Hello again! I just had this story itching to get out of me. It's sort of
a continuation of my previous story, "Jack Sparrow's Story." If I ever
finish that, it will explain a great deal of what's going on here. This is
a story for those who liked my previous work but wanted a little more
action, or slash. This will satisfy that craving, I hope.
WARNING: This contains adult themes! It is also slash, meaning it includes a relationship between two men! Please go away and never come back if this will offend you.
ANOTHER WARNING: I am neither male nor have I had much experience in the sex department. Comments are appreciated as to the content, the handling, etc. I take only what I have read before.
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the POTC men or anything. I just like to have some fun with them once in a while. I do, however, own Seamus. He is tied to my bed, where I feed him cookies and apple cider. He is quite happy. No men were hurt (too much) in the making of this fanfic.
You should read my other story if you expect this to make any sense whatsoever. If you have read "Jack Sparrow's Story," you know how much I like reviews. So please please please review!
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I don't know what I expected to find when after I left Port Royal with Jack Sparrow. He was a rascal, that was for sure. He was a dirty, smelly pirate to the depths of his being, if his being had depths. I didn't know the amount of trust I could put in this dubious character. Still, he had promised to help me find and rescue Elizabeth when no one else would. And thus it came to be that I was aboard the fastest ship in the Fleet, alone with said smelly pirate.
I awoke that morning after we had been all night at sea. My rebelling stomach carried me to the starboard rail of the ship, where anything I had eaten in the last day spilled out to the ocean. When I was finally able to look up, I saw Jack. His hands were loosely on the wheel, watching me with a somewhat malicious smile.
"Too bad about that there, Will," he said, slurring his words as though he were drunk, even if we hadn't an ounce of alcohol with us. "Give it a few days, boy, ye'll be running 'cross this ship."
I gave him a wry smile, all I could muster in present conditions. I stepped up to join him. "Where are we going?" I asked. To tell the truth, I could have cared less. All I could see miles around was clear blue-green ocean. The horizon called to me, and I could feel myself sweeping towards her, the salt wind in my face. I felt free, as I had never felt before, when I had been chained my forge.
"This port I know about," Jack said without looking at me. "We'll need to find us a crew, and provisions. Ye might 've noticed there isn't much tuh fill your belly aboard this boat. There's a man I know about who can fix us up with everything. Right with you?"
He did look at me then. Ever since I had told him my name it seemed his nasty pirate visage had lessened when he spoke to me, as though he pitied me. But I needed no pity. I answered back with as much strength my voice could produce.
"It's right with me."
He smiled, reminding me of a wolf. A flash of gold teeth shone in his weather-beaten face before he faced forward again.
~
I could not deny excitement at the adventure I had undertaken; sailing to new lands, seeing new and exotic peoples, it had been somewhat of a dream of mine. However, that excitement cooled when we reached Tortuga, the port Jack was so eager to get to. We tied up the Interceptor at the dock, and I paid the dockkeeper the asked-for shillings when Jack "forgot."
"Bloody pirate," I muttered to myself.
The city was full of life, even with full dark approaching. Liquor of all sorts flowed freely out of apparently communal kegs, keeping all in high spirits. Well-fed (and well-used) whores stood around doorways and alleys, waving and showing their low necklines. Jack's eyes glimmered; no doubt this felt like home to him. Just when I was wondering where we could be going, a woman strode up to Jack.
He called out a name, Scarlett, perhaps, opening his arms. To my surprise, she slapped him smartly across the face. Before he could fairly recover, another came in her wake.
"Jazelle!" he cried. Once more Jack was spun around, a vivid red handprint on each cheek. I could hardly keep from laughing as he shook himself like a dog.
"Come along then, Will," he said, turning around to face me again. "We've got business."
Our business took us around to the back of an inn where we found a pigsty. Grabbing a bucket of water, Jack hurled it on the sleeping animals. To my shock, a man stood up. This was no wonder of a specimen. His clothing was stained, his balding head unkempt, face red with consumption of Tortuga's strong ale. And he stank to high heaven. I struggled to keep my feet, barely hearing what Jack said to him. Whatever it was, he acceded. To the relief of us all, I doused him with another bucket of water to rinse off the rancid smell of him. He was a bit angry with that.
If I had thought I would be included in whatever Jack was scheming, I would have been wrong. When we walked into the inn, Jack and the man (Gibbs, he said his name was) sat at a table, shooing me away. I leaned against a column close by, but with the raucous atmosphere I could not hear a word they said. Over the din of the room, I made out one word, which I thought might have been "leverage." Therego, I was left at the mercy of the partygoers, with naught but a mug of ale.
Much to my surprise, I soon had a little group of women gathered around me. Not a few wrapped their arms around my neck and pressed themselves against me, urging me to pay for a night with them. Just as I was about to go outside to get some fresh air, Jack and Gibbs called me back over. I sat across from them, an empty chair to my right.
"Thought you could use some rescuing, boy," Jack said, with a nod towards the particularly wide woman who had taken an interest in me. I grimaced in response, downing a good bit of the ale in one gulp. Neither of my companions offered any more conversation, so I sat back in my seat. My mind raced to Elizabeth, wondering where she was and how she was.
"Where is he?" Jack murmured to himself, drumming his brown fingers on the table.
"Who?" I asked.
"Our man, the man who can get us that crew and all." Jack beckoned me closer. "His name is not spoken in polite society."
"The most feared pirate in all the seas, excepting our Jack here." Gibbs swallowed. "They say he took on an entire ship of the fleet, single handed, and left not one man alive."
"That's a bunch of rot," Jack said. "Seamus isn't concerned with that sort of thing. But 'e does have the quickest fingers I ever saw. King of Thieves, 'e is. Want something stolen, call for Seamus."
"Seamus who?" I asked, still unknowing of whom they were talking of.
"Seamus O'Riley." Jack looked about again. "And he should be here." He took another swig of rum, or whatever was in his mug. "If I ever see that flea-bitten, worm-tongued, stinkin' spawn of -"
Jack never got a chance to finish his sentence, for fingers suddenly curled tightly around his shoulder.
"What's that, Jack?" A voice, smooth and luxurious as silk curled around my ears. It was strung thick with a lovely accent, Irish, by the sound of it. A figure cloaked in black had his hand tight around Jack's shoulder.
"Seamus!" Jack exclaimed, leaping up to embrace the newcomer.
"It's good to see ye again, old dog," Seamus answered, returning the warm squeeze. Jack laughed, seating him in the chair next to me and shouting for more ale. There was a good deal more news exchange, and I was forgotten.
Which gave me time to examine this new character. The fingers that had caught Jack by such surprise were long and slender, beautiful fingers that I thought were more suited to playing a harpsichord in a fancy parlor than hanging about in a place like Tortuga. Despite the heat of the place, Seamus kept his hood and cloak on, only removing them when Jack urged him to. I was well pressed to contain a gasp at what I saw.
Hearing the tale of "Seamus, the Most Fearsome Pirate," I had expected some brawny brute, drunk as could be, with muscles larger than his head. Seamus was, in reality, the opposite. Beneath the hood was curly black hair, some gathered at the back of his head, the rest held in place by a blue bandana. Black irises, keen as the sharpest honed blade, peered from eyes starkly white against dusky skin. Graceful black brows were raised, now laughing at something Gibbs had said. Smooth young skin, without blemish, without hair - he was surely younger than I was, not to even have started a beard yet. Yet there was something in his gaze that made me think of wise old men who have seen everything. This was not the face of a pirate. It screamed fierce nobility, descended of kings and emperors. No, Jack was a pirate, a scoundrel. This was a prince. I found myself wondering what it would feel like to have those lovely full lips on mine.
"Who's the pup?" Seamus asked, startling me out of my thoughts.
"The pup?" Jack tried to focus on me through drunken eyes. "Ah, yes. Seamus, this is Will Turner. Will, this is Seamus O'Riley. This is the lad I been tellin' you about, Seamus."
I was irked at being called a pup, as though I were no full man grown. But I was lost as that endless black gaze focused on me. This one was not drunk.
"You're Will Turner." It was no question. His voice resounded like a harp. "The son of Bootstrap Turner. Has it only been this long? I thought ye'd be older by now."
This comment irritated me further. This man, no more than a boy, calling me a cub, then the way he said my father's name . . . Fazed by drink and tired from unwonted travel, my tongue was too loose. "At least I know who my father is. And my mother not some street-traveling whore looking for money and a chance to spread her legs."
Hardly had the words left my mouth when I was left staring at a knife firmly wedged in the column behind me, barely a hairsbreadth from my temple. I felt the wind of it as it passed me. Seamus was standing, looking down on me with a glare that both frightened me and enticed me.
"Insult me all you like, Will Turner," he said, and there was venom behind the lilting Irish accent, "but never, never, insult me mother and father." My blood heated, though with anger or desire it was difficult to tell.
"Now, now," Jack said, glancing at the both of us as though we were two hounds at each other's throats, and he wary to come between. "We need the both of ye. Settle down, lads."
Seamus considered me a while longer before sticking out his hand. "I beg yer pardon, Will Turner," he said as we shook. "I meant no offense about yer age, and I'm sorry I tossed that knife at ye."
"It was my fault. I spoke out of line." The feel of his long, cool hand in mine was glorious.
"There we go," he said, beaming a brilliant white smile. "Hand me back me knife, will ye?"
I did as he asked, hesitating to inspect the wonderful craftsmanship put into the weapon. Too soon it was drawn away, set back in the sheath at his waist.
"Now, Seamus, about the provisions," Jack continued, as though nothing had happened.
"Ah, Jack, can't it wait 'til mornin'? I'm bone tired," Gibbs said with a yawn.
"I suppose," Jack answered, eyeing a woman across the room. "Go on, I'll be right up. I've got some . . . business to tidy up." He licked his lips, a feral grin on his face.
I followed Gibbs and Seamus up the stairs to our rooms. At the fork in the hallway, Seamus bid us good night and turned left.
"Where's he going?" I asked. I longed to go after him.
" 'E's got 'is own room," Gibbs replied. "But ye'll be sleeping in my room tonight, 'less you want to sleep with Jack." We both looked down to where Jack was entertaining the woman, one hand resting beneath the low neckline of her ragged dress. I shook my head; I would not sleep with that tonight.
"I can't sleep with Seamus?" I asked hopefully.
"Nah. Dreadful small and only one bed in there. And I don't think he likes you that much." He gave me a grin, ruining the effect with his lack of teeth. I smiled back, disguising the feelings that rushed to my mind at the thought of sharing a bed with that beautiful creature.
The room was suitable, as rooms go. Two beds, a candle, a basin and pitcher, even a small armoire. We began dressing down our beds.
"Gibbs, know you aught of Seamus?" I asked. That being intrigued me as no one had before, and it was not the least his mystery that enthralled me.
"Not much truth is known of Seamus O'Riley. There's plenty of tales, but anyone will tell you that's codswallop. 'E's older than he looks, that one, and wily as a fox. Good man, though, good man." Gibbs' voice began to trail off, and he soon fell asleep.
I blew out the candle and crawled into bed, but sleep eluded me. I tried to focus on Elizabeth, on contriving a plan to rescue her, but my thoughts kept wandering back to Seamus. Whatever feelings I had for Elizabeth was dwarfed by whatever pounded in my head at the mention of his name. That old love of Elizabeth had been that of a boy, unknowing what the world had in store for him. With my horizons broadened, I realized that Elizabeth and I really had no chance together. If she returned my feelings at all, her father or the Commodore would surely see that our marriage was discouraged, and I would go back to my forge, cold and alone. Seamus promised adventure, new sights and sounds. Perhaps even - I shuddered to myself - new sensations.
My thoughts, pleasant as they were, were suddenly broken by a loud noise. It sounded like a dozen timbersmiths sawing at their wood. Gibbs, however, was what caused the terrible racket. Apparently he had a snoring problem. I rolled over, closing my eyes in an attempt to ignore the sound of his grating breathing.
As if to plague me further, I heard a door open and shut from the room next to us. Mumbling I instantly recognized as Jack's leaked through the walls, followed by high-pitched, effeminate giggles. Bed springs creaked, and moans and grunts soon replaced the giggles. I shoved a pillow over my head, but nothing could keep out the combined din of my companions.
I snuck out of the room, seeking solace in the only place I could think of: Seamus' room. I knocked on his door, feeling somewhat out of place.
"Who's there?" he called from the other side of the door.
"It's Will," I answered. The door opened a crack, revealing a knifepoint and a dark eye looking me over.
"Come on in, Will," he said, once he had made sure that I was who I claimed. I stepped in, grateful for his hospitality. The room was indeed small, but cozy. Seamus gestured for me to sit at a table with two chairs. He had forsaken the cloak and hood, as well as his vest, now dressed in breeches and a shirt - half-unlaced, to my discomfort and pleasure.
"What brings ye down here to me lonely little corner, lad?" he asked, sitting across from me. It didn't bother me so much, the way he called me "lad."
"I couldn't sleep," I said. He nodded in understanding.
"Ol' Gibbs, never could sleep if 'e was in the room. 'E still snores?"
I nodded vigorously. The lone lamp put a golden glow on his skin that was utterly enticing.
"Jack tells me ye're a blacksmith," he continued. He gave me a lazy, amused smile. "Ye don't strike me as a blacksmith."
"You don't strike me as a pirate," I replied.
"Ye were probably expectin' someone like Gibbs, aye?" He chuckled. "No, Gibbs and I are different as peas and carrots, if ye get me meanin'. But I was expectin' ye to be bigger, and older, I'll admit. Aye, stupider, too. Shows my foolishness if I thought any boy of Bootstrap's would be stupid."
It was a compliment, albeit hidden, but I clutched to those sweet words as a lover clutches a letter sent from afar.
"Yes," I said, "I am a blacksmith. I saw those knives you had. Do you think I could take a look?" He handed them over as if they were precious gems. And indeed, they would seem as such to any man who knew anything about smithing. The blade was made of a strong, lightweight material threaded over with runes, which continued their unreadable tracing along the hilt. I knew from experience the great amount of skill required etching this type of art into metal. "This is remarkable craftsmanship," I commented. "I've never seen knives in this style before. Where did you find them?"
"I was given 'em," he answered with a smile. "They were made by me father's people, and I'd wager they're some of the keenest blacksmiths ye'll find, no offense to any of yer own work."
"Where are you from?" I was desperate to know all that I could find out about Seamus O'Riley, and he seemed willing enough to volunteer information.
"Ireland, couldn't you tell?" Another dazzling smile. "Actually, originally more central France, if I consider it. Haven't been back there in ages."
We lapsed into a contented silence, both of us with our thoughts.
"You thirsty, boy?" he asked, getting to his feet. "I've got some good Irish whisky, better by a stone's throw than whatever they give to you downstairs." Though I gave no answer, he was already up and pouring us drinks. While his back was turned, I took the chance to study the oddly shaped lump near my chair.
It was a pack, ordinary enough, but a bow was strapped to it. It was a primitive weapon, but one that had a particular beauty. Carven all over with gold in runes I could read no more than the letters on the knife, it was a work of art. I wondered how such a one as Seamus came in possession of it.
"It was me father's."
I spun around suddenly to see Seamus watching me. There was no anger in his eyes, for which I was grateful. He set the glass of whisky down in front of me. " 'E gave it to me before 'e left."
"Left where?" I asked. I damned my curiosity when Seamus took a sad look on his beautiful face.
"West. Who knows where 'e is now." He downed what was in his glass.
"I lost my father too," I said, trying to comfort him.
"I know." He sighed, wiping the melancholy from his face and pouring himself another drink. I couldn't help but watch his smooth throat undulate as he swallowed. I tore my glance away, staring instead to a dark corner. I surrendered to my thoughts, imagining Seamus kissing me . . .
"Who is she?" He startled me into consciousness. "What?"
"When a man has a look like that on his face, 'e's either drunk or 'e's thinkin' of 'is lass. And judging by how much ye've got left in yer glass . . ." He gestured to my untouched whisky.
Feeling myself blush, I shoved the drink down my throat. It burned like fire all the way down, and it was indeed a good deal stronger than whatever I'd been given downstairs.
"Her name's Elizabeth," I said, hoping to distract myself from his black eyes. And it was true, I was thinking of her, sort of. "Elizabeth Swann. She's beautiful, like a summer day." I closed my eyes, to better put her in my mind and him out of it. "Of course she would be. She's a governor's daughter. And she has a Commodore in love with her. I stand no chance against him and her father would never give her to me; I'm only a blacksmith. But I've known her since I was young. The ship she was sailing on rescued me after pirates attacked my own ship. I was the only survivor." When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me compassionately. "She sounds like a good girl. And I'm sorry about the attack."
"You weren't there, it's not your fault," I said. I dared to look him directly in the eyes. His half-open shirt and inviting gaze were more intoxicating than the whisky. I knew what my heart was telling me. "But it wasn't Elizabeth I was thinking of."
He narrowed his eyes, studying me, then rose again. He stood at the window, his back to me, moonlight pouring over him in sheets. "I think ye should go back to yer room now, Will Turner. Ye need some sleep for tomorrow."
I stood after him, gathering my courage. "I don't want to go back."
He turned to face me again. He looked me nearly directly in the eyes, for he was slightly shorter than I was. "I think ye should go back."
Hardly knowing what I was doing, I clasped him around the neck and pulled my mouth to his. His lips tasted of the heady whisky we had been drinking, and they were as soft and pleasant as I imagined. I kissed him, kissed him, as I had never dared kiss Elizabeth, as I had never even dreamed of kissing anyone until he came along. Finally, we separated. My blood beat too fast in my ears, but I was drunk on love and lust.
"What do ye think to get out o' this, Will?" he asked, black eyes sweetly searching my face. "What of yer Elizabeth?"
I laughed, and it was bitter, exultant as I felt. "Elizabeth was never mine, and she never will be mine. Anyway, I don't love her. I love you."
I kissed him again, and this time felt his mouth open against mine, letting my probing tongue enter. I felt truly the pirate as I plundered every whisky-infused corner of his mouth. I loved the way he tasted, the way he smelled, like sea salt and cedar and wet sand and the glorious whisky, the feel of his soft black hair in my hands.
"I'll do naught ye don't want, Will," he said when we parted. I fell in love with the way he said my name.
"Everything, anything," I protested, wanting to feel his lips on mine again. I felt him smile as I began to kiss his jawline.
"We'd be hard-pressed to get through everything tonight, Will," he said, and I caught the implication in his voice. I had worried that he might be opposed to the idea I was suggesting, but it seemed Seamus O'Riley would surprise me. I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, loosening it from my pants. Still, I could not suppress a gasp as his long fingers slid up my back.
"Too much?" he asked, though did not seem all that concerned.
"No," I breathed. "Perfect. Ahh -" I heard my voice trail off in a moan. Seamus certainly was more experienced than I in this activity we were pursuing, as I discovered when his hands found spots in my back that sent fire through my blood and shivers over my body. But I also knew a thing or two, in theory. I drew aside his shirt from his neck, and my lips made their way down his collarbone, rewarded with his sharp gasp. We each pulled the other closer, exploring the new body offered to us.
"I can't believe I'm drunk enough to let ye do this," he said with a chuckle. "Let me take this off." Pushing me slightly away from him, he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.
Seamus stood before me in all his glory. He was even smaller than I had thought, with a narrow waist rising to only slightly broader shoulders. Though this might have made some men look weak, it only made him resemble more the clever fox his reputation made him out to be. His arms and torso were corded with slender muscle. He was strong, I could tell, from the daily labor of manning a ship. The moonlight nearly succeeded in turning his golden skin to silver.
"This is going to be terribly difficult if ye keep yer clothes on," he said as he kissed me again.
"Oh, yes," I said. My fumbling fingers tripped over the laces of my shirt. Finally, he sighed and lifted it off for me. At last we stood, bare- chested the both of us. Once more his hands wound around my waist and I felt him pushed hot and ready against me. He tugged me towards the bed and down to sit upon it.
I pulled away slightly as his hands slipped under the waistline of my pants. Much as I had desired this moment, I had never been this intimate with anybody, and was a bit hesitant.
"I've never, um . . ." I started, trying to communicate my uncertainty.
"Ah," he said in response. Seamus looked at me with his sparkling black eyes. He rested his head on my shoulder. "I can show ye, and guide ye, if ye wish. But give me the word, and I'll stop. There's naught to fear in what we would do, and it only hurts if it's supposed to." He smiled reassuringly up at me, dropping his head to place a kiss at the base of my throat. I gasped at the sudden contact with the sensitive skin, but allowed him to do what he would; I trusted him with my life.
Somehow it came to be that he was on top of me. Quick fingers indeed, the both of us were completely naked before I could bat an eye. I tried to kiss him, but his lips were already making their way down my chest. My hands rested on his neck, under his hair, as I struggled to stay still during his ministrations. He actually touched me very little; the brushes of lips, the soft breath, was enough to send desire pooling down in my belly. By the time his head was once again next to mine, my breathing was heavy and erratic. The kiss I placed on him was savage, desperate for contact. I was nigh on moaning with need when he abruptly rolled off me, on his back alongside me.
"Yer turn now, Will," he said. Catching his train of thought, I obliged. I worshiped his body with my lips and my hands. I kissed him once, just under his ear, eliciting a gasp and the pleasure of his fingers digging into my back. I wanted to feel that again. I began to kiss his ear thoroughly, and I was given the gift of hearing soft moans from his beautiful lips. I edged the bandana half-covering his ear up in order to reveal more of the source of his torture and my pleasure.
I was startled by the presence of his hand on my wrist. He gripped me with a strength I could not have guessed at, eyes glazed and shining, lips parted with his heavy breathing.
"Allow me this, Will."
His voice was beautiful, even in the depths of whatever we were doing. He could have asked me anything and I would have agreed to it; I did leave the bandana in its place, running my fingers instead through his hair.
He kissed me again, but did not release my hand. He drew it instead down underneath him. It was my turn to gasp in surprise as our hands found his goal.
"Fingers first," he said. I nodded, granting his request. His breath began to rush past my ear in a harsh exhales. He wrapped his strong, slender legs firmly around my waist. I continued slowly, hesitant as I was and ignoring my own aching desire.
"If ye're going to do it, do it now."
His eyes were closed, his thick dark lashes pressed against his cheek damp with sweat, brows drawn together slightly in a frown. I followed his direction, putting myself inside him. I saw him wince, nearly imperceptibly.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"A bit." His eyes opened, and he gave me a small smile. I began to back out, but he lifted his hips. "Keep going," he urged softly.
The expression of pain on his face soon faded. His arms were tight around my neck as our bodies rocked together. It was an unimaginably wonderful feeling I felt, for there was warmth and tightness and happiness all around me. Any thought not having to do with Seamus O'Riley rushed out of my head without a backward glance. I thought, at first, that I imagined his voice, but it was soon clear that he was saying something. What? I could not tell, for it was in some language that I did not know; he had said he was from France, perhaps it was French. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, even if I could not understand it. But neither of us was very loud, and it was not likely that the sounds we made were heard beyond the room.
His legs pressed closer to my waist and his fingers gripped me harder, and I could tell we were near our end. I could not hold myself back any longer, and released myself far into him. He made a small cry, muffled by my shoulder, and spilled himself across our entwined bodies.
Neither of us was willing to move; I just lay sprawled across his body, filled with a greater contentment than I had felt since I had discovered my love for the unattainable Elizabeth. He stretched out his arm, reaching for a cloth, and began to towel us off. I felt him kiss my forehead, and raised my head to look at him. He was positively resplendent, even more beautiful than I had first thought him.
"Well?" he asked. I sighed in answer, kissing his collarbone. He laughed. "That good, eh? 'Course, ye 'aven't done it before."
"Even if I had been more experienced," I said, "you would have been the best I'd ever had."
"I'm flattered." His grin might have been lecherous if it hadn't been so exquisite. "Now, be a good lad and hand me that bottle o' whisky."
I reluctantly rose from his side to get the whisky standing on the table. When I turned back, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight that awaited me. Seamus was spread over the bed, arms over his head, all long slender limbs and luminous golden skin. My knees wobbled, and I barely succeeded at returning to be bed without spilling whisky all over myself.
"Stop staring," he said. "It's nothing ye 'aven't seen."
"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on," I exclaimed softly.
"Ye've laid a bit more than eyes on me, lad. Now be quiet and give me that whisky." He grabbed the bottle from me, sitting up to drink. I sat next to him, feeling suddenly shy.
He sighed, somewhat impatiently. "Come on, lad." He drew me down until we were lying on our sides next to each other. "Ye should sleep, ye look tired."
I pillowed my head in the corner of his neck and his shoulder, knowing this was where I belonged. I did feel sleep dragging at my eyes. "Did I do it right?" I asked.
He shifted, putting his arms around my waist. "It isn't so much a situation of right or wrong," he said knowingly, "as one of good or bad."
"So was I good or bad?"
He laughed again. "Good, definitely good. No worries there, Will." He kissed my cheek. "Sleep," he whispered, "sleep."
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Just a thought: can Seamus be a Mary-Sue if he's a guy? Just wondering. Isn't he sexy? And so mysterious. I'm sure you all have questions for him. I would be happy to answer them if you review. So please? It's only a few words, and it really makes my day.
WARNING: This contains adult themes! It is also slash, meaning it includes a relationship between two men! Please go away and never come back if this will offend you.
ANOTHER WARNING: I am neither male nor have I had much experience in the sex department. Comments are appreciated as to the content, the handling, etc. I take only what I have read before.
DISCLAIMER: I own none of the POTC men or anything. I just like to have some fun with them once in a while. I do, however, own Seamus. He is tied to my bed, where I feed him cookies and apple cider. He is quite happy. No men were hurt (too much) in the making of this fanfic.
You should read my other story if you expect this to make any sense whatsoever. If you have read "Jack Sparrow's Story," you know how much I like reviews. So please please please review!
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I don't know what I expected to find when after I left Port Royal with Jack Sparrow. He was a rascal, that was for sure. He was a dirty, smelly pirate to the depths of his being, if his being had depths. I didn't know the amount of trust I could put in this dubious character. Still, he had promised to help me find and rescue Elizabeth when no one else would. And thus it came to be that I was aboard the fastest ship in the Fleet, alone with said smelly pirate.
I awoke that morning after we had been all night at sea. My rebelling stomach carried me to the starboard rail of the ship, where anything I had eaten in the last day spilled out to the ocean. When I was finally able to look up, I saw Jack. His hands were loosely on the wheel, watching me with a somewhat malicious smile.
"Too bad about that there, Will," he said, slurring his words as though he were drunk, even if we hadn't an ounce of alcohol with us. "Give it a few days, boy, ye'll be running 'cross this ship."
I gave him a wry smile, all I could muster in present conditions. I stepped up to join him. "Where are we going?" I asked. To tell the truth, I could have cared less. All I could see miles around was clear blue-green ocean. The horizon called to me, and I could feel myself sweeping towards her, the salt wind in my face. I felt free, as I had never felt before, when I had been chained my forge.
"This port I know about," Jack said without looking at me. "We'll need to find us a crew, and provisions. Ye might 've noticed there isn't much tuh fill your belly aboard this boat. There's a man I know about who can fix us up with everything. Right with you?"
He did look at me then. Ever since I had told him my name it seemed his nasty pirate visage had lessened when he spoke to me, as though he pitied me. But I needed no pity. I answered back with as much strength my voice could produce.
"It's right with me."
He smiled, reminding me of a wolf. A flash of gold teeth shone in his weather-beaten face before he faced forward again.
~
I could not deny excitement at the adventure I had undertaken; sailing to new lands, seeing new and exotic peoples, it had been somewhat of a dream of mine. However, that excitement cooled when we reached Tortuga, the port Jack was so eager to get to. We tied up the Interceptor at the dock, and I paid the dockkeeper the asked-for shillings when Jack "forgot."
"Bloody pirate," I muttered to myself.
The city was full of life, even with full dark approaching. Liquor of all sorts flowed freely out of apparently communal kegs, keeping all in high spirits. Well-fed (and well-used) whores stood around doorways and alleys, waving and showing their low necklines. Jack's eyes glimmered; no doubt this felt like home to him. Just when I was wondering where we could be going, a woman strode up to Jack.
He called out a name, Scarlett, perhaps, opening his arms. To my surprise, she slapped him smartly across the face. Before he could fairly recover, another came in her wake.
"Jazelle!" he cried. Once more Jack was spun around, a vivid red handprint on each cheek. I could hardly keep from laughing as he shook himself like a dog.
"Come along then, Will," he said, turning around to face me again. "We've got business."
Our business took us around to the back of an inn where we found a pigsty. Grabbing a bucket of water, Jack hurled it on the sleeping animals. To my shock, a man stood up. This was no wonder of a specimen. His clothing was stained, his balding head unkempt, face red with consumption of Tortuga's strong ale. And he stank to high heaven. I struggled to keep my feet, barely hearing what Jack said to him. Whatever it was, he acceded. To the relief of us all, I doused him with another bucket of water to rinse off the rancid smell of him. He was a bit angry with that.
If I had thought I would be included in whatever Jack was scheming, I would have been wrong. When we walked into the inn, Jack and the man (Gibbs, he said his name was) sat at a table, shooing me away. I leaned against a column close by, but with the raucous atmosphere I could not hear a word they said. Over the din of the room, I made out one word, which I thought might have been "leverage." Therego, I was left at the mercy of the partygoers, with naught but a mug of ale.
Much to my surprise, I soon had a little group of women gathered around me. Not a few wrapped their arms around my neck and pressed themselves against me, urging me to pay for a night with them. Just as I was about to go outside to get some fresh air, Jack and Gibbs called me back over. I sat across from them, an empty chair to my right.
"Thought you could use some rescuing, boy," Jack said, with a nod towards the particularly wide woman who had taken an interest in me. I grimaced in response, downing a good bit of the ale in one gulp. Neither of my companions offered any more conversation, so I sat back in my seat. My mind raced to Elizabeth, wondering where she was and how she was.
"Where is he?" Jack murmured to himself, drumming his brown fingers on the table.
"Who?" I asked.
"Our man, the man who can get us that crew and all." Jack beckoned me closer. "His name is not spoken in polite society."
"The most feared pirate in all the seas, excepting our Jack here." Gibbs swallowed. "They say he took on an entire ship of the fleet, single handed, and left not one man alive."
"That's a bunch of rot," Jack said. "Seamus isn't concerned with that sort of thing. But 'e does have the quickest fingers I ever saw. King of Thieves, 'e is. Want something stolen, call for Seamus."
"Seamus who?" I asked, still unknowing of whom they were talking of.
"Seamus O'Riley." Jack looked about again. "And he should be here." He took another swig of rum, or whatever was in his mug. "If I ever see that flea-bitten, worm-tongued, stinkin' spawn of -"
Jack never got a chance to finish his sentence, for fingers suddenly curled tightly around his shoulder.
"What's that, Jack?" A voice, smooth and luxurious as silk curled around my ears. It was strung thick with a lovely accent, Irish, by the sound of it. A figure cloaked in black had his hand tight around Jack's shoulder.
"Seamus!" Jack exclaimed, leaping up to embrace the newcomer.
"It's good to see ye again, old dog," Seamus answered, returning the warm squeeze. Jack laughed, seating him in the chair next to me and shouting for more ale. There was a good deal more news exchange, and I was forgotten.
Which gave me time to examine this new character. The fingers that had caught Jack by such surprise were long and slender, beautiful fingers that I thought were more suited to playing a harpsichord in a fancy parlor than hanging about in a place like Tortuga. Despite the heat of the place, Seamus kept his hood and cloak on, only removing them when Jack urged him to. I was well pressed to contain a gasp at what I saw.
Hearing the tale of "Seamus, the Most Fearsome Pirate," I had expected some brawny brute, drunk as could be, with muscles larger than his head. Seamus was, in reality, the opposite. Beneath the hood was curly black hair, some gathered at the back of his head, the rest held in place by a blue bandana. Black irises, keen as the sharpest honed blade, peered from eyes starkly white against dusky skin. Graceful black brows were raised, now laughing at something Gibbs had said. Smooth young skin, without blemish, without hair - he was surely younger than I was, not to even have started a beard yet. Yet there was something in his gaze that made me think of wise old men who have seen everything. This was not the face of a pirate. It screamed fierce nobility, descended of kings and emperors. No, Jack was a pirate, a scoundrel. This was a prince. I found myself wondering what it would feel like to have those lovely full lips on mine.
"Who's the pup?" Seamus asked, startling me out of my thoughts.
"The pup?" Jack tried to focus on me through drunken eyes. "Ah, yes. Seamus, this is Will Turner. Will, this is Seamus O'Riley. This is the lad I been tellin' you about, Seamus."
I was irked at being called a pup, as though I were no full man grown. But I was lost as that endless black gaze focused on me. This one was not drunk.
"You're Will Turner." It was no question. His voice resounded like a harp. "The son of Bootstrap Turner. Has it only been this long? I thought ye'd be older by now."
This comment irritated me further. This man, no more than a boy, calling me a cub, then the way he said my father's name . . . Fazed by drink and tired from unwonted travel, my tongue was too loose. "At least I know who my father is. And my mother not some street-traveling whore looking for money and a chance to spread her legs."
Hardly had the words left my mouth when I was left staring at a knife firmly wedged in the column behind me, barely a hairsbreadth from my temple. I felt the wind of it as it passed me. Seamus was standing, looking down on me with a glare that both frightened me and enticed me.
"Insult me all you like, Will Turner," he said, and there was venom behind the lilting Irish accent, "but never, never, insult me mother and father." My blood heated, though with anger or desire it was difficult to tell.
"Now, now," Jack said, glancing at the both of us as though we were two hounds at each other's throats, and he wary to come between. "We need the both of ye. Settle down, lads."
Seamus considered me a while longer before sticking out his hand. "I beg yer pardon, Will Turner," he said as we shook. "I meant no offense about yer age, and I'm sorry I tossed that knife at ye."
"It was my fault. I spoke out of line." The feel of his long, cool hand in mine was glorious.
"There we go," he said, beaming a brilliant white smile. "Hand me back me knife, will ye?"
I did as he asked, hesitating to inspect the wonderful craftsmanship put into the weapon. Too soon it was drawn away, set back in the sheath at his waist.
"Now, Seamus, about the provisions," Jack continued, as though nothing had happened.
"Ah, Jack, can't it wait 'til mornin'? I'm bone tired," Gibbs said with a yawn.
"I suppose," Jack answered, eyeing a woman across the room. "Go on, I'll be right up. I've got some . . . business to tidy up." He licked his lips, a feral grin on his face.
I followed Gibbs and Seamus up the stairs to our rooms. At the fork in the hallway, Seamus bid us good night and turned left.
"Where's he going?" I asked. I longed to go after him.
" 'E's got 'is own room," Gibbs replied. "But ye'll be sleeping in my room tonight, 'less you want to sleep with Jack." We both looked down to where Jack was entertaining the woman, one hand resting beneath the low neckline of her ragged dress. I shook my head; I would not sleep with that tonight.
"I can't sleep with Seamus?" I asked hopefully.
"Nah. Dreadful small and only one bed in there. And I don't think he likes you that much." He gave me a grin, ruining the effect with his lack of teeth. I smiled back, disguising the feelings that rushed to my mind at the thought of sharing a bed with that beautiful creature.
The room was suitable, as rooms go. Two beds, a candle, a basin and pitcher, even a small armoire. We began dressing down our beds.
"Gibbs, know you aught of Seamus?" I asked. That being intrigued me as no one had before, and it was not the least his mystery that enthralled me.
"Not much truth is known of Seamus O'Riley. There's plenty of tales, but anyone will tell you that's codswallop. 'E's older than he looks, that one, and wily as a fox. Good man, though, good man." Gibbs' voice began to trail off, and he soon fell asleep.
I blew out the candle and crawled into bed, but sleep eluded me. I tried to focus on Elizabeth, on contriving a plan to rescue her, but my thoughts kept wandering back to Seamus. Whatever feelings I had for Elizabeth was dwarfed by whatever pounded in my head at the mention of his name. That old love of Elizabeth had been that of a boy, unknowing what the world had in store for him. With my horizons broadened, I realized that Elizabeth and I really had no chance together. If she returned my feelings at all, her father or the Commodore would surely see that our marriage was discouraged, and I would go back to my forge, cold and alone. Seamus promised adventure, new sights and sounds. Perhaps even - I shuddered to myself - new sensations.
My thoughts, pleasant as they were, were suddenly broken by a loud noise. It sounded like a dozen timbersmiths sawing at their wood. Gibbs, however, was what caused the terrible racket. Apparently he had a snoring problem. I rolled over, closing my eyes in an attempt to ignore the sound of his grating breathing.
As if to plague me further, I heard a door open and shut from the room next to us. Mumbling I instantly recognized as Jack's leaked through the walls, followed by high-pitched, effeminate giggles. Bed springs creaked, and moans and grunts soon replaced the giggles. I shoved a pillow over my head, but nothing could keep out the combined din of my companions.
I snuck out of the room, seeking solace in the only place I could think of: Seamus' room. I knocked on his door, feeling somewhat out of place.
"Who's there?" he called from the other side of the door.
"It's Will," I answered. The door opened a crack, revealing a knifepoint and a dark eye looking me over.
"Come on in, Will," he said, once he had made sure that I was who I claimed. I stepped in, grateful for his hospitality. The room was indeed small, but cozy. Seamus gestured for me to sit at a table with two chairs. He had forsaken the cloak and hood, as well as his vest, now dressed in breeches and a shirt - half-unlaced, to my discomfort and pleasure.
"What brings ye down here to me lonely little corner, lad?" he asked, sitting across from me. It didn't bother me so much, the way he called me "lad."
"I couldn't sleep," I said. He nodded in understanding.
"Ol' Gibbs, never could sleep if 'e was in the room. 'E still snores?"
I nodded vigorously. The lone lamp put a golden glow on his skin that was utterly enticing.
"Jack tells me ye're a blacksmith," he continued. He gave me a lazy, amused smile. "Ye don't strike me as a blacksmith."
"You don't strike me as a pirate," I replied.
"Ye were probably expectin' someone like Gibbs, aye?" He chuckled. "No, Gibbs and I are different as peas and carrots, if ye get me meanin'. But I was expectin' ye to be bigger, and older, I'll admit. Aye, stupider, too. Shows my foolishness if I thought any boy of Bootstrap's would be stupid."
It was a compliment, albeit hidden, but I clutched to those sweet words as a lover clutches a letter sent from afar.
"Yes," I said, "I am a blacksmith. I saw those knives you had. Do you think I could take a look?" He handed them over as if they were precious gems. And indeed, they would seem as such to any man who knew anything about smithing. The blade was made of a strong, lightweight material threaded over with runes, which continued their unreadable tracing along the hilt. I knew from experience the great amount of skill required etching this type of art into metal. "This is remarkable craftsmanship," I commented. "I've never seen knives in this style before. Where did you find them?"
"I was given 'em," he answered with a smile. "They were made by me father's people, and I'd wager they're some of the keenest blacksmiths ye'll find, no offense to any of yer own work."
"Where are you from?" I was desperate to know all that I could find out about Seamus O'Riley, and he seemed willing enough to volunteer information.
"Ireland, couldn't you tell?" Another dazzling smile. "Actually, originally more central France, if I consider it. Haven't been back there in ages."
We lapsed into a contented silence, both of us with our thoughts.
"You thirsty, boy?" he asked, getting to his feet. "I've got some good Irish whisky, better by a stone's throw than whatever they give to you downstairs." Though I gave no answer, he was already up and pouring us drinks. While his back was turned, I took the chance to study the oddly shaped lump near my chair.
It was a pack, ordinary enough, but a bow was strapped to it. It was a primitive weapon, but one that had a particular beauty. Carven all over with gold in runes I could read no more than the letters on the knife, it was a work of art. I wondered how such a one as Seamus came in possession of it.
"It was me father's."
I spun around suddenly to see Seamus watching me. There was no anger in his eyes, for which I was grateful. He set the glass of whisky down in front of me. " 'E gave it to me before 'e left."
"Left where?" I asked. I damned my curiosity when Seamus took a sad look on his beautiful face.
"West. Who knows where 'e is now." He downed what was in his glass.
"I lost my father too," I said, trying to comfort him.
"I know." He sighed, wiping the melancholy from his face and pouring himself another drink. I couldn't help but watch his smooth throat undulate as he swallowed. I tore my glance away, staring instead to a dark corner. I surrendered to my thoughts, imagining Seamus kissing me . . .
"Who is she?" He startled me into consciousness. "What?"
"When a man has a look like that on his face, 'e's either drunk or 'e's thinkin' of 'is lass. And judging by how much ye've got left in yer glass . . ." He gestured to my untouched whisky.
Feeling myself blush, I shoved the drink down my throat. It burned like fire all the way down, and it was indeed a good deal stronger than whatever I'd been given downstairs.
"Her name's Elizabeth," I said, hoping to distract myself from his black eyes. And it was true, I was thinking of her, sort of. "Elizabeth Swann. She's beautiful, like a summer day." I closed my eyes, to better put her in my mind and him out of it. "Of course she would be. She's a governor's daughter. And she has a Commodore in love with her. I stand no chance against him and her father would never give her to me; I'm only a blacksmith. But I've known her since I was young. The ship she was sailing on rescued me after pirates attacked my own ship. I was the only survivor." When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me compassionately. "She sounds like a good girl. And I'm sorry about the attack."
"You weren't there, it's not your fault," I said. I dared to look him directly in the eyes. His half-open shirt and inviting gaze were more intoxicating than the whisky. I knew what my heart was telling me. "But it wasn't Elizabeth I was thinking of."
He narrowed his eyes, studying me, then rose again. He stood at the window, his back to me, moonlight pouring over him in sheets. "I think ye should go back to yer room now, Will Turner. Ye need some sleep for tomorrow."
I stood after him, gathering my courage. "I don't want to go back."
He turned to face me again. He looked me nearly directly in the eyes, for he was slightly shorter than I was. "I think ye should go back."
Hardly knowing what I was doing, I clasped him around the neck and pulled my mouth to his. His lips tasted of the heady whisky we had been drinking, and they were as soft and pleasant as I imagined. I kissed him, kissed him, as I had never dared kiss Elizabeth, as I had never even dreamed of kissing anyone until he came along. Finally, we separated. My blood beat too fast in my ears, but I was drunk on love and lust.
"What do ye think to get out o' this, Will?" he asked, black eyes sweetly searching my face. "What of yer Elizabeth?"
I laughed, and it was bitter, exultant as I felt. "Elizabeth was never mine, and she never will be mine. Anyway, I don't love her. I love you."
I kissed him again, and this time felt his mouth open against mine, letting my probing tongue enter. I felt truly the pirate as I plundered every whisky-infused corner of his mouth. I loved the way he tasted, the way he smelled, like sea salt and cedar and wet sand and the glorious whisky, the feel of his soft black hair in my hands.
"I'll do naught ye don't want, Will," he said when we parted. I fell in love with the way he said my name.
"Everything, anything," I protested, wanting to feel his lips on mine again. I felt him smile as I began to kiss his jawline.
"We'd be hard-pressed to get through everything tonight, Will," he said, and I caught the implication in his voice. I had worried that he might be opposed to the idea I was suggesting, but it seemed Seamus O'Riley would surprise me. I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, loosening it from my pants. Still, I could not suppress a gasp as his long fingers slid up my back.
"Too much?" he asked, though did not seem all that concerned.
"No," I breathed. "Perfect. Ahh -" I heard my voice trail off in a moan. Seamus certainly was more experienced than I in this activity we were pursuing, as I discovered when his hands found spots in my back that sent fire through my blood and shivers over my body. But I also knew a thing or two, in theory. I drew aside his shirt from his neck, and my lips made their way down his collarbone, rewarded with his sharp gasp. We each pulled the other closer, exploring the new body offered to us.
"I can't believe I'm drunk enough to let ye do this," he said with a chuckle. "Let me take this off." Pushing me slightly away from him, he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.
Seamus stood before me in all his glory. He was even smaller than I had thought, with a narrow waist rising to only slightly broader shoulders. Though this might have made some men look weak, it only made him resemble more the clever fox his reputation made him out to be. His arms and torso were corded with slender muscle. He was strong, I could tell, from the daily labor of manning a ship. The moonlight nearly succeeded in turning his golden skin to silver.
"This is going to be terribly difficult if ye keep yer clothes on," he said as he kissed me again.
"Oh, yes," I said. My fumbling fingers tripped over the laces of my shirt. Finally, he sighed and lifted it off for me. At last we stood, bare- chested the both of us. Once more his hands wound around my waist and I felt him pushed hot and ready against me. He tugged me towards the bed and down to sit upon it.
I pulled away slightly as his hands slipped under the waistline of my pants. Much as I had desired this moment, I had never been this intimate with anybody, and was a bit hesitant.
"I've never, um . . ." I started, trying to communicate my uncertainty.
"Ah," he said in response. Seamus looked at me with his sparkling black eyes. He rested his head on my shoulder. "I can show ye, and guide ye, if ye wish. But give me the word, and I'll stop. There's naught to fear in what we would do, and it only hurts if it's supposed to." He smiled reassuringly up at me, dropping his head to place a kiss at the base of my throat. I gasped at the sudden contact with the sensitive skin, but allowed him to do what he would; I trusted him with my life.
Somehow it came to be that he was on top of me. Quick fingers indeed, the both of us were completely naked before I could bat an eye. I tried to kiss him, but his lips were already making their way down my chest. My hands rested on his neck, under his hair, as I struggled to stay still during his ministrations. He actually touched me very little; the brushes of lips, the soft breath, was enough to send desire pooling down in my belly. By the time his head was once again next to mine, my breathing was heavy and erratic. The kiss I placed on him was savage, desperate for contact. I was nigh on moaning with need when he abruptly rolled off me, on his back alongside me.
"Yer turn now, Will," he said. Catching his train of thought, I obliged. I worshiped his body with my lips and my hands. I kissed him once, just under his ear, eliciting a gasp and the pleasure of his fingers digging into my back. I wanted to feel that again. I began to kiss his ear thoroughly, and I was given the gift of hearing soft moans from his beautiful lips. I edged the bandana half-covering his ear up in order to reveal more of the source of his torture and my pleasure.
I was startled by the presence of his hand on my wrist. He gripped me with a strength I could not have guessed at, eyes glazed and shining, lips parted with his heavy breathing.
"Allow me this, Will."
His voice was beautiful, even in the depths of whatever we were doing. He could have asked me anything and I would have agreed to it; I did leave the bandana in its place, running my fingers instead through his hair.
He kissed me again, but did not release my hand. He drew it instead down underneath him. It was my turn to gasp in surprise as our hands found his goal.
"Fingers first," he said. I nodded, granting his request. His breath began to rush past my ear in a harsh exhales. He wrapped his strong, slender legs firmly around my waist. I continued slowly, hesitant as I was and ignoring my own aching desire.
"If ye're going to do it, do it now."
His eyes were closed, his thick dark lashes pressed against his cheek damp with sweat, brows drawn together slightly in a frown. I followed his direction, putting myself inside him. I saw him wince, nearly imperceptibly.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"A bit." His eyes opened, and he gave me a small smile. I began to back out, but he lifted his hips. "Keep going," he urged softly.
The expression of pain on his face soon faded. His arms were tight around my neck as our bodies rocked together. It was an unimaginably wonderful feeling I felt, for there was warmth and tightness and happiness all around me. Any thought not having to do with Seamus O'Riley rushed out of my head without a backward glance. I thought, at first, that I imagined his voice, but it was soon clear that he was saying something. What? I could not tell, for it was in some language that I did not know; he had said he was from France, perhaps it was French. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, even if I could not understand it. But neither of us was very loud, and it was not likely that the sounds we made were heard beyond the room.
His legs pressed closer to my waist and his fingers gripped me harder, and I could tell we were near our end. I could not hold myself back any longer, and released myself far into him. He made a small cry, muffled by my shoulder, and spilled himself across our entwined bodies.
Neither of us was willing to move; I just lay sprawled across his body, filled with a greater contentment than I had felt since I had discovered my love for the unattainable Elizabeth. He stretched out his arm, reaching for a cloth, and began to towel us off. I felt him kiss my forehead, and raised my head to look at him. He was positively resplendent, even more beautiful than I had first thought him.
"Well?" he asked. I sighed in answer, kissing his collarbone. He laughed. "That good, eh? 'Course, ye 'aven't done it before."
"Even if I had been more experienced," I said, "you would have been the best I'd ever had."
"I'm flattered." His grin might have been lecherous if it hadn't been so exquisite. "Now, be a good lad and hand me that bottle o' whisky."
I reluctantly rose from his side to get the whisky standing on the table. When I turned back, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight that awaited me. Seamus was spread over the bed, arms over his head, all long slender limbs and luminous golden skin. My knees wobbled, and I barely succeeded at returning to be bed without spilling whisky all over myself.
"Stop staring," he said. "It's nothing ye 'aven't seen."
"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on," I exclaimed softly.
"Ye've laid a bit more than eyes on me, lad. Now be quiet and give me that whisky." He grabbed the bottle from me, sitting up to drink. I sat next to him, feeling suddenly shy.
He sighed, somewhat impatiently. "Come on, lad." He drew me down until we were lying on our sides next to each other. "Ye should sleep, ye look tired."
I pillowed my head in the corner of his neck and his shoulder, knowing this was where I belonged. I did feel sleep dragging at my eyes. "Did I do it right?" I asked.
He shifted, putting his arms around my waist. "It isn't so much a situation of right or wrong," he said knowingly, "as one of good or bad."
"So was I good or bad?"
He laughed again. "Good, definitely good. No worries there, Will." He kissed my cheek. "Sleep," he whispered, "sleep."
$$$$$
Just a thought: can Seamus be a Mary-Sue if he's a guy? Just wondering. Isn't he sexy? And so mysterious. I'm sure you all have questions for him. I would be happy to answer them if you review. So please? It's only a few words, and it really makes my day.