Notes: This is what happens when I eat a heap of Maltesers and stay up for 28 hours straight. Just a silly little one shot. The title is from the song Mercy by Duffy. Unbeta'd.
"Wheeler!"
He turns and sees Linka against the wall, her arms stretched up and outwards by the ropes Bleak has knotted expertly.
"Hey babe," he says cheerfully. "Stick you in a short skirt and pom-poms and you'd make a great cheerleader. Give me a Y!" He strikes a pose.
"Just get me out of here, Yankee," she says, narrowing her eyes at him.
He grins and saunters towards her. "No Y-A-N-K-E-E? No please?"
"Please?" she asks desperately. "Plunder could be back soon."
"I doubt it," Wheeler says, standing in front of her. "The townspeople just discovered he's taken their money and their drinking water, and they've chased him down the road."
"Well I would still like to get free," she says, looking up at him.
"Please?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Please."
She watches him as he runs his eyes over her arms, held aloft by the ropes, which are starting to rub her wrists a little raw. He's standing very close to her, but making no move to touch her or untie her. For some reason she shivers, and instantly blushes, furious with herself and embarrassed by the silly action.
He grins slowly. "I dunno."
"You don't know?" she asks incredulously. "You are going to leave me here?"
"Hell no," he says, and he runs his fingers slowly down the bare skin of her forearm, tracing a vein he can see just under the surface. "I'll stay with you."
"Wheeler!" She is trying to act furious, but really, her entire body has started to tingle, and her breathing has quickened, matching her fluttering heart.
"What?" He grins. "I'm better company than Plunder, right?"
"Barely," she chokes. "Let me go!"
"Aw, you're gonna have to do better than that!" he teases, and he put his hands against her waist, pushing her gently against the wall.
She looks up at him wordlessly, her eyes wide.
He brushes his nose gently against hers. "Maybe I need a little convincing."
She tries to threaten him with something – tell him that when she gets free she's going to blow him straight through a window – but all she can do is offer a breathless little whimper. She's sure now that all the blood in her body has rushed up to flush her face a bright red. She can hear her heart pounding, and sweat has started to prickle on her skin.
"But I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do," he says, and suddenly there is distance between them and it's a shock to have air and oxygen again, instead of him.
He watches her, but she can't look him in the eye. She fights confusion and longing and irritation, panting slightly, her fingers slowly curling and uncurling as she keeps a steady pressure on the ropes holding her, as though they will snap at any moment.
He watches her fight whatever thoughts she's thinking – whatever reaction he's prompting. It amuses him and saddens him, watching her fight like this. He knows there is a large part of her that wants to give in to him. There are times she proves she cares for him deeply, or is attracted to him, and each moment is stamped in his mind like a tattoo. He calls them up frequently, remembering them sometimes before he falls asleep or when he's having a bad day.
But there's a large part of her trying to fight that attraction, too, and it's usually the part that wins out. If she asks him stop, he will.
She's biting her lip. He moves forward again, not really wanting to keep her in a position that's obviously uncomfortable, but wanting to draw out the strange moment he's discovered. The others are busy, trusting him to find Linka and bring her back safely. Which he will. In a moment or two.
In one slow, smooth movement, he pulls the front of her t-shirt out and moves his hand beneath the material to rest along the lush curve of her hip. Her eyes look up at him and lock on his, but she says nothing. Her lip quivers slightly and he moves close to her again, bending his head and letting his mouth stop just short of hers. If she moves, her lips will brush against his.
His fingers slide slowly against her skin. Her stomach is taut and flat thanks to her position, which is less uncomfortable now that he is distracting her. His fingers chase along the curve of her waist, settling at the waistband of her shorts, which are slung around her hips.
"Untie me," she whispers, her voice husky. She is embarrassed by the fact she is enjoying herself. Mortified that she is still hostage in Plunder's office even if the danger appears to be over, and nervous thanks to Wheeler's gently-wandering hands.
He moves his hips closer to hers, his hands steadying her slightly, and he moves his face so his cheek is placed almost against hers – almost touching. His breath is soft and warm on her skin and in her hair and against her ear.
She can smell peppermint gum, and the warm, pleasantly husky smell of smoke on his clothing. She closes her eyes when the tip of his nose grazes across her cheek and gently bumps against her nose. His mouth hovers over hers, but he doesn't move any closer, and she realises he's going to leave it up to her.
In two seconds she has managed to rationalise it: There have been times where I have obviously wanted to kiss him before: In the jungle in Thailand, on the canal in Venice...
She stops her brain there, at that point, and lifts her face so her mouth meets his.
He's insistent and calm, a delightfully confusing mix of rough and tender. His tongue is warm and soft against hers, and she presses against him, wanting him to lean against her and pin her body between his and the wall behind her. She wants more of him, now that she's had a taste, but she can't move to wrap her body around him or twine her fingers into his hair.
He expels a slow breath through his nose, breaking the kiss and curling his tongue against the lobe of her ear, making her shiver. She tries to catch her breath. For a half-hearted moment she thinks about protesting, but it's just an inbuilt reaction – one that's so ingrained now apparently her mind instantly retreats to it whenever he is near.
He runs his fingers down her body, pressing them firmly into her, from her underarms to her hips. She wriggles, horrifically ticklish with her hands above her head.
"Untie me," she begs again, burying her face in his shoulder. "Now."
"Right now?" he asks. His voice is husky and soft. He presses closer to her and she whimpers and automatically thrusts her hips towards him. She feels his body jolt against hers, and suddenly he's got her face in his hands and he's kissing her again, rough and fast, and she's panting and straining against the ropes because she wants to wind around him and clamp her thighs to his waist so she can feel all the heat of him.
"Now," she gasps. "Untie me now, please!"
He tugs at the ropes holding her, and he wonders if he should be disappointed. He wonders what's going to happen now that she can freely pull away from him. There is nothing to suggest she is against the events so far, but maybe being free will change her mind. Maybe she's going to slap him...
He tugs the last knot free and she leaps at him, sending him crashing to the ground before her arms are around his neck and she's straddling his hips, her mouth instantly moving to cover his again.
He moves his hands beneath her t-shirt again, his palms sliding against the smooth skin of her back. He rolls and pins her to the floor beneath him, moving one hand to cover her breast, rough lace against his fingertips. Her nipple is a firm point against his palm and she's writhing beneath him, each kiss deeper and longer than the one before it.
He bites down on her neck gently, needing time to breathe and focus his mind, or he's going to explode. At the back of his mind there is the annoyance of having to get back to work. Somewhere, the others are probably waiting for them.
"Linka," he whispers regretfully, his mouth against the pulse in her throat, "we've gotta go."
"Not yet," she answers. She shrugs her body under him, wrapping her thighs around his waist, and it's all he can do not to start thrusting his hips against her. She twines her fingers into his hair and holds him against her firmly, kissing him with insistent force.
"No," he gasps, breaking free of the kiss. "Come on, we gotta go. I'm not doing this with you on Plunder's office floor..."
She breathes heavily, a slow giggle bubbling from her, and she rakes her fingers through her hair. "Da, I know," she whispers.
"Please don't spend the whole flight home thinking of new ways to reject me," he groans, burying his face in her neck again. His hand is still on her thigh, which is high against his hip.
"I won't," she promises breathlessly. She moves her hips slowly beneath him and his breath catches in his throat. He grazes his teeth against the curve of her shoulder and she squirms with pleasure before he crawls off her slowly and helps her to her feet.
They walk back into the sunshine, the breeze cool on their hot skin.
He slips his hand into her back pocket, his palm sliding against the curve of her ass, and she squeals and slaps him away.
"Wheeler! I mean it, Yankee, stop it, or I will spin you across the yard like tumbleweed!"
He laughs and pinches her gently before sprinting away, and suddenly she is chasing him – which is what he wanted all along.