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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. Chains, mild d/s, piercing. Rum. Creative plundering.
Pairing: Will Turner/Bartholomew Roberts/Robert Cochrane
Feedback: Anything from spelling errors to concrit.
Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Lord
Notes: Bartholomew Roberts was a real historical figure that I’m borrowing without much regard to factual accuracy, so for the purposes of this fic, he looks like Ioan Gruffudd. Robert Cochrane is an OMC that looks like Clive Owen.
Summary: Crackfic porn. Will goes to broker a deal and gets more than he bargained for.
***
The tavern was suspect, the liquor put Will in mind of tar, and the jangle of Spanish all around him made him nervous. Though the latest news from Port Royal—Will forced himself not to bristle—said that the Spanish and British currently had a truce, he’d been sailing with Jack long enough to know how reliable those were.
For that matter, he’d been sailing with Jack long enough to not get saddled with such chores anymore. As first mate, he should’ve been back on the ship seeing to reprovisioning, and some other sailor should’ve been undertaking the preliminary meeting with Jack’s…friend. And what that word meant around Jack—
“Bitter, bitter as an old woman,” Will muttered. Jack was a great captain and a good friend, and those two should have outweighed his carelessness with his affections. Besides, it was not as if Will had ever expected the affair to last long or run deep.
But he would have appreciated some notice prior to meeting a tousled French-sounding blond man walking out of Jack’s door. Or finding a coat that looked suspiciously like that which garbed a British commodore. Elizabeth might think it both wonderful for Jack and highly useful for the rest of them, but then, she had a fiercely loyal bedmate in Anamaria. Neither she nor Jack ever lacked a warm welcome.
There wasn’t a clock in the tavern so Will stepped outside to check the sun. “Damnation. Late and it smells like piss-water here.”
“I would have thought that’d put an Englishman right at home.” A shadow detached itself from a nearby shack and ambled casually into the light. The man spoke with a slight lilt Will guessed was some sort of Welsh and wore a fine black coat over the usual soiled white shirt, dark pants and high boots. His hair was long, wavy, and bound back in a loose tail, and the spark in his eyes said there was little heat behind his insult. “If you’d been able to make a meeting two weeks ago, we could have met in the governor-general’s house.”
“I see you are Jack’s friend. Will Turner, his first mate. Jack would have come himself, but he’s preoccupied with the British.” Delicate way of putting it, Will thought. But he did so with slightly less harshness than a few moments prior, for Jack’s friend was quite pleasing on the eyes. And, it seemed, not averse to meeting Will’s.
The man grinned and, instead of offering his hand, stepped familiarly close. “Bartholomew Roberts.” He was built considerably finer and leaner than most men in the Caribbean, and for a moment Will almost wondered whether it was a rogue nobleman to whom he was speaking. “This tavern’s not much, I agree, but it’s easy to find. And having found, I suggest we retire to a more congenial setting.”
Just then, a pair of drunken Spanish stumbled out the door and knocked against Will’s elbow. He stepped back, rubbing his arm, and was entirely prepared to ignore the matter but for the vicious glare he received.
“That might be wise,”’ he muttered. Then he noticed his hand had stolen to the hilt of his sword.
Bartholomew’s eyes flicked to Will’s sword and he nodded. But then a wicked half-smile stole over his face as he laid two fingers atop Will’s hand. “Fine work. I don’t suppose we could add a swordsmith’s commission to our discussion?”
“That might not be wise.” On the one hand, it wasn’t likely to result in anything except a few nights of pleasure and a few months of Elizabeth’s teasing. On the other…Will did need a distraction from Jack’s activities. “But I’m sure it’d be interesting, so feel free.”
Slow as honey, Bartholomew’s fingers slipped off Will’s hand. “The permission is much appreciated, Mr. Turner. Now, there’s a certain house near the piers…”
* * *
Will buried his hands in those dark curls and held Bartholomew still for another moaning, messy kiss. They were both panting by now, clothes either dropping off in disarray or, frustratingly, snagging fingers and rumpling stuck around thighs and arms. “So…safe passage plus…plus…”
A long-fingered hand squeezed between them and cupped Will’s prick. Bartholomew rolled the ball of his thumb over the length of it. Sucked on Will’s lower lip till it was aching and swollen, and sensitive to just a warm breath over it. “…a bit of cannon-show. Shouldn’t take more than that to make the town surrender.”
“And we’ve three-quarters share.” Thankfully, Bartholomew didn’t have on a waistcoat or crossbelts or anything but a flimsy linen shirt beneath his jacket that could stand between Will’s hand and Bartholomew’s skin. It did take a bit of squirming for Will to get that from neck to back, but he was well-rewarded with a breathless groan and a lovely lean body pressing hard against his own.
The hand on his prick ground harder, trapped as it was between him. “Sixty percent. You’d never know where to find the vault if not for me.”
“But we provide a ship and manpower.” Will slid his fingers round till he found the long running groove of Bartholomew’s spine. His knuckle just fit in it and he drew that down through the sticky sweat gathering at the small of the back till he could slip fingers beneath the low-slung swordbelt Bartholomew wore, sneak them into the top of the warm crease of Bartholomew’s flesh. “Seventy.”
“Done. Now use that damned wall, you bloody—oh, God.” Welsh lilts did catch ever so marvelously when their speakers were unceremoniously shoved against bricks. Bartholomew, however, recovered quickly and was soon hauling himself up Will’s body to scatter biting kisses along the curve of Will’s ear. “Dear God. I’ll have to thank Jack for bringing you into this business.”
Which, of course, was when it went to hell.
* * *
“Thank Jack for bribing the wrong Spaniard,” Will snarled under his breath. The guard behind him shrieked and prodded Will with his bayonet.
Beside him, Bartholomew was taking it somewhat more philosophically. “Well, it’s tricky to tell which one’s best for it. Usually it’s the one trying hardest to get up your arse, but sometimes not.”
They stumbled a few more paces along the dark passage, which occasionally widened to show gaunt things encircled with heavy bars and black damp stones. If it was one thing the Spanish did know how to do, it was build a prison. Of course, that added to the persistence of Will’s prick in staying half-risen did nothing for Will’s temper.
“When’s Jack expecting you back?” Bartholomew straightened his shirt so he wasn’t baring one shoulder, then smiled nastily at the disappointed look of one of the guards. For that he received a sharp jab that nearly sent him into Will. “Wish they’d let me grab my coat. Its old owner fought like hell for it.”
“Sundown. So we’ve at least six hours here. Wonderful.” Will missed the weight of his sword on his hip. Fortunately, it hadn’t been one of his best ones, but it still annoyed him to know that some black-nailed bastard was whipping it around like it was just another cutlass.
They stopped before what appeared to be a formerly spacious cell now divided into two cramped ones by a line of bars down the middle. There were two tiny windows, and from the smell of things they faced the sea, but they didn’t provide nearly enough air or light.
One guard opened the doors while the others made remarks to the effect that now the dirty English sodomites would die of frustration. At least three of the guards had eyed Will’s arse on the way down, so their words weren’t nearly as stinging as they meant them to be.
“I’m Welsh,” Bartholomew sighed.
A musket-butt against their backs shoved them into the separate cells. The doors shut, the locks clicked, and the Spanish went back down the corridor. After their voices had faded away, Will started poking about the lock. “Don’t suppose they left you with any long iron wires?”
Bartholomew did something with his baggy sleeves that produced a glittering handful. He began to put back on his earrings and rings, pausing only to toss Will…his own earring. The other man just grinned at Will’s suspicious look. “Nothing longer than a thumb’s length, and all gold or silver.”
“Damn,” Will said.
“Indeed,” echoed a third voice. Both Will and Bartholomew whipped around.
The original cell had been built in an awkward shape that partially hid the bench installed in Bartholomew’s side. Lying on it with knees bent and hands beneath his head was a man who had to be of noble blood, given the accent and the way he barely glanced at them, as if they were less than dust. “The Spanish are most creative in their tortures,” he drawled. “As if the setting wasn’t bad enough, now I have to share it with a pair of thieves.”
“Thieves, sir, are hanged without further ado when they’re caught.” The edge in Bartholomew’s voice matched the cold irritation in his eyes. He sauntered over to the dividing bars and leaned against them, folding his arms.
“Very well, then. You’re a pirate.” Cool dismissive tone, as if they were urchins standing at the foot of a throne. “As far as I can tell, pirates rank lower, since they’re not even considered dangerous enough to hang right away.”
Will looked at the bars and thought about the likelihood that he could break them solely by beating his head against them in sheer frustration. “So what are you? Some beggar that bothered the governor’s wife?”
“I would be Robert Cochrane, youngest son of the Duke of --. So if we were being gracious, you should be addressing me as Lord Robert. And actually, it was the governor’s cousin, and I distinctly remember her screaming for more, so I can hardly see how that constitutes as ‘bothering.’ The governor’s wife is nothing to notice.” Thus self-named and -characterized, Lord what-have-you sat up to stare at them.
It was most likely the doing of Will’s desperate prick, but he caught himself admiring the way Robert moved. He certainly wasn’t built like a blueblooded fop, even if he spoke like one: broad shoulders, long legs and an unusual height even for the wellbred. And though it was dark, Will could see the man’s eyes were green.
“You still were caught, weren’t you?” snorted Bartholomew. He was appreciating the sights as Will was, but that hasn’t lessened the acerbity of his tongue. “And Rob? Pray tell, what is a duke’s son doing here? Shouldn’t you be starving peasants and ruining the homeland?”
“I never knew pirates were such humanists. So how many towns have you saved from raiders?” Robert bent a knee and rested his hand on it while letting his other leg hang over the bench. Something clinked, and Will saw that the man’s wrists were manacled.
Bartholomew’s jaw tightened and his eyebrow went up. “Aren’t you a precious one.”
As annoying as Robert was, Will felt he had to say something against the murder rising in Bartholomew’s eyes. “Bartholomew? If you did kill him, I doubt we’d get the guards to take out the body. It would start to stink.”
“He already does. If he’s as noble as he says, he would’ve been wearing a wig till the moment they threw him in here. But his hair’s long enough to yank him to his feet by it—so how long have you been in the governor’s disfavor, Rob?” The way Bartholomew shortened the name, all soft and cooing, visibly grated on Robert. And the way Robert effortlessly returned Bartholomew’s jabs obviously sparked Bartholomew’s temper.
Probably it was spending too much time around Jack and Elizabeth, but…Will blinked hard. Pressed against the bars and watched a little more closely.
Well, it’d help pass the time, he thought.
* * *
That little observation of Bartholomew’s took his damnable cellmate off-guard, but only for a moment. To Robert’s slight credit, he acknowledged the hit. “Very clever of you, though not quite accurate. Wigs are ridiculous in this climate and I stopped bothering with mine almost the moment I got off the ship.”
“Two months ago?” And then at most two weeks in jail, unless the man had a large amount of continental blood in him. Otherwise Robert wasn’t pale enough to have been too long in prison, Bartholomew belatedly realized. His clothes were still fairly fine, the lace ragged but intact and the brocade dirty but not threadbare, and it seemed the Spanish were still allowing him the luxury of shaving.
“I’m not in the habit of discussing my schedule with petty strangers.” Certainly Robert had the advantage of height and weight over Bartholomew, but that hardly justified his arrogance.
Bartholomew casually took a step closer; two more would have brought him right to Robert’s knees. The other man held his ground, but not without a flicker of something that could have been trepidation. From this distance, it was apparent that Robert hadn’t been eating nearly as well as he was accustomed to, and…well, he was pretty, for all that his tongue needed cutting. On a whim, Bartholomew crossed those last few steps and made an extravagant bow that brought his face to within an inch of Rob’s. He kept one eye on the manacle chain, on the off-chance that Robert might try to choke him with it, and the other on Robert’s pupils.
They went very wide and very dark, though the rest of him remained nonchalant and relaxed.
“Bartholomew Roberts, and if my friend doesn’t mind, I’ll do the honors of introducing you to William Turner.” Then Bartholomew stepped backward and to the side, once again resting himself against the bars.
“That I don’t mind,” Will muttered, coming up from behind. A warm hand slipped between the bars and pressed against the dip of Bartholomew’s back. “But what exactly are you doing?”
It really depended on Robert, and whether he was going to continue being a prickly bastard. “Are you up for making another accord?” he whispered back. “I think I smell a bit of fox beneath the noble.”
“In which case, it’d be all your business, wouldn’t it?” Will flicked his finger against a bar. “I seem to be on the wrong side.”
The echoing ting seemed to settle something in Robert’s mind, for he unfolded himself into standing. Then he delicately adjusted the lace peeking from beneath the manacles and dangling from his throat, somehow turning such an effeminate activity into a very interesting threat. “I’ve heard something of you.”
“Oh, I think we can work around that,” Bartholomew murmured back. He put his hand behind his back and trailed a finger along the hand Will still had there, then smiled at the sudden intense dark that had taken over Will’s eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Robert ruffling at being ignored. “Unless I’m intruding on some claim of Jack’s…I don’t undercut my friends.”
“Some daring adventures, no doubt exaggerated, and some mocking of the authorities that I confess I found quite amusing. Very…theatrical.” It was clear from Robert’s tone in what regard he held the theater. He stepped a bit farther into the small pool of light in the cell, rolling his hips as if dealing with a cramp. Probably because of that, as it was far too inexpert to be flirtation.
Inexpert or not, it still drew Will’s eyes. Robert’s trousers fit him very snugly, and he certainly had the shape and curve to make that a delightful detail. “Jack’s got no claim on me, aside from being my captain.” The hand on Bartholomew’s back drifted further down and much to Bartholomew’s pleasant surprise, Will produced a sharp, hungry grin that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a shark. “Even halves?”
“I was thinking we’d divide as we went. Hard to see from here how we’d do it fairly.” Indeed, every time Bartholomew tried to make a full assessment, his gaze seemed to stick about the phantom shadows of Robert’s shoulderblades beneath his shirt, or in the smooth flexing of the muscles in Robert’s thighs as the other man walked over to the front of the cell. Glorious arse, the man had. “Nicer rump than I’ve seen on most women.”
“But in the end, you’re not even a privateer, and nowadays in the Caribbean I hear letters of marque are as easy to come by as gallows-birds.” Robert rested his hands on a crossbar and leaned forward as if trying to peer down the passage.
Bartholomew glanced one last time at Will. As he didn’t see any sign of reneging, he dusted off his hands and silently padded up behind Robert.
“So you are fractious, petty, boring, and apparently on intimate terms with your supposed friend. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t call and ask for a transfer?” Robert asked.
Will coughed something about snobbery and keelhauling, which did Bartholomew the favor of getting Robert to face that way. Of course, that also meant Robert saw Bartholomew, but by then Bartholomew had snatched the slack of Robert’s chain and twisted it hard to put the other man off-balance. Robert started to fall sideways—clever man, he threw his weight into it in an attempt to pull Bartholomew with him—but Bartholomew was expecting that and had already dropped to one knee.
He twisted the chain further around his hand, keeping Robert’s arms bent and pressed between them and thus useless, and with his other hand seized Robert under the chin. Third finger and thumb grip, with index finger curled up to put pressure on the windpipe. That brought Robert, spitting curses, to his feet in a hurry. Bartholomew sped it up by dodging a kick, then hooking his leg around Robert’s and slamming him back against the bars.
“How dare you—”
“God, shut up—” Which Bartholomew did very effectively. Since Rob was still trying to argue, his mouth was open and that meant Bartholomew didn’t even have to force inside.
Shock kept Rob from fighting and gave Bartholomew two lovely heartbeats’ worth of exploration. They’d been feeding him leftovers, it tasted like. There were traces of spices, but the heat was all Robert’s, and it was quite delicious.
So much so, in fact, that Bartholomew almost got his tongue bitten off. But strangely enough, Robert’s bite abruptly arrested in mid-closure and he made a ticklish little gasp. Puzzled, Bartholomew drew back to see beautifully angry green eyes in a frozen face. He thought about it, remembered Will, and looked down to discover that yes, Will had matters in hand. “How is it?”
“Honestly? A bit better than yours.” Will’s voice was muffled and what Bartholomew could see of the man’s head was only the top, angled sideways. Apparently he could get through the bars enough to attend to the back of Robert’s neck.
“Turner, I don’t suppose Jack’s warned you about the dangers of honest men…” Bartholomew would have seen for himself if Robert hadn’t chosen that moment to come back to life. He snarled and jerked his head forward, then threw himself right in an attempt to twist free. Stupid, since Will had an excellent grip on the man’s balls—as evidenced by how Robert hissed to a stop—and since Bartholomew still had Robert by the throat. He forced Robert’s head back and applied the slightest bit of pressure.
Robert’s breath rasped. He tried to say something, choked, and fell silent, but his eyes continued to glow hot as cannon-muzzles after a long fight.
If they were being honest, rape wasn’t particularly to Bartholomew’s taste, and from what he’d heard, it was very much against Will’s. So far, they’d done nothing more than apply a little bit of chastising, and if they were only after that, they should probably stop now.
Instead Bartholomew decided to follow up a guess of his. Never looking away from Rob’s eyes, he slowly leaned in; Robert flinched and Bartholomew paused, but when a moment later Robert held still, Bartholomew closed in that last breath’s space and laid his lips against Robert’s mouth. He did nothing more than that.
They stared at each other, mouth to mouth. Behind Robert all noise had ceased, so Will had also stopped to see.
Robert’s lashes fluttered. At first Bartholomew thought it was only the man tiring of staring, but then they closed completely and Robert’s mouth opened the smallest fraction. Pressing harder opened it farther, and then, shuddering, the man was finally kissing back. Softly and sweetly to Bartholomew’s ravaging, like a maiden fresh from a convent. Though when Bartholomew made the mistake of loosening his grip on Robert’s throat, he suddenly had teeth sunk into his lip. He instantly tightened his hold and the teeth retreated to leave him with that intoxicatingly pliant mouth.
Eventually he needed to breath and leaned back. Slackened his fingerhold enough so that Robert could speak, if he wanted to. “Well. Seems you’d do after a bit of taming.”
“I understand the entire point of piracy is to throw off the taming of civilization,” Robert retorted, licking his lips. He strained his head about to look at Will, who was just breathing a sigh of relief, then turned back. Tilted his head and half-closed his eyes, as if he were still the one in a position to make bids. “And I would…do? Pardon me, but I don’t believe it would be an exaggeration to say you’re not likely to find higher company in a prison.”
“Ah, but it’s a Spanish prison.” All three of them were pressed so closely together that when Will flexed his hand, Bartholomew felt it nearly as much as Robert did. God knew where Will’s other hand was and to what uses he was employing it, but it was making Robert squirm in a way that reminded Bartholomew’s prick of what business the Spanish soldiers had interrupted. “Hellholes of debauchery, they say. Can’t spend time in one without being—thoroughly—”
Robert moaned loud enough to drown out what Will said, but Bartholomew could guess at what that had been. He let go of Robert’s throat and hooked his fingers into the froth of lace around it, wrenching it apart to bare a tempting length of flesh. “Speaking of, Rob—I don’t suppose you’ve sinned in this manner before?”
The man clammed up and tried to haughtily stare Bartholomew down. With a sigh he didn’t really feel, Bartholomew tipped his head and bit just beneath Robert’s chin where the impress of his fingers still lingered in bright pink. He sucked hard till he could feel the pulse there drawing up towards his mouth, then released that bit of skin. Licked at it, probed it with his tongue before sliding down to repeat the process. And again, and again till Robert was starting to shake against him, mindlessly jerking the manacles so the metal scraped through Bartholomew’s shirt.
“No,” Robert finally gritted out.
“Damnation.” Will’s face appeared over Robert’s shoulder. “Then he’d probably tear. Unless you have oil tucked up those sleeves, too?”
Bartholomew grimaced and shook his head. “No. Oh, well. We can save that for later.”
“Later? I wasn’t aware that we’d finished discussing this.” God and his angels, but Robert was stubborn. Or a great tease. Either way, it was providing much amusement for Bartholomew, so he wasn’t about to ask the other man to stop.
He’d simply…run his fingers over Robert’s heaving chest and snap off the last two buttons remaining on the man’s waistcoat. They felt like they’d bring a bit in the market, so he stuffed them securely away before getting back to the business of…persuading Robert. Though Will seemed to be far ahead of him there, judging by how Robert’s hips were beginning to buck against Bartholomew.
“Will, do me a favor and deal with his trousers, would you?” Bartholomew said, working over Robert’s throat with his mouth. Occasionally he’d come back up for a snatch at Robert’s mouth, but not for too long since the other man still tended to bite if not warned off. And his hands were too busy for that. “Damn you, but you lords would wear too much damn clothing.”
“I’ll ask my tailor to apologize to you, if I ever happen to see him again,” Robert replied, breathlessly laughing. The more marks Bartholomew and Will left on him, the more amenable and kittenish he seemed to become. He even made a few tentative forays at Bartholomew, nuzzling the side of Bartholomew’s face and flicking his tongue at Bartholomew’s ear. And he certainly was bending into Will’s hands without any hesitation now.
Something clattered against the bars—a belt. Then Will withdrew his hand from Robert’s prick, only to stick it back through to dangle Robert’s belt before Bartholomew. “You want this, or should I just drop it on the floor?”
Entirely too tempting a question. Especially with how Robert’s eyes widened as he looked at it, and how he shivered against Bartholomew. Too many ideas came crowding into Bartholomew’s head at once.
So he stalled. Regripped the manacle chain and pulled Robert’s hands nearly up to his neck so they were out of the way. Then Bartholomew splayed his hand against Rob’s breastbone, enjoying the feel of body-warmed, slightly sweat-dampened linen. He waited till he’d gotten Robert’s gaze back on him before slowly sliding his hand down in a wide curve that played over ribs before arcing to the bellybutton and then dipping fingertips beneath a now-loosened waistband. “What a question, Will,” Bartholomew mock-scolded. He languidly drew his hand back up, and with it came the tails of Rob’s shirt, slithering untucked. “Of course I want it. But I don’t have the hands.”
“So I see. I wonder if it’s long enough…” The belt retreated.
A few moments later, Bartholomew was rudely interrupted from his teasing of Rob’s nipple through the linen by fingers tapping his head. He looked up to see that Will had threaded the belt around the bars and around Rob, who by now didn’t seem capable of speech. Bartholomew caught on and slipped the ends of the belt through the chain links before tying them off—the belt was barely long enough and it was probably cutting painfully into Rob’s arms. But it was a relief to be able to let go of Rob’s manacles and move on, and Robert didn’t seem to mind too much.
Though when Bartholomew reached for the tops of Rob’s trousers to peel them the rest of the way down, he did glimpse panic in Robert’s face. “I’m not fond of that sort of bloodletting,” Bartholomew told him in between kisses. “Anyway, sometimes other things can be more entertaining than mere fucking.”
“He’s right,” Will seconded. Then Rob jerked against Bartholomew, whining. He slumped and breathed like he had just been saved from drowning while Will laughed. “Dear God, Bart, but we do have to get to that sometime. He’s tight around my tongue.”
Bartholomew groaned himself as his mind assaulted him with images. He eased himself to his knees and finally, finally dealt with Robert’s damned trousers. The prick that lifted up to meet him seemed ready to burst, so hard and flushed was it. “When you’re not on the other side of a row of God damned bars, certainly.”
Will didn’t answer. The reason why became apparent in the way Robert thrust his prick into Bartholomew’s mouth and yanked at the belt till the leather creaked. “God…” Robert croaked.
That was an idea. Rob would look damned lovely stretched over the altar in one of the Spanish cathedrals, and Bartholomew did owe those sons-of-whores a turnabout or two. His own prick twitched with anticipation and he had to drop down his hand, press the heel of it against his eager cock till it calmed somewhat. But it still whined and so he gave it some attention, rubbing it at half the speed at which he sucked on Rob’s prick. Trying to regulate that distracted him, kept him from sinking as far into the haze of sex as Rob was.
Given both Bartholomew and Will, it didn’t take long for Rob to come, twisting and hissing like a wildcat. Bartholomew swallowed the bitter stickiness and kept nursing, drawing out every last drop until Rob was limp against the bars, utterly wrung dry. Then he got up—had to use the bars to help himself—and untied the belt so Robert could slide dazed-eyed to the ground. The man was flushed and gasping with tendrils of his hair sticking to the sides of his face, and his clothing twisted all awry around his limbs. He didn’t even have the strength to pull at his trousers, but only sat with his hands weakly holding the chain off of his prick.
“Now that is a portrait I’d hang in my chamber.” Bartholomew squatted down with a nonchalance he didn’t quite feel and cradled Robert’s chin in his hands. He tipped it up and watched Robert’s eyes instinctively drift shut. “Well, Rob. Have we discussed the matter thoroughly enough for you?”
“I—” Robert’s voice failed and he had to cough, lick his lips “—I think you’ve made a satisfactory case.”
* * *
Will’s knees were rather weak and he had to sit himself; he had no idea how Bartholomew still had enough energy to crouch. But he had to admit, he was more impressed by Robert’s sheer…bravado. “Satisfactory?”
Bartholomew was grinning as if he’d found the Fountain of Youth. He chucked Robert under the chin, tweaked his nose, and when the other man raised his hands to shove him away, grabbed the chain. “Drop your trousers, Will. I’ll give you first try at his mouth if I get first try at his arse.”
“What—” But Bartholomew was spinning Robert around too fast for the man to make much protest. His manacled hands clattered up against the bars, and then the rest of him did as Bartholomew pinned him there. He looked at Will with a mixture of uncertainty and defensive hauteur.
“It’d really be second try,” Will said to Bartholomew, though most of his attention was fixed on Robert. He scooted forward and carefully ran his fingers over the backs of Robert’s hands, which had locked themselves around the bars. The other man untensed, leaned in to let Will kiss him. Then the teeth came out.
With a muffled curse, Will grabbed for Robert’s prick and squeezed hard. The teeth instantly withdrew and Robert went deliciously soft and yielding.
Bartholomew laughed when Will lifted his head. “He drew blood, the bastard.” Fond stroke of hand over Robert’s hair. “Come on. I’ll hold onto him and give him some advice, make sure he won’t do the same to your prick.”
Robert turned his head and looked challengingly at Bartholomew, who was sitting on his legs. “Really? You’re a generous man, then.”
Will was still dubious, but his prick was insisting and his mind was somewhat less able to think rationally than usual. He pulled himself to his feet and eased down his trousers, but kept his distance. “How are you planning to do that?”
Now tucked up to Robert’s back, Bartholomew wrapped one arm around the man’s waist, fingers dangling to toy with Robert’s prick, which seemed to be taking a renewed interest in matters. His other hand shoved down his trousers so he could press himself up between the curves of Robert’s arse; Will supposed that that had to be as close as they could get to fucking under the circumstances. It seemed to be a tolerable replacement, given how Robert bent back into it. Bartholomew smacked him a kiss behind the ear, then nudged Robert’s head towards the bars. He smiled wolf-like up at Will. “Will, really. I haven’t even had a chance to sit on your lap yet. Do you think I’d let him turn you into a eunuch before I got to do that?”
“Yes, definitely Jack’s friend. What is it with you and him and eunuchs…” Will muttered, stepping up. Robert unexpectedly rose to wrap his mouth around Will’s prick and Will staggered, had to grab at the bars.
With a chuckle, Bartholomew curved round Robert and either laved the man’s ear or whispered wicked little words—probably both, considering how Robert alternated between strained muffled moaning and teasing sucks. He was a mess at first, gagging at the least bit of push and accidentally scraping tender parts with teeth, but he rapidly improved. Will’s knees told him they weren’t going to hold up any longer.
He regripped the bars and told them to go to hell, and they promptly did just as Bartholomew got Robert to execute, however inexpertly, a trick with tongue and swallow that made Will’s sight whiten nearly to oblivion. But not quite. “Damn, damn, damn…Bart, damn it—Robert—Rob—damn—not—no—yes, that--”
Bartholomew was unashamedly rubbing himself against Robert and appeared too far gone to still be telling Robert anything useful. Robert, on the other hand, felt willing to do whatever was needed, but damned if Will could work up the breath to say what that was. He clung to the bars as a hot tongue pressured the veins in his prick, sending ripples of intense pleasure upwards through Will’s body. They came in waves that built and built but somehow never—quite—
Suddenly Bartholomew whipped himself against Robert, rattling him and Will so Robert choked hard. Will hastily withdrew, though that nearly killed him, and grabbed Robert’s hair to steady him. At least, that was what he’d meant to do, but Robert seemed to take that as a signal to reswallow Will’s prick and damn heaven and earth but then it was very. Nearly. There.
Hoarse words in a language Will didn’t recognize dripped from Bartholomew’s lips. The man slumped against Robert, hand idly running over Robert’s side. He absently looked up at Will, startled because Will’s face felt like it’d been twisted into a gnarl of a grimace, and then chuckled. Whispered something to Robert and godfinallyfuck.
Will fell on the bars, hissed because the tip of his prick caught one of Robert’s teeth as he jerked it out, and finished coming on Robert’s face. Robert promptly put his empty mouth to use by voicing a strangled cry as Bartholomew’s hand worked him to a second climax.
“Lord on High,” Will muttered. He knew he sounded like the tradesman he’d been and not the pirate he’d slowly melted into, but he didn’t care.
There was come splattered across Robert’s face, and one drop of it hanging from a lock of his hair. After a moment, Will got down and sucked that one off, then carefully licked at Robert’s cheeks. The other man made a small pleased noise, turning his face so Will could reach as much as he could.
“I do have a handkerchief in my sleeve,” Bartholomew said, producing it. He wiped Robert’s face and thighs as best he could, given that Robert seemed determined on having as many kisses as possible. “So you can’t say we didn’t treat you according to your rank, Rob.”
“You have an interesting definition of piracy. I wasn’t aware that it included such personal courtesy.” Though Robert’s tone was lazier, it was still only an intimately self-satisfied version of the sarcasm with which he’d greeted them.
Bartholomew sighed and began getting himself and Robert dressed. “You see, Will, this is why I wanted first go at his arse.”
“Because it needs a good deep rooting?” Will guessed. Not that he particularly minded, and not that Robert, now picking at his lace again, looked put out by the idea.
There was a shout and several bangs at the far end of the passage; Will leaped for the front of the cell, realized his trousers were still down and hastily yanked them up. He whistled sharply and was very soon rewarded with the sight of Elizabeth’s hair shining in the dark. She ran up to the bars, flourishing cutlass and keys. “Will! Jack is so, so sorry about the—”
“Yes, well, he can apologize himself, can’t he?” The door swung open and Will stepped out just in time to see a Spaniard aim a musket at him. He grabbed for the knife he knew Elizabeth was handing him and put it squarely in the center of the Spaniard’s forehead. “Oh, and open the other cell. That’s Bartholomew and…a Lord Robert Cochrane.”
“A lord?” Elizabeth said. She unlocked the door and peered curiously at Robert.
He shrugged and wandered down the corridor to inspect the corpse. “But not quite a lady, I see. That is a lovely pair of breeches, Miss…?”
“Elizabeth, and you can leave off the Miss,” she hissed, storming past him.
Unperturbed, Robert stood up and followed, carrying the sword he’d taken from the guard. It was unusually long and looked quite heavy, though he carried it as if it were nothing. Will reminded himself to tackle Robert on Elizabeth’s pride later, when he’d gotten the sword away from the other man.
“That’s a claymore,” Bartholomew said as they emerged into daylight. “What’s…”
“It’s mine. Well, truthfully it’s my mother’s father’s, but as he’s dead I doubt he’ll miss it over his mantelpiece.” Robert shrugged and hefted it, a gesture that Will recognized: the swordsman getting reacquainted with a part of himself. “Not like the mantelpiece is his any more,” Robert muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Then he abruptly swung around and slashed twice in the air. At first Will thought they were practice swings, but then Robert casually strode on to reveal the two nearly-halved soldiers. From Bartholomew there came a low whistle. He and Will both hesitated for a moment before diving for the bodies; they both looked to be officers and one of them serendipitously had Will’s sword.
“Come on!” Elizabeth called. She was several yards ahead with a group of the Pearl’s crewmembers.
Robert finished cleaving another Spaniard into unequal pieces and turned towards the noise. He sighed as if disappointed and came after Will and Bartholomew.
“Why did you leave England?” Will asked, grabbing Robert by the arm.
“Oh, I have this nasty little habit of killing people in duels. My father decided it’d be cheaper to send me here than buy me a commission in the army. Just as well; every general I’ve ever met looks like him and I spent enough of my life taking his marching orders.” A shadow fell over them and Robert pulled away.
So did Will. He pivoted around the bayonet-thrust to cut down the second one, and he was about to deliver the killing blow when something warm splashed the back of his head.
“Sorry.” And Robert did look sorry, oddly enough. He walked over, offhandedly stabbing through the throat of the soldier Will had downed, as he did, and offered part of his laces as a rag.
Will took it, and took the opportunity to seize Robert’s wrist as well. “I’m a swordsmith—I’ve been hit with worse. Come on.”
* * *
The first mate’s cabin was closer to snug than spacious, but it did pretty well for Will, and it had an actual bed installed instead of just a hammock—only one of two on the ship. Elizabeth could have had one as well, but she liked the sway of the hammock, and the rare times that she did care for a bed usually coincided with Will needing to be on-deck or off the ship.
“God, I haven’t been on a proper mattress in months.” Bartholomew, freshly washed, shaved and dressed, rolled up against Will. His hair fell in his face and he raked it back, then reached across for the rum bottle Jack had presented to his friend. “Glorious.”
“Mmm. There’s something a bit off about Robert.” Will was feeling rather refreshed himself now that he was back aboard. It was hard to believe that once upon a time, he’d been content on land; he still liked to spend more time ashore than Jack or Elizabeth, but always in the back of his head was knowing he had a ship to which to return.
The long draught Bartholomew took arched his throat over Will’s face, so Will did what any self-respecting pirate would and had a nibble. The other man jerked, splashed rum on Will and cursed. “Sor—mmm.”
Maybe Jack laughed at Will, but personally, Will thought rum tasted best in someone else’s mouth and generally had it that way. After a moment, he put a hand on Bartholomew’s neck and pulled him down.
When they parted, Bartholomew was breathless and flushed. He got rid of the bottle and folded his arms over Will’s chest. “Rob? Oh, obviously. He’s missing most of the…shall we say, sympathetic part of a man’s personality. But that’s to be expected—son of a lord and all. What, does it bother you?”
“Only if he’s too brainless to at least pretend around those I hold dear.” Will struggled into a sitting position, his hand sliding down Bartholomew’s back to keep the other man in place. He felt at his lip and winced when he hit the spot Robert had savaged. “I might prefer to do without the biting, too.”
Bartholomew’s eyes sparkled. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he straddled Will and pulled them together. Head tilted, he didn’t quite kiss Will so much as tease the soreness out of Will’s lip and leave it aching in an entirely different way. “He seems amenable to us both. I’m certain he could be…persuaded. In the meantime, I do seem to be on your lap, and your bed is…right beneath us.”
“So it is.” All right, Jack did surround himself in nice company. And Will had been both touched and amused by Bartholomew trotting after him instead of taking Jack’s invitation to discuss convenient places for careening. Jack had taken it rather well, though the look he’d given Will had been momentarily annoyed.
Will stroked over the muscles in Bartholomew’s back before letting his hands dawdle to rest on the rise of Bartholomew’s buttocks. He was about to engage Bartholomew’s mouth when…the other man laid a finger between their lips. Then he flicked his eyes towards the door.
Someone walked past it and went on a few yards, then stopped. That didn’t narrow down the possible people, and neither did the person walking back to pause by the door. But the rapid pacing back and forth did; no one on the Pearl was that indecisive, or that uncertain of himself. Actually, the matter of uncertainty made Will momentarily doubtful about his guess, but…
Bartholomew soundlessly eased off the bed and slipped over to the door. He waved at Will to follow, and when Will did, motioned for Will to take the far side of the door. The footsteps stopped and the door moved slightly inward, as if someone had laid their hand on the panel.
“Toss him on the bed,” Bartholomew mouthed. Then he put his hand on the latch, counted off three, and flung open the door.
Will glimpsed Robert’s startled face as he seized the other man by the arm and spun him inside. Then he kicked the door shut, as Bartholomew had already let go of it to gleefully pounce on the bed. Robert’s cursing quickly ceased and his hands fell from Bartholomew’s shoulders to claw at the mattress.
It wasn’t that well-made. Before the man could ruin Will’s bed, Will came over and pried off Robert’s hands. “What, weren’t the captain’s chambers fit for you?”
After Bartholomew had moved on to his throat, Robert answered. Even though he had one man systematically stripping him and another nipping at his fingertips, he still managed to inject a withering level of condescension into his speech. “No, they were very fine. Fine enough to blind me with the gaudiness and—”
He was suddenly flipped over, hands ripping from Will’s grip, and his last few words were muffled in the mattress. Bartholomew sat atop his waist and shrugged at Will. “I’d suggest gagging him, but he does taste as good as his words are foul.”
Robert dragged himself up on his elbows and shot a sneering look back at Bartholomew. “And would you have rather I not have shown up here?”
“Oh, I’d say it’s more a matter of where you wanted to show up. I see you didn’t bother bringing that great butchering sword of yours.” As he spoke, Bartholomew bent closer and closer so when he finished, he was close enough to just touch the tip of Robert’s nose with his tongue. Then he laughed and tugged at Robert’s loosened collar till he’d bared one shoulder to his mouth.
That was a telling detail, as with that sword Robert could fend off…probably the whole crew. As good as Will was with a sword, and with the tricks he’d learned at Jack’s hands, he’d still be hard-put to match the force and reach of the claymore. And that was without considering Robert’s obvious skill. So…
Will smiled himself and turned around to dig in the clutter around the bed. When he didn’t immediately find what he was looking for, he gritted his teeth and searched harder. “Damn it.”
“What?” The moaning and slow shaking of the bed ceased, and Bartholomew crawled over to nudge at Will’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me…”
“I have some, damn it. Jack’s my captain—you think I wouldn’t have that lying around?” Maybe Elizabeth and Anamaria had borrowed the cabin while Will had been shore. In that case, they usually moved it over…there. Thank God.
Someone nuzzled at Will’s hip. At first he thought it was Bartholomew, but then he remembered that the man was on his other side. Which left…and when Will looked down, it was Robert, looking somewhat defensive beneath his usual lofty attitude. “You’ve bedded Jack Sparrow?” he asked.
He wasn’t jealous, was he? Because it sounded rather like he was…and like it wasn’t Will he was jealous of, but Jack. Will straightened, bottle of salve—far less messy than oil—safely in hand, and draped his arm over his knee. Stared at Robert, who stared back. “A few times, yes. And Elizabeth was my fiancée for…all of a month. We’ve found that we make better friends than lovers.”
“Jack does get around,” Bartholomew coughed, eyebrow up in a meaningful arch. He rolled his shoulders as if by doing so, he was rolling off the past. “We’re pirates, Rob.”
“Which means you’ve no conception of fidelity, I take it.” Robert started to push himself back, only to go stiff when Will grabbed him. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Will.
The man seemed to go from one extreme to the other with no warning. Irritating, though if Will was truthful with himself, it was rather warming. Usually it was Jack around whom the possessive disputes centered, as if anyone except maybe the Pearl could claim him.
“You know, there’s an old pirate saying,” Will began. He palmed off the salve to Bartholomew, who quietly worked around behind Robert.
“Old as in the last words of some hanged scoundrel?” It really was amazing Robert still had all his teeth. By all rights, someone should have smacked a few of them out of his mouth by now.
Losing his temper, however, was not going to be productive so Will reined himself in and instead of smacking, merely took Robert by the hair and dragged him down so he couldn’t be contemptuous. “It goes: take what you can, and give nothing back. Now, I’m about to kiss you and I’d rather not do that while thinking about Jack or Elizabeth. So try not to mention them.”
Robert didn’t. Instead he opened for Will’s tongue as easily and sweetly as he had in the cell. After a moment, his hands came around Will and he rose on his knees to deepen the kissing. He pressed against Will, prick already rising to dig into Will’s belly, hips moving slowly as Bartholomew yanked away his trousers. Once those were gone, Will untangled his hands from Robert’s sleeve and hair to clutch at the smooth slight curving of Robert’s thighs.
Eventually he noticed that Robert’s hands had disappeared from his back. Will mouthed his way over Robert’s neck to peek over his shoulder, only to see Bartholomew tying off a belt around Robert’s wrists. The other man threw him a wink and then showed him a fingerful of salve. “Try to keep him from falling off the bed.”
“I’d imagine that that would be more painful for you, what with the wrenching,” Robert archly commented. But he was ardent enough responding to Will’s hungry nipping.
Will pressed his hands up and down Robert’s chest and belly, teasing the muscles into jumping. Then he caught Robert’s nipples in between his fingers and played with them, vaguely remembering that the man seemed to be sensitive there. Pinched them so it was gasps Will swallowed from Robert’s mouth, rolled them beneath thumbpads so the fabric of the shirt would scratch and chafe them.
And yes, Robert did whimper most wonderfully at that, but not nearly as frantic as he should have been. “Bartholomew?”
Two muffled thumps: a pair of boots entangled around trousers hitting the floor. “Lovely bed, Will. Truly. But I could do with a little more space…”
Teeth grazed against Will’s jaw and he slid his hand down to wrap around Robert’s balls in warning. But the other man refrained from chewing this time and restrained himself to using only lips and tongue. “I was under the impression it didn’t take as long as this.”
“Well, it depends on your taste. Some happen to like having it drawn out a bit—”
Robert’s eyes bulged and he jerked forward, his choked cry interrupting Will. After a moment, he dropped his head to Will’s shoulder and began to desperately suck at the skin there. Will kissed his ear and let his fingers wander from Robert’s balls into the thick coarse hair around Robert’s prick. “Seems you’re one of them.”
* * *
“And damn me, but you weren’t lying. The bastard is tighter than a cork in a bottle.” Bartholomew’s fingers were in heaven, and heaven was loathe to let them go. So he indulged and twisted his three fingers up even higher. Laid his mouth between Robert’s shoulderblades, teeth against the skin so Robert would feel it when he bucked. And he did.
His arse was hot and clenching just around Bartholomew’s fingers, and already Bartholomew could tell that the actual fucking was going to be incomparable. In fact, he was almost reluctant to move on to that, for the anticipation was so delicious that he naturally was afraid he’d be disappointed. But as enjoyable as fucking Robert with fingers alone was, Bartholomew’s prick insisted that nothing ventured, nothing gained.
He withdrew his fingers one at a time, flicking out each so that Robert twisted sharply and moaned low enough to vibrate bones. The shirt Robert had been lent was now a sodden rag sticking to his body, wrinkling into twists every time he moved. “Will?”
“I think you’re about to kill him.” Will’s face appeared over Robert’s shoulder and Bartholomew took the opportunity to dart forward and snatch his mouth in a kiss. At the same time he lifted Robert by the hips and pushed inside.
God. It nearly killed Bartholomew. The sheer heat…and it was not like the heat of the fire, but was more fluid and embracing, flushing through Bartholomew’s hips and climbing up his body to turn him dizzy.
Someone was snickering. Will, licking at the drops of sweat on Bartholomew’s jaw. Fingers briefly stole up to stroke Bartholomew’s balls before withdrawing between Robert’s legs. And then Robert gasped, arched and squeezed, and there were angels dancing in the bright spots in Bartholomew’s vision.
“Good?” Will said.
The spots were fading, but very slowly. Still, Bartholomew had regained enough reason to think that Will must be dense or mad to have to ask that, so…he resettled his hands on Robert’s hips and tried a slow, gentle thrust. Then he had to stop again because he couldn’t see what he was doing.
“No wonder…they preach against this…” Robert was doing something to Will’s throat that made the other man curse violently in English and…Creole French. “…no one’d ever have children…”
For that matter, no one would ever get out of bed. Bartholomew draped himself against Robert’s back and kissed the man’s shoulder, just enjoying the feel of it all.
But eventually, his prick made demands and once again movement was tried. This time, there were somewhat less spots and so Bartholomew pushed in again. And again, and again, until Bartholomew found that although he could not see anything, he couldn’t seem to stop the rocking of his hips and the pulling of his hands. He buried his head in Robert’s throat and went by feel, letting his thrusts shallow when the pulse against his lips fluttered too violently and then going harder and deeper once it had calmed somewhat. And then they reached the point of no return and Bartholomew lost feel as well as sight and even sound, for it all blurred together into one great heaving swell that started from deep within him and then broke him outward.
He had the vague impression that he was fucking Robert through his collapse and then that there was a keening and a sharp shudder against him, but other than that Bartholomew knew little until he found himself lying on the mattress, a sated-looking Robert gently nibbling along his jaw.
Will finished unknotting the belt and tossed it over the side. Then he sat back, not a little out of breath but still impressively composed as he finally stripped himself. “This is a very good arrangement.”
“It does seem to work to everyone’s advantage.” Bartholomew paused, then thought about that while petting Robert’s hair. Jack’s old motto had a good deal to commend it, and so did his first mate. “Will? What would you say to going halves for a little more?”
“What do you mean?” Something of what Bartholomew intended must have shown, for Will’s eyes narrowed. “Jack is my captain. And I’d wager the first thing you’ll do with your share of the expedition’s profits is get a new ship.”
In truth, Bartholomew had toyed with the idea, but the prolonged time he’d spent ashore after losing his last one had given him some other notions. Plus he really wasn’t a great sailor; he could lead men and he could dizzy them with stratagems, but he didn’t have anything like Jack’s gift for reading winds and sails. “Actually, I’ve had some interesting offers from the British government. Seems they’re short of governors. And Morgan’s proved it can be done.”
Robert stopped licking at the underside of Bartholomew’s chin and drew back a little, eyes flicking between him and Will. As for their third, Will seemed to be seriously considering what Bartholomew hadn’t quite said. “Friendly port? I suppose Jack could swing around to that idea. And it’s hardly his place to tell me where I can stand my sword.”
For Robert’s benefit, Bartholomew elaborated. While tugging himself up to poke about in the clutter Will had, one hand lingering to run through Rob’s hair. “It’s a special kind of pact between pirates. Two men agree to share everything—their profits, their sorrows, their…”
“Lovers?” Robert finished. He didn’t seem…averse to the idea, but then, he wasn’t showing much emotion at all.
“We’d have to modify that slightly, I suppose. It’s a little hard to divide up a man.” Will drew his fingers down Robert’s back and circled them around one buttock. “One fine arse…” slid his hand between Robert’s legs to produce an exhausted squirm “…a very shapely pair of legs…”
Bartholomew found the candle and flint, and then the needle. He glimpsed some interesting-looking bottles and took up some of them to read the labels. One of them he was surprised but gratified to find; trust Jack to have someone who knew their ju-ju aboard. “A lovely pair of green eyes.”
“And a very provoking mouth.” Which Will dipped to take, and which Robert offered up without any hesitation. It seemed that the idea was sold.
After fiddling through his earrings, Bartholomew decided on one that had formerly been a fine gold ring set with an emerald and small pearls. He lifted Robert by the chin and looked at the man’s earlobes. One of them already had a hole running through it, which somewhat spoiled Bartholomew’s plans. He shrugged it off and carefully threaded the earring through Robert’s ear.
Will promptly shifted to wrap his mouth around it and suck lightly, which made Robert shiver again. Then he sat up and took off one of his earrings—a thin gold hoop intricately worked with curious engravings. “Is the other one pierced?”
“No.” Robert eyed them both for a long moment, not missing the objects Bartholomew had gathered. Then he gingerly pulled himself up to lean against Will. Winced and then glared at Bartholomew’s amused smile. “I did not agree to come out here because I wanted to repeat my life in England.”
“Are you?” Bartholomew lighted the candle and waved the needle through it a few times. Then he let it cool down.
Comprehension flashed across Will’s face. He looked at Robert, then held out his hands.
After another long bit of thinking, Robert gave a careless shrug. “Much to my surprise, I am not.”
He put his wrists in Will’s hands and allowed the other man to pin them to the bed. But when Bartholomew leaned over to dab some of the oil on Robert’s nipple, Robert went stiff and his breath shallow. So Bartholomew took Robert’s lip in his mouth and nipped at it, sucked it, teased it till Robert was quite distracted, as proved by the prick pressing into Bartholomew’s knee. Then, still kissing Robert, Bartholomew felt for Robert’s nipple and quickly pushed the needle through it.
Robert wanted to jerk but between Bartholomew and Will, they held him down. He pressed his mouth hard enough against Bartholomew’s to bruise, but this one time Bartholomew didn’t reprimand him.
After dabbing on more of the oil, which temporarily numbed flesh, Bartholomew took out the needle and worked in the earring as gently and rapidly as he could. Then he sat back and looked at it, shining against the paleness of Robert’s chest and the raw red of his nipple. “Almost no blood. It’ll heal clean.”
Will stared at it as if he wanted to eat it. Then he caught himself and got some water, which he poured over Robert till most of the oil had washed away. Robert sputtered at first and rose, but Bartholomew dove in to nurse the pierced bit of flesh and Rob soon saw the wisdom of staying put. And then Will lifted Robert by the hips and slid in, and from the sounds of things, Rob hadn’t lost any of that wonderful tightness. Bartholomew risked touching his teeth to Robert’s nipple and received the loveliest whine in return, which told him all was well.
* * *
They were within sight of the town when Elizabeth sought out Will, her face like thunder. She didn’t waste any time in getting to the heart of her complaint. “Will? Lord Robert’s very lovely to look at, and I’m sure he’s equally lovely in bed, but I swear on the Pearl that if he opens his mouth one more time I’ll keelhaul him.”
“He and Bartholomew are both leaving soon after this raid. I promise,” Will said. Damn the man, but he would be difficult. It seemed like either Will or Bartholomew was always taking him to task.
“Oh, I don’t mind Bartholomew at all. But Cochrane’s mouth should—” Elizabeth stopped and peered at Will. Then she snorted and grinned lewdly at him. “Will? Is there something wrong with your eyes?”
Will blushed. By now he should have lost that ability, but it was always the inconvenient habits that lingered longest. He muttered something and began to look about for Robert.
“Well, if he makes you that happy, I suppose I can tolerate him another week,” Elizabeth sighed, adopting the air of a martyr. She held the pose for all of one heartbeat before breaking into giggles. “It might help if you let me watch. He’d be very pretty spread-eagled in the rigging—oh, honestly, Will. All the lace in the world can’t hide how red his wrists are.”
“I’ll see to the matter,” Will stiffly replied. He stalked off before Elizabeth could get any more detailed.
Robert happened to be lounging in Will’s room, a map of the town spread over his knees and a lead pencil twitching between his fingers. His claymore was a hulking thing hung beside Will’s own sword, but seeing that still made a smile tug at Will’s mouth. “You’re annoying Elizabeth. May I ask why?”
The damnable man calmly marked out another possible maneuver on the map. “Will, I’ve discovered that I’m fond of you and Bartholomew, not that I’ve suddenly fallen in love with humanity in general.”
“Fond?” Will ambled further in and tipped up Robert’s chin with his hand. He brushed his thumb over Robert’s lips, deftly avoided the snap the man made at it and hooked it beneath to dig in the soft underside of Robert’s jaw. “How’s the ring?”
The map rustled as Robert put it aside. “A truly responsible man would see for himself,” he murmured.
“Oh, shut up,” Will muttered, just before making certain of that.
***