Title: Challenge Accepted

Disclaimer: All Treasure Planet characters and settings belong to Walt Disney Productions and associates. All Sinbad characters and settings belong to Dreamworks Animation and associates. I only own the plot and a couple of OCs. Therefore, I own nada and make nada.

Summary: Navy student prodigy Jim Hawkins finds himself captured aboard a ship along with Sinbad, a notorious thief and flirt.

Pairings: Jim Hawkins x Sinbad

Rating: T

Warnings: Homosexual relations between males. Crossover! Language

Author's Rant: Hey guys, I realize this may not be your cup of tea, but it never hurts to add some variety to your list of goodies, yeah? This is a gift fic for a wonderful author I've stumbled across name Hyperteenager24. She's the author of a story I happened across that involves Tarzan from, well, Tarzan, and Milo from Atlantis. Many of you know I'm a sucker for rare slash and she nailed it. Anyway, I asked if she had a couple in mind and she said these two. So, enjoy!

Challenge Accepted

Jim Hawkins tugged fiercely at the cuffs around his wrists, but to no avail. The damn things didn't give in the slightest. The tips of his shoes scarcely scraped the floor. And his wrists were going numb from supporting his weight. These guys weren't messing around. He was frisked from head to toe. No gun, no rope, his sword confiscated, and his ice pick was taken out of the hidden back pocket sown in the back of his pants leg.

He'd gotten cocky. Serves him right for assuming this would be a fun filled trip out with friends. Long story short, he didn't look before he leapt into action. Riding drunk and dumb got him captured. Now look at him, stuck inside this God forsaken cell waiting for these criminal pirates to do Gods knows what.

Jim took a gander of his surroundings for the third time, studying the layout of the cell for any signs of wear or weathering. His main source of light came from a pair dimly lit lanterns dangling by the door. The only other light came through the slide slot in the door where the guards occasionally peeked in to make sure no funny business was taking place.

How had it come to this? Him, just two days away from graduating as valedictorian of his class from the Royal Syracuse Navy Academy and earn his place amongst the heroic sailors of the seven seas. But no, he had to listen to Austin Packer about taking a drunken trip to the coast and sailing recklessly in the smack dab of nowhere just to have drinks. Being eighteen didn't automatically give them a ticket to being irresponsible.

No one had the sober mindset to sail back home, so they all decided to rest on Austin's small cutter. None of them were prepared to be ambushed by pirates, taken as prisoner and well, Jim can only guess what's happened to his friends. Hopefully locked away and unharmed.

Of them all, he was the only one with some experience with pirates. He knew how they worked, and like what their aim probably was for kidnapping them. Clean-cut, preppy graduates usually meant big bucks, right? Heh, little did they know about Jim Hawkins. He had no intentions of giving away any of Flint's treasure. He'd nearly died for that gold and he wasn't about to fork it over to some greedy, lowlifes. He had to bust out of here, save his friends and get the Hell out of dodge.

The cells weren't as well enforced as Jim first assumed. The interior was a couple of inches thick at the most. He was sure if he had some leveraged, a couple of good, hard kicks would dent the sides enough to rip open. There were two guards who dallied outside the door. Two weren't a problem. Escaping out of there would be the main challenge because Jim had blacked out during half his trip down below. Running aimlessly throughout the ship would surely get him killed before he found their hanger bay.

He'd prefer dying by blaster fire then by the stink of this joint. It stunk strongly of mold and probably something else. He really didn't want to know what that something else is.

Jim is triggered out of his thoughts by a faint groan and raucous cough coming from the other side of the cell. His eyes perk at the sight of another occupant in a similar state as him. Jim can barely make out his outline in the shadows. He's cuffed to the wall, same as Jim. The person's hair is tussled and matted, layered in soot and dust. A real scruffy character. The only stitch of clothing on his lean frame is a pair of badly ripped trousers and a torn leather vest. He looks close to death and Jim thought the noise from earlier was likely his final breath.

Until the guy groans longer than the last time.

"Hey . . . hey, you still living over there?" Jim called out.

"Yeah, still kicking," the other croaks out and hacks a nasty fit of coughs. He sounds awful, like he hasn't spoken in days or had a drink of water.

"What's your name?"

"Sinbad."

Jim blinks, thinks, and then gawks. "As in Sinbad the notorious rouge?"

A dry chuckle's heard. Sinbad marginally lifts his head to open his lone eye on his longtime rival. "Ah, so you've heard of ole Sinbad, eh? I'm flattered. Says a great deal about cha if they've got your name in textbooks. Means I'm a legend."

Jim snorts. "I wouldn't go that far, Mr. Legend. Some pirate you are, getting captured." The teen shakes his head. "How did you get captured anyway?"

"Captured? Ha!" Turns out laughing was a bad idea. Sinbad breaks into another fit of coughs that left him heaving and on the verge of going comatose. He sniffles after a few minutes of long, drawn breaths and continues speaking. "I wasn't captured, kid. Those are my men up there. We were trying to commandeer this ship when one of them organized this pitiful ass mutiny."

Sinbad mournfully shakes his head. "After all I'd done for that pompous brat. Teaching him the ways of the gun, tutoring him about raids and even teaching him the secret handshake. My, how they grow up fast. Oh well."

To Jim's surprise, Sinbad does the unthinkable. It takes some rough twisting and yanks, but he manages to slip his hands through the rusted cuffs and climbs to his feet. He stretches out his arms, wringing out the stiffness in his joints and cracks his neck. Rotating his shoulders, Sinbad wanders around the cell, palming at the smooth wall, gently knocking at different sections until he hears a different noise from the other knocks. He grins, nods and comes towards Jim.

"What are you doing?" Jim sneers. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Shut up." Sinbad digs into his back pocket, revealing a tiny threading needle. "I'm breaking us outta here. You up for a quick take over?"

"Not without my friends. They're somewhere on this ship. We have to save them."

"Priorities kid. I'm repossessing this ship first and foremost, then offing that fool, Marquis Otis and dumping all stowaways over board." Sinbad thinks a minute, then reneges. "Except you, since you're helping me take back this ship."

Jim sighs, relieved when his first wrist is freed. "If you were able to escape, why haven't you already?"

"I was waiting for the opportune moment to spring out on ole' Marquis, but if he's resorted to kidnapping now, it means I've waited long enough." Sinbad leans in to Jim's face, examining him for impossibly close. The smell of his breath leaves Jim's eyes watering, nose wrinkling. It's so sour. "Here's the deal, uh, whatever your name is-"

"It's Jim-"

"OK, Jim, I'm going to get you free. You're going to help me confiscate my ship and as a reward for your help, I might allow you to go on your merry way."

"And my friends?"

"I didn't hear myself mention them. And, seeing as I don't see them around offering a hand, they're on their own."

Jim blinks when Sinbad begins to fiddle the needle in the second cuff's keyhole. "What kind of deal is that? Forget it, I'm not leaving here without my friends."

"You'll do it."

"Not a chance."

"Alright then. Apparently being sweet doesn't work." Sinbad wedges his hand between the space of Jim's neck and the wall and grips the back of Jim's neck and yanks backwards hard enough to wring tears from the teen's eyes. "Let's try this again because you're under the impression that you have a choice in the matter. I'm doing you a favor, so the courtesy thing to do would be to return the gesture, yeah?"

Jim acts on impulse. His head draws back and shoots forward, effectively bashing his brow against Sinbad's nose. "Dumbass," he grunts, ignoring the sharp hiss coming from pirate captain. "Next time say please." He wiggles his other wrist and smirks when it falls free.

"Damn brat." Sinbad walks up, rubbing annoyingly at his sore nose. "So you're in, then?"

"Yeah," Jim reluctantly agrees to the temporary truce. Since they share a mutual enemy, it served for them to focus their hatred on the one most deserving of it.

Sinbad returns to the section of wall where he'd tested its integrity and gave another couple firm knocks. This time, an almost soft, audio rap returns in a musical pattern.

Sinbad smirks proudly, "Perfect, let's go."

"W-Wait a sec," Jim shuffles over to the pirate captain, minding his footing over the loose chains and dry straw laying everywhere. "What was that?"

"The signal of course. Keep up junior." Sinbad presses his back to the wall next to the door, beckoning Jim to follow his example. "OK kid, here's a brief summary over what's going on. The ship's substitute captain is an idiot name Marquis Otis. Some new rookie that's always been about quick gold, less effort. As long as he has a gun in his hand and a horde of flunkies to back him up, he talks big. He's a pussy when he's riding solo. I figure we're up against about seven, give or take."

That's odd. Jim knew there had to be three times that many men on this ship. Which made him ask, "If there's that many of them left loyal to you then why didn't they fight?"

Sinbad shrugs. "They took me hostage. Kale's my lieutenant. He knew the only way to keep me alive is to surrender all control to Marquis. The others didn't want to risk my life, so they fell in line. For the time being anyway." Sinbad seems to ponder something then looks strangely at Jim.

"What?" the teen questions. Then he squawks indignantly when Sinbad snatches him by the arm and twirls him in place. Long fingers suddenly glide across his ass and squeezed. Jim rears up to the tips of his toes, mortified and jerks free. "What the Hell was that?"

"Nothing. It's just Marquis's the murderous, rapist sort and you've got a pretty sweet ass. Usually a pretty boy like you would've been locked away in his chambers and left to wait until he came ready to pack your fudge in. Which means, he must have you alive for some other reason. Mistake numero uno."

"What other reason is there?"

"Ransom probably, now shush." Sinbad motions that one of the guards is doing their rounds. The two sprint back to their places by the walls, mimicking their previous positions. When he leaves, they return to the door. "Those are the midafternoon shift. I keep guards on prisoners for two hours at a time. Marquis must be following the same routine. We need to wait until they're in the middle of shift change. You got anything of use on you?"

"Nah, I wasn't exactly packing an arsenal."

"S'probably for the best. We're going to have to rely on stealth for this to work."

Sinbad hunkers down to his knees near the door's keyhole mechanism and starts prying at the screws surrounding the knob. It wasn't long before the door gave a soft click and slide open. Sinbad poked his head out for any signs of coming guards. Seeing none, he motions for Jim to follow his lead and stayed low. Sinbad took the first right down the corridor, moving swiftly. Jim stay glued to his size like a third hand, staying diligent. Somewhere in his subconscious, Jim questioned his sanity.

What in the actual Hell is he thinking, teaming up with the likes of someone like Sinbad? It shouldn't matter that they have a common cause to escape. This is the world's most hated pirate; a notorious, selfish, lying thief. But it isn't like Jim has a load of options right now. He was at a huge disadvantage. No crew, no weapons, and no knowledge of the ship and practically at Sinbad's mercy once they cleared their way through this mess. His friends are in danger. He needs backup and even with Sinbad's record, he's a valuable asset. He'll have to figure out a plan later.

For now, assisting Sinbad to correct this compromise would be Jim's priority. He focuses on the task at hand, heart throbbing viciously. Sinbad suddenly slams his back against the wall and Jim does the same. Someone's coming. From the sounds of their footsteps, it's a hefty, slow fellow. He wasn't alone. Someone of equal weight and size was with him.

These two can't be the loyal ones Sinbad spoke of. Otherwise, why hide? They weren't going to be taken out with quick punches either. The brutes came around the corner and within seconds, Sinbad subdued them both. They fell to the floor in a heap. Sinbad walked over the two, reaching in their holsters for their guns. He unbuckles the holster off one and ties them both to the wall.

Jim waits to see what Sinbad will do with the weapons. To add to what's becoming a growing list of surprises today, Sinbad inspects the two weapons before tossing one to Jim. "You know how to shoot?"

"Shot a ninety out of ninety at the Syracuse Firing Range six straight times." Jim inspects the weapon before tucking it in the waist of pants. "You tell me."

Sinbad whistles, impressed before leading the way down the corridor. They reach a door. Sinbad picks the lock. It slips open and they rush inside. The interior's aligned with a bank of paper maps and blue prints, each displaying a particular function of the ship's compartments. Advanced canons, state of the art weapons that could easily rival or overwhelm the marine port authorities, and a slew of other dangerous equipment. The more Jim studied it, the more he realized how dangerous a ship of this caliber would be in Sinbad's hands. No one he's so eager to get it back.

"Go keep watch," Sinbad orders.

Jim hesitates, but goes. So he's smart too. Sinbad isn't stupid enough to take risks, especially after learning Jim's from the academy. Like Hell he'll let someone memorize the workings of his new bounty. Not that it matters. The layout is too intricate. Jim would need five hours to learn the ups and downs of a galleon like this.

The minutes to tick by brings them seconds closer to being discovered. Jim perks up when he hears a stampeded of footsteps pounding the wooden floor. They were coming from the direction of his and Sinbad's cell.

"Terrific." Jim slams the door, gun up and at the ready. "Anytime you're ready to take control. Sounds like they found out about our little escapade."

"Great." Sinbad straightens and readies his gun. "There goes our peek-a-boo. Fuck it, we're going to the flight deck. Marquis's too full of himself to be anywhere else. Let's go!"

In the rapid assault to come, Jim steeled himself for the chance he would have to take a life. Straight ahead is a stairwell likely leading to the upper flight deck. It was congested with a swarm of mercenaries charging towards him and Sinbad with a menacing objective: to kill. Take no prisoners. So be it then.

Sinbad dove straight into the mass, gunfire erupting with careful aim. Head shots for the enemy, arm and leg shots for the loyal ones. Jim quickly clears the scheme, but he can't be entirely sure who's with who. So, they all get knocked out. Let Sinbad figure out the reason on his own.

A dark skin man comes darting toward him with blade drawn. Jim dips beneath the blade, swings on the attackers arm and twists it behind his back. He knees the man in the back of his thigh to urge him forward, using him as a body guard.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't shoot!" The guy shrieks, frantically waving his hands towards his comrades. "Please guys, not me. Don't shoot, please!"

A few of them pause in the midst of fighting, glaring evilly at Jim for putting them in the scenario of choosing between a comrade or sacrificing him. Some nervously glance in Sinbad's direction wanting some indication of what to do. But he's busy breaking through his share of fighters. When the last of them is beat down, Sinbad spins on his heel, takes aim and fires.

The young man gasps, clutching at his belly. Blood fills his palm. He lifts grey, horror-filled eyes at his leader before collapsing on the ground. Jim stumbles at the weight loss and limply fisting his fingers. He breathes slowly looking at the fear stricken witnesses looking on in disbelief.

Jim stepped over the fallen guy to come stand next to Sinbad.

"Clean that up," the captain roughly orders. He starts towards the stairs, pauses, and sighs. "He'll live. Get him to the med bay." No one moves. "Now!" He barks. Two of them jump to do his bidding.

The pair hurry up the stairs. Sinbad arrives on top first, analyzing his surroundings. Jim's foot barely settles on the flight deck before his world dissolves in chaos and bright white. The teen lands hard on his side, thrown either by the blast or a rough shove, he couldn't be sure, but that seemed unimportant. His ribs hurt something fierce and each huff he could, he wheezed in pain. Jim weakly squints and flinches at the intense throbbing in his temples. Colorful afterimages clouded his vision like a solar storm. Jim hisses and makes to push himself up on his elbows and knees. It was bad enough the agony in his sides kept him anchored, when a sharp blow strikes the back of his head, he feels so much worse.

"Let's not get stupid, ole captain," says an unfamiliar, nasally voice above Jim's head. "I'm willing to overlook this little mishap and let you and the kid live if you go back to your cell like good dogs."

Jim tries lifting his head, but it's heavy. Like trying to pull a sack of bricks by his teeth.

"Don't move. I swear I'll smear his guts all over this floor!"

Sinbad cackles. "Go ahead. You'll save me the trouble of doing it later."

"D-don't tempt me. I swear I'll do it!" The nasally voice screeches. Jim is hauled up to his feet, and held against a short figure. A dark, ugly face appears in his peripheral, and the barrel of a pistol rams hard against his temple. "One false move and it's bye-bye to the kid."

"So shoot him."

"You think I don't know who this guy is? Anyone with half a brain knows Jim Hawkins. Navy prodigy?"

"Ahhhh, so that's who he is. Yeah, sorry, I'm horrible with names. But he doesn't mean shit to me. Go ahead and kill him if you're gonna."

"I spill his blood, the entire Navy will be after you forever. You'll never escape them."

Sinbad goes silent. He lifts an eyebrow. "The Navy? Nevermind, it's irrelevant. When's the last time I gave a stack of shit about the Navy, Marquis?"

It's something the rattling traitor probably hadn't considered. He's quiet now, trigger finger trembling. He gulps so hard the bulk of his Adam's apple rubs down the back of Jim's neck. Suddenly, as if just discovering their close proximity, the hand wrapped around Jim's arm slowly drifts and cradles his hip.

"You know what Sinbad, why don't we barter? This whole being-in-charge thing isn't really my cup a tea. I'm willing to relinquish all my leadership back to you if you let me keep him. I promise to be gentle."

Sinbad hums thoughtfully. "Is that all?"

Jim balks. This asshole had better be kidding.

"Oh yes, I swear, I'll be the best soldier ever. See?" Marquis happily lowers his blaster—and his damn hand. It moves from Jim's waist to rub at the crotch of his pants. "Lemme have a taste, sir. I always hear you and Kale—"

Jim rams his elbow hard into Marquis's ribcage. The traitor doubles over, losing his grip on the gun. Jim cross-chops his hand on Marquis's hand and snags the pistol from him and takes aim. The muzzle's shoved between both grey eyes and Marquis has a split second to plead for his life.

Sinbad doesn't give the satisfaction. He lifts his gun and pulls the trigger, each shoot going through Marquis's eyes and mouth. The traitor makes a startled, gurgling sound as he slides the floor.

"Damn it, got blood on my shoes." Sinbad rolls his shoulders, grunting as a couple of pops crackled from his joints. "Anyway, glad that's over. Now onto more important things."

A slew of men filed inside the flight deck lead by Kale and one they called Rat. Jim's finger stays hooked around the trigger in case another fight is stirred. He doesn't feel half as threatened when the ten or so men on Marquis's side are dragged in bound and gagged.

Kale roughly shoves one of them forward. "What are your plans for these assholes?"

Sinbad mockingly taps his chin, then grins. "I got a few ideas. Are those barrels of diesel still in storage?"

"Yep."

"Take this trash to the hanger. Fill a bottle for each man. We're going to celebrate!"

Kale smirks. "Sure thing. You two," he points to a pair of slanted eyed twins, "get the bottles filled. The rest of you let's get this hunk of shit cleaned up. Move, move, move that wasn't a request!"

Every able body crewmen scrambled to action, needing no further command to do Kale's bidding. The injured were carried to the med bay. All weapons were confiscated and accounted for along with ammo.

Jim discreetly follows the crowd to the hanger bay where Sinbad's taken to standing before the hanger door like an emperor before his people. The traitors were forced to their knees and blindfolded. One of the twins returns with a crate of bottles full of diesel. Jim feared their fates weren't promised. So far, no one's taken real notice of him since he confided himself to the far wall, arms crossed over his aching ribs.

Sinbad holds out his hand and a cigarette box is placed in his palm. "Remove the gags." The same twin comes forward to snatch the gags off the traitors' mouths, one by one. Sinbad takes a cig and lights it. "Gentlemen, I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable guy. I don't ask for much except for your cooperation. You joined my crew knowing the implications behind what I would demand of you. But let's skip over the pleasantries." He holds out his hand a second time and a bottle of biodiesel's dropped in it. "Jonathan Teoflio, remember how the math teacher in school would provide a sample problem before the class to get the idea of how it's done?"

The one addressed wearily nods.

"Good, we'll start with you."

Sinbad uncorks the bottle and empties the contents all over Jonathan's head. Sinbad taps his lit cig over the crouched dog and steps back. Within seconds, Jonathan immediately bursts into flames and howls. His screams filled the entire hanger. Jim raised his jacket collar to block the smell of burning flesh and turned away, closing his eyes to hide the scene.

"Have I got everyone's attention now? Good," Sinbad says and taps some loose ember inside the bottle of biodiesel. "Let's get to it."

"You wouldn't dare," one of them, a shaggy reed-thin guy, boldly growls.

Sinbad tosses the bottle up in his hand once. "You calling my bluff, Diego?" The bottle's cracked across the fool's head. Instantly, he's engulfed in searing flames. Sinbad shoves the burning traitor away with the heel of his foot and moves on.

Jim grabs the cuff of his jacket collar and cups it over his nose. The foul stench of cooking flesh sourly fills he hanger bay. The teen didn't know what was worse, being subjected to witness Sinbad's cruelty first hand or having to listen to every excruciating scream come from the enemy. His nose is too sensitive to the smell.

He had to get out of there and now. He needed to find his friends before anyone noticed him. Sidestepping against the wall, Jim aims to exit, but the sudden onslaught of funk quickly assaults his senses. Jim coughs, unfortunately drawing the shocked attention of every Sinbad crewmen within the hangar. All of them. The sudden realization that a stranger was amongst them set everyone on immediate guard.

But not half as much as being recognized.

"Holy shit, it's frickin' Jim Hawkins!"

Handguns, pistols, and rifles were drawn, loudly filling the air with the clanks of loaded chambers.

"Ah, almost forgot about you over there. Jim Hawkins huh? I thought you sounded familiar." Sinbad's gruff voice easily overpowers the small commotion. "Kale."

"Yeah?" The dark toned giant stands at the ready.

"Be a love and take our fair guest to my quarters." Sinbad haughtily stalks towards the teen prodigy. "Bear in mind that I'm as paranoid as they come Mr. Hawkins, so if I get the slightest tickle in my gut that you're trying to escape . . ." the needle used to pry off the floor panel appears and pricks beneath Jim's chin ". . . I'll carve off your face with this and wear it at your funeral."

Of course. Good thing Jim hadn't set himself up believing there'd be mutual retribution at the end of this. His ribs gave an astounding pulse at the tiniest shift and Jim thought that two maybe three were cracked or likely broken. He takes a deep breath to control the pained shudder in his side when Kale pushes him towards a stairwell bolted to the wall. He can't afford any of them sensing weakness in his posture or a limp in his stride.

"Hey, where's Dart?" Sinbad questioned everyone directly.

"Marquis locked him in the boiler room, boss," Kale answers readily. "Haven't heard from him in two weeks. He might be dead."

"Might? This ship's got state of the art boilers set to reach a thousand degrees instantly!" Jim scours the floor for the speaker with the odd accent. A scrawny gentlemen steps forward, making a slice gesture with his thumb. "Ain't no fuckin' might in there, amigo. Our boy's pushing up daisies!"

"So we're short a shipwright? Damn it—" Sinbad slams a bottle over the next guy without hesitating and kicks him over, ignoring his agonizing howls. "That asshole's costing me more than I thought," he grumbles. "Anything else I need to know? For the record, I strongly detest surprises, so lay it on me now while I have the sanity to deal with this. What else was fucked up in my absence?"

No one answered at first. Then a reddish brown skinned man wearing a green tank and brown cargo slacks comes forward, hiking a rifle over his shoulder. "Well, since Marquis killed Dart, none of our vital parts have received maintenance in the past two months. No fuel stops, no steer repair or inspections and we've traveled on nonstop. We haven't docked to port once so our resources are nearly depleted."

"Exorbitant replacements. We'll live off the rations stored in the lower deck until we reach the next port. What else?"

"I wouldn't advise you using your personal quarters till the place is steam cleaned." Kale calls down from the top tier. "That is to say . . . Marquis . . . well . . . I regret to inform you that he's got your bedspread drenched in dick spit."

"On my comforter set? You mean the Egyptian cotton we stole from Africa?"

"Yep, with the rosette print."

"Motherfucking, ugh. Revive that bitch so I can kill him again!"

Jim chuckles as he's lead out the door. Serves the asshole right. However, that thought is short-lived when Jim realizes that that spunk infested room was exactly where he'd be held prisoner.

Kale and another soldier, a very bulky, tall, brooding pale fellow with a short tuff of hair on his crown and piercing brown eyes, escorted Jim down the winding hall toward two flights of stairs leading to the quarters Sinbad mentioned.

Kale left for a few minutes, then returned to continue their trek. Jim kept a steady pressure on his side and his back perfectly erect, though the flex and tugs his muscles made from each step put hefty strains on him. By now, he was absolutely sure at least two of his ribs were broken.

When they entered the quarters, the entire place was ransacked.

It's enormous, finely structured of pure black titanium walls, but faintly and warmly lit by distant stars and planets showing off through the high arching windows. Jim's shoes sunk into apricot carpets and beige ones that warmed the room. Landscapes of foreign planets, tapestries of legendary stars and portraits of infamous space pirates hung off the walls, surrounding the room in myriad history. Here and there, Jim spied some valuable loot decorating the room. A pure gold vase, crystal flutes, and satin silk curtains.

At least, that's what Jim saw beneath the disarray. A mahogany wooden desk was overturned in a corner with torn paper maps and shattered electronic compasses covered the floor. Unknown stains dirtied the carpets, and glass shards littered wherever he stepped. Against the wall, where a large canopy bed was settled, all the draperies were torn down and the support teams snapped in two. Long, grooved scratches nastily drove through a dresser and nightstand set. Book shelves lined along the room's entirety and surprisingly, were left untouched. Jim went in deeper, scanning all around for a separate exit. He saw none. One way in, one way out. His two escorts were blocking his only means of escape. And in his current condition, he wouldn't be able to fight his way through.

Jim grabbed one of the seats by the desk. "So what now?" he asks, sitting.

Kale steps in, nose visibly wrinkling. "You stay put until one of your comrades comes to scoop you up. But in the meantime, you'll earn your keep. And you can start by helping us organize this place."

"Fine." Jim rises, flinches, then tries again, slowing his movements.

Much to Jim's dismay, the quiet fellow notices. His large hand claps down hard on Jim's shoulder and forces him to sit. A sharp glare warns him not to move. Jim holds up his free hand as a sign of obedience and doesn't move.

Kale chuckles at the interaction, shaking his head. "Devon, start on that end, I'll meet you in the middle." He rights a lamp stand and suddenly brings his wrist up to his nose and grunts. "Ugh, it's putrid in here. Damn you to hell and back, Marquis." He unwilling sniffs the air, head bobbing in the direction the smell's radiating. When he discovers it's coming from behind a closed door, he grimaces. "That's probably fucked up too."

Jim looks at the pair in silence as they maneuvered through the chamber, cleaning the walls, tossing what's worthless and organizing the furniture. With nothing else to do, Jim decides he could help a little by arranging the loose maps and broken compass pads around the desk and stacking them in a pile.

"As soon as we get our men squared away," Kale starts, "we'll have our medic take a look at that wound."

"Fine with me." Jim wasn't going to complain about that at all. "I want to see my friends."

"That won't be happening anytime soon."

Jim bristles. "Why not? You can't keep me here!"

Kale has the audacity to rear up to his full height, crossing his meaty arms, smirking. "I'll love to see what you plan to do if I say we can." At Jim's reluctance to test that, Kale's smile grows. "That's what I thought." Then he comes to the desk, plucks up half the pile of maps and absently leafs through them. "I wouldn't worry too much about your comrades anyway. I can assure you're quite alright."

"How can I know you're not lying?"

"You can't," Sinbad gruffly answers as he walks into captain's quarters. "After all, we're pirates, so you're just gonna have to take our word on it." He surveys the room, and comes to frown at Jim. The teen stares back, unfazed by the rough glare. Sinbad's eyes suddenly squint as his nostrils flare. He blinks and snorts. "What's that funk?"

"Devon?" Kale asks expectantly.

Devon nods his head towards what Jim discovers is the latrine. He wished the door had remained closed. The pungent fumes leaking from it were so potent, they were almost visible.

Sinbad lifts his wrist and sniffs it. His own scent left him snarling. "Is the shower somewhat clean?"

Devon nods.

"Thank God, I need a wash." And without warning, Sinbad starts to strip out of his clothes right there.

"What the hell?" Jim immediately averts his eyes as far away from Sinbad's nudity as much as he can.

Kale barks a laugh. "Come on, Sin. Where's your sense of chivalry?"

"I'd done more than my fair share of good deeds for the day," Sinbad grumbles. "Any towels left?"

Kale and Devon shake their heads.

"I recommend drying in the buff," says Kale, going tone of the dressers. He scours the contents until finding a jet black wife beater, sage green cargo shorts and white boxers.
"In fact, don't touch a thing until I've stripped it bare. If you catch something, I'm not holding your hand when you get the needle."

Sinbad shrugs and draped the clothes over his shoulder and goes towards the bathroom, but suddenly remembers their spare guest. Jim is still loyally keeping his eyes away from the captain's body. Sinbad smirks. This is too precious. This could be fun.

"So, Jim Hawkins, valedictorian of the fifty-eighth class, blood type A, native of Montressor Bay, age eighteen," Sinbad chuckles deviously when the kid's brow quirks at the mention of his personal information, "Yeah, I did my research. You're something of a legend too.

"What about it?"

"I got a proposition for you."

"No," Jim immediately replies.

Sinbad shrugs. "OK, fair enough. I didn't want to let you go anyway."

"Now, wait a min-" Jim's head whips around against his better judgement and he's suddenly assault with a full view of impeccably toned muscles, sharp contour lines and hills upon hills of a darkly tanned hunk of. . . how is it even impossible for someone to be that big and not hunched over? He subconsciously crosses his legs and inches closer to the desk. He'd lost all train of thought after getting such an eyeful. "What were you going to say?"

Sinbad's smirk turns positively wicked. "Are you interested in what I have to say or what I can do?"

"Neither since it's probably going to be X-rated."

The captain laughs outright. "You cut me to the quick baby doll-"

Jim's head snaps so fast an audible snap can be heard from his neck that even makes Kale flinch. "Do not call me that!"

"OK, OK, Jim it is." Sinbad toes one of the chairs around to obscenely relax in his chair, leaving all of his business out to dangle. "You two can leave." He waves offhandedly to the other occupants.

Kale and Devon share a look; Kale smiling big-like and Devon rolling his eyes.

"Try not to make too much noise if you can help it," Kale comments with a wink. "And wear protection. We don't want a bunch of Sinbad Hawkins swarming the upper deck."

Sinbad gives his right hand a two finger salute. "Gotcha."

"Hey, fuck you!" Jim flips off the hefty brute as he departs, leaving behind a hearty laugh in his wake. Jim huffs, easing as close as he can to the desk to get away from Sinbad's overwhelming body odor and heat. Both were making the teen dizzy.

"Like I said earlier," echoes Sinbad. "I wanted to discuss something with you."

"I'm not up for taking with you until you put on some clothes."

"You don't get to make decisions around here, gorgeous." Sinbad kicks back, eyes half-lidded, arms folded behind his head. "That's the captain's duty."

Jim exasperatedly lowers in his chair. He was developing a headache dealing with this asshole. "Fine, what?"

"How's about a trade. Your freedom for your friends."

Jim wasn't sure he heard right. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You stay here, your friends get to go. You'll join my crew and travel the world with us. Sounds very generous if you ask me."

"But I-I mean-what, wait a minute, why me?"

"You've got skills that I feel would frankly be wasted on the Navy. Who wants to fight and explore the world with limitations? Live free, be free. Of course, I'll give you time to consider it. You have until I finish showering and my medic's checked out that wound of yours. I'll need to see if you're up for other . . . um, other strenuous activities later."

Jim glares when the implications sink in. "Not a chance asshole!"

"We'll see," Sinbad climbs to his feet, lowering his eyes thin and full of misconduct. "Till then, you're to stay in my personal quarters until you make up your mind."

"How is that even fair?"

"Captain remember? Ta-ta for now!"

Jim was broiling. He couldn't believe the nerve of this jerk. Forcing him to help take back this ship, still holding his friends hostage and now this? Jim looked around for something, anything to throw and upon finding a jar of ink, hurled it with extreme force against the backroom door as it closed. Besides amusement, Sinbad showed no other signs of being angered. Jim sunk back in his back, frustrated. He was in such a pickle. Himself or his friends? There was no real decision here.

He didn't have a choice. . .

Two hours have passed since Jim spoke with Sinbad. Jim had left and returned from the medic, receiving a thorough cleaning and having his entire torso wrapped. As he figured, his ribs were jacked up, but luckily not badly damaged. He was placed on a strict medical profile stating he couldn't do any hard labor or whatever exercises requiring him to stretch.

Jim absently fingered over the gauze tightly wound around his stomach, thinking inwardly about his predicament. The captain's quarters was cleaned during his stay in the clinic and smelled a world better than it had before. Everywhere he glanced, it sparkled. It smelled of fresh cleansers and they'd even changed the entire color scheme. It'd morphed from dark to brilliant. Crimsons, golds and cream graced the entire space.

It was a grand decor fit for royalty. Jim has to snort at that. Figures someone like Sinbad would see himself that way. The captain had long finished his shower and left to handle business above deck. Jim didn't know whether to take that as Sinbad's way of providing Jim with more time to consider his options or to make him squirm until his return.

Jim was given a new change of clothes; an oversized white long sleeve tunic and black harem pants. He flops back into the plush bedding and groans from both the pain blossoming in his side from such a rough move and the softness molding to his backside. He had pillows for days. The whole upper half of the bed was saturated with them.

"Hmm, mmm, mmm, damn, I could get used to this."

Jim shot up, clutching at his side. His eyes fell right on Sinbad standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, dark eyes skating lewdly over Jim's body. Jim inched back a little, suddenly a little nervous under that heated gaze. He cleans up exceptionally well. Jim couldn't deny seeing the captain in full garb, hair and beard neatly combed and trimmed and smelling much better.

Sinbad enters his quarters, shutting and locking the door. He tauntingly wags the key in the air for Jim to see before dropping it in front of his pants. He swaggers to the bed and drops on the edge, laying a heavy hand on Jim's thigh. He squeezes it, rubs along the inside and doesn't seem the least bit fazed when Jim slaps it away.

"Have you given some thought to what I asked?"

"No," Jim lied.

And Sinbad knew it. "You don't have to worry about your friends anymore."

Jim narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Why? What did you do?"

"Oh, Kale remembered this ship had a couple of spare skiffs and let them borrow it to head home. On the condition that they swear to never utter the name of the Sinbad Pirates to anyone or I would wear their tongues around my neck."

"Y-you let them go?"

"Yep!" Sinbad threw himself backwards, folding his arms behind his head. "I don't see how you can be friends with those pack of pansies. They bitched more than the average woman. It was either release them or cast them overboard. I wanted to toss 'em over, but the twins weren't up for it. I loss a two out of three match of rock-paper-scissors to the twins, so your buddies were spared. Lucky them right?"

Jim couldn't believe what he heard. "You didn't kill them," he was afraid to know the answer.

Sinbad looked at him, hard. "No," he said in a tone that left no room for doubt. "I don't kill for pleasure. Only those who get in my way or meant harm to my men deserve a grisly end."

Jim worked his mouth several times to speak, but nothing came forth. He closed his eyes and opted to lay alongside Sinbad on the bed. He closed his eyes, as so much relief flooded his chest, but it didn't entirely phase out the foreboding dread in his stomach. With his friends safe, that meant his own freedom was sold. He'd have to stay with Sinbad and his crew for the remainder of his life. . . How would he learn to live as a pirate?

Once upon a time, the idea hadn't seemed too outlandish. He would've gone with Silver that day when he asked if it weren't for Jim worrying about his mother's wellbeing. But she's fine now. With Gilbert and Amelia there to keep her company with Ben and the babies. . . Jim turned on his side and sighed. Who was he kidding, he'll miss his old life.

Jim flinched when a large hand shadowed over his face and then long, callous fingers trailed gently down his brow, along the corners of his eyes. They lingered there, thumbing away the slightest bit of moisture leaking there and went on to follow the curvature of high cheekbones. Tingles erupted beneath his skin in throes. Onward they explored, following the dips and smooth planes on Jim's face until curling under his chin, cupping it and softly, they urged his head to turn. Jim resisted only a moment before giving in and allowing his head to be turned.

Jim's own fingers, clenched into balls, wrapped firmly into the comforter upon locking eyes with Sinbad. He hadn't been prepared for how soft and warm and hauntingly hypnotic his gaze was. Almost predatory. Jim swallowed quietly, unable to move or say a word as Sinbad's face moved in.

Jim closed his eyes and held his breath to the drugged heat pouring abundantly off Sinbad's body. Their lips pressed together gently. Jim gasped and Sinbad took his chance to neatly curl his tongue inside with a perfect flick, in and out, so polite. Then he drew away, trailing a kiss to the corner of Jim's mouth, his chin and a nip to his lips.

Sinbad backed away, eyes half-lidded, licking his lips as if Jim's taste would linger. "Yes, very nice," he murmurs. "Real nice. Oh, I can make it real good for you, darling. I can get you anything you want, whatever it is. Name it and it's yours. Just stay here. Join my crew." Sinbad leans in, curving his hand behind Jim's head to expertly steer him in for another burning kiss. He'd shared his bed with many over the seven seas, but damn if this one didn't feel so right. Like Hell he was going to let go.

Nothing was registering in Jim's brain outside of getting kissed some more. It was far from his first, but he'd never had anyone do it the way this guy has. It felt like every inch of his body was being scorched with lightning. And from Sinbad of all people. A horrible, terrifying person was making him feel so good. . .

Pleasure gripped his body from all sides. Jim sighed hungrily, then wrapped his arms around Sinbad's neck and held him close. It was all the urging the captain needed to move. Never breaking contact, he calmly directed Jim on his back and carefully wedged himself between his legs, being mindful of his wounds.

"Say yes," Sinbad murmured against his mouth. "Say it."

"I'm not sure-"

"Don't think about it. Just say it. One word. Yes instead of no. . . Damn these lips, yum."

"I don't know you," Jim lamely counters between kissing and breathing.

"Get to know me. Tell me what you want to know, I'll tell you. I have nothing to be ashamed of."

Jim arched his hips at the firm grinding at his crotch. "Mmm, what will your crew think?"

"I don't give a fuck what they think." Kiss, suckle, kiss. "They'll accept it and move on."

Jim licked at the under part of Sinbad's jawline, earning a small growl and nip at his chin. "What about our ages?"

"Eighteen's totally legal. Twenty-five's hardly old. Anything else?"

Jim laughed darkly at the frustrated hint in Sinbad's voice. "Probably, but it can- oh yeah- it can wait . . . but the doctor say no strenuous activity for the next few weeks."

"That's fine," Sinbad sucks at Jim's earlobe. The teen buckles. Oh, Sinbad fully intends to mark that down for later. "We can think of other ways to get it done."

"How?"

"Say yes and I'll show you."

"That's hardly fair."

"Babe, my dick's as hard as an anchor and about to make landfall somewhere. Fighting fair is hardly honorable at this point."

Jim laughs in his ear, hugging Sinbad closer. "We'll see . . . try to convince me you're worth my time."

Sinbad halts his ministrations and slowly leans away, a devilish sparkle in his eyes, "Is that a challenge to my manhood?"

Jim smirks. "Yep."

Sinbad clucks his tongue and nods. "Fine, challenge accepted. Now then. . ." Sinbad lowered himself, placing slow, languid, open mouth kisses at the base of Jim's neck, working his way down as he undid a button.

Jim literally melted into the pillows and plush mattress as the dear captain's lips explored over his taut body. Jim had a feeling Captain Sinbad was very well up to the challenge. And Jim was just fine with letting him prove him wrong.

Maybe life as a pirate wouldn't be so bad if he had a tongue like this to live with. . .

TBC: Whew, I can't believe this went this long. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this everyone. Thanks for reading!