The Intentions of Captain Scott
May. 19th, 2008 04:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieMostly for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mayoroftardtown because without her, I would have just left this in my slaveboy-Wally-porn notebook. It's set maybe over a year or so before The Pirates of Vengeance.
The Intentions of Captain Scott
DC AU, Alan Scott/Wally West, rated Mature for explicit sexual activity, language, and a little violence entirely unrelated to the sex.
A little over 3.5K words.
Wally captures the attention of one Captain Scott during a night out in Happy Harbour.
That Captain Blackheart was fucking his fearsome slave was no secret amongst piratic company in this corner of the Indies. As a servant of Baron Wayne, Wally was rarely given much in the way of intimate attention, and only then in private, but this was a busy tavern at Happy Harbour filled with a different sort of society than that. His Master was seated at the head of a long table, comfortable in the company of his friends and his servant draped beside him on the worn bench, eyeing the room from beneath a captain's fine tri-corner hat.
By all appearances, Wally knew he looked but a slip of a thing being lazily petted across the thigh, but this he couldn't find it in himself to mind.
The room was loud, a chaos of noise and voices, of slamming mugs and calls threatening to entirely drown a flute playing like a joyful bird somewhere across the ocean of bodies. The faces ringing the table were all familiar, snapping cards down on the time-softened surface with none of the usual seriousness he'd grown accustomed to seeing on their faces. Mister Garrick was here, laughing, a gladdening thing to hear, to see how his eyes crinkled about the edges in content amusement.
Tonight they were celebrating and unfettered by manifests or intrigue. He could almost taste it in the smokey air.
Such thoughts were interrupted by his Master's now empty mug being meaningfully nudged in his direction, to bring his attention to its lack of contents. There were a pair of girls serving the room, but the numbers were enough that their service would include a wait.
Wally wrapped his fingers around the warm handle and eased into the throng of movement, keeping out of the way of a few passing drinks in danger of being bumped or spilled in a manner that could easily start a fight, as well as a skinny, unsavoury lad that looked to empty a few of someone else's pockets if he could manage it. There was a temptation to let him try, but Wally took the shortest route to the high bar and it's lovely tender.
A stranger was shouting "A lark, you scurvy bastard!" to someone in his ear, causing him to wince and appear in Miss Beatriz's attentions with less charm than he had quite intended.
"Another?" she shouted, flashing a toothy smile.
"If you would, ma'am!" he called back, needfully, though the distance between them was small enough to catch a scent of French perfume in her wild hair.
She turned to draw it, leaving Wally to another stranger moving in close at his side. The man caught his eye with an look that betrayed not knowing what to think of Wally in the Captain's hat and otherwise un-captainly attire of simple styling to close to his skin too be of someone with authority over much at all. The gaze narrowed some, to an expression that sparked a compulsion in Wally to snap the man's crooked nose.
"Piss off!" Wally snarled, tossing his head.
"Rotten cuss!"
"Push it up yer arse!"
"You lookin' for a fight, boy?"
"Hardly expect one from the like of you!"
The stranger went for his belt and was making to pull a nasty blade, but drink had made him a touch clumsy. There was seething hate, then surprise, then indignation as Wally snatched it away and flung it into the wall across the room.
A cluster of pirates it had just missed didn't look to see where it had come from, but laughed at where it was embedded into the wood.
The dirty stranger menaced uselessly before stalking out and taking his leave, and Wally was happy to see it go while accepting the mug back from Miss Beatriz. The scuffle had not been long enough for her to even know it had occurred, so he smiled dazzlingly for reasons she was possibly misreading and returned to deliver it back to his Master.
Wally returned to his spot on the bench, where his Master resumed running his jeweled fingers along Wally's thigh, his hand of play uninterrupted. Perhaps the action had been noticed by him, but in any case, Wally felt a pleasant sense of his own dangerousness. There was one more in the world that would think twice to trifle with him. Wally smiled and felt absurdly pleased with himself.
His Master began idly twirling one of Wally's tails about his finger, far more relaxed than he'd been for some time. The too-oft angry voice had none of that, lightly venturing into a more serious subject. "Gentlemen," he said, "you've seen what effect we've already had."
"The King may be mad, but he's far more men than the likes of us," Captain Scott replied. "Not to mention the Spanish and the French..." He was interrupted by the hand removing itself from Wally's hair to wave off the good Captain's concern. But Captain Scott was not easily silenced. "And there is always the growing independence of the Colonial governors."
"The companies give them that. And the companies can't trade without the water."
"They could blow us out of it, should they truly try," Scott half-laughed, which was not to discount his genuine feeling.
Unexpectedly, Captain Blackheart laughed and plucked his hat off Wally's head. "What do you say?" he pointedly asked Wally. "Is it all folly?"
"I should hope not, sir," he burst out, then clammed up, feeling a touch uncomfortable; Wally was never asked to speak in such company. Wealthy, powerful men in their own peerage. Indeed, the conversation rolled on without him, only an amused moment had as any response to that. The hat was replaced on Wally's head and the playful fingers returned to touching over his body behind the table.
Wally did not expect to be addressed again, and his attention drifted away from their talk and back to their surroundings, watching both familiar and unfamiliar faces shifting about them. The stranger was still not returned, which he found to be just fine.
As such, he missed the context of his Master pointedly raising his chin and declaring a puzzling thing. "This one is different," he said.
Captain Scott's skeptical look revealed little more on the matter. "As you say," he dismissively proclaimed, and the subject moved along.
Wally burned with anxious curiosity. Different? From what? From who? How? He began to closely listen now, on subjects he was familiar with from his Master being so often concerned with them, but he moment was long passed that might give him any answer.
The room grew quieter, emptier, until Captain Scott and his Master stepped outside into the cool late evening under a heavy moon.
They leaned up against the wall of the building alongside the tavern, sharing a skinny cigar more held and observed than enjoyed. Wally wasn't offered any, but he didn't mind, not particularly enjoying that sort of thing as it was.
He felt more than heard himself become the topic of conversation again. It was the manner of it that surprised him some, as Captain Scott did not seem the sort of man that generally sought his company. He was well-dressed and looked as someone more at home in a fine setting than one such as this, or seeking the attentions of a ship-slave.
"I plan to be quite busy tonight," his Master said. "I suggest you indulge your curiosity in the meantime."
"From an understanding, I would imagine."
"Understandably."
Captain Scott disposed of the half-burned stick lightly, smiling to himself. "I will present your proposal to my men."
"My thanks, good Captain."
They shook hands with mirth, like the old friends they had become in the short time Wally had known them both.
Captain Scott now walked away, and Wally was pushed along to follow him. It would not be the first time he had been lent to someone else, but already the most unusual. He still did not believe that Scott was the sort of man to enjoy the company of one such as him at all, not by his own choice. Wally was struck with the compulsion to fall to his knees supplicate himself, as well as the not unpleasant idea that a change of pace would bring a spontaneity he was not adverse to into the evening. He was also the sort of man that might have secrets his Master would be rather pleased to learn. Perhaps even grateful and generous to learn.
Wally did not do that thing, only followed Scott to the waterfront and along the empty street to a spacious rooming house overlooking the bay.
The stairway was narrow and dimly lit, so incongruous to the Captain's fine dress, and Wally could only wonder what such a man was doing here. It was not a question he dared to pose, merely following along to door that was unlocked into a spacious room at the top of the building. Out of habit, Wally lit the lamps for him, then knelt on the floor and waited to see what would be wanted of him here.
The Captain took off his own hat, revealing a thick tail of gold hair somewhat mussed by the evening's activities, at the same time he shrugged out of the fine jacket and threw it casually over a chair.
"Speak," he ordered unhurriedly, pouring himself a small glass of wine that glowed in the flickering illumination.
"It is not often that men want my company on land, sir," he said. "Not when they can have a woman. Might I beg to know what you want of me, sir?"
The Captain laughed, a tension falling out of his shoulders. "I saw you disarm that man," he said. "You are obviously not some helpless trinket."
"I do as I might, sir."
"So I see. And you don't seem to be a fool."
"I am literate, sir. But I would not say I give much for counsel."
"Why is that?" Captain Scott asked. Wally began to laugh, and covered his face quickly, biting into his hand and shaking his head. "What's so funny?"
"No teller of tales knows quite how correct they are, sir, not about me."
"Is that so?"
"So far as I know."
"Answer me a question, then. Why is it you serve your master?"
Wally watched him sit, then approached on his hands and knees, crawling along the floor, rugs and boards under his hands. He felt how the man wore stockings, not high boots over his strong legs, and worked his way up to his knee with lips and fingers.
"Boy..." the Captain protested, without heart in it, without pushing him away, so Wally continued up his thigh.
"I usually refuse to speak with men such as yourself, in such a meeting." Wally kissed a patch of bared skin and stroked his calves lovingly. "But I like you, sir. You want to know why a slave serves his Master?"
"That was the question," he replied, his voice betraying a reaction to Wally's attention.
"I sold my soul for my heart's desire," Wally said, stealing words out of a novel.
"Wealth? Luxury?"
"Revenge," Wally breathed into the Captain's lap.
Anything more the Captain wished to say then was sent away with a well-placed attention to the hardness growing in his pants, a thing that he was obviously of a mind to conceal from the 'boy' slinking about his intimate space. "You don't seem to object," he commented with a shortness of breath. "What do you think I want from you?"
"I do not know, sir. But I know what I want from you."
The mantle of dignity shook off the Captain's shoulders with a gasp from him, a surprise at how quickly his cock was in Wally's mouth, at the feeling of it. His hips pushed forward without being asked to, to make Wally's task easier in sucking and touching himself with his left and unused hand.
Wally did not lick through to the end, but stopped with the pulsing that signaled a closeness to it. The port glittered outside the windows, so uncommonly lovely in the middle of the night, and Wally slid off his waistcoat while putting up his right foot on another chair to remove his boots and own stockings and braces. He remained facing away and kept in mind a thing his Master had once told him about his body, showing off his backside wantonly, inviting the Captain to enjoy it.
The Captain came up behind him, after a time, sliding his hands up his waist as if exploring a curiosity with touch, all over. "I've not much attraction to boys," he unenthusiastically admitted.
"I am only a slave, sir. Men may have their slaves if they like."
"What do slaves like?"
"That more of their masters might ask such questions."
"And listen, perhaps?"
"Perhaps." Wally kept his voice soft, just above a whisper, becoming someone quite different than the terror at the bar stealing away a knife. "They can do whatever they want."
The Captain reached between his legs and Wally moaned into the back of the plush chair, wanting so much more, wanting to jump him and take it all but not having enough of the inclination.
"Are you a whore?"
"Would that disgust you, sir?"
There was no response, but the answer seemed to be a clear "no." He kept touching, his hands asking questions up Wally's sides and over his shoulders.
When certainty came, it was in undoing Wally's clothes, surely and immediately stripping them off in a more tactile way than most preferred, leaning over Wally's back and feeling instead of looking at his nakedness. Wally lifted one knee at a time so that the breeches might be more easily pulled off and tossed on the floor, his thighs twitching and moving. Captain Scott ran his hands over them, then up Wally's back with care.
Wally didn't want the Captain to touch him there, to see him there. He was ashamed of his scars. But the man had insistent hands that pulled off his shirt and pushed his hair aside, over his shoulders and out of the way. A kiss on the back of his neck seemed to say he knew and was not disgusted.
Fingers traced over the patterns and sparked a rush of inexplicable terror against a gentle man. A sudden fear that his wants would be brutal and painful, though his mind knew that would not be so. The Captain had no such intentions, still so gentle.
It was not so often that Wally could say he felt truly vulnerable, should the situation be so or not. It was such that Wally didn't realize, not right away, that the exploratory contact was clinical and judgmental, a thing that sparked an entirely different sort of feeling.
"He isn't cruel," Wally sputtered, hastily collecting the words. "He doesn't, he doesn't, sir, he won't beat me."
"Never?" Captain Scott returned with skepticism. "Are you perfectly behaved?"
"He isn't cruel, sir," Wally re-iterated. The sudden change of mood set him off-balance, uncertainly attempting to keep his head against a precipice. Was he not here to entertain? He had no wish to be like an exotic beetle being torn apart in Mister Pennyworth's explorations of nature. "Are you?"
"Perfectly behaved? No, I confess I am not." There was a soft chuckle of amusement shaking free of the tension, a movement over Wally's body that seemed to try, and succeed, in smoothing it away, returning Wally's hair over what it sought to hide. "I know of so very few that are."
"Yes, sir."
The Captain yawned against the back of Wally's shoulder and his lips pulled up in a smile.
Wally found his only duty for the remainder of the evening was to be held in Captain Scott's arms, keeping him warm in a night that became quickly chilled some time after they'd settled into the room, but kept off nicely by a thick quilt and thick arms lazily moving over Wally's body a short time.
Then the Captain fell asleep.
Wally did as well, at peace in the quiet room, but he did not stay that way quite so long.
In the morning, he laid there listening to soft snores in his ear, thinking to himself. It seemed to him that Captain Scott was not so much interested in having Wally as obtaining information about Captain Blackheart. Normally, this was something that Wally should find himself concerned about, defensive against, but Scott was altogether different than most with such ambitions. Genuine, moral, wishing to preserve such ideals in himself through a knowledge of his allies.
Such things were considered until the morning grew bright and the time came that the Captain would wish to be awakened. Wally did so by continuing what he had begun to coax from the Captain the night before, stroking his balls gently with his fingertips moving through thick brown-gold hair under the covers.
As well intended, Captain Scott woke quickly in such a fashion, but did not seem to have the tension or reserve of when he'd been fully aware, moving his hips forward into Wally's attention, sighing with pleasure and squeezing his thighs up with the motion of the insides of Wally's cheeks and licking tongue. "Shameless creature," he laughed to himself, but did not seem to intend any ill toward the servant with it.
"I am, sir," Wally told the Captain's skin, soft enough that he doubted he knew the words had been uttered.
Wally took it as an agreement, as a willingness, and as such laid his licking on thick and wet, excitement fluttering in his belly. A nervousness, perhaps, peeking up again over the covers again and seeing the Captain again at the same time his cock was in his fingers, wetly being guided up against Wally's buttocks. Wally asked him with his eyes, if this was what he wanted, and was answered with dark lust already clinging everywhere on the Captain's face with wakefulness.
Down, singing with the burning satisfaction of it, Wally eased into sitting astride the Captain's hips, reaching up into cross-bars over the undraped bed-frame overhead to steady himself.
"God above," the Captain swore, groaning heavily and laying back stiff, closing his watery eyes and thrusting up again. He did so in a clumsy sort of matching to Wally's pulling up on the wood crossbar, then settling back again, up and down with purpose, flexing his arms and relaxing them, settling onto his calves and moving up from them.
His mind considered first how many hours it had been since he'd been felt and touched, taken and had, then he smiled and dismissed anything but the consideration of how good it felt. His body was singing with lazy enthusiasm, wanting more even after the Captain began swearing again and pushed up needfully to spill out his seed into Wally's body.
When he was done, Wally climbed off him, off the bed, and back again with a wet cloth, giving a quick and cursory bathing to refresh against the quickly growing warmth of the day. In full light, he enjoyed the touch and the sight of Captain Scott's body, stretched out and relaxed in the now messy bedding, muscles and skin so fine as to suit a man that seemed he should be at home in a gilt manor of high society, not in the company of savage outlaws. Not the first such man that Wally had encountered in his still-new life of some regard in the service of a pirate, but the most distinctive that way.
The wet flannel plopped into the white porcelain basin and the Captain moved, up onto his elbows as he settled up some against the headboard.
"Come here," he ordered gently, and Wally did, up between his arm and his hip. His gold-adorned index finger moved up the shaft of Wally's still-hard manhood, tracing the ridge underneath. "Are you in need of some assistance with that?"
"N-no, sir," he said, though he wanted to say he certainly was. His hands began to shake and he felt himself begin to sweat and want to move and hump something.
"Are you quite certain?"
"No, sir."
Captain Scott laughed and threw him down, rolling over him with swift energy, sucking on Wally's neck and pinching his un-pierced nipple while his other hand was busily satisfying Wally's own wants, laughing into Wally's hair and nipping into his flesh.
"You've been quite entertaining," the Captain told him. "I'm sure some reward is deserved."
"Thank you, Master," Wally sighed, realizing his mistake too late, too caught up to attempt repairing it, doubting he could, not caring, grinding his hips up wanting more, and more, and more, needing it until he could think of nothing else.
Skin, fingers, stroking, pleasure.
Wally's voice now sang out and his flesh burned in satisfaction, a feeling almost outside of existence itself, outside of everything, ebbing down to his cock wet and twitching and his body sweating over the messy bed.
Captain Scott ordered breakfast and dressed, graciously granting Wally as much time as he would like to have in lazily cleaning himself up and finally getting out of bed to be fed and spoken to more on matters still of a seriousness more than Wally would usually prefer. His thoughts were still hazy and his input still not so much required, little beyond nods and agreement added to the discussion, but he enjoyed the morning and did hope the Captain had, as well.
It was too soon, when he was dressed again and ushered out before the Captain, back to meet his Master and prepare for departure. He did doubt that it was an event to repeat itself, but it was a memory pleasant to have fresh in his thoughts under the warmth of the beaming sun.
mayoroftardtown because without her, I would have just left this in my slaveboy-Wally-porn notebook. It's set maybe over a year or so before The Pirates of Vengeance.The Intentions of Captain Scott
DC AU, Alan Scott/Wally West, rated Mature for explicit sexual activity, language, and a little violence entirely unrelated to the sex.
A little over 3.5K words.
Wally captures the attention of one Captain Scott during a night out in Happy Harbour.
That Captain Blackheart was fucking his fearsome slave was no secret amongst piratic company in this corner of the Indies. As a servant of Baron Wayne, Wally was rarely given much in the way of intimate attention, and only then in private, but this was a busy tavern at Happy Harbour filled with a different sort of society than that. His Master was seated at the head of a long table, comfortable in the company of his friends and his servant draped beside him on the worn bench, eyeing the room from beneath a captain's fine tri-corner hat.
By all appearances, Wally knew he looked but a slip of a thing being lazily petted across the thigh, but this he couldn't find it in himself to mind.
The room was loud, a chaos of noise and voices, of slamming mugs and calls threatening to entirely drown a flute playing like a joyful bird somewhere across the ocean of bodies. The faces ringing the table were all familiar, snapping cards down on the time-softened surface with none of the usual seriousness he'd grown accustomed to seeing on their faces. Mister Garrick was here, laughing, a gladdening thing to hear, to see how his eyes crinkled about the edges in content amusement.
Tonight they were celebrating and unfettered by manifests or intrigue. He could almost taste it in the smokey air.
Such thoughts were interrupted by his Master's now empty mug being meaningfully nudged in his direction, to bring his attention to its lack of contents. There were a pair of girls serving the room, but the numbers were enough that their service would include a wait.
Wally wrapped his fingers around the warm handle and eased into the throng of movement, keeping out of the way of a few passing drinks in danger of being bumped or spilled in a manner that could easily start a fight, as well as a skinny, unsavoury lad that looked to empty a few of someone else's pockets if he could manage it. There was a temptation to let him try, but Wally took the shortest route to the high bar and it's lovely tender.
A stranger was shouting "A lark, you scurvy bastard!" to someone in his ear, causing him to wince and appear in Miss Beatriz's attentions with less charm than he had quite intended.
"Another?" she shouted, flashing a toothy smile.
"If you would, ma'am!" he called back, needfully, though the distance between them was small enough to catch a scent of French perfume in her wild hair.
She turned to draw it, leaving Wally to another stranger moving in close at his side. The man caught his eye with an look that betrayed not knowing what to think of Wally in the Captain's hat and otherwise un-captainly attire of simple styling to close to his skin too be of someone with authority over much at all. The gaze narrowed some, to an expression that sparked a compulsion in Wally to snap the man's crooked nose.
"Piss off!" Wally snarled, tossing his head.
"Rotten cuss!"
"Push it up yer arse!"
"You lookin' for a fight, boy?"
"Hardly expect one from the like of you!"
The stranger went for his belt and was making to pull a nasty blade, but drink had made him a touch clumsy. There was seething hate, then surprise, then indignation as Wally snatched it away and flung it into the wall across the room.
A cluster of pirates it had just missed didn't look to see where it had come from, but laughed at where it was embedded into the wood.
The dirty stranger menaced uselessly before stalking out and taking his leave, and Wally was happy to see it go while accepting the mug back from Miss Beatriz. The scuffle had not been long enough for her to even know it had occurred, so he smiled dazzlingly for reasons she was possibly misreading and returned to deliver it back to his Master.
Wally returned to his spot on the bench, where his Master resumed running his jeweled fingers along Wally's thigh, his hand of play uninterrupted. Perhaps the action had been noticed by him, but in any case, Wally felt a pleasant sense of his own dangerousness. There was one more in the world that would think twice to trifle with him. Wally smiled and felt absurdly pleased with himself.
His Master began idly twirling one of Wally's tails about his finger, far more relaxed than he'd been for some time. The too-oft angry voice had none of that, lightly venturing into a more serious subject. "Gentlemen," he said, "you've seen what effect we've already had."
"The King may be mad, but he's far more men than the likes of us," Captain Scott replied. "Not to mention the Spanish and the French..." He was interrupted by the hand removing itself from Wally's hair to wave off the good Captain's concern. But Captain Scott was not easily silenced. "And there is always the growing independence of the Colonial governors."
"The companies give them that. And the companies can't trade without the water."
"They could blow us out of it, should they truly try," Scott half-laughed, which was not to discount his genuine feeling.
Unexpectedly, Captain Blackheart laughed and plucked his hat off Wally's head. "What do you say?" he pointedly asked Wally. "Is it all folly?"
"I should hope not, sir," he burst out, then clammed up, feeling a touch uncomfortable; Wally was never asked to speak in such company. Wealthy, powerful men in their own peerage. Indeed, the conversation rolled on without him, only an amused moment had as any response to that. The hat was replaced on Wally's head and the playful fingers returned to touching over his body behind the table.
Wally did not expect to be addressed again, and his attention drifted away from their talk and back to their surroundings, watching both familiar and unfamiliar faces shifting about them. The stranger was still not returned, which he found to be just fine.
As such, he missed the context of his Master pointedly raising his chin and declaring a puzzling thing. "This one is different," he said.
Captain Scott's skeptical look revealed little more on the matter. "As you say," he dismissively proclaimed, and the subject moved along.
Wally burned with anxious curiosity. Different? From what? From who? How? He began to closely listen now, on subjects he was familiar with from his Master being so often concerned with them, but he moment was long passed that might give him any answer.
The room grew quieter, emptier, until Captain Scott and his Master stepped outside into the cool late evening under a heavy moon.
They leaned up against the wall of the building alongside the tavern, sharing a skinny cigar more held and observed than enjoyed. Wally wasn't offered any, but he didn't mind, not particularly enjoying that sort of thing as it was.
He felt more than heard himself become the topic of conversation again. It was the manner of it that surprised him some, as Captain Scott did not seem the sort of man that generally sought his company. He was well-dressed and looked as someone more at home in a fine setting than one such as this, or seeking the attentions of a ship-slave.
"I plan to be quite busy tonight," his Master said. "I suggest you indulge your curiosity in the meantime."
"From an understanding, I would imagine."
"Understandably."
Captain Scott disposed of the half-burned stick lightly, smiling to himself. "I will present your proposal to my men."
"My thanks, good Captain."
They shook hands with mirth, like the old friends they had become in the short time Wally had known them both.
Captain Scott now walked away, and Wally was pushed along to follow him. It would not be the first time he had been lent to someone else, but already the most unusual. He still did not believe that Scott was the sort of man to enjoy the company of one such as him at all, not by his own choice. Wally was struck with the compulsion to fall to his knees supplicate himself, as well as the not unpleasant idea that a change of pace would bring a spontaneity he was not adverse to into the evening. He was also the sort of man that might have secrets his Master would be rather pleased to learn. Perhaps even grateful and generous to learn.
Wally did not do that thing, only followed Scott to the waterfront and along the empty street to a spacious rooming house overlooking the bay.
The stairway was narrow and dimly lit, so incongruous to the Captain's fine dress, and Wally could only wonder what such a man was doing here. It was not a question he dared to pose, merely following along to door that was unlocked into a spacious room at the top of the building. Out of habit, Wally lit the lamps for him, then knelt on the floor and waited to see what would be wanted of him here.
The Captain took off his own hat, revealing a thick tail of gold hair somewhat mussed by the evening's activities, at the same time he shrugged out of the fine jacket and threw it casually over a chair.
"Speak," he ordered unhurriedly, pouring himself a small glass of wine that glowed in the flickering illumination.
"It is not often that men want my company on land, sir," he said. "Not when they can have a woman. Might I beg to know what you want of me, sir?"
The Captain laughed, a tension falling out of his shoulders. "I saw you disarm that man," he said. "You are obviously not some helpless trinket."
"I do as I might, sir."
"So I see. And you don't seem to be a fool."
"I am literate, sir. But I would not say I give much for counsel."
"Why is that?" Captain Scott asked. Wally began to laugh, and covered his face quickly, biting into his hand and shaking his head. "What's so funny?"
"No teller of tales knows quite how correct they are, sir, not about me."
"Is that so?"
"So far as I know."
"Answer me a question, then. Why is it you serve your master?"
Wally watched him sit, then approached on his hands and knees, crawling along the floor, rugs and boards under his hands. He felt how the man wore stockings, not high boots over his strong legs, and worked his way up to his knee with lips and fingers.
"Boy..." the Captain protested, without heart in it, without pushing him away, so Wally continued up his thigh.
"I usually refuse to speak with men such as yourself, in such a meeting." Wally kissed a patch of bared skin and stroked his calves lovingly. "But I like you, sir. You want to know why a slave serves his Master?"
"That was the question," he replied, his voice betraying a reaction to Wally's attention.
"I sold my soul for my heart's desire," Wally said, stealing words out of a novel.
"Wealth? Luxury?"
"Revenge," Wally breathed into the Captain's lap.
Anything more the Captain wished to say then was sent away with a well-placed attention to the hardness growing in his pants, a thing that he was obviously of a mind to conceal from the 'boy' slinking about his intimate space. "You don't seem to object," he commented with a shortness of breath. "What do you think I want from you?"
"I do not know, sir. But I know what I want from you."
The mantle of dignity shook off the Captain's shoulders with a gasp from him, a surprise at how quickly his cock was in Wally's mouth, at the feeling of it. His hips pushed forward without being asked to, to make Wally's task easier in sucking and touching himself with his left and unused hand.
Wally did not lick through to the end, but stopped with the pulsing that signaled a closeness to it. The port glittered outside the windows, so uncommonly lovely in the middle of the night, and Wally slid off his waistcoat while putting up his right foot on another chair to remove his boots and own stockings and braces. He remained facing away and kept in mind a thing his Master had once told him about his body, showing off his backside wantonly, inviting the Captain to enjoy it.
The Captain came up behind him, after a time, sliding his hands up his waist as if exploring a curiosity with touch, all over. "I've not much attraction to boys," he unenthusiastically admitted.
"I am only a slave, sir. Men may have their slaves if they like."
"What do slaves like?"
"That more of their masters might ask such questions."
"And listen, perhaps?"
"Perhaps." Wally kept his voice soft, just above a whisper, becoming someone quite different than the terror at the bar stealing away a knife. "They can do whatever they want."
The Captain reached between his legs and Wally moaned into the back of the plush chair, wanting so much more, wanting to jump him and take it all but not having enough of the inclination.
"Are you a whore?"
"Would that disgust you, sir?"
There was no response, but the answer seemed to be a clear "no." He kept touching, his hands asking questions up Wally's sides and over his shoulders.
When certainty came, it was in undoing Wally's clothes, surely and immediately stripping them off in a more tactile way than most preferred, leaning over Wally's back and feeling instead of looking at his nakedness. Wally lifted one knee at a time so that the breeches might be more easily pulled off and tossed on the floor, his thighs twitching and moving. Captain Scott ran his hands over them, then up Wally's back with care.
Wally didn't want the Captain to touch him there, to see him there. He was ashamed of his scars. But the man had insistent hands that pulled off his shirt and pushed his hair aside, over his shoulders and out of the way. A kiss on the back of his neck seemed to say he knew and was not disgusted.
Fingers traced over the patterns and sparked a rush of inexplicable terror against a gentle man. A sudden fear that his wants would be brutal and painful, though his mind knew that would not be so. The Captain had no such intentions, still so gentle.
It was not so often that Wally could say he felt truly vulnerable, should the situation be so or not. It was such that Wally didn't realize, not right away, that the exploratory contact was clinical and judgmental, a thing that sparked an entirely different sort of feeling.
"He isn't cruel," Wally sputtered, hastily collecting the words. "He doesn't, he doesn't, sir, he won't beat me."
"Never?" Captain Scott returned with skepticism. "Are you perfectly behaved?"
"He isn't cruel, sir," Wally re-iterated. The sudden change of mood set him off-balance, uncertainly attempting to keep his head against a precipice. Was he not here to entertain? He had no wish to be like an exotic beetle being torn apart in Mister Pennyworth's explorations of nature. "Are you?"
"Perfectly behaved? No, I confess I am not." There was a soft chuckle of amusement shaking free of the tension, a movement over Wally's body that seemed to try, and succeed, in smoothing it away, returning Wally's hair over what it sought to hide. "I know of so very few that are."
"Yes, sir."
The Captain yawned against the back of Wally's shoulder and his lips pulled up in a smile.
Wally found his only duty for the remainder of the evening was to be held in Captain Scott's arms, keeping him warm in a night that became quickly chilled some time after they'd settled into the room, but kept off nicely by a thick quilt and thick arms lazily moving over Wally's body a short time.
Then the Captain fell asleep.
Wally did as well, at peace in the quiet room, but he did not stay that way quite so long.
In the morning, he laid there listening to soft snores in his ear, thinking to himself. It seemed to him that Captain Scott was not so much interested in having Wally as obtaining information about Captain Blackheart. Normally, this was something that Wally should find himself concerned about, defensive against, but Scott was altogether different than most with such ambitions. Genuine, moral, wishing to preserve such ideals in himself through a knowledge of his allies.
Such things were considered until the morning grew bright and the time came that the Captain would wish to be awakened. Wally did so by continuing what he had begun to coax from the Captain the night before, stroking his balls gently with his fingertips moving through thick brown-gold hair under the covers.
As well intended, Captain Scott woke quickly in such a fashion, but did not seem to have the tension or reserve of when he'd been fully aware, moving his hips forward into Wally's attention, sighing with pleasure and squeezing his thighs up with the motion of the insides of Wally's cheeks and licking tongue. "Shameless creature," he laughed to himself, but did not seem to intend any ill toward the servant with it.
"I am, sir," Wally told the Captain's skin, soft enough that he doubted he knew the words had been uttered.
Wally took it as an agreement, as a willingness, and as such laid his licking on thick and wet, excitement fluttering in his belly. A nervousness, perhaps, peeking up again over the covers again and seeing the Captain again at the same time his cock was in his fingers, wetly being guided up against Wally's buttocks. Wally asked him with his eyes, if this was what he wanted, and was answered with dark lust already clinging everywhere on the Captain's face with wakefulness.
Down, singing with the burning satisfaction of it, Wally eased into sitting astride the Captain's hips, reaching up into cross-bars over the undraped bed-frame overhead to steady himself.
"God above," the Captain swore, groaning heavily and laying back stiff, closing his watery eyes and thrusting up again. He did so in a clumsy sort of matching to Wally's pulling up on the wood crossbar, then settling back again, up and down with purpose, flexing his arms and relaxing them, settling onto his calves and moving up from them.
His mind considered first how many hours it had been since he'd been felt and touched, taken and had, then he smiled and dismissed anything but the consideration of how good it felt. His body was singing with lazy enthusiasm, wanting more even after the Captain began swearing again and pushed up needfully to spill out his seed into Wally's body.
When he was done, Wally climbed off him, off the bed, and back again with a wet cloth, giving a quick and cursory bathing to refresh against the quickly growing warmth of the day. In full light, he enjoyed the touch and the sight of Captain Scott's body, stretched out and relaxed in the now messy bedding, muscles and skin so fine as to suit a man that seemed he should be at home in a gilt manor of high society, not in the company of savage outlaws. Not the first such man that Wally had encountered in his still-new life of some regard in the service of a pirate, but the most distinctive that way.
The wet flannel plopped into the white porcelain basin and the Captain moved, up onto his elbows as he settled up some against the headboard.
"Come here," he ordered gently, and Wally did, up between his arm and his hip. His gold-adorned index finger moved up the shaft of Wally's still-hard manhood, tracing the ridge underneath. "Are you in need of some assistance with that?"
"N-no, sir," he said, though he wanted to say he certainly was. His hands began to shake and he felt himself begin to sweat and want to move and hump something.
"Are you quite certain?"
"No, sir."
Captain Scott laughed and threw him down, rolling over him with swift energy, sucking on Wally's neck and pinching his un-pierced nipple while his other hand was busily satisfying Wally's own wants, laughing into Wally's hair and nipping into his flesh.
"You've been quite entertaining," the Captain told him. "I'm sure some reward is deserved."
"Thank you, Master," Wally sighed, realizing his mistake too late, too caught up to attempt repairing it, doubting he could, not caring, grinding his hips up wanting more, and more, and more, needing it until he could think of nothing else.
Skin, fingers, stroking, pleasure.
Wally's voice now sang out and his flesh burned in satisfaction, a feeling almost outside of existence itself, outside of everything, ebbing down to his cock wet and twitching and his body sweating over the messy bed.
Captain Scott ordered breakfast and dressed, graciously granting Wally as much time as he would like to have in lazily cleaning himself up and finally getting out of bed to be fed and spoken to more on matters still of a seriousness more than Wally would usually prefer. His thoughts were still hazy and his input still not so much required, little beyond nods and agreement added to the discussion, but he enjoyed the morning and did hope the Captain had, as well.
It was too soon, when he was dressed again and ushered out before the Captain, back to meet his Master and prepare for departure. He did doubt that it was an event to repeat itself, but it was a memory pleasant to have fresh in his thoughts under the warmth of the beaming sun.
no subject
on 2008-05-19 08:43 am (UTC)*flails and falls over in an awesome-induced coma*
no subject
on 2008-05-19 09:06 am (UTC)::pats notebook, bows::
Ever glad to be of service. :D
no subject
on 2008-06-14 02:28 pm (UTC)Also, Wally telling Alan he sold his soul for revenge is a fantastic moment...
no subject
on 2008-06-14 10:52 pm (UTC)Thank you! :D