4 Plunder and Peril
The Storm cut through the Atlantic swells like a blade through silk, her black sails taut and humming under a brisk trade wind.
Days blurred into a rhythm of watches, repairs, and anticipation as they hunted the Spanish galleon rumored to be limping north with storm damage and a belly full of silver from the Main.
Aaron found his place among the crew more easily than he'd expected, hauling lines alongside men who'd once eyed him as prey, sharing crude jokes during the dog watches, even earning a nod from Blackthorn when he spliced a frayed rope with neat precision.
The work kept his hands busy and his mind from dwelling too much on the risks ahead.
Tye commanded with his usual assurance, pacing the quarterdeck with charts in hand, that golden eye scanning the horizon for any sign of sail.
He and Aaron stole glances across the deck, brief, heated moments that promised more when night fell.
Secrecy weighed heavier now at sea; the cabin door stayed bolted only during Tye's "private planning," and Aaron's visits were timed for the quiet hours when most of the crew slept off their rum.
The galleon appeared on the fifth day, a fat silhouette low in the water, her sails patched and rigging askew from whatever tempest had battered her.
Cheers went up from The Storm's crew as Tye confirmed it with his spyglass.
She flew Spanish colors, wallowing under the weight of her cargo, escort nowhere in sight, easy prey.
"Clear for action!" Tye bellowed, and the ship erupted into controlled chaos.
Aaron's heart hammered as he helped run out the guns, powder monkeys darting between decks with cartridges.
He had no love for the Spanish after hearing tales of their cruelty in the colonies, but the thought of cannon fire and boarding still twisted his gut.
When the first broadside roared, shaking the timbers beneath his feet, he gripped a stay and watched smoke bloom across the water.
The galleon returned fire weakly, her guns undermanned and slow. Balls splashed harmlessly astern or thudded into The Storm's hull without serious damage. Grapples flew, and then the pirates swarmed over, cutlasses flashing in the sunlight.
Aaron boarded with the second wave, a borrowed blade in one hand and a pistol in the other.
The fight was fierce but brief, Spanish sailors, outnumbered and demoralized, surrendered in clusters after their captain fell to Tye's own hand.
Blood slicked the decks, mixing with seawater, and the air reeked of powder and fear.
Aaron parried a desperate lunge from a young marine, disarming him with a twist that sent the man's sword skittering, then bound his wrists with line from his belt.
Mercy where he could; he'd learned that from watching Tye spare those who yielded quickly.
By dusk, the prize was theirs. Chests of silver coins and bars gleamed in the galleon's hold, along with casks of wine and bolts of fine cloth.
The Storm's crew transferred the plunder with triumphant whoops, scuttling the empty hulk afterward with charges below the waterline.
She sank stern first, a funeral pyre lit by the setting sun.
Victory tasted sweet that night. Rum flowed freely on the return voyage, songs echoing across the deck as stars wheeled overhead.
Aaron joined the revelry cautiously, accepting a mug and a place by the foremast. Graves circulated among the men, his lean face split in a rare grin, slapping backs and promising rich shares.
But his eyes lingered on Tye whenever the captain passed near Aaron.
They made Nassau in record time, the wind fair and the crew eager for shore leave.
The harbor welcomed them with cheers from other pirates, word of the fat prize spreading like wildfire.
Longboats ferried men and treasure ashore, and soon the town pulsed with fresh gold, taverns packed, dice rolling hot, brothels doing brisk trade.
Tye claimed his captain's share first, directing crates to his house on the rise.
Aaron helped carry one heavy chest up the path, muscles straining under the weight, sweat cutting channels through the grime on his skin.
When the last load was stowed inside, Tye bolted the door and turned to him with a look that scorched.
"Been too long," Tye said roughly, pulling Aaron close by the front of his shirt.
Weeks at sea with only hurried touches had built a hunger in them both.
Aaron met the kiss fiercely, hands roaming over Tye's sweat-damp back, tugging the shirt free to feel hot skin beneath.
They stumbled through the house, shedding clothes in a trail, boots kicked off, breeches shoved down, until they reached the wide bed bathed in moonlight from open shutters.
Tye pushed Aaron down gently and followed, covering him with his larger frame.
Their cocks ground together, already hard and leaking, as mouths devoured, necks, shoulders, chests.
Aaron arched when Tye's beard scraped over his nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive peaks until they ached.
He threaded fingers through Tye's dark hair, guiding him lower.
Tye obliged, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Aaron's stomach, tongue dipping into his navel before continuing south. He bypassed Aaron's straining cock deliberately, nosing along the crease of his thigh instead. Aaron's breath hitched when Tye spread his legs wider and settled between them.
"Want to taste all of you tonight," Tye murmured, voice husky.
Aaron flushed hot, but anticipation overrode embarrassment.
He nodded, lifting his hips slightly as Tye's strong hands hooked under his thighs and pushed them back.
The first swipe of Tye's tongue over his entrance drew a sharp gasp, warm, wet, shocking in its intimacy.
Tye hummed approval and did it again, slower, circling the tight ring of muscle with deliberate pressure.
Aaron's head fell back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as sensation overwhelmed him.
Tye licked and probed relentlessly, tongue breaching him shallowly, then deeper, until Aaron was writhing and begging incoherently.
Fingers joined the assault, first one slick with spit, then two, curling alongside that wicked tongue to stroke his prostate until sparks danced behind Aaron's eyelids.
"Tye, God, please…"
Tye pulled back only long enough to slick his cock with oil from the bedside vial. He rose over Aaron, guiding his legs over broad shoulders, folding him nearly in half. The position opened him completely, and Aaron felt exposed, vulnerable, but safe under Tye's heated gaze.
"Look at you," Tye said reverently, rubbing the blunt head against Aaron's slicked hole. "Ready for me. Taking everything I give."
He pushed in steadily, eyes locked on Aaron's face for any sign of discomfort. There was only fullness, burning stretch that morphed into pleasure as Tye bottomed out. They both groaned, pausing to savor the connection.
Then Tye began to move, long, deep strokes that dragged over Aaron's sensitive nerves with every withdrawal and thrust. The angle was perfect, relentless pressure on his prostate making Aaron's cock leak steadily onto his stomach.
Tye's hands gripped his thighs, holding him open as hips snapped forward with increasing force.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," Tye growled, pace quickening. "Tight and hot, pulling me in like you never want me to leave."
Aaron could only moan in agreement, one hand clutching Tye's forearm, the other stroking himself frantically. Sweat dripped from Tye's brow onto Aaron's chest; their bodies slapped together rhythmically, the bedframe creaking in protest.
"Harder," Aaron gasped. "Want to feel you tomorrow."
Tye obliged with a curse, pounding into him until the room echoed with their cries.
Aaron came first, untouched now, ropes of cum striping his chest and chin as his body clenched around Tye's cock.
The sight and feel dragged Tye over the edge, he pulled out at the last moment, fisting himself twice before spilling hot across Aaron's spent cock and balls, marking him thoroughly.
They collapsed in a heap, limbs tangled, breaths ragged. Tye cleaned them lazily with a damp cloth afterward, then pulled Aaron against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns along his spine.
"Worth every risk," Tye whispered into his hair.
Aaron smiled against warm skin, sated and content.
The weeks that followed slipped by in a haze of indulgence.
The silver bought upgrades to The Storm, new canvas, fresh powder, even a pair of gleaming chase guns for the bow.
Crewmen caroused nightly, but Tye delayed the next voyage, citing needed refits and waiting for reliable intelligence on richer targets.
Nassau's pleasures held sway: lazy days swimming in hidden coves, evenings gambling or listening to fiddlers in packed taverns.
Aaron thrived in the freedom ashore. He and Tye explored each other without the constant threat of discovery, no hurried encounters, no muffled sounds.
Mornings often found them tangled in sheets, waking to slow, sleepy rutting that left them boneless.
Afternoons brought shared baths in a copper tub Tye had installed, water scented with stolen soap, hands wandering under the surface until passion flared again.
But beneath the idyll, tension simmered.
Graves grew bolder in his complaints. At first subtle, comments during meals about idle hands and thinning purses, then direct. One evening in a crowded tavern, after Tye brushed off another suggestion to sail, Graves slammed his mug down hard enough to slosh rum across the table.
"We're pirates, Captain, not bloody landowners playing house. Crew's getting soft. Gold's burning holes faster than we're filling them."
Tye's golden eye narrowed. "We'll sail when I'm satisfied the prize is worth the risk. My decision."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered men. Some nodded agreement with Graves; others shifted uncomfortably. Aaron, seated nearby, felt eyes flick toward him and away.
Later that night, back at the house, Tye paced the veranda, staring out at the moonlit harbor.
"He's stirring trouble," Tye admitted finally, voice low. "Been loyal since I took this ship, but ambition gnaws at him."
Aaron joined him at the rail, sliding an arm around his waist. "Then give them a short run. Prove you're still the captain who smells gold across leagues."
Tye leaned into the touch briefly, then straightened. "Aye. Soon."
But days turned into another week, then two. Tye found reasons to linger, repairs that could wait, rumors he claimed needed verifying. Aaron knew the truth: neither wanted to return to secrecy at sea, to stolen moments and constant vigilance.
The breaking point came on a sultry evening after a rainstorm had cooled the air. The crew gathered around bonfires on the beach, roasting fish and passing bottles. Aaron sat slightly apart, nursing a drink and watching Tye laugh with a knot of older hands.
Graves approached through the flickering shadows, face set in grim lines. He stopped before Tye, ignoring the sudden hush that fell.
"Enough, Captain. We've lazed here near a month since the Spaniard. Men's shares dwindle while you... entertain yourself." His gaze slid pointedly to Aaron, cold and accusing. "Some say you've lost your edge. That keeping that pretty captive turned crewman has made you soft in more ways than one."
Gasps and mutters rose. Tye straightened slowly, hand resting near his cutlass hilt.
"Careful, Graves. That's mutiny you're skirting."
"Is it?" Graves pressed, voice carrying to every ear. "Or truth? We follow Gold Eye Tye, the terror of the trade routes, not a man who lingers ashore for a warm bed. If you're unfit to lead, say it plain, and we'll vote a new captain as the articles allow."
Silence stretched, thick as the humid air. Aaron's blood ran cold; he saw crewmen exchanging glances, weighing loyalties. Tye's jaw clenched, the golden eye blazing in the firelight.
The challenge hung unresolved as men shifted uneasily, waiting for Tye's response.