valarltd | Arr, here be the bouncing bunk!

The Kestrel anchored just off Hispaniola. Thomas Harrison sat on the forecastle, pretending to write in his log. He was watching Samir instead.

His boy was in the crow’s nest, watching for sails. They needed to take a ship. The crew was restless and grumbling of mutiny. After Nathaniel’s betrayal, he would not tolerate such talk. Action would be the best cure.

Samir braided his long black hair every morning and wore it coiled around his neck like the noose that awaited all of them should they be taken. Some of the crew muttered that it was bad luck, tempting fate. Others whispered that the Moroccan boy himself was bad luck, too woman-like, almost as bad as sailing on Friday or killing a stormy petrel.

Harrison liked the look, although he’d barely admit to himself why: it made Samir look like a collared pet. He’d seen paintings of Eastern kings hunting with leopards. That was how Samir made him feel, like a king with his own deadly leopard.

He fingered a scratch on his arm. His little leopard had claws. He smiled and watched the boy stretch, then returned to his log book.

Last year, they’d braved the Atlantic in the Kestrel, hearing there were rich pickings on the coast of Spain and Africa. They’d had a fine time, Spanish and French ships coming under their guns until the Kestrel could hold no more. With pockets nigh bursting, they’d tarried in Tripoli, tasting the food and the wine and the company. He’d lost several crewman to the opium dens and still more to dancing girls with eyes like gazelles and knives faster than a Spaniard’s lying tongue.

The wine was strong that night, and she had been a redhead. Harrison had seen few redheads in his life and almost none along the African coast, so he took the chance to learn where her freckles ended. They hadn’t, and her luminous Irish skin had been a rare treat among the pretty brown girls that had been much more common. It was foolish to walk back to the ship alone, but his mind was still in bed with Speckled Molly, what part wasn’t clouded with Spanish wine.

The golden-skinned youth wrapped in a waterfall of black hair, a black silk loincloth and little else had fallen into step beside him. The boy’s kohled eyes drew him as did the long, shapely nose, the lithe body and the sweet voice.

“Handsome sailor is looking for company, no?” The youth had pressed too close and Harrison could smell the myrrh and sandalwood in his hair.

Ordinarily, Harrison would have said no after a visit to a whore. But the Spyglass was already extending and he was interested. It had been good wine.

He smiled at the boy. “Yes.” He ran a hand over the long hair and delicate face. “Do you have a place we can go?”

The youth nodded and guided him to a very dark alleyway between warehouses near the docks. He pressed Harrison against the wall, his body slim and warm. His kiss was sweet and slow, and almost good enough to distract Harrison from the busy fingers. Almost, but not quite.

“Lying cutpurse.” He seized the boy’s wrist and shoved him against the opposite wall. “You would take all my money and give me nothing save a kiss.”

The thief looked scared. “I give more. Anything you want. Only not go to law.” When Harrison tightened his grip, the boy added, “Not break anything!”

The wine had him feeling too good to get into a fight. Harrison loosened his hold and looked him over. “You’re smart. You’re bold. I can use a boy like you on my ship.”

“Samir is willing. Sailing is not jail.”

Harrison nodded. “Samir. Pretty name for a pretty boy. I’m Thomas Harrison of the free ship, Kestrel. You’ll share my bunk, work hard, and learn to sail a ship. And if the law catches us, you hang right beside me.” There was gold in his smile that Samir hadn’t noticed. It made him look wolfish and cruel.

Samir nodded and went. Harrison never let go of his wrist. They took a dory out to the ship which lay at anchor. It was almost deserted. The drowsing watchman woke enough to greet the captain.

Samir stared at the plundered finery that littered Harrison’s cabin: a gimbaled bed with fine wool blankets, silken draperies, piles of coin and jewels heaped in the corners, good pewter plates and silver cutlery.

“Need a wife,”Samir giggled, picking his way through the mess. A bolt of scarlet silk caught his eye.

“I don’t need a wife anymore. I have a new cabin boy.” He caught Samir around the waist and pulled him close. “Am I still so handsome now that you’re not trying to lift my purse?”

Samir looked him over: shaggy dark hair and brows, dark eyes. His nose was sharp, with a hump as if it had been broken once and his full mouth added a deceptive softness to his square jaw. His features were handsome by any measure. Samir knew he could have done much worse. He molded himself to Harrison’s body, nodding.

“Very handsome. I make good on my promise?”

Harrison shed the black velvet coat, hanging it on a chair. He sprawled on the bunk. “I’ll be a disappointed captain if you don’t. And you don’t want to be on your Captain’s bad side.”

Samir shed the loincloth, revealing a modest and circumcised endowment. Someone had sprinkled gold dust through his oiled black curls. His movements were slow, graceful, almost as if he’d been into the opium as well. His big eyes were lined in kohl, making them look even larger.

Harrison grew quite hard at that enticing sight. “Come here, boy,” he growled. He drew the slim youth to him and lowered his mouth to taste Samir’s cock. Samir tasted of spices and smoke; all the mysteries of the East rolled over Harrison’s tongue, fuddling his brain. The Spyglass was extended. His sails were full and there was no turning from his plotted course.

He sucked just at the head until Samir exploded over his tongue. Harrison pulled Samir down for a long, searching kiss, the salt-spice of the youth still on his mouth. “On the bunk, little one. I’m going to plunder you properly.”

Then Samir was in his bunk, the lamplight gleaming on gold doubloons and golden skin equally. Harrison tasted him, neck and shoulders and back, and then the sweet dimples above his perfect rear. He stroked the clear, smooth skin and ran one gentle finger down the cleft–a soft juicy peach–just waiting for him.

There was scented oil nearby, a sweet unguent in a plundered alabaster jar. He’d claimed it, thinking of his lost ‘Thaniel, wanting it to be a special gift for their reunion. The jar had been sealed for four years. He knew he would never have Nathaniel Collins again. Somehow, it seemed fitting to use the perfect oil on this beautiful boy instead.

He got some oil on his fingers and rubbed it along the cleft. More went on his prick and more on the fingers he pressed into Samir.

The young man writhed under his touch, gasping softly as he was entered. He relaxed into Harrison’s fingers, breathing with the intrusion.

“Tight. So tight. You’re no whore. You tease and promise and steal, don’t you, Samir?”

Samir nodded. “No virgin. But only let men when I have to.”

“No choice tonight, pretty.” Harrison slid in, delighted by the tightness, the heat, the feel of Samir beneath him. “You,” he said, kissing Samir’s neck, “are perfect. Beautiful, ruthless, greedy and a sweet tumble besides.” He punctuated each word with a kiss. “You’ll be a fine addition to my ship.”

Samir said nothing, merely gasped as Harrison took him, never faltering or slowing. Drunk, he decided. Drunk enough to last forever. Not drunk enough to pass out. It wasn’t bad. Harrison wasn’t rough or cruel as he had feared. The pounding was steady but not harsh. Samir tipped his face back and was unsurprised when Harrison kissed him.

When they parted, he smiled into the pillow. Harrison and the Kestrel would be his in all but name. The captain would take only a little more charming before he was totally in Samir’s thrall.

Arr, here be the bouncing bunk!

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