4 Captured by a Pirate King #2
Silverfin wasn't quite convinced that the swill he'd eaten that night could be rightly called food.
The hard rocks he'd spent the day skinning had been boiled until they were little more than flavorless mush.
But he forced himself to hold his tongue.
"Surely there's some place else I could be of use.
I could climb those rope things. Pull up the - " he thought quickly. "Sails. Right? It can't be that hard."
"Mr. Silver, I do not know where you come from, but it must have been a very landlocked place indeed.” The captain twirled a large feather in his hand that Silverfin had come to recognize as a writing implement.
Merfolk had much better tools for that, he thought with some complacency.
Then again, merfolk culture was obviously much more advanced than these humans.
“You told me, when you begged for your life, that you had many skills. So far, other than your gift of gab, I fail to see any of these finer qualities.”
“Rude!”
“I’m merely being honest.”
There was much Silverfin wanted to tell the captain.
He could tell which way the wind was blowing, for one thing, without the need for any weathervane.
He knew the tides by smell alone. He could tell you if a storm was coming hours in advance and exactly from which direction.
He could name three hundred and twenty-eight species of marine life that bipeds knew about and another thousand more that they have never heard of or imagined before.
But none of these were things he could very well share with Hawk.
“I give excellent backrubs,” Silverfin had offered him in desperation. "I don’t have to rub your whole back, if you don’t want. I can just do the shoulders. It’s very relaxing. If there’s one thing you need to do more is relax. I mean, with all due respect, Captain, but you’re very tense.”
Miraculously, Hawk had let out a long-suffering sigh and beckoned him.
Could this be it? Would he finally be allowed the secret pleasure of touching him?
That strange, aching longing Silverfin had felt for him on the docks flared hot inside him at the thought of his hands sliding over Hawk's bare skin.
Even if it was only his shoulders - those magnificent, broad shoulders, peppered with beautiful freckles that looked like bursts of stars....
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll have you summarily keelhauled.”
...Why did Hawk always have to ruin his fantasies?
Frowning, Silverfin tried to push the thought of being keelhauled away.
He'd just left the deep; he wasn't particularly keen on going back quite so soon.
Instead. he crossed the room to where Hawk sat behind his desk.
His beautiful Red Pirate King stripped down to his shirtsleeves and, before long, Silverfin had his hands on those lovely broad shoulders that he'd gazed at from afar so many times.
Hawk’s flesh radiated warmth through the thin cambric of his shirt.
Warmth like the flame of his hair. But his muscles were tense as if he'd swum a thousand leagues.
Silverfin got his fingers around the shoulder, tips pressed into the clavicles, and his thumbs dug into two particularly hard knots on either side of the vertebrae.
As he did so, a low, grunted groan escaped Hawk's lips. It was, Silverfin decided, distinctly pleasing. Unrestrained. He repeated the movement with his thumbs, pressing them in small circles into the taut flesh, and was rewarded with a sound all too close to a whimper.
“Right there?” he asked, attempting to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice. Hawk gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. “This would be much easier if you took off your shirt,” Silverfin suggested, smoothing his hands down the captain’s broad shoulders.
While he hadn't made the suggestion in any seriousness, he was pleasantly surprised when Hawk took hold of the bottom of the fabric, drawing it up over his head without a word.
If he'd thought the feel of Hawk's shoulders was lovely, the sight of them was exquisite - firm and well-defined, sun-warmed skin covered in a heavy sprinkle of freckles.
"Give me your hand," Hawk said, quieter, pulling open his desk drawer. Silverfin did so, and moments later the man was pouring something slick and distinctively coconut smelling on his palm. Oil?
What Hawk had intended it for was unmistakable, and Silverfin smoothed it over those luscious shoulders without delay.
Hawk’s skin felt incredible under his fingers, smooth and slick with the oil instead of the salt-crusted roughness he'd felt when he'd pulled Hawk out of the sea.
He returned to his ministrations gladly, digging his fingers into the knots of tension and smiling as his touch actually made Hawk moan.
The ache in his core flared, pleased by their closeness but never satisfied. He wanted more. Silverfin wanted to press his lips to those freckles, wanted to taste them, wanted to draw lines between them with his tongue, he wanted -
Between his legs, the mysterious third one gave a sudden uncomfortable, tingling jerk.
Silverfin stared down at his crotch, uneasy and slightly disturbed. His third leg was undeniably swelling, beginning to stretch out the front of his trews.
Too late he realized that this firmness, this twitchy discomfort must have to do with the other use for it that Mara had alluded to. Possibly the same kind of insanity that might lead an unrefined pirate to... well, there had been that thing with the dairy goat.
"Not now," he hissed at it, infuriated and perturbed.
Under his hands, Hawk tensed. "What?"
“I... seem to be experiencing some kind of inflammation,” Silverfin stuttered.
“Inflammation?” Hawk’s head spun about, twisting the skin of his neck under Silverfin's hands. His neck, oh dear, the inflammation was becoming rather painful and uncomfortable. How were his trews suddenly so tight? “From what?”
“I... huh!”
“Cat got your tongue, for once?”
“No, sir. Millie most certainly does not have my tongue. Nor my inflamed.....”
"Enough!" Eyebrows furrowing, Hawk stood, catching up his discarded shirt and jacket as he did. He looked Silverfin up and down as he took a step back, skin flushed. "Pull yourself together," he said rather quickly, before spinning on his heel and striding from the room.
Silverfin watched him go, frowning and rubbing the side of his still-oily hand against his aching cock. It didn't particularly help... nor was this where he'd wanted the night to end.