it even muted the sound of the clock, which continued to tick regardless, and it only shifted slightly to allow Bucky to ask, "How long will you give us?"

Clint swallowed. "You have until noon," he said. With a nod, Bucky bent down to pick up his boots, then made for the window. "Hey," Clint said, stepping around the end of the bed; Bucky looked back over his shoulder. "I love you."

For few lengthy seconds he was pinned under the pirate's stare, but then Bucky was crossing the distance, boots still in hand as he let Clint savour one last kiss, the callouses of his free hand rough against the side of Clint's neck (it was deep; it was pained; it had just a hint of rum). When they parted, Bucky's lips formed a smile. "See you on the waves," he promised, then turned and walked away.

Nobody needed extra good eyesight to be able to see the ship already moored outside the island of Cygnus. Nobody's heart sank like Clint's though, even as he prayed that it wasn't the ship he knew it was – perhaps it would turn out to be the Brotherhood, or even the Hydra, or maybe a friendly like the Howling Commodore. However, the rich, red sails and similarly painted hull were trademarks of only one particular vessel.

"It's The Red Russian!" Coulson shouted from the deck. "Everyone get ready – looks like we'll have a fight on our hands once we get inside."

HMS Shield had a long, tense history with The Red Russian that went as far back as when Admiral Fury was a mere marine finding his sea legs on the legendary ship. Aside from the fact that the opposing crewmen were pirates, the men currently on board the Shield had taken whatever grudge existed between the two vessels and made it their own; Fury's 'lenience' towards pirates would likely not be respected here, and as he shimmied down from the crow's nest Clint knew that bloodshed was inevitable.

The Lieutenant Commander was already in discussion with the Admiral when Clint hit the deck, and the latter was clearly less than pleased with the presence of the Russian. "How in the hell did they know about this island?" he thundered as they ducked into the cabins, and Clint thanked every known entity they hadn't seen him turn as red as the Russian's sails. His uniform began to feel tight at the collar, and his hands trembled as he fixed his bayonet.

Despite Fury's fury, some of the other crewmen were considerably excited at the prospect of clashing with pirates. "Been waiting to have a crack at these bastards!" Rumlow said with a feral grin. "Hope we can nab some of the good stuff from their bodies afterwards. That'd give 'em a taste of their own medicine."

"Won't they need to be alive for that to be effective?" Ward pointed out. Rumlow glared at him, but as he opened his mouth to throw back a response their Bo 'sun interrupted.

"This isn't authorisation for slaughter," Sitwell warned. "We do what we always do with individuals who surrender: we take them in alive, and we let the courts decide their fate."

Rumlow rolled his eyes. "Surrender. Doubt we'll see much of that," he muttered. Clint was loathe to agree, but he desperately hoped for it nonetheless.

Bucky and Natasha Romanov had broken away from the rest of the crew as soon as Karpov had given the word to search the caves. Whilst what they found wasn't what any of them had been expecting, there was no doubt that they'd discovered a fortune like no other, either in style or in value. Gold, as was standard, along with jewels familiar to the eye, but cut in the most unusual of fashions; then there were the 'not-stones': coloured orbs, easily able to fit inside the palm of one's hand, that appeared as though they were made of glass, yet their innards swirled and clouded over when examined closer; weapons were found too, so strange that they couldn't possibly have been crafted by any average blacksmith – hammers, staves and swords designed for gods instead of men. As the rest of the Russian's crew lorded over the piles of treasure in the main cavern, Bucky and Natasha stared, awestruck, at what had to be the real prize in the smaller chamber they'd snuck into.

"Which legend do you think this might come from?" Natasha asked.

Bucky shook his head. "No legend I've ever heard of." The cube glowed a brilliant blue in his hand, energy thrumming through it even as it appeared dormant, and he wasn't sure if he should let himself become so enthralled by its mysterious beauty. He'd seen enough as a pirate to recognise inhuman power when he saw it.

Beside him, Natasha craned her neck to examine the cavern. "I don't think this was made by any man," she said.

"What, then?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Asgardians? Merpeople? Maybe even Calypso herself."

"Or some other god we don't yet know the wrath of." Bucky shuddered. Was this the artefact Clint had been telling Bobbi about? How did Fury know of it? Did he know how powerful it was? And if so, did Bucky really want to risk letting such an item fall into the hands of the Navy? Swallowing, he said, "We shouldn't be here."

"Isn't that always the case?" Natasha reminded him with a quirk of her lips.

"No, I mean nobody should be here," he reiterated. He could feel the panic creeping up inside him, and he hated panicking – more than he hated the unknown. It sat in his hand right now, pulsing gently, and as he found himself staring deeper into its blue depths he had the horrifying sensation of falling, helpless and head-first, into an ocean, one with icy siren-like fingers that raked themselves through his mind and clawed up his greatest fears (falling from a great height, drowning under the waves he adored, being permanently separated from the man he loved)… It was all he could do to not crush the cube then and there.

"James?"

"We have to go. Now."

Shouts echoed down the tunnel behind them. The sound of gunfire quickly followed in their wake. Bucky's blood ran cold. The Navy had arrived, bringing a thirst for blood with them with no apparent room for mercy. When they heard a cry of "Parley!" cut off before the word had completely left the speaker's throat, Natasha's expression turned grim and she pulled her curved daggers from her boots. "We should go and help them."

"No!" Bucky gasped, reaching out to grab her shoulder and pull her back to face him.

"No? A minute ago you wanted to leave!"

He gestured with the cube. "We can't let anyone get their hands on this – not the Navy, not Karpov, not someone else. It's dangerous, Tasha, it has to stay hidden."

"Then what do you propose? We cannot stay here James, or they'll shoot us where we stand and take the thing for themselves."

"I know."

"So we have to go!"

"Wait, no, just –" Hurriedly scooping up the sack they'd brought with them Bucky dropped handfuls of gold coin and jewellery inside it, motioning for Natasha to do the same. "We'll take it out of here," he said, rushing to tell her his plan as he slipped the cube inside (simultaneously relieved and frightened that it was now out of his grasp). "Find a way off the island, and get as far away from land as possible – then we drop it. Let it sink to the bottom of the world, and never tell anyone where –"

"Hands in the air!"

The two of them froze, slowly turning together to face the marine who'd found them, the barrel of his musket levelled in their direction. And of course, it would be this particular marine, Bucky thought, grinning despite himself. "Barton, so nice to see you –"

"Drop the bag, Romanov." Natasha complied, placing the full sack on the ground by her feet and raising her hands again. "Now if both of you co-operate, you might make it out of here alive."

"Really?" Bucky challenged. "Doesn't sound that way."

Clint shifted where he stood. "How about this then? The two of you do as I say from here on out, and I'll guarantee your safety until we reach land."

Natasha's jaw twitched. "No."

"We'd rather make a better deal," Bucky said smoothly, and waited until Clint nodded so that he could continue. "You let Tasha go, with our stash, and the two of us won't bleed you dry for your mates to find later."

"James!"

"No way, Barnes."

"It'll be two against one, Barton. That's unfair, even to us."

"Don't make me pull the trigger."

"Let her go and you might still be able to."

"James, if you think I'm just going to leave –"

"Natasha," he growled, silencing her with a look. She gave him one in return, her red hair like fire against the grey stone wall. He moved his eyes back to Clint. "You know us, Barton. You know what we're capable of. Either way, we're getting out of here; whether you do as well depends on whether or not you choose to accept my proposition."

Eyes darting between them, Clint minutely adjusted the grip on his musket. "How do I know she won't stab me in the back?"

"She won't," Bucky assured him, ignoring the way Natasha glared at him from the side. "As soon as she's out she'll leave the island altogether, no blood shed, no-one leaving with her. You'll never hear of her again."

"James," Natasha hissed, "I don't know what you think –"

"You know it's the right thing to do, Barton. You know it's what a sailor on The Avenger would do."

Nobody moved as they awaited Clint's final decision. The gunfire was still going off in the background, albeit not as ferociously and with fewer harmonising screams. Bucky tuned it all out, silently praying that Clint wouldn't take this opportunity to try and prove his loyalty to his uniform. Natasha would kill him if he refused to let her go, regardless of Bucky's feelings for him. This was the only way he could keep them both alive, and get that damned artefact out of reach.

Finally, Clint locked eyes with Natasha and jerked his head towards the main chamber. "Better get going, Romanov. And, uh… Good luck out there."

Natasha looked at Bucky. She was furious with him – he knew she hated having her life dictated to her – but the moment her gaze softened and she bent down to pick up the sack, he couldn't have been more proud of her. It had been a few years since that evening when he'd mistakenly tried to make a move on the young redhead pickpocketing one of his mates, and not once had she given him reason to regret fighting for her place on the ship, or to bemoan her near-constant presence in his life; he hadn't sent her away lightly, and he regretted condemning her to the nomad's life, but if anyone could survive on their own it was Natasha Romanov.

"Quite the couple," Clint said once she was gone.

Bucky smiled at him ruefully. "You don't approve."

"You know how it is."

He laughed. "So what happens now then, Barton? You keep me at gunpoint until your mates come along to butcher me in their own way?"

"I never told you we were going to Cygnus. How did you find that bit out?"

"How did you even know about this place?"

"That's avoiding the question."

"Said the pot to the kettle."

"What did Romanov have in her bag?"

Bucky smirked. "Treasure. What else would we pirates be after in a treasure cove?"

Clint just scowled at him. "What kind of treasure?"

"Gold," he said, "and jewellery, but we made a deal Barton –"

"I'm not gonna go after her for some necklaces."

"What would you go after her for, then?" He already knew the answer; Clint's hesitation confirmed it. "Right," he scoffed, "the artefact."

"Can't tell you what it is, Barnes," Clint said softly. "You already know too much."

"You're right," he said. "I know a lot more than you do. That thing is dangerous, Barton – way too dangerous to be in the hands of anyone, pirate or marine."

Clint stared at him. "You saw it?"

"I wish I hadn't."

"Where is it?"

Bucky shook his head. "Can't tell you that."

"Dammit, Barnes, this is serious!"

"And so am I!" He tried to take a step forward, but Clint stepped forward too, the bayonet moving closer to Bucky's chest. "Come on, Clint," he pleaded desperately. "Don't let my last words be a plea that falls on deaf ears."

Clint stiffened. "Don't be stupid," he muttered. "These aren't your last words."

Bucky snorted. "Aren't they? I see I have two options here, and they both lead to my death. One of them happens to include your death, too, which I'd like to avoid just as much."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I always knew you had a stupid motto."

He'd once said it was a motto he intended to live by until his dying breath. Perhaps he should stick to that oath. "What if you let me go?"

"What?"

"You could let me go." He licked his lips, heart racing as he spoke. "I'll do what Tasha did. I'll leave here, alone, with no treasure, and I'll disappear. No more piracy. I'll earn an honest living, as a fisherman maybe, or a blacksmith, and you'd never have to worry about me and my stupid motto ever again. All you have to do is let me go, Clint. Let me be free." He really wanted to say "Come with me," but worried that to do so might be pushing his luck a little too far, even for him.

The musket lowered slowly, and Bucky held his breath. After a small eternity of silence, Clint said, "They do the right thing on The Avenger, don't they? Regardless of whose side you're on?" Bucky's chest constricted, and he nodded. Clint sighed. "Go," he said wearily. "But – don't disappear. I don't… I think I'd worry about you more if I didn't know where you were."

Heart leaping in elation, Bucky's grin spread slowly across his face. He couldn't think of a time when he'd wanted to kiss Clint more than –

"There's another one here!"

Both men froze. Wrapped up in their discussion they hadn't realised that the fight beyond their enclosed space had ended, and that the victors were now scouring the caves for leftovers. The sound of boots began to approach, louder with each passing second, and the two of them shared a look of fear.

Clint gripped his musket tighter. "If that's my men, they'll kill you."

"And mine you," Bucky agreed. It seemed apparent then, that there was nothing more to be said. They waited, eyes locked, with baited breath, until the first set of boots finally entered their tiny cavern.

AN: Oh, I'm mean, aren't I? X) If I find time, chapter 2'll be a little dossier of the ships/people mentioned in this story, so keep checking back and maybe nag me (gently) in the comments section or with the favourite button ^_^