Thanks so much for all the reviews! I am a little surprised at the reception of this story. ^_^;; But I'm glad its good so far.
Wonder if I ruined it with this chapter. XD
Edit: Thanks so much to the wonderful artist who drew some lovely fanart for this story! I love it! The link is up on my author's profile. Go check it out! ^_^
Pairing: UKCan
Warnings: previous warnings apply, OOCness, stupidity, AU, slash, inappropriate mood whiplash, etc
Disclaimer: It's great that I don't own Hetalia. Seriously.
"Blow me down." A pirate muttered behind his tankard of rum. "That is too damn precious."
"Ye milksop." Another snorted. "We don't need two wenches on the ship."
"Oi! Even ye cannot look at that and not think its precious." The first pirate snapped.
Matthew ignored the bickering pair and instead concentrated on making sure Peter did not loose his balance and send the both of them toppling.
The fiddler continued to play, a steady, jaunty tune spilling easily from his dancing bow as the accordion player cut in, adding a cheerful wail to the shanty's melody.
Peter laughed, palms sweaty as he continued to clumsily lead Matthew in a dance while standing on Matthew's feet. But the blond just laughed, taking smaller steps too make sure the cabin boy didn't fall, graciously allowing the child to invite him to dance. The pirates around them sang along, all a little drunk and getting drunker.
Arthur watched quietly from between Alistair and James, his rum untouched in his lap, as Matthew continued to dance playfully with Peter, cheeks red from laughing whenever the two of them would almost slip in trying to keep time with the rapid song.
"Margie would make a good mum." Alistair said quietly, dark blue eyes twinkling as he watched Matthew courtesy before a gunner staggered up and drunkenly asked the blond to dance.
"You're three sheets to the wind." The captain responded, green eye focused on the bright smile on Matthew's face, locks whipping about his face, as the gunner twirled him around deftly before passing him to the boatswain.
Arthur caught Matthew's eye and the blond gave him a helpless, secret little smile and a shrug before he turned back to his partner.
The captain's attraction to the blond was never a secret. Even in the beginning, when he was trying to unnerve and terrify the other, the desire was still real and tangible and glowing. Matthew hated his attentions, struggled and fought and ran and Arthur would drag him back each time. Bruised knuckles and scars and the reminder of blood and debt hung between them and neither of them could ignore it or quite forgive. But Arthur softened and Matthew smiled and the two of them reached an tenuous truce that fractured, once and again, and, like most tales as old as time, something took root and soon Matthew warmed and Arthur cooled and mutual understanding sprouted.
And when Arthur kissed Matthew that afternoon, in the suffocating heat of the cabin, fingers pressed to the hollow of Matthew's throat, there might have been something else there that wasn't there before.
Because Matthew, coming off his self-righteous and infuriated rant, had stiffened and then calmed when the pirate treaded lightly and when Arthur pulled away, Matthew's eyes were downcast and he said nothing.
They didn't speak for the rest of the day or for the next week. Matthew had spent time with Alfred, assisted the cook in the galley, and drifted about the ship, arms crossed and gaze distant.
And now, after another successful fight, this time with corsairs who had overstepped their boundaries, the crew was celebrating and Matthew was laughing freely in an embroidered maroon gown with gold details that Arthur found tucked away in the hoard of the corsair's ship as Alistair pulled him along in a jig, broad palms on his waist as he sang along, off key and loud, with the rest of the crew.
"You're not just going to stand there, are you, Arthur?" Alfred asked. The blond, under Matthew's request, had been invited to the celebration and Arthur had acquiesced readily. "She wants to dance with you otherwise she'd just stay sitting."
Arthur snorted, indelicately. Matthew was just being polite. The boy didn't really want to dance and the pirate could tell so from the way violet eyes looking longingly towards the crates.
Arthur wanted to prolong his suffering. Just a little bit.
"Go sit, ye scurvy dog." The sandy-haired man said, gruff and good-naturedly pushing his brother away from Matthew while keeping a hand on the blond's waist.
"My feet hurt." Matthew whispered, wincing as Arthur proceeded to drag him into a quick-stepped dance, heels clacking against the salt-worn wood, with a set of complicated dips and swirls. "And I hate being led."
Arthur smirked but slowed accordingly, pulling the younger male close. Matthew inhaled sharply and gave the dread pirate a wary look. Arthur's face was the epitome of innocence but the hands splayed across Matthew's lower back were anything but.
"If you ask for a kiss—" Matthew began and was cut off when Arthur pecked him on the lips before pressing harder, tongue swiping against the boy's lower lip. The crew cheered. When he pulled away, smirking, Matthew glared, cheeks red. "You—"
"Pirate." Arthur said cheekily. "Also, if ye didn't want one, why did ye mention it?"
Matthew had no response so he just shook his head and rested his head against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stopped moving, just standing in place with Matthew warm in his arms, as he stared out at the dark surface of the ocean, starlight and firelight bouncing off the surface.
"How was I supposed to know that blasted corsair had another ship close behind?" Arthur yelled, shoving the dead man off his cutlass with a disgusted scowl.
Alistair, grappling with his own angry and grieving corsair, snorted and punched the man in the jaw before throwing the man overboard. He opened his mouth to keep yelling at his half-brother when, eyes wide, he saw a man sneak up on Arthur. He yelled to warn him but immediately found himself facing down three more enemy pirates.
Arthur whirled around, coat torn and fluttering pathetically around his legs, green eye wide. He raised his pistol to shoot but froze when a cutlass tore through the man's chest from the other side, the corsair's mouth open in a silent cry, blood already dribbling the corner of his lips.
The corpse dropped.
Matthew, face set grimly, held the cutlass at his side.
Arthur stared, gaze alternating between the blood smeared on the blade and the determined glint in Matthew's eyes.
"I think that was their navigator." The captain said.
"Pity." Matthew said airily, giving Arthur a faint grin before blocking a blow from the side as another corsair rushed at him and neatly parrying, his voluminous skirt not hampering his agility or grace. Arthur stared, open-mouthed, as Matthew made short work of the man who challenged him before turning to yell at Arthur to stop standing around like a ninny.
Then he disappeared in a flutter of blond and red into the melee of battling pirates.
"I want you now." Was the only warning Matthew received before Arthur pressed him up against the mizzen, clawing at his gown, the still warm blood of the slain pirates pooling around their shoes. Eyes widening, Matthew shoved the amorous man away and glared. "For god's sake Arthur!"
Matthew had someone else's blood splattered across his front and a cut on his cheek.
Arthur swore under his breath and restrained himself from turning the boy around and flipping up that blasted gown and just taking him there.
Arthur finally returned to the cabin after helping take care of the dead and claiming the rest of the other's treasure and ordering James to split it. He left, patting Peter on the head (Matthew had hidden him in the bilge with Alfred before rushing to assist the outnumbered crew) and turning his back on the captives solemnly decreeing "Dead men tell no tales."
Then he walked evenly into the cabin, locked the door, and just stared at Matthew who was sitting in his chemise and stockings and sighing sadly at his ruined gown.
"It can't be fixed." The younger man sighed, shrugging. Then, glancing at Arthur with startlingly bright purple eyes, he raised a slender brow, asking, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Either you be willing or bite your tongue." Arthur said quietly, ignoring Matthew's sputter, shrugging off his ragged coat and tossing his tricorn hat into the corner. "And don't ye dare tell me you hate me or that it's wrong because I have never hidden my wants nor have you ever turned away because we are both men and you saved my life today. So, if you want to put on a defiant face and fight, fine but I will take you and I will have you and you will be crying my name come dawn."
Matthew is dozing on the bed. An arm and leg slung over the edge, the worn off-white sheet pooling low around his waist, the blond is a sight in the moonlight streaming in from the window, casting his hair silver and highlighting the slumbering lines of his body.
Arthur, nude and pleasantly sore, is helping himself to alcohol and enjoying the sight of his stunning bedmate. Downing the rest of his drink, he pads over to the bed and takes his spot on Matthew's other side, dipping low to press a fond kiss to a bare shoulder blade. Matthew murmurs nonsensically, turning towards him and sleepily seeking him out. Lips already pursed, Arthur obliges the younger man with a soft kiss followed by a harder one and flourished with a rough clashing of lips that has Matthew fully awake and dragging his blunt nails down Arthur's bare chest.
When Matthew finally opens his eyes, violet eyes warm, Arthur traces the hollow of his throat, coaxing the blond to tilt his head back, pale neck revealed and Arthur mouths the tremble of his throat and the dip of his chest.
"Oh God. Not again." Matthew said plaintively, voice tripping over tiredness.
"Mm, but you're already damned love." Arthur whispered.
"Not that godly." Came the retort and Arthur is already stroking Matthew's flank and dragging his fingers between his lean thighs and teasing the lingering wetness of his entrance. "Arthur, I mean it." Matthew pushes him away harder, mouth parting to scold him but all that trails out is a low, halting moan as Arthur breaches the ring of muscle with a sharp smirk.
"You're so lovely." Arthur is worshiping and scorching and when he kisses Matthew's open-mouth, he is demanding. "Gold pales in comparison to your hair." He whispers, breathlessly. "Jewels are dull when your eyes meet mine." A kiss. "Your skin—"
"You sop." Matthew laughed, gasping and pressing against his wrist when Arthur spreads his fingers and presses deeper.
"Say my name." the dread pirate demanded, Matthew bucking down on his fingers as he speeds up steadily.
Matthew comes, the other's name falling like desperate prayers.
"Don't look so proud." Matthew huffed, curled up in the sheets and giving the pirate a cross look.
"Then don't act as though ye didn't beg for more." Arthur teased, swatting Matthew's upraised rump as he sauntered by.
"Arthur, wait!"
At the other's call, the dread pirate captain glanced over his shoulder and saw Matthew beckon him closer.
"I know ye find me charming and irresistible, love, but as a fearsome pirate lord I have me duties." He said, tone dry despite the glint in his eye.
Matthew rolled his eyes and sat up, wincing when his body protested vehemently. "I find you neither charming nor irresistible. You are simply another weevil in my bread who becomes so commonplace that I have no choice but to name and converse with him."
Arthur snorted and pinched Matthew's cheek fondly. "Then I hope you break off with those others. I am, ye realize, the best of all weevils."
The blond gave him a bright smile and leaned up, kissed Arthur on the cheek, playfully tweaked the leather cord of his eye patch and said, "Be nice to Peter."
"Someone is in a good mood." Alistair noted, a knowing grin on his face.
"Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!" Arthur shouted, unable to keep a pleased smile off his face as he walked up and down the length of the deck before bounding up to the quarterdeck, two steps at a time. The white feather in his hat flew lightly in the wind and the captain's good humor seemed undefeatable.
"I wager we'll be in for a wedding soon." James sighed, crossing his arms, dark overcoat pulled tight across the expanse of his back.
"Mum would be so proud." The red head said woefully, removing his cap in memory of their deceased mother. "She always wanted Art to find a sweet, young woman of good breeding." His face turned thoughtful. "Though Margaret deserves better than our brother but if she can look past his temper and moodiness and accept him for the criminal he is—then bless her."
"I can hear ye." Arthur said dryly.
"Why else would I be speaking so loud?" Alistair responded.
Matthew tries hard not to think about the implications of the twist in his and Arthur's relationship. It is only acceptable so long as he hides his identity in a mass of frills and averted eyes and soft replies.
But Arthur strips away each ridiculous ribbon and unwanted bit of lace until Matthew is bare and genuine and bites and presses until Matthew is hoarse and there is no doubt as to what is real.
Matthew is not the god-fearing woman Amelia is. But he is also not the fearless and dynamic maverick his sister becomes when she truly wants something. When Amelia wants something, neither heaven nor hell can conspire to stop her. She would damn herself and her family for the chance to press her lips against Madeline's wrist. If she could question her God for love then Matthew can trace 'sodomite' on the inside of his forearm and not feel its burn because Arthur's touch engulfs everything.
Because Arthur smiles upon catching sight of the scars Matthew left in his furious assassination attempts. Because Arthur doesn't tell Matthew to smile when he's sulking, he drags Matthew back into line and curls his lip at the other's pampered childish side when it arises.
But, it remains, that Matthew is not a woman. He has no place on a pirate ship. He is his father's only heir. He has not forgotten the heat of Port Royal or the rain of London because no matter how pungent the open sea salt air is or how the sun bears down on him midday, the blond remembers solid land filled with respectable men and women.
And, perhaps Arthur knows this, because he stops teasing Matthew and, instead, talks about the sea, about its wonders and treasures and there is magic in his tales of adventure. But Matthew just smiles sadly and turns away each time.
"This was a terrible idea." Matthew sighed. Then, eyebrow twitching, he scowled and elbowed the pirate in the chest. "I can feel you attempting to prepare me, you deviant."
Arthur looked entirely unrepentant, eye gleaming when Matthew turned to face him, still scowling. "Haven't ye ever want to do it the bath?"
"Bathes are for washing." Matthew said imperiously, swatting at Arthur when the dread pirate attempted to kiss him. "And there is barely enough room in here for the both of us to wash. There will be no illicit activities in the tub." Matthew, attempting to shift onto his knees, slipped and landed with a thump against the naked pirate, slick chests sliding together, much to his embarrassment.
Arthur snickered and pulled the blond up, settling him in his lap, thighs on either side of Arthur's waist. The pirate stretched out and leaned back, giving Matthew a smirk. "We have washed love. Though…I still feel a little dirty." He waggled his thick brows and Matthew rolled his eyes.
"You're terrible."
"Pirate."
"Matthew!"
That is the only warning Matthew receives before a blur of dark blue tears out of the inn and rushes towards him. Arthur reacts before him, pushing the boy behind him, and one hand ready on his cutlass. Matthew almost stumbles on the cobblestone and looks up, catching sight of the stranger in the weak torchlight in the abandoned street.
And something in him bubbles up, relief so overwhelming, that the boy drops the pretty violet fan Arthur gave him and cries out, "Amelia!"
His sister—oh god, what has she done?—shoves Arthur away with surprising strength and embraces her brother. And Matthew can only return it, disbelieving fingers running through his sister's shorn hair and the sharp curve of her cheekbone and the brilliant blue eyes she inherited from their father. And the two united twins laugh, matching laughter filling the air.
"What are you wearing?" Matthew asks, pushing the girl away gently and looking at her outfit.
Amelia gives him a crooked smile and pokes at his nonexistent bust. "I'd ask the same, brother mine."
Amelia's hair is cut to her ears and smoothed back. Chest bound and body covered by a large navy overcoat with brocade down the front and at the cuffs, the girl is dressed as a man, breeches tucked into shining black boots. She walks, feet apart, and a sure hand on her waist, right where her pistol hangs in wait.
"We always were strange." Amelia shrugged. There is black ink on her neck.
Arthur's face darkens and, lowly, he says, "Lady Liberty. You're the one who sank Queen Catherine's Fury."
Amelia gives him a smug grin. "Not just me."
"Oh god, you're a pirate." Matthew groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and pacing the room furiously.
"Brother dearest, you're in a dress." Amelia said sweetly.
Lady Madeline, at Amelia's side, looked more sympathetic. The pretty blond is wearing a simple dark blue gown with white ruffles at the opening of her elbow-length sleeves. Amelia is resting her head on the revealed swell of her breasts, pushed up from the neckline, and Madeline is stroking her hair with dainty hands.
"I am certain he did not choose the dress." Her voice is whisper soft but there is a wicked glint in her big, light blue eyes.
Arthur is sitting in a corner of the room, most likely sulking but Matthew is not inclined to care at the moment.
"My sister is a pirate." Matthew sighed.
"If it makes you feel any better, love, she's not a very good one." Arthur threw in.
Amelia's cheeks puffed in rage. And she sat up. "I am an awesome pirate."
"Don't call me 'love'." Matthew added, then seeing Amelia's furious look. "Amelia, I'd rather you be a mediocre pirate than a good one."
"She's not even mediocre." Arthur then said, leaning back and looking entirely too pleased. "She leaves survivors. She insulted the people of Tortuga—good luck being protected from the Navy when you're docked there, lass. She brings women on board."
"Those women are good officers." Amelia snapped, Madeline trying to calm her. "And one of those women is my lover so I thank you to shut up or else I'll sink your ship!"
"And what of your brother?"
"He can come live on my ship."
"A good pirate leaves no survivors?" Matthew pondered.
Arthur snarled and stood up, coming up behind Matthew and wrapping a possessive arm around his waist. Madeline blushed and Amelia, after a brief stunned expression, lit up in rage.
"I'd like to see you try, you bitch."
"Don't insult my sister, Arthur." Matthew said darkly, patience running thin. "And, Amelia, stop talking nonsense. You want to recklessly sail around the globe with Lady Madeline, fine. But if you sink Arthur's ship, I will never forgive you."
Amelia looked contrite. "Look, Mattie." The familiar nickname sparked something warm and nostalgic in the dress-wearing boy. "The entire Bonnefoy house went down in flames. Francis was half-alive and swears that you were taken prisoner. I visited mother a month ago and they still hope to see you." She smiled bitterly. "You're their only child, as far as they're concerned."
"Amelia…" Matthew trailed off, helplessly in light of the sorrow in his sister's voice.
Amelia shook her head. "You always were the good one, brother." She glared at Arthur. "My brother has the chance to get his life back. Stop being such a selfish ass and let him go."
"Come on, Matthew." Amelia said petulantly, attempting to stall Matthew by grabbing his arm and digging her heels into the dirt. "What about me? Us? We always did say we'd go on adventures together?" she continued, cajoling.
Lady Madeline stood a ways off, sighing at her lover's wheedling.
Matthew sighed, as well, trying to pry his sister off him. "Amelia, you have a new partner in crime. Literally." He nodded at the statuesque blond. Amelia glanced at Madeline, expression softening.
"But, Matt—" Amelia tried again but Matthew cut her off.
"Arthur…has treated me decently." He said, patting her head. "And, knowing you, you probably have some half-formed idea in your mind and you intend to see that out before taking me home."
"It's the fountain of youth, Matthew!"
Matthew sighed, exasperated. "Let us meet again, sister dear." He smiled at her, gentle and loving before nodding at Lady Madeline. "Keep her out of trouble."
"I try." The pretty girl said, deftly grabbing Amelia's overcoat to keep the exuberant blond from tackling her brother and attempting to drag him off and away from Arthur.
Arthur gave Matthew a worried look. The boy hadn't said a word since waving his sister off. Now, Matthew was staring out onto the wide expanse of the sea from the cabin window as the waves splashed against the wooden hulk of the ship.
"Love." Arthur breathed out against the nape of his neck, palms sliding up the lines of his arms and fingers fiddling with the neckline of the gown. Arthur quietly unlaced the bodice with nimble fingers and slowly dragged the heavy fabric down pale skin.
"Stop." Matthew said quietly.
Arthur didn't.
"I said, that's enough!" Matthew raised his voice and tearing himself from the other's grasp. He gave the other a defiant look, violet eyes cold. "Who do you think you are? I am not some whore who is always at your beck and call. Is sex all you think about?"
How could Arthur not realize that he wanted to go home?
"Not to ruin the pretty image you seem to have in mind, love, but you have been warming my bed for the past few months. You've just gotten better at it." Arthur said coldly, offended by the way Matthew just shoved him off when he attempted to comfort him. Really, he thought they had gotten past this pesky dancing around each other. And, though he knew it was wrong, he wouldn't take back the hurt-fueled words. "And, what else is there?"
Matthew gave him an incredulous look before it was overtaken by hurt and anger. How could Arthur say that? Was this the rest of his life? "We're still in port." He said, jaw clenched. "I suggest you go have your needs taken care of."
"I take it the honeymoon is over." Alistair stated, blandly, as Matthew glided past Arthur and, rather than stare at the blond with doe-eyes, the dread pirate captain called Matthew a "tramp".
Matthew spent the rest of the day in the crow's nest with Reginald.
"You killed Richard!" Matthew shouted, staring in horror at the corpse.
Arthur looked vaguely upset. "He got in the way. I meant to kill him." He pointed towards Reginald with his pistol. "Now we need another navigator." He looked thoughtful.
"I can be navigator." Reginald meekly volunteered.
"You killed Reginald!" James shouted. "Why?"
"He got us lost." Arthur shrugged. "Piss-poor navigator, that one."
"I liked Reginald." Alfred said mildly. "Good man. Little slow but good."
"Arthur is ridiculous!" Matthew huffed, kicking at one of the crates. "Its so obvious now. He never once cared for me. I'm just another warm body."
"He does care." Alfred interjected. "He's just…emotionally stunted. He'll come around."
Matthew just shrugged, slumping his shoulders and curling up on a crate. Frankly, the fight should never have gotten so out of hand. But Matthew thought he had the right to reject Arthur's advances. But Arthur made it very clear that it was about Matthew's body from the beginning. That Matthew was just another object to hoard. And Matthew gave in and how could he possibly think there was more to Arthur than pirate lord?
He should've just gone with Amelia and Madeline.
"I'm not hungry."
Arthur glared at the recalcitrant blond. "Don't test me, boy." He shoved the fork back into Matthew's hand impatiently. "Eat."
Matthew, pinching his lips, poked at the unidentifiable salted meat and cut off little bits of it. Arthur just watched him, eye narrowed, and took a sip of his water.
Matthew forced down two bites and then grabbed his own cup. And promptly put it back, lips twisted in distaste. "There's something in it."
Arthur sighed heavily and checked for himself. "It's just a bit of mold. It won't kill ye."
Matthew looked horrified. "I'm not drinking it."
The dread pirate put down his fork and knife purposely and gave the blond a cold look. "I am not in the mood to indulge you today, pet."
And days of Matthew's coldness and forced civility was wearing on him. The boy could hold a grudge when he set his mind to it. Ever since seeing his sister, Matthew had closed off, rather than easing in comfort with the knowledge of his sister's well-being.
Well, she was a pirate but she didn't look too poorly off.
He had shied away from Arthur's touch, snapping at his desire rather than melting and reciprocating. And, perhaps the pirate would concede, he had been rather disrespectful in referring to Matthew as a "whore" without an appropriately jesting tone. But now it was simply ridiculous.
Matthew would spend hours with Alfred, hours in the crow's nest, and hours away from Arthur. Dinners were tense and every attempt Arthur made to wheedle back into Mathew's good graces were met with his back.
Of course, he could sit Matthew down and have a talk but that was…
That would never work.
Matthew gave him a testing look before he pushed the cup away. "You can have it."
Arthur's scowl deepened. "Would ye like to fall ill? Drink." He pushed the cup back with more force than necessary and the cup tottered dangerously before righting itself. The blond shook his head. Arthur was ready to hit him. But, instead, he took a deep breath. "Would ye like mine?" He held out his cup, still filled a quarter of the way.
Matthew peered into it and hesitantly took the cup. "Thank you." He said quietly, a little humbled, and took a small sip.
Arthur just nodded and went back to his food.
The rest of the meal continued peacefully until Arthur was slicing an apple.
"Here." He held out a slice for Matthew, teasingly pushing it towards his lips.
"I can feed myself." Matthew sighed, attempting to take the fruit.
Arthur, pricking a little at the other's rebuff, avoided the hand and pressed the fruit against Matthew's lips. "Maybe I want to feed ye."
Matthew's eyes narrowed and, lips staying as closed as possible, he grit out, "I'm an adult."
"You're being a child." Arthur corrected, days of fermenting anger and nights of sleeping as far apart as possible, crashed into each other and not even God could stop the storm of words that followed. "You're worse than a woman. You take everything to heart. The slightest of slights makes you puff up like a toad."
Matthew opened his mouth, indignant, and Arthur took the opportunity to gleefully shove the apple slice into his mouth. Matthew gagged but Arthur covered his mouth, forcing the blond to chew.
"You're a bastard." Matthew hissed when he finished. "You don't even care—"
"Tell me what else I should care about." Arthur demanded, standing up. "I have an entire crew that looks to me for orders, a ship under my control, lives that I am responsible for, a son who shouldn't be here, and a bounty on my head. And now, I have a selfish, beautiful brat more frigid than a nun who thinks I don't care." He slammed his hand onto the rough-hewn table and glared. "What? Because I don't sit here and tell you how pretty you are or how much I love you?"
Matthew looked down at his lap, lip trembling and eyes hateful. "That's not what I meant." He whispered.
"Then explain it! Use some of that bloody eloquence you reserve for expressing your hatred of me!" Arthur snapped.
Matthew shook his head and stood up swiftly, skirts swishing as he turned away. Arthur grabbed the crook of his elbow. Matthew demanded that Arthur let him go.
What happened next neither man is proud of.
Something in Arthur bubbles over and he doesn't even fully understand what he's saying. His words twist Matthew into something terrible and Matthew is yelling at him and he doesn't know why but the last thing he remembers snarling is "You're mine and I'll prove it."
And then Matthew is pushed face first onto the bed, Arthur pressing him down, dodging one flying elbow and shoving another down. He's pushing up Matthew's gown, smacking the flesh of the other's bare thigh when the blond struggles. And Matthew stops struggling soon and just hides his face in the pillow as Arthur spreads his legs, trousers shoved down, thumbs digging grooves into the soft skin of Matthew's inner thighs, pushing him open wider and wider and Matthew's knuckles are white and everything is rushing noise and red in Arthur's mind.
And Matthew sobs once, loud and choking. And the blunt head of Arthur's prick is at his entrance.
Neither is hard.
Matthew is all stiff ridges and lines held taut and Arthur is cold and tired. He smoothes down the other's gown and fixes his trousers.
And then presses his face between Matthew's shoulder blades and whispers, "Forgive me" against the other's warmth and he can't tell which of them is shaking more.
He wakes up and stares up at the ceiling before lethargically looking over.
Matthew is sitting next to him, his pistol resting in his lap. His eyes are bruised and he is just a shadow in the darkness of the cabin.
"Will you kill me now, darling?" Arthur whispers.
Matthew gives him a sad smile. "I doubt I could." He admitted, giving a little shrug and Arthur rolls over and presses his forehead to the other's knee, one hand on his skirt.
Matthew raises a hand, falters, and then reaches down and nimbly removes his eye patch. Arthur sighed when the blond, then, smoothed over the sensitive skin and asked, quietly, "Did it hurt?"
"To be honest, I was drunk the entire time." Arthur said wryly. "They asked if I wanted a glass one. But I'm a vain man. I'd rather wear that blasted thing than have the wrong shade of green." He paused, sighed when the other's warm fingertips hesitantly touched the loose lid before pulling away shocked. "It's rather repulsive, love. No worries."
They sit silently, like that, for a few moments longer. Then Matthew breaks the silence.
"I love you." He said softly, the declaration hanging there, caught in the stillness of the room. "But I don't want to stay with you."
"We're going back to Tortuga?" James asked, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Arthur, why?"
"We need more food, fresh water and munitions." The dread pirate captain said shortly. "And another navigator."
"Do we? I think Charles is doing brilliant."
"You mean Rupert?" Alistair cut in. "Charles was the last one. The one who fell overboard."
"So did Rupert." Arthur admitted darkly. "He and Jack had a falling out. Me thinks they were...close." There was a certain emphasis on the word that enlightened the two other brothers of the exact relationship between the men.
"So we do need a navigator."
"And a cook. This one is a mutinous bastard."
"He is not—"
"The breakfast he served are grounds enough for a flogging."
"Well, he has few provisions left."
"All the more reason to go back to Tortuga!" Arthur said cheerfully. Alistair smirked and James just sighed.
There's a quiet sort of desperation in the way Arthur kisses Matthew when they dock in Tortuga. The two are in Belle's inn, in the sanctity of their room and the pirate lord just tangles his fingers in Matthew's hair and kisses him sweetly.
Matthew is stunned when Arthur pulls away, tracing the curve of his face with reverent fingertips. But he gives the other a wane smile and his eyes are bright and wet and Arthur just covers his mouth when he starts to speak.
They make love quietly, face-to-face, breathing each other's breaths and finding solace in each other's touch. Arthur's hand slips on Matthew's hip as he tries to pull the blond closer and Matthew drags his nails down the beat of Arthur's heart. Arthur tries to memorize the way the blond writhes each time Arthur's thrusts and how he clings when Arthur pulls out almost all the way. Entwined, they catch moonlight in their perspiration and its almost obscene but it doesn't matter.
Matthew grabs his wrist, when they finish, and presses desperate kisses to his pulse and Arthur stays. He stays with the infuriating boy with brilliant violet eyes and a tongue wickeder than a rapier in hand and who loves him and is dripping with his seed and beckons him with a heartbroken smile.
But, when dawn appears, sun peering over the horizon on the still ocean, he can't bring himself to look at the slumbering blond.
He leaves.
Belle catches him just as he is turning from the inn. Her eyes are understanding and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes make her look beautiful and haggard at once."That's it?" She asks.
"That's it." Arthur says, putting on his tricorn hat.
And the dread pirate walks away.
And that's it.
-starts to walk away-
...Or is it?
