Pleasurable Company
Rating: R for sexual overtones and adult situations. Slash OC/Barbossa
Disclaimer: The recognizable characters are borrowed from DisneyÕs ÒPirates of the CaribbeanÓ and the seriously possessed song ÒPassacalli della vitaÓ is attributed to anonymous author circa 1650, translation from Italian: Lawrence Rosenwald.
Summary: Captain Barbossa is entertaining a guest and it is his time to return the favor and entertain the Captain.
Prerequisite: ÒLady BarbossaÓ which is part I.
I thank ye, PeiPei, for your freaky cool friendship.
-----------------------------
They were fully wind borne, ripping through the sea waves as if weightless. The sun helped them along the way. The crew was busying themselves with the constant tasks of repairing, cleaning and up keeping of the ship. The orders never ended. Thank Lord the day was busting their backs with sun and the shipÕs sails with wind. Who knows, maybe the Captain would be in a grand mood and let them open a bottle or two of rum at the dayÕs end.
In the brig the captive dwelled. His name was Bernard Day but he didnÕt remember using it much lately. Being banished from his England, he went by first name only, and that being also rare as were his social endeavors. Well, that has changed swiftly and as of yesterday Bernard was a guest at the Aranea, a ship manned by no other than Captain Barbossa.
A memory of the last night's encounter made Bernard squeeze his eyes shut as in pain. What ever possessed him? What made him drop on his knees in front of Barbossa and proceed with most abominable act for which one could find himself jailed back at home, in England? He sighted and managed a melancholic smile at his own wretched self; even those women who walk the streets, the ones called unfortunates, donÕt stumble that low.
For sure, he thought, it must have been the wine. It hit his empty stomach and churned his insides, it also drove him to that momentary insanity. The captain is a wise man, he must have understood.
The door above his head creaked and the sun blinded his upturned eyes. The big leather boots started their descent. Barbossa was coming to him. Despite understandable fear, he was glad for some company. He grew sick of contemplating what may happen to him; now at last things proceeded. Death, he thought, would be unwelcome for one simple reason: it would not be an amusing end to their encounter. Neither did he suspect Captain Barbossa to be a savage who kills in temper. On the contrary, his client struck him as a composed and above all, reasonable fellow. What profit would his death give him? Day was ready to reason with Barbossa.
The boots however belonged to someone else than Barbossa. An enormous man was standing in front of Bernard. A treasure to have onboard; strong and able, he gave out an air of competence and supervision. The fact that he was Negro, made Bernard wonder how he found his way into BarbossaÕs ship, the Aranea.
ÒYouÓ, the manÕs voice roared above his head like a thunder, ÒThe Captain wants to have a word with you. The bath is first, thoughÓ he added cringing his face in disgust. Bernard got up eagerly, half believing in his good luck. Captain wanted him clean, not dead. They would talk, he would get paid for the tattoo and disembark in the nearest port.
The brightness outside complemented his good feeling. He stopped and stretched, drawing a disapproving look from the big pirate who must have been second in command. The way he carried himself; erect and alert, was surely connected to his high position in the shipÕs hierarchy. His most impressive attire consisted of a broad heavy leather belt encrusted with bronze nails. It would take a man to lift this belt, Bernard thought, to carry it on oneself all day would take a hero. He admired the manÕs back following him through the deck. He cautiously looked around; here and there he could see the crew lurking with interest at him. He was their CaptainÕs guest; someone they dared not to insult in any way. Insulting came naturally to pirates, not doing it was difficult. Their faces convoluted in grimaces at will, their tongues spat curses with every exhaled breath so it was easier to half hide their hideous selves behind their tasks.
Bernard didnÕt fear them. His brief walk through the deck marked the character of his presence at the Aranea. His long strides were sure and one could take a generous swag of his arms as joyous. Pirates sensed he belonged at the Aranea with the Captain only and his short stay at the brig was a result of some presently being solved misunderstanding between the two gentlemen. They averted their glances going back to their places and their tasks, cursing their luck, their mates, themselves.
The room he was shown by BoÕsun, the name his enormous guide gave him as a way of introduction, had a simple cot and a table with a washbasin and a piece of clean cloth. When Bernard was left alone, he helped himself to the water and put on a clean shirt laid out for him on the bed.
The dusk was in pursuit of the Aranea, when BoÕsun came to collect Bernard. The Captain will see him now. The dinner has been served. Barbossa was sitting at the table but stood up when Bernard stopped in the door.
ÒI hope I can repay the discomforts you had to suffer last night in the lowest of our cabinsÓ, his eyes smiled.
ÒSit down, let us eat and drink wineÓ, he motioned him to the table where there laid a choice of dishes that made Bernard forget his resolve to keep distant. He gathered last of his constrains and walked slowly to his chair, mindful that Barbossa was watching his every gesture.
Bernard would not utter a word. Barbossa, however, was gracious again with a twist of something that projected like guilt. Good, thought Bernard, I will let myself be treated as a guest. This role cost him nothing. He ate slowly with eyes cast down, letting Barbossa know he was thinking. Barbossa looked at him with curiosity. He himself ate nothing, fidgeting only with a glass of wine and estimating from a distance his companion. BarbossaÕs eyes were appraising Bernard, he was taking in his face with its strong chin and formidable nose, deep, possibly green eyes. The dark hair fell into his face, constantly misbehaving even though he pulled most of it in a pony tail at the nape of his neck. Bernard knew he was no prince, but he could make himself beautiful if he wished. He was after all an artist.
Barbossa waited for him to finish his meal and when Bernard wiped his lips with a cloth and placed it gingerly on the table, he spoke.
ÒHow can I call you?Ó
Bernard took his time, his nerves now were calmed by the full stomach and the warmth in BarbossaÕs eyes. He smiled as if beginning a good joke, ÒBernard Day is my nameÓ.
ÒBernard DayÓ, Barbossa tried the words if they fit. His eyes sparked up momentarily, as if he found it to his liking.
ÒMaster DayÓ, offered Barbossa, Òyou were most rudely handled last night and for that unfortunate course of our visit I take responsibilityÓ, here he bowed ever so slightly. ÒI assure you weÕll deliver you safe and sound to the nearby port or the port of your choosing. Meantime, you are my guest and the crew is not to bother you. Let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay on Aranea more pleasurable.Ó
Bernard smiled inside but he let out nothing. Here opened window of opportunity. He stood up gracefully from the table, turned his back to Barbossa and looked out the window at the silver moonlit sea outside. Full moon, he decided, today was a good sign. Barbossa will play into his hands now. He will do what his guest wishes.
ÒWho is the woman on the tattoo I painted last night?Ó, he used his hushed voice. ÒIs she your lover?Ó, he added even quieter.
ÒNo, sheÕs notÓ, Barbossa was almost happy to deny. ÒShe is my mother. See, as a child I was raised by nuns on the estate of my father, yet far from him. His name was not to be spoken because his standing was to high to admit me, the illegitimate son.Ó Here Barbossa raised his chin and took a deep breath as the memories produced an aroma only he could inhale. ÒMy early life was blissful despite the estrangement from my father. My mother showered me with affection, I felt loved by her and by father of whom she spoke as of a hero. But the circumstances were such that mother visited less and less and finally when I was a lad in boarding school in England, she disappeared in most mysterious circumstances. She was a court lady, you see. The court circles bred jealousy and corruption and those stifled my motherÕs life. She fell victim to a conspiracy. Accused of conspiring with Catholics against the Queen, she had to flee. Never to be heard of again.
Bernard listened entranced. So that was the story behind the lady in the locket, and now on the tattoo of his own making that now forever garnished CaptainÕs back. The feelings of compassion and desire to console this man before him welled up in Bernard. He now turned and looked at Barbossa with his hands loosely by his sides as if ready to help out the Captain in any way he could; he felt he could follow him anywhere. Oh, how close to him he felt. He didnÕt know his parents at all, being raised by a guardian, an old finicky man, who was part an uncle part a teacher to him but never a father. Bernard never felt sorry for himself though, knowing that family was often a doubtful blessing, a source of much mental suffering and torment even.
He said all of this to Barbossa who listened again as if really amused. They drank wine and Bernard started a tune.
é un sogno la vita Che par si gradita é breve il gioire Bisogna morire
Bernard hurried up with translation sensing his hostÕs quiet confusion.
Life is a dream, which seems so pleasing; joy is brief; we all must die.
The songÕs melody woke up an unbearable urge to hear it again and again. The artist knew more verses and continued to sing in a high clear voice.
Barbossa propped his head on his laced up hands and listened looking intently into the face before him.
ÒYou havenÕt finish your workÓ, he said quietly.
The artist didnÕt stop singing only shook his head a little. Barbossa got up and walked around the table to him. He took his head in his hands and raised it to meet his eye.
ÒThe tattoo is completeÓ, said Bernard looking into BarbossaÕs eyes. The CaptainÕs hand moved into the back of his head combing his hair out of the way.
ÒI want my payÓ, muttered Bernard. But indeed he wanted something else. He had tasted the Captain. And the Captain had tasted the pleasure he could have given him. And now they both acted out what became for both of them the essence of the passed day. Bernard gave himself to the task whole heart and soul. His mouth engaged in pleasing the Captain the way Bernard thought he wanted to be pleased. He could feel his work was appreciated by increasing tension of CaptainÕs grip on his hair. He himself was aroused to the point of hurting. The act of giving was gratifying to him; BarbossaÕs sighs were enough for him. He started moaning with the captain, intensifying his efforts in bringing Barbossa to rapture.
When it happened and they breathed the last of their excitement, Barbossa held him by his arms and brought him up. He looked into his eyes and kissed his brow lightly. He walked him then out of the cabin into the dark and bid him good night in front of his cabin. Bernard fell on his cod, not believing in what just happened. His hands shook when he reached for himself and he breathed in deeply recalling the CaptainÕs moans. The night was quiet and consoling afterwards.
Rating: R for sexual overtones and adult situations. Slash OC/Barbossa
Disclaimer: The recognizable characters are borrowed from DisneyÕs ÒPirates of the CaribbeanÓ and the seriously possessed song ÒPassacalli della vitaÓ is attributed to anonymous author circa 1650, translation from Italian: Lawrence Rosenwald.
Summary: Captain Barbossa is entertaining a guest and it is his time to return the favor and entertain the Captain.
Prerequisite: ÒLady BarbossaÓ which is part I.
I thank ye, PeiPei, for your freaky cool friendship.
-----------------------------
They were fully wind borne, ripping through the sea waves as if weightless. The sun helped them along the way. The crew was busying themselves with the constant tasks of repairing, cleaning and up keeping of the ship. The orders never ended. Thank Lord the day was busting their backs with sun and the shipÕs sails with wind. Who knows, maybe the Captain would be in a grand mood and let them open a bottle or two of rum at the dayÕs end.
In the brig the captive dwelled. His name was Bernard Day but he didnÕt remember using it much lately. Being banished from his England, he went by first name only, and that being also rare as were his social endeavors. Well, that has changed swiftly and as of yesterday Bernard was a guest at the Aranea, a ship manned by no other than Captain Barbossa.
A memory of the last night's encounter made Bernard squeeze his eyes shut as in pain. What ever possessed him? What made him drop on his knees in front of Barbossa and proceed with most abominable act for which one could find himself jailed back at home, in England? He sighted and managed a melancholic smile at his own wretched self; even those women who walk the streets, the ones called unfortunates, donÕt stumble that low.
For sure, he thought, it must have been the wine. It hit his empty stomach and churned his insides, it also drove him to that momentary insanity. The captain is a wise man, he must have understood.
The door above his head creaked and the sun blinded his upturned eyes. The big leather boots started their descent. Barbossa was coming to him. Despite understandable fear, he was glad for some company. He grew sick of contemplating what may happen to him; now at last things proceeded. Death, he thought, would be unwelcome for one simple reason: it would not be an amusing end to their encounter. Neither did he suspect Captain Barbossa to be a savage who kills in temper. On the contrary, his client struck him as a composed and above all, reasonable fellow. What profit would his death give him? Day was ready to reason with Barbossa.
The boots however belonged to someone else than Barbossa. An enormous man was standing in front of Bernard. A treasure to have onboard; strong and able, he gave out an air of competence and supervision. The fact that he was Negro, made Bernard wonder how he found his way into BarbossaÕs ship, the Aranea.
ÒYouÓ, the manÕs voice roared above his head like a thunder, ÒThe Captain wants to have a word with you. The bath is first, thoughÓ he added cringing his face in disgust. Bernard got up eagerly, half believing in his good luck. Captain wanted him clean, not dead. They would talk, he would get paid for the tattoo and disembark in the nearest port.
The brightness outside complemented his good feeling. He stopped and stretched, drawing a disapproving look from the big pirate who must have been second in command. The way he carried himself; erect and alert, was surely connected to his high position in the shipÕs hierarchy. His most impressive attire consisted of a broad heavy leather belt encrusted with bronze nails. It would take a man to lift this belt, Bernard thought, to carry it on oneself all day would take a hero. He admired the manÕs back following him through the deck. He cautiously looked around; here and there he could see the crew lurking with interest at him. He was their CaptainÕs guest; someone they dared not to insult in any way. Insulting came naturally to pirates, not doing it was difficult. Their faces convoluted in grimaces at will, their tongues spat curses with every exhaled breath so it was easier to half hide their hideous selves behind their tasks.
Bernard didnÕt fear them. His brief walk through the deck marked the character of his presence at the Aranea. His long strides were sure and one could take a generous swag of his arms as joyous. Pirates sensed he belonged at the Aranea with the Captain only and his short stay at the brig was a result of some presently being solved misunderstanding between the two gentlemen. They averted their glances going back to their places and their tasks, cursing their luck, their mates, themselves.
The room he was shown by BoÕsun, the name his enormous guide gave him as a way of introduction, had a simple cot and a table with a washbasin and a piece of clean cloth. When Bernard was left alone, he helped himself to the water and put on a clean shirt laid out for him on the bed.
The dusk was in pursuit of the Aranea, when BoÕsun came to collect Bernard. The Captain will see him now. The dinner has been served. Barbossa was sitting at the table but stood up when Bernard stopped in the door.
ÒI hope I can repay the discomforts you had to suffer last night in the lowest of our cabinsÓ, his eyes smiled.
ÒSit down, let us eat and drink wineÓ, he motioned him to the table where there laid a choice of dishes that made Bernard forget his resolve to keep distant. He gathered last of his constrains and walked slowly to his chair, mindful that Barbossa was watching his every gesture.
Bernard would not utter a word. Barbossa, however, was gracious again with a twist of something that projected like guilt. Good, thought Bernard, I will let myself be treated as a guest. This role cost him nothing. He ate slowly with eyes cast down, letting Barbossa know he was thinking. Barbossa looked at him with curiosity. He himself ate nothing, fidgeting only with a glass of wine and estimating from a distance his companion. BarbossaÕs eyes were appraising Bernard, he was taking in his face with its strong chin and formidable nose, deep, possibly green eyes. The dark hair fell into his face, constantly misbehaving even though he pulled most of it in a pony tail at the nape of his neck. Bernard knew he was no prince, but he could make himself beautiful if he wished. He was after all an artist.
Barbossa waited for him to finish his meal and when Bernard wiped his lips with a cloth and placed it gingerly on the table, he spoke.
ÒHow can I call you?Ó
Bernard took his time, his nerves now were calmed by the full stomach and the warmth in BarbossaÕs eyes. He smiled as if beginning a good joke, ÒBernard Day is my nameÓ.
ÒBernard DayÓ, Barbossa tried the words if they fit. His eyes sparked up momentarily, as if he found it to his liking.
ÒMaster DayÓ, offered Barbossa, Òyou were most rudely handled last night and for that unfortunate course of our visit I take responsibilityÓ, here he bowed ever so slightly. ÒI assure you weÕll deliver you safe and sound to the nearby port or the port of your choosing. Meantime, you are my guest and the crew is not to bother you. Let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay on Aranea more pleasurable.Ó
Bernard smiled inside but he let out nothing. Here opened window of opportunity. He stood up gracefully from the table, turned his back to Barbossa and looked out the window at the silver moonlit sea outside. Full moon, he decided, today was a good sign. Barbossa will play into his hands now. He will do what his guest wishes.
ÒWho is the woman on the tattoo I painted last night?Ó, he used his hushed voice. ÒIs she your lover?Ó, he added even quieter.
ÒNo, sheÕs notÓ, Barbossa was almost happy to deny. ÒShe is my mother. See, as a child I was raised by nuns on the estate of my father, yet far from him. His name was not to be spoken because his standing was to high to admit me, the illegitimate son.Ó Here Barbossa raised his chin and took a deep breath as the memories produced an aroma only he could inhale. ÒMy early life was blissful despite the estrangement from my father. My mother showered me with affection, I felt loved by her and by father of whom she spoke as of a hero. But the circumstances were such that mother visited less and less and finally when I was a lad in boarding school in England, she disappeared in most mysterious circumstances. She was a court lady, you see. The court circles bred jealousy and corruption and those stifled my motherÕs life. She fell victim to a conspiracy. Accused of conspiring with Catholics against the Queen, she had to flee. Never to be heard of again.
Bernard listened entranced. So that was the story behind the lady in the locket, and now on the tattoo of his own making that now forever garnished CaptainÕs back. The feelings of compassion and desire to console this man before him welled up in Bernard. He now turned and looked at Barbossa with his hands loosely by his sides as if ready to help out the Captain in any way he could; he felt he could follow him anywhere. Oh, how close to him he felt. He didnÕt know his parents at all, being raised by a guardian, an old finicky man, who was part an uncle part a teacher to him but never a father. Bernard never felt sorry for himself though, knowing that family was often a doubtful blessing, a source of much mental suffering and torment even.
He said all of this to Barbossa who listened again as if really amused. They drank wine and Bernard started a tune.
é un sogno la vita Che par si gradita é breve il gioire Bisogna morire
Bernard hurried up with translation sensing his hostÕs quiet confusion.
Life is a dream, which seems so pleasing; joy is brief; we all must die.
The songÕs melody woke up an unbearable urge to hear it again and again. The artist knew more verses and continued to sing in a high clear voice.
Barbossa propped his head on his laced up hands and listened looking intently into the face before him.
ÒYou havenÕt finish your workÓ, he said quietly.
The artist didnÕt stop singing only shook his head a little. Barbossa got up and walked around the table to him. He took his head in his hands and raised it to meet his eye.
ÒThe tattoo is completeÓ, said Bernard looking into BarbossaÕs eyes. The CaptainÕs hand moved into the back of his head combing his hair out of the way.
ÒI want my payÓ, muttered Bernard. But indeed he wanted something else. He had tasted the Captain. And the Captain had tasted the pleasure he could have given him. And now they both acted out what became for both of them the essence of the passed day. Bernard gave himself to the task whole heart and soul. His mouth engaged in pleasing the Captain the way Bernard thought he wanted to be pleased. He could feel his work was appreciated by increasing tension of CaptainÕs grip on his hair. He himself was aroused to the point of hurting. The act of giving was gratifying to him; BarbossaÕs sighs were enough for him. He started moaning with the captain, intensifying his efforts in bringing Barbossa to rapture.
When it happened and they breathed the last of their excitement, Barbossa held him by his arms and brought him up. He looked into his eyes and kissed his brow lightly. He walked him then out of the cabin into the dark and bid him good night in front of his cabin. Bernard fell on his cod, not believing in what just happened. His hands shook when he reached for himself and he breathed in deeply recalling the CaptainÕs moans. The night was quiet and consoling afterwards.