Chapter 1

Pirates, At Home

"So, boy." Jason Kent-Mirelli folded his arms. Mock-glared at his husband, half in character, half himself: the self who adored Colby Kent-Mirelli and the sheer fun of tossing Colby into bed, with every scenario that came out of Colby's imagination plus Jason's own tabletop roleplaying Game Master experience. "You know who we are. What ship you're on. You know what we do to stowaways."

Colby'd come up with this one. Or, to be fair, they'd both had the exact same idea, though Colby had said it first. Only a second or so first. Jason had been about to.

They'd been watching a fluffy very queer pirate-themed romantic comedy, a lazy movie night. Jason had said, "Now I sort of wish we'd filmed that one joke script that you and Ben wrote part of, for Steadfast, with the pirates and the kidnapping," and Colby had tipped his head up from cuddling against Jason's chest and had slowly begun to smile: utterly wickedly mischievous. Had mused, grinning at Jason, "Oh, I think we can manage that…oh, dear, you've caught me, I'm a runaway viscount and I've stowed away on your ship, you see…"

They'd jumped right in, after that.

Here in their bedroom, in the London flat they'd redecorated and renovated together, Colby assumed a winsome but determined expression, not backing down even when faced with an irate ship's captain and—very shortly, in this scenario—a future involving himself servicing that captain in bed. His hands were loosely tied with a glittery gauzy grey scarf that was valiantly pretending to be piratical rope, and he retorted, "Of course I know who you are, Captain; do you think I'd chosen just any ship at random? I know you're not likely to return to England for months, I know exactly how much illegal rum you're smuggling, and I know you have a certain reputation—"

"Do you?" Jason stepped closer. Put a hand in Colby's hair. Coiled fingers around luxurious dark strands, not gently. Colby gasped, but his follow-up lip-lick indicated pleasure, so Jason went on, low and dangerous, "What reputation would that be, my little viscount?"

"Ah, so you know who I am."

"Missing, they said. The day before we sailed." He tugged, not too hard, making Colby's head tip back. They were in fact almost the same height, but Jason was maybe an inch taller and definitely wider. He knew Colby liked that fact, so he used it. "We both know who you are. You were trying to get away."

"I was."

"From what?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might. Will someone come looking for you?"

"No. Well, possibly." Colby swallowed, an elegant motion along the line of his throat; Jason, both as an annoyed pirate captain and an adoring husband, got distracted by the beauty of him. Bedroom light, liquid and curious as fictional cabin lamp-gleam, traced Colby's eyebrow, cheekbone, the shape of his jaw. His shirt was white and flowing, and had a loose open neck. His skin was smooth and fair and tempting.

Colby added, because Jason hadn't contributed yet, "My uncle's been trying to kill me for two years now, you see. He very nearly succeeded. He won't care that I'm lost at sea or ravished by pirates, but he might send someone looking just to make sure it happens, you see."

"And your birthday's tomorrow," Jason said. More or less in character; but that was also part of the fun. Keeping up with Colby's genius brain, which ran around and gathered up kaleidoscopic rainbow fantasies and then shared them with the world in award-winning screenplays and with Jason here at home. Jason had never previously had conversations about steampunk aeronautical engineer characters or mysterious astrolabes or treasure-maps as mildly kinky bedroom foreplay. He loved every word. "Coming of age."

"Yes."

"And you decided you would rather be ravished by pirates."

"If it's that or be poisoned at breakfast or crushed to death by a runaway carriage or shot during a supposed hunting accident, yes."

"I could throw you off my ship right here. Miles from any shore you could swim to. If you can swim."

"I can. You could."

"You're not scared."

"Oh, I am. Petrified."

"Are you?"

"I said—"

"You're not scared enough." Jason set his hand on Colby's throat this time. Leaned in and loomed: muscles and strength and menacing bulk, versus Colby's more slender frame and big eyes and deliberately youthful rumpled hair. He also murmured, low, "Still good?"

"Fine," Colby whispered back. "I trust you. I'll talk to you about cherries if I need you to stop, I remember."

"Perfect. So…you're not scared enough, I said." He tightened his grip. Just a little, but Colby clearly felt the pressure, eyes even wider, next breath possible but more difficult. Colby's dick, Jason noticed, was absolutely up and hard and into this. Good to know, he thought, for the future.

The evening shimmered like stars over an ocean, on a creaking ship. The scene unfurled like a sail, catching a breeze.

They even owned a telescope and a sextant. Those were sitting out on the dresser, not exactly props, but conspiratorial company.

He eased the grip a fraction, not wanting to push too much. Colby enjoyed being ravished, plundered, dominated, all of that; but needed the plundering to progress with some care for old scars. They had their standard ground rules; Jason had asked about anything more specific, during the set-up they'd hastily established.

Colby had said yes to being tied up—only his wrists, and as usual something he could get out of if he really tried—and to being tossed into bed, and yes to a few other things. But no to being pushed down over the edge of said bed, which Jason had actually known—Colby wasn't entirely comfortable with a lot of the being bent over, taken from behind, face-down, sorts of positions—and no to being tied to any furniture, which had been a small surprise because they did sometimes play with the expensive high-quality rope and his wrists and the bedframe. Jason had paused, taking mental notes and also pulling on a shirt he'd last worn to a Renaissance Faire, and said, "Not a good day for that one?"

"I think…probably not. I don't even know why, exactly. Just…don't, please."

"We won't. Is it sort of…maybe too much, if you already want me to play with…like, it's mostly consensual, you're going to admit you want me, you said, but there's still the whole sort of power dynamic thing, with you being my captive?"

"Oh," Colby had said, surprised not at Jason understanding but at being understood, and then agreeing. And had stepped into his arms for a quick kiss. "Yes, in fact, that sounds…a lot like something that makes sense, I think. Thank you. You're so very good at that."

"I try," Jason had said, and kissed him again. "And I like being good at you. Okay, got a scarf?"

Now, hand at Colby's throat, not cutting off any air but enough to be a presence, he suggested, "You stowed away on a pirate ship, little viscount. You thought you'd work for your passage? You thought you'd join my crew and prove your worth?" He could feel Colby's pulse, the delicate flutter; he rubbed his thumb across fragile skin, with purpose.

"I thought I could show you—I know some things about navigation, I'm willing to work, and—"

"Oh, you'll work." Jason took the hand away, but only to wrap it around Colby's bound wrists and yank his husband closer. "On your back. On your knees. Using that pretty mouth, that sweet ass of yours. Keeping me happy. Understand?"

Colby shivered, lips parting, soundless; Jason paused again. Colby promptly nodded, so that was fine, that'd been a good reaction. Jason relaxed more, and let his grip on Colby's wrists get harder, more fierce. "Such a sweet boy. So innocent. You've never had a pirate's cock up your arse, have you, sweet boy?"

"No," Colby whispered. "Please…"

"Please what? Don't? It's too late for that. And you promised you'd earn your keep." He lifted his other hand, let Colby see and accept the motion before moving it: landing hard over Colby's hip, biting down. Colby liked being incontrovertibly claimed; Colby's memories did not like unexpected roughness.

Expectedroughness was fine, though. More than fine. Fantastic. "Or was that what you were thinking? What you wanted, choosing this ship, choosing me? Thinking about getting yourself fucked by a pirate, sweet boy?"

"I don't know," Colby answered this time. "I've never even…but I've wanted…I used to imagine running away to sea…"

"You want to be a good little pirate's boy," Jason said, "maybe? Maybe that's what you needed all along?" He walked Colby two steps toward the bed, using height and breadth. Colby wasn't that much shorter, and at this point had a decent amount of martial arts training courtesy of their friend Evan, but went along with the guidance, without objection. His feet were bare, and quiet on the floorboards and the rug, a fuzzy thick grey-and-copper-and-blue expanse of warmth. The darker stripe of blue in his eyes, the complication of color that most movie posters and illustrations forgot, caught all the lamplight and twinkled it right back.

Jason put a hand on Colby's shirt. Paused to check: "Still good with me ripping this?"

Colby almost laughed but smothered the sound in a grin. "Yes, go on, it's got that ink stain on that sleeve anyway…"

Jason grabbed creamy fabric. It tore and gave way under his hands.

Colby made a tiny sound. His eyes were huge, not at all afraid; in fact, he looked exactly like someone incredibly turned on by Jason's biceps and the ability to rip clothing right off his body.

Jason couldn't not feel smug about that. "You like that, don't you? You want me to strip you naked right here in my cabin—or in front of my crew? Not to share you, no—you're all mine, sweet boy—but to let them see. To let them all know how much of a soiled piece of muslin you are, no better than one of those dockside petticoats, getting off on a pirate's cock, begging for more when I fuck you."

"Oh God," Colby said, more an inadvertent reaction than anything in character. "Jason…"

"Too much?"

"Ah…no. Not yet. Love your historical vocabulary, by the way."

"Hey, I do research."

"Yes, you did enjoy that piratical historical romance series, I remember…" Talking; Colby did that. Jason watched his eyes; Colby went on, "You wouldn't—not even in this scenario, you wouldn't share me, please…but the idea of it, what you said, everyone watching while you take me, everyone knowing exactly how much I'm yours…"

"You are. I could just bend you over anywhere, couldn't I, anywhere I wanted, and fuck you on the spot. And you'd love it."

Colby outright whimpered. His hands, bound, moved: rubbing against the rigid line of his cock, in his clinging soft blue pants.

"But no one else ever gets to touch you," Jason said, with conviction. "All mine—" And he opened Colby's pants, roughly, yanking them down and off, leaving Colby stripped bare and naked; he shoved Colby back to the bed, lifting him, manhandling him, tossing him into the center on his back amid deep crimson sheets.

Colby moaned, trembling, squirming: in character and also himself, lovely and aroused and knowing what he'd given himself over to and also knowing how supposedly helpless he was, hands bound, at the mercy of Jason's strength and authority. His hair spilled out dark and wild against rich color, and the silver thread in the scarf at his wrists shimmered.

Jason peeled away his own clothing slowly, letting his husband—his theoretical captive—watch. Came to the bed, lazy, assured and in charge: kneeling atop Colby's quivering body, straddling his hips. Colby's pretty cock was so full it was leaking, smearing glistening drips against his flat stomach. Jason's own dick, hot and surging and eager, stood up; when he looked down he saw himself, his desire, Colby spread out beneath him.

He leaned down. Caught Colby's wrists. Dragged them up to rest above that tumble of dark hair, and kept them pinned. "You want me to fuck you, like this?"

He was asking honestly, as well as offering up the next step, the next line. A friendly amber curl of familiar bedroom light ran along his arm, where he was holding Colby in place.

"Yes," Colby breathed. "Touch me, take me, do what you want with me—however you want—make me beg, use me, fuck me—show me how a pirate would fuck me, please…"

"Happy to oblige," Jason informed him, and bent to kiss him, even less than half in character now; but that was all right because Colby was kissing him in turn, kissing him and laughing, curling fingers down to touch Jason's hand.

Jason whispered, nuzzling the words into Colby's ear, "You seriously do have a thing for my muscles and me getting you right where I want you," and Colby whispered right back, "You know I do, now tell me more about how you'd just push me down onto the deck or over a cannon and have your way with me, please," and this time Jason was the one who ended up laughing, their bodies tangled together, himself about to absolutely fuck Colby with wholehearted ravenous lust and equally wholehearted complete adoration, a pirate and a man in love.