Adoration

intolerablexsacrifice:

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_{No-one had ever showered James in compliments the way Thomas did. He was not unfamiliar with praise, exactly–it was often given by his superiors–but to be praised like this, just for Being, just for the small things that Thomas found so lovable in him, was… entirely something else. Who could blame him, really, for having to hide his face in Thomas’ chest while he processed it?}

_{He might have offered a token, flustered grumble upon raising his head again had Thomas not drawn him in so swiftly. James melted immediately against him, whole body pressing forward like it was starving for this. He was still burning- the blush had spread down his throat and fanned out- but Thomas was forgiven, if James’ eagerness to be closer was anything to go by.}

_{“You did that on purpose, you shit,” he muttered, bumping Thomas’ nose affectionately with his own, eyes closed. Both of James’ hands had splayed themselves over the other’s chest, just… resting there, just feeling him, like confirmation that this was real. Then, opening his eyes to glare at Thomas with nothing short of the utmost fondness (and watching carefully for his reaction), James added: “Fortunately, I adore you, so you’re forgiven.”}

It was a true blessing for them all that Thomas was not a particularly artistic man, for were he of the capacity to immortalize how adorable James looked in that moment he surely would have taken the time to do so. As it was, he simply kept his hand against the warmth of his lover’s skin and smiled, his thumb tracing a jaw that had known the lips of both himself and his wife.

His thoughts were waxing toward the poetic when the man spoke, jarring him from it in a delightfully crass manner that startled a laugh from Thomas before he could think to contain it. Running his hands soothingly along James’ sides to assure him that the laughter came from a place of fondness rather than mockery – ever aware that the line they walked was one that was still fettered by the chains society had wrapped around his lieutenant’s neck like a noose – Thomas hummed approval as he found himself being teased. There was an endearing mischief in James that Thomas dearly hoped to see more of.

He did not hide the fondness in his own smile as he replied, “I am blessed indeed to have your adoration,” Forgiveness was rarely something Thomas ever sought, but the adoration of a loved one – that could carry a man very far indeed. “I do hope that I never lose it.” Genuine sentiment masked behind teasing words as he laid a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek.

Mornings Like Midnight

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Sunlight dripped through a crack in the heavy curtains, aligning itself across the lieutenant’s freckled skin in such a manner as to be utterly irresistible. The fact that Thomas would have much preferred a lay in was forgotten in favor of enjoying a far more pleasant morning before getting down to business matters. He had a meeting in a few hours – and he truly had meant to let James sleep until noon, at which point he and Miranda could have woken him up together – but the temptation had simply been too much for him.

Now, he had a laughing, blushing lieutenant in his bed who was only slightly begrudging his wake up call, and Thomas found himself genuinely wondering if he could put off his entire day just to spoil James. It was only the knowledge of his lover’s predictable horror at the realization of what was missed and the threat of Miranda’s disapproval that kept him from carrying on beyond a cheeky kiss to the corner of James’ lips before sitting up and laying his hand on the warm skin between his lover’s shoulders.

“If I have to be awake this early, everyone ought to,” He quipped lightly enough, “Although,” His hand slid lazily along, fingers tracing familiar patterns now amid the constellations on James’ skin, “I cannot say I would be too opposed to finding you right where I left you, if you would like to continue your repose.”

Embracing The Dragon

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Demons had haunted her steps for so long, she had learned to find friends in the shadows. She held her hands out to them, welcomed them at her side and gave them voices through her pages – but there were some that wanted more from her. Some that wanted her voice, and left scouring wounds wherever they touched. There were some she simply could not control, and last night she had been visited by the worst kind – a demon who had stepped off the pages and back into the world itself. It had only been a moment, but she could have sworn that she saw Ned Low at the back of the pub. The man had looked right at her, and the whole world had come to a screeching halt.

When the cacophony finally quieted, Abigail had found herself blinking toward the ceiling in the cellar – she had jumped to her feet so fast, she didn’t even see Georgina as she ran for the door, yanking on it with the expectation of entrapment. The door swung open even as her friend grabbed her shoulder and hauled her back, closing the door against her cry of terror. She had spent the remainder of the hour in her friend’s arms, soothed without question as the world righted itself and at last, Abigail had been able to step back into the pub, if only to cross it so that she could leave early for the night.

Against her will, her eyes had turned back to that corner – the man sitting there looked vaguely like Low – but was by no means an exact likeness. Shame had gripped her as she was escorted home, and her sleep had been restless the whole night through. The shadows under her eyes could have passed for the effects of a broken nose by the time she got into work, and it was three hours before Georgina started her shift and immediately hauled her aside to conceal them better.

Everything seemed out of order, and her world still hadn’t felt right by the time Flint arrived, nearer to the end of a shift that had gone by on sheer muscle memory alone it seemed. It had felt, for one wild and incomprehensible moment, as though her muted terror had summoned him from the ashes of Hell itself to banish the last lingering traces of Low’s visage in her mind.

Propriety had been little more than a distant memory for long enough now that she did not hesitate to turn to him, and rely on his solid strength against unwelcome phantoms. He had played a role in freeing her from Low, even if it had just been in liberating her from the man who had stopped Low and his crew entirely. It stood to reason then, that he might be what she needed to liberate herself of the memories.

He seemed to understand, to some extent, and for a time she simply afforded herself the comfort of knowing he was there. Eventually though, she did step back and force herself to breathe, to focus beyond the hollow inside of herself that echoed with her despair and to instead frame the words necessary to describe her plight. He alone would know, with the least amount of words, what had caused her so much distress. She wondered if perhaps he had been summoned by Georgina, rather than by some otherworldy sense of wrongness – strange as it might be to think, Abigail could find truth in either possibility.

“I thought I saw Captain Low yesterday.” She took a slow breath, then, “But while I know that to be impossible – I wonder if what Captain Vane assured me was true.” Her gaze hesitantly sought out the strange mixture of his own – another call toward the fae and fell stories that surrounded him. Needing to know, to hear from someone she had no reason to doubt, that all of her demons existed only in her mind. “Captain Low – and his crew – they are dead, aren’t they?”

A New Way To Grow

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When Hal had heard of Flint’s sudden retirement, he certainly hadn’t believed it to be anything more than some sort of ruse. Some strategy for another mad scheme – but what he hoped to achieve had been so fucking incomprehensible that he had found himself looking into it more deeply out of sheer macabre curiosity.

In the end, it had all mounted up to his own return to Nassau and a rather early retirement as well – not that he had any intention of letting Flint know his reasons for stepping off the account had anything to do with him. His ego was dangerous enough, even if it was relatively quiet these days. He’d checked in on the man a few times, noting the steady slip toward a dangerous tip in the man’s humors and knowing if he was going to make any difference in it, now was the time to do so.

He hadn’t really known what to expect from the old gesture of familiar humanity and comfort, but a full embrace was so far off the list that he just stood there, struck stupid by such an unanticipated openness from the other man. The comment jarred him out of it, and earned a laugh even as Flint drew back and seemed to retreat in as complete a way as he could manage, that old Navy propriety snapping up like a shield so fast it was a wonder the man didn’t give himself a headache.

“Takes one to know one, I think,” He shot back, even as he reached out and slung an arm around the other man’s middle and giving him a squeeze back, shaking his head against the aborted mention of gratitude and the past between them – or rather the point of it which separated them. “We all make mistakes,” He remarked, almost lightly, “If we live to learn from them, we might as well do so.”

He recognized his own crime against Flint that day, belatedly. It had been months of frustration after the fact, before he had dawned upon that little realization, and with it he had found a strange balance between annoyance and understanding. It was a place Flint had lived so well for so long, it rather made sense that even this would be something Hal could figure out how to forgive.

“But enough of all that,” Hal cleared the air between them with acknowledgement and a focus forward, “How about you walk me through this garden – let’s see how much you know.” He was fair certain it had been Barlow that had maintained it, and while that did not necessarily mean Flint didn’t know how to manage it, it did give them something to focus on for a time and would be a project Flint could maintain, which should help form routines essential to balancing one’s humors.

The majority of Silver’s learning when it came to cooking naturally came from Randall and exposure to the man’s often crude, but effective teaching methods. He’d never been slapped with a fish before, but he certainly endeavoured never to face that particular brand of wrath again, and his performance in the kitchen notably improved aterward.

Of the crew, Randall was the only one to know Silver preferred insults in Spanish, as he claimed they were more creative. He even taught Randall a few, just for something to do between them – and frankly for a near mute the man seemed mighty interested in learning how to insult others in a language he wasn’t fluent in. Silver chalked it up to the fact every man tended to want to know the filthiest parts of a language first, and left it at that.

Due to this though, Randall could pick up on when Silver was having a momentary culinary struggle, if only because he would start insulting the food on account of being difficult. Which would lead to interventions when he was in a good mood – and a very sick crew when he wasn’t.

Unlocking The Cage

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Horatio did not press as Bush turned from him, remaining on the other side of the table, his hands still holding to the back of a chair as he contained the true depths of his anger as the state of matters was more wholly revealed. Years as Tia Dalma’s apprentice had taught him a great deal – not the least of which being that there was a certain order to things that was by no means being maintained by the witch who presently held this man’s life bound in contractual service.

He was offended on behalf of Bush – but also as one bound by the arcane. This was by no means excusable, and Horatio was more than ready to take action against it – however, he also knew that doing so without the man’s consent would play its own risks with obligation that he had no wish to entangle in what was already a very strange circumstantial relationship.

They had been through a great deal as officers together – both torn away from the life by magic – and through some grace, found one another again. Horatio wanted nothing more than to free William Bush of the shackles set upon him – and to perhaps gain in so doing a companion he could trust on a journey that held more questions than it did answers. However, it would not do for the man to think even for a moment that he was trading one set of chains for another.

“The requirements of your freedom are not what I am concerned with, Mister Bush,” Horatio stated carefully, stepping at last from around the table to approach his one-time superior. “They are inconsequential to me. What I want to know – what I need to know – is that you desire that freedom enough to allow me to tend to those requirements – and that you trust me enough to know that my assistance here does not forge a debt between us.”

Reaching out, he clasped the damaged hand by the wrist and drew it to eye level, meeting the man’s gaze across from it. “This is abhorrent, not because of what it looks like but because of what it represents. Her power over you – and your willingness to be grateful to her for it because of who it all spared. I would have a better life for you than this – whether I witness it or otherwise.”

Surrender Of The Storm

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In the midst of a storm – no matter the strength of the gales – a man needed to keep on his toes. There were too many things that could go wrong – all of which needed to be accounted for and mitigated or compensated for in orderly fashion. Immediacy and efficiency were key – and keeping ahead of the worst a storm could do took not only a great deal of mental maneuvering, it was also exceptionally taxing in a physical sense. Simply put, to say that Jack was exhausted would be to set matters into a much milder format than the reality of it.

He relaxed mostly because he trusted Armando to stand steady even with his weight, and he knew that now was the wisest time for rest. He did not resist the yawn that overcame him, though he was hesitant to retire entirely when there was work that still needed overseeing. “Once matters settle, aye,” He agreed, indicating he was simply taking a moment for himself, and intended to return to assisting soon enough.

The Need Of Kindness

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Adaptable though he surely was, Theodore would be the first to confess that he was not the sort of person who was used to loneliness. There was always someone to lean on – and having never been in a position where he was thoroughly isolated, he’d never saw need to test his capacity for striving onward without companionship.

Though he had never thought of it ( and likely would not, until someone saw fit to point it out ) Theodore had chosen a profession that would ensure he would always be surrounded by a sense of family. A brotherhood as opposed to the sisterhood he came up in, if one wished to wax poetically upon it.

Going from first lieutenant aboard a ship with over eight hundred souls, to a pirate of circumstance aboard a far smaller vessel with absolutely no connections or allies ought to have been terrifying – but Theodore had seen the adventure for what it was and thrown himself into the work as though he had chosen to be there all along.

He had made a few friends among the crew, even, but there was no denying he’d made a favorite of the captain himself. Some likely saw it as pandering, or some method of payment for his place aboard the ship, but such manipulative measures were rather beyond Theodore. He felt a gratitude toward Flint for setting him free, and for giving him work, but he had felt gratitude toward many people he would not be so keen to lean on as he was the quiet man beside him now.

In truth, it was simply a familiarity – Flint had a grumpy and reticent air about him, but he was gradually accepting of contact and seemed to thrive from it, though nothing about that was ever said or acknowledged. It reminded Theodore a great deal of how Daniel used to be, and that alone was encouragement enough to maintain his quiet favoritism – for if Flint was anything like Daniel, he surely needed kindness a very great deal, even if he’d never ask for it, let alone admit to wanting it.

The silence was companionable, and Theodore maintained it even when he noticed something he felt might be of interest to Flint. Patting the man’s arm lightly, he pointed toward the forms rising above the crest of the water, spray indicating their exact positions. Theodore wasn’t sure how many – he could count five, for certain, but there seemed to be smaller forms that were harder to make out in the growing dimness as the sun settled toward the last of its rays for the day.

In What We Hide

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The question sounded like the kind of thing a man didn’t want an answer to – either because he already knew his thoughts on the matter, or he intended to make a point through the inquiry itself. For that reason, Charles maintained a steady silence in its wake, which proved to be the proper course as William carried on.

He was a strange sort of man, and it was at times like these Charles found himself reminded as to why he had taken interest enough in him to begin with, to have Rackham run him through the duties expected of a man aboard the Ranger.

Although the other man captained Fancy and was no longer technically quartermaster to Ranger, the two ships operated in perfect tandem together, resulting in their crews tending to share space and resources often enough that come hiring rounds, Charles and Jack would head out together, their respective quartermasters minding the men as they set to work hiring for a combined crew.

William was a man who at times appeared too soft for this life, and at others – such as this moment – where he seemed to lack anything resembling fear as he challenged Charles on what appeared to be some sort of philosophical level. There were contradictions to the man that were beyond fascinating, but as it was Charles could tell the rhetoric had reached an end, and sought an answer in its wake.

“If these ideas are a comfort to you, then I see no reason why you should not keep them,” Charles was not a man for philosophical arguments – a man’s beliefs were his own, and it was not for other men to sway them unless it held some sort of personal benefit to do so. Manipulating a man through his philosophies was the sort of intellectual warfare that set people apart from others – Charles himself had met many masters of the craft – but it was not his strong suit, so he did not partake unless he felt it absolutely necessary to achieving his own ends.

“I do wonder what you hope to accomplish by sharing them.” Was William perhaps attempting to manipulate Charles into revealing some better side of himself – or was the man working to delude himself into an idea of who Charles Vane was, and seeking to shroud himself with false comforts to escape the reality of him?