The Briton, whose body was now scarred and starved almost beyond recognition, was slumped against the wall, inching closer and closer to the floor with every second that passed. Arthur attempted to fight against the urge to rest, to sit, for he didn't favour the cold, wet floor, caked in blood, mould and tears, many of the latter his own. Besides, the floor wouldn't help him. It would stamp on his bruises and splinter his cuts. There was no need to sit, he told himself, but his body said otherwise and his eyes started to droop.
It was then that the ship shook with such force that Arthur fell anyway, his face landing in a small puddle of sea water that had sloshed on board. He closed his eyes then, accepting that he was in this position and he'd probably stay like this rather than get up just to be shook again later and fall down. But in a couple of seconds, he was up again anyway. He was a pirate, and pirates did not give up so easily. He'd been captured many times by many people, and his capturer this time whilst although his biggest rival, was definitely his favourite. Completely, utterly.
Ah, yes, he loved the secret moments he and the Captain of this ship shared. The dark, twisted romance, the scars he would have forever because of that. In his eyes, it was beautiful. Everything Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo did was beautiful. He killed beautifully, his torture was beautiful, his smile, his eyes... the way he shouted, the way he soothed. The Captain was beautiful, dangerously so, and everyone who came across him knew that.
Antonio could use his charms against you, Arthur had come to find out. He knew Antonio's tricks, his sensitive spots, and the things that made him roar with laughter and scream with anger. Arthur knew how he would smile and wink, and suddenly everyone was at his command without question. But despite knowing all of this, he fell for it every time, as he was sure many other people did. He fell for the damn Spaniard whose smile stilled the waters and opened up the heavens.
Thinking of this, he wondered how many more had fell for the Spaniard. Arthur knew the crew of the ship bowed to his every word and worshipped the ground he walked on. He knew Antonio's brother who although claimed to hate him, had spent many nights in his sleeping quarters. Man or woman, it didn't matter. If you came across Antonio, you'd either die, or live with the agony of not being able to claim the Spanish lad. Or, rather, that's how Arthur saw it, anyway.
In Arthur's case, he had to live with the never ending agony. Made worse because Antonio would leave him after Arthur was sure he finally got through to him.
He was always left. Antonio would whisper sweet nothings as he lay him down on his bed. He was always so loving in bed, Arthur had found- he wasn't the ruthless Conquistador in those moments like he was outside. It always baffled Arthur… it intrigued him. He wanted to keep coming back to him, even knowing that he'd be stranded on an Island not too long after. Did Antonio's words and actions mean nothing? Was he like it to everyone? Why, god, why was it -he- so addictive?
The brunette was a puzzle and Arthur wanted nothing more to put him together and discover the whole picture he knew would be even more beautiful than all the individual pieces.
Getting lost in his thoughts about the ruler of the seas, he didn't notice that the ship had stilled and the waves had quieted, or that the crew was shouting and swords were clashing. All Arthur noticed was the room darkening and the white dots that danced in his eyes before the finally dropped closed. The thoughts of Antonio soon turned to dreams and his heavy, uncertain breathing turned to whispers of Antonio's name as he slept. He could drown out reality for a little while at least and imagine things to come. He didn't have to worry about anything beyond this room. Not yet.