Killian wasn't sure how the whole thing started, but he knows that being at the captain's disposal put him right in the thick of it. He was in Blackbeard's quarters polishing his boots, the rest of the crew having gone to the tavern for a drink and a bonnie lass, when he heard quick steps topside.
Right away he knew something was amiss for two reasons: the steps sounded lively and determined - they were not the sloppy, sluggish steps of his crewmates when they'd been drinking too much rum as they were likely to have been that evening, and it was unusually quiet. Normally, he could expect the men to be singing, arguing or bragging as loudly as possible, and the lack of voices...well, that was an eery indication that something was wrong.
Still, he stayed where he was, polish rag in his hand as he balanced one boot over his hook, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention as he listened and waited in trepidation for whatever it was that was about to happen.
When the ship started to move, that's when he knew he was in trouble, and he stood up, dropping the rag and the boot, wondering what in the blazes he should do now. If Blackbeard and his crew hadn't returned from the tavern - and by all likely indication they hadn't - it could mean only one thing: pirates.
Strictly speaking, he shouldn't feel out of sorts around pirates considering he was one himself. But Killian didn't really feel like a true pirate - he wasn't allowed a weapon and when they attacked he was never allowed to be a part of the action. The captain usually sent him down below to guard the rum stock. Not that he minded, really. He was terrified of pirates.
So he did what instinct drove him to do and what seemed to be the only reasonable option: he hid. He stayed that way for so long the air inside the closet grew thick, and he was starting to wonder if he would have to sleep standing up because there wasn't much more than an arm's-breadth of space inside, the oily scent of the captain's jackets making his nose hairs curl. There was a knothole in one of the wooden planks that made up the closet door just large enough for him to watch the room, and he stood there, trying to calm his heart rate and watching for any sign of movement.
The door to the cabin opened with a deafening whoosh, and someone made their way inside. Immediately, he noticed a lithe frame and long blonde hair that curled at the ends in a most spectacular fashion, though whomever she was, she was wearing a sailor's hat and a cutlass strapped to her side. A female pirate?
Killian held his breath as she inspected the cabin, his whole body going rigid. Then she turned, looking almost straight at him it seemed, and he nearly gasped he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
Wide green eyes centered perfectly in a smooth, ivory complexion. A lightly freckled, button nose complimented the small dent in her chin that he immediately and inexplicably wanted to put his thumb to. But it was her mouth that really drew him in, the hard downturn of her lovely pink lips making him curious. Was she cruel? Or merely unhappy? And what was that hard glint in her eyes, giving her the appearance of someone who'd had a harder life than she deserved? He wanted to know all these things and more, and yet, he was cowering in the closet, hopeful that he could remain there unnoticed somehow until they reached dry land, at which point he would attempt to flee the ship given the first opportunity.
His attraction to this stranger created new and unusual feelings that he felt stirring within him. He'd had very little experience with women, and none had ever captivated him so instantly and so completely - made him want so much - that his body was positively buzzing with energy. It instantly created a conflict within him, his desire to know this woman warring with his intense fear that once she found him she would slit his throat or worse yet...make him walk the plank. As he watched her walk about the room, he thought she seemed too lovely to be truly cutthroat, and yet by all plausible explanation, she was a pirate who had commandeered Blackbeard's ship. That took guts if not ruthlessness and he was intimidated despite her great beauty. He had to scoff at himself, too, because even if he was completely taken in by her, there was very little reason for him to think she would ever take such an interest in him - a lowly deckhand - so his fascination mattered very little, except to himself. He put his eye to the hole in the door and watched her intently, doubly motivated, his knees shaking in his boots.
When she was through looking the room over, she seemed to relax and he watched as she began to remove her clothing, first tossing her hat on the desk with a flick of her wrist, then taking off her long coat and turning gracefully, slinging it over the chair. He swallowed, making his adam's apple bob up and down as he took in all her curves, her derriere in particular holding great appeal. All thoughts of pirates and escapes were forgotten as he wondered what she would remove next, his hand coming up to the door and his fingers flexing against the wood.
Sitting prettily atop the desk, she opened the top buttons of her shirt, and he fought for composure as her nimble fingers worked at each button, each time she finished opening one a bit more of her chest revealed to him and the tops of her perfect breasts coming into view. He was just getting an eyeful of her lacy underthing when she stopped, pulling the collar apart and fanning herself, letting her head fall back and sighing in a way that had Killian's pulse ratcheting up a notch, the blood in his veins running hot. She closed her eyes and arched her back, running her hands through her hair and pushing it away from her face, and Killian felt as though he might just pass out, she was so sensual in her movements. He'd never seen anything like it, and he felt a twitch down below alerting him to the excitement he was feeling. He moved even closer to the door, plastering himself against it, trying to get a better view.
Opening her eyes, she took a glance at the flask of rum sitting on the desk and uncorked it, taking a sniff. Shrugging and making an adorable face of 'why not' she wiped the mouth off with her shirt sleeve and brought the flask to her lips, leaning her head back and taking a large swig. In her haste, a bit of the rum slipped down her chin and he watched, his eye glued to the hole, as the dark liquid ran down her neck and into her cleavage. Killian became completely on edge at that point, all the blood rushing from his brain as he watched her wipe at the spillage with her finger, her hand moving through the valley of her breasts. He forgot to breathe for a moment as she took her finger to her mouth and sucked the rum off the tip of her finger with an audible pop, her pink lips puckering sweetly around it.
It was then that Killian's excitement got the better of him and he rammed his knee into the door, making a loud noise that snapped her eyes in his direction, immediately alerting her to his presence. Bollocks.
Panicking, he drew away from the door as she charged forward, the sound of her unsheathing her cutlass sending a ripple of fear straight down his spine.
"I know you're in there!" he heard her say gruffly through the door. "Come out and don't even think about trying anything or I'll run you through!" she commanded in an authoritative voice.
Killian's teeth clattered in his mouth and he raised his hand and hook in the air in surrender, even though she couldn't see him behind the door. His heart raced and he could feel beads of sweat gathering at his temples, so fearful was he of the wrath of this fierce-sounding woman.
A beat passed wherein it must have become apparent that he wasn't coming out and then the door flung open, revealing him, and his eyes went wide as he met his captor face to face.
"I surrender!" he blurted out, taking in her angry glare, her green eyes full of fire as she looked him over and he trembled in fright. He didn't miss the awareness that sparked between them as their eyes locked on one another, a momentary thing that sent a shiver across his skin as her eyes widened with something like appreciation. Whether the moment was real or imaginary, though, he couldn't be certain.
She paused, her lips pursed as her eyes focused on his hook, the metal glinting even in the darkness.
"Get out here," she directed him, waving him forward with her free hand.
Killian did as instructed, taking slow, shaky steps into the cabin, immediately missing the safety of the closet as he looked at the sharp blade of her cutlass and his chin quivered.
Eyes narrowed and weapon pointed at his chest, she circled him slowly and he stood there, completely at her mercy. Then she grabbed him, holding the sword to his throat with a strong arm, the other wrapping around his body, pulling him back towards her. Killian shook in fear as he bit his lip to keep himself from crying out, but he wasn't immune to the fact that her entire body was pressed up against him, the lovely breasts that he'd been admiring earlier soft against his back. It made it bloody impossible to think straight, her feminine scent invading his senses.
"Who are you?" she demanded tersely, her breath hot on his cheek.
"K..K..Killian, ma'am. Killian Jones. The captain's deckhand."
He heard her muffled "hmph" in response.
Her free hand was sweeping over his body, checking his pockets and feeling him over to make sure he wasn't concealing a weapon. He nearly groaned as her hand swept over the front of his trousers, the small sound he emitted stilling her movements momentarily.
"What's your deal, pirate? Why aren't you fighting back? That hook looks like it could do some damage."
"Aye, that it could, but I'm not one for violence." He barely resisted the urge to scratch behind his ear as he swallowed thickly. The blade pressed against his throat and he winced.
Another "hmph" followed by more manhandling, and Killian wasn't sure if he should be as titillated as he was, given the situation. It was just that he'd never been touched that way by a woman before, with her body so close to his, every shift in her posture felt against his back and making him shiver.
Seemingly satisfied, she lowered her weapon momentarily, pushing him away from her and coming around to face him straight on. He could feel his eyebrows stitch together as he wondered what she would do with him now, his hand and hook still raised in surrender.
She narrowed her eyes at him once again, still suspicious, the blade of her cutlass now pointed at his chest which she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from, her eyes flicking up to his face and then down again. His gaze was likewise drawn to her chest, despite his better judgement, where her breasts were still on tantalizing display. She caught him staring, and he ducked his head, unable to resist scratching behind his ear as his cheeks flamed. Poking him lightly with her weapon, she grilled him again.
"So, you're telling me that you're a part of Blackbeard's crew and you've got a menacing-looking hook for a hand, and you're not one for violence?" He could hear the skepticism in her voice as she cocked her head at him and he sighed, knowing she would never believe him but unable to tell her anything but the truth.
"I know you don't believe me, but yes, that's what I'm telling you. I've surrendered willingly, lass, so please, I beg you. Have mercy on me," he pleaded, not even the least bit embarrassed that he was begging for his life.
She lifted her chin, still looking him over, seemingly considering what to do with him and he prayed to whatever god was listening that she would indeed be merciful.
Still considering, he attempting to persuade her. "Perhaps I can be of service to you!" he offered.
Raking her eyes over him from head to foot and back again, she raised a cool eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smirk. Killian blushed furiously, realizing how she might have perceived his words.
"I'm quite able to...to...do whatever is needed aboard the ship. I've many years experience as a deckhand. Or perhaps you need a cook?"
Walking slowly around him in an arc, she jabbed the cutlass into his back, nudging him forward.
"Move!" she commanded, and he was helpless to obey.
Opening the door, he continued forward at her urging, not sure where she was taking him and worried that the plank indeed would be his fate. She saw nothing in him of value, he was certain, and he swallowed hard, realizing that this was it, his demise. A warm wind blew in his face, and he shuddered, his knees knocking together.
Three other women were onboard the ship, and he saw in the shimmering moonlight that the sails were billowing and they were out at sea. The other women turned, taking note of his presence.
"Captain Swan! What's this?" one of them asked.
"We've a stowaway, mates, one of Blackbeard's crew. Mulan, take him to the brig."
A whoosh of air left his lungs as he realized that she wasn't going to kill him but merely put him behind bars and he thanked whatever greater force had been listening to his pleas. Then a pair of strong hands were on him and he was being guided forward with a shove to his back.
A tall brunette with glowing eyes put her fingers in her mouth and whistled a catcall as he walked past and Killian ducked his head, feeling embarrassed. A shorter brunette laughed and came up next to her, slinging her arm around the other's waist in a very familiar manner. He turned to get one last glance at the blonde who appeared to be the captain, unease overcoming him as he was led away from her. Stay, his heart seemed to say. Her green eyes were still on him as she sheathed her cutlass, and for some reason that gave him a sliver of hope, however small and inconsequential. Perhaps she saw something of value in him after all.
He was guided below deck by the strong and silent Mulan, whose voice was deeper than the captain's.
"Keep that hook where I can see it, pirate!"
Killian had no intention of doing otherwise, relieved as it was that they were sparing his life. He walked willingly into the brig, the metal bars thunking closed with certain finality behind him. There was very little light below deck, except for the pale moonlight making its way into the room through the portholes, and Killian hung his head, hand and hook clinging to the bars as he slumped against them, thinking.
Captain Swan, he'd heard one of the women say. So, that was her name. The blonde goddess who had spared his life. He'd meant it when he'd offered to be of service to the fair captain. Already, he knew he'd do anything she asked of him, so in awe of her he was, his body still buzzing from the remembrance of her touch.
He couldn't help but replay the scene from the captain's quarters over and over again in his mind, leaving him hot and bothered as he envisioned her rounded bosom and the way she had leaned back over the desk, her eyelids fluttering closed. He imagined a braver version of himself coming to her then, perhaps running his fingertips over her exposed skin and nudging his thigh in between her legs, her green eyes opening to look up at him with desire as she took her plump lip into her mouth with her teeth. Immediately, he blushed profusely, though he could feel himself growing hard, the confines of his trousers constraining. Bloody fool...as if she could ever want him.
Lying down on the bunk, he crossed his arms behind his head and attempted to make himself comfortable, slow breaths necessary to work himself down from his state of excitement.
Whether any sort interaction with the captain were possible or not, he actually found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Not only was he being spared his life, but for the first time in many years he was free of Blackbeard and that alone was cause for celebration, the treacherous captain a constant source of torment for him, often giving Killian harsh beatings when he didn't find favor with him. Trading that wanker in for Captain Swan? Now that was a deal he was more than willing to oblige. If the circumstances had been reversed, Blackbeard wouldn't have hesitated a moment to throw him overboard. What did she want with him, though? And why did she need this ship?
Sighing, he closed his eyes, intrigue and uncertainty weighing heavy on his mind, and before long he drifted off to sleep, exhaustion from the evening's events settling over him like a heavy blanket.