Challenge entry
Title: Any Port in a Storm (*snigger*)
Genre: Erotica
Fandom: Same as my fic. Same OC, too. This happens roughly a month after chapter one. When I get to this in the plot, I'll make a note of it.
Rating: NC-17. Duh, it's smut.
Warnings: It's het. It's Maccus/OC, nothing much to warn about. Fully consensual.
So, gentle reader, here it is. This is only the second time in my life I attempt to write smut. (Well, that's not entirely truthful, but it *is* only the second time the attempt was completed.) The first time I did it was a couple of years ago and it was crap anyway. So bear with me.
This ties in with my fic, so look to that for explanations for some of my references here. This OC was not meant to end up with Maccus, but it ended up seeming right when I started writing. I'll see where I'll take the main fic from here. For now, ye may enjoy this little naughty vision of mine. And ye gods how I wish I was my own OC right now.
Oh, and one more thing. Since I simply cannot write smut from anything but a woman's POV, this is the much earlier than intended piece from my OC's POV. Very much not planned :P
Any Port in a Storm
Straining to hold on to the railing she leaned against the wind and pulled herself in the direction of the poop deck. This storm was proving to be quite the handful. The captain stood at the helm and merely seemed to enjoy it. Of course he did not have to move about on the ship either, but she could not help but feel he was rather too detached from events on slippery deck. It was as if he did not even notice how they all struggled to keep the ship aright. Unloading the heavy roll of rope from her shoulder she knelt down to secure it. Just then the ship lurched and she lost her balance hitting her head against some of the barnacles that seemed to grow everywhere on the ship. She cursed. It might be that the barnacles made it somewhat easier to get a good grip on things, but they were bloody sharp.
Fastening the knot she stood back up and cursed again, this time at the rain that had them all drenched. The water ran down her body underneath her clothes in multitudes of rivulets and she was getting much too cold for comfort. Despairingly she looked down at herself and started at the sight of a reddish brown spot forming on the front of her shirt. She quickly checked her head and then winced. The bloody barnacles had bloodied her up alright. A nice gash in the middle of her forehead. Nothing too serious she concluded, but the rain water spread the blood everywhere, and she was beginning to look a right mess.
She looked around for a place where she could seek some temporary shelter. Instead she found the eyes of Koleniko. The coxswain had been helpful this first month on board, but she found it difficult to feel any kind of trust towards anyone on board. She could see the question in his eyes, but she wiped at her forehead, shrugged and rolled her eyes to show that it was nothing serious. He didn't quite seem to believe it, but nodded and turned back to his own doings. Then a particularly forceful gust of wind sent the boat rolling heavily to starboard and pitched nose down.
Feeling herself sliding across the deck, she grabbed the nearest end of rope and clung to it for dear life. It tightened and she was slung into the railing, this time left shoulder first rather than her head. She felt her bones creaking, but they held. Feeling groggy she managed to right herself.
From behind a voice shouted something at her. She could not make out what was said aside from “... Captain's... stupid... girly!”
She only half-turned her head to shout back: “Mind yer own arse, ye filthy swab!” She had found that she could keep most of the crew at a respectful distance by joining in with their constant insults.
Suddenly an arm wrapped around her waist, and she was pulled flush against the body behind her. She recognised the arm. Or rather: she recognised the claws that adorned its hand. Then the first mate's hoarse voice spoke in her ear: “Mind who ye be takin' tha' tone with, girly” The threat was implicit. He did not need to say anything else.
She gulped in response and stammered out a “S...s...sorry, s...sir.” She was suddenly very aware of how much their clothes clung to their bodies and how close he held her. The urge to panic and tear herself away from him rose up as a lump in her throat.
“The captain ordered us all below deck, girly, it appears ye forgot to listen to him.”
“This blighted storm isn't making it any easier, you bl...” she stopped herself before she could shout another insult at him.
“Yer attention will always stay with the captain. Always! Storms come and go, missy, better get used to it.” He was taunting her. She bit her lip and forced herself not to rise to the bait. Instead she looked around and realised that most of the crew was already gone from the deck. When had that happened? Had she blacked out when she hurt her shoulder?
This was not the time nor the place to think of what had already happened. She tried to turn and head to the hatch leading to the crew quarters, but the first mate held her steady and she could not match his strength. Instead of allowing her to turn, he pulled her with him. She struggled and shouted at him that if he expected her to obey orders, he'd have to let her. His response was a low growl in her ear followed by: “Shut up and stop struggling!”
That was an order she was able to follow, and so she did. He guided her to the door leading to where the captain had his quarters. She was not entirely certain this seemed like a good idea, but she was too wet and cold to care. Disobeying the angry shark-man's orders was much more immediately dangerous. The door had already been latched and secured for the storm, so the first mate held her against the bulkhead with a hand on her shoulder, while grasping the latch with the other. He did not have much success with it as another towering wave crashed over the deck and caused them both to stumble, and with nothing to hold himself steady his grip on her loosened.
She grasped the opportunity. When he had regained his balance she had placed herself between him and door.
“I won't slip!” she shouted at him, letting him know he didn't have to hold her steady. She thought she saw the shadow of grin dart across his face, but it disappeared too quickly for her to be sure she had really seen it.
As he went for the latch again she suddenly regretted her move. His body was very close to hers. Perhaps that grin she had seen, had not been entirely imagined on her part. She could feel his heavy breath on her hair and was certain he could feel hers on his chest - even with the storm winds whipping about them. As the ship rolled again she found herself leaning into him. She quickly pushed away and sought the relative comfort of the wooden bulkhead, but he had noticed her sway and pressed a leg against her to steady her. Her first reaction had been embarrassment. Some crew member she turned out to be. The first storm they had run into and she was making a fool of herself.
Her second reaction was the realisation that his leg was positioned rather snugly between hers. One kind of embarrassment turned into another, and she was sure if it had been broad daylight her blush would have been visible several miles away. When she caught herself once more admiring the first mate's muscular chest she mentally slapped herself. She was thankful that they did not stay like that for more than a few seconds, before he had the door open and pushed them both through.
Moments later they were standing in a mostly darkened hallway looking at each other while puddles formed on the floor beneath them. Both wore carefully guarded expressions. Praying to all the gods she knew of, she hoped he had not noticed her embarrassment, nor the appreciative glances she had cast at him. She had never been in this part of the ship. It was off-limits to everyone but the captain and the first mate, the latter of whom was currently staring at her with an unreadable expression. It made her uneasy, and she was certain, if they did not do anything soon, she would start to fidget like a child, who had been stealing apples from the neighbours.
She decided to break the silence: “Where...?” That seemed to bring her companion back to reality and he gestured for her to follow him. The ship was still thrown about on the waves like a leaf, and they had to lean on the walls for support, but at least it was not slippery with water in here. He led her only a brief ways down the hallway, before he opened a door for her. She stepped inside and stopped short. This was his cabin. He walked up very close to her and closed the door behind them effectively shutting out the dim light from the hallway. Quickly taking another step forward she turned to face him. It did not help her much, as she could see absolutely nothing in the oppressive darkness.
When he moved she felt more than heard it. The rough shells on his lower arm brushed against hers and moments later a small oil lamp was lit. It sputtered a bit, but provided enough light for them to see each other. His eyes looked blacker than usual in this light, and he kept his lips pressed tightly together. She lowered her eyes. He clearly was not too happy about having to babysit her, and she couldn't really blame him. This was the first mate's private cabin, and she felt like an intruder.
“No need to fret.” His gruff voice interrupted her musings and also seemed to trigger something in her.
“I am not fretting!” She shot back defiantly, knowing all too well that it was a lie. Hopefully it was not too blatant.
“Yes, ye are.” He took another step towards her and she instinctively took one away from him. That, however, brought her up against the wall and with his next step he was standing as close to her as he had out in the storm. “I can smell it. Ye be fretting, girly. No need to.” With that he closed the gap between them and pressed her body against the wall with his own. Staring at the hard muscles of his chest she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Was this it then? Whatever he decided to do now, she had not much of a chance to prevent it. His breathing had slowed again, unlike her own. She was not quite sure whether it was because of her recent struggles in the storm or because of what she knew was coming.
She had managed to avoid the unwanted attentions of the crew for a month now. Somehow she had known all the time that it could not last, and thinking it over she figured she should probably be glad it was the first mate and not one of the others standing in front of her now. He was the one who had been charged with keeping her from serious harm at the hands of the crew, he had told her that much. She knew it was not a duty he appreciated, but she was also fairly confident that he would not harm her himself either.
He brought his right hand up to grasp her chin and turned her face towards his own. She did not fight him, but did not meet his eyes either. With his other hand he brushed the soaked strands of hair away from her face and carefully examined the wound on her forehead. Somewhere in the still rational part of her mind she was impressed with how he avoided cutting her with those claws of his. She kept her eyes cast down, but at the angle he held her face, that simply meant she was staring at his chest. The slow rise and fall she could see with every breath of his seemed to calm her as well, and she began to relax a bit more. If he was going to force himself on her, he would already have done so, she told herself. Like hell, another voice in her head interrupted, he was just making sure she wouldn't bleed all over his cabin. She found she could not entirely shake the uneasiness.
Seemingly satisfied that her wound was not serious he let his hand trail down over her cheek, turning her head slightly to look at it. She winced and tried to turn her head the other way, but he held on and prevented her movement.
“It 'urts ye.” He concluded quietly. That got her full attention and she finally looked up to meet his eyes. She was still unable to read his expression, though. But he seemed to be waiting for some sort of response from her, she looked away again. This time he did not prevent her from turning her head to the right.
“Only in bad weather. It... pulls.” She tried to explain. “As if the skin is too tight.” She felt him nod. And then his hand returned to her scarred cheek. She really didn't want to discuss it, things were already progressing in directions she would rather avoid. But he didn't ask. His fingers merely traced the broad indentation in her cheek, as if he was curious. She couldn't figure out what he wanted and she was growing nervous again.
He seemed to realise this, and he removed both hands from her face, letting his left rest on her shoulder instead. And then he surprised her.
“I ain't seen soft scar tissue in... years.” She looked back at him with what she knew must be a puzzled expression. She had never expected him to volunteer anything about... anything, really.
“Wounds on the Dutchman don't jus' heal. They change the body.” He explained and gestured at a rough line of large, hard scales and grey barnacles running along his left side.
“Oh.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as she curiously reached out to trace the old scale-covered wound. It was a straight line, probably a cut from a sword, she surmised. The sharp scales had simply grown out from the rough skin surrounding the old wound. Fascinated, she slid her fingers lightly across the rough, grey skin around the wound. In the light from the oil lamp it seemed to shimmer like silver.
A sharp intake of breath called her attention back to the rest of the man. She took in the sight of all of him. While the hand on her shoulder merely rested heavily there, her gaze followed his right arm until it fell on his claws. He had dug them deep into the planks of the wall she was leaning against. She pulled her hand away from his scar as if burned.
His breathing had become heavy and ragged. She dared to look up into his eyes again. This time she did see something in them, and it frightened her. Hunger. Intense hunger. He was looking every bit the predator, and he was looking at her, like a shark stalking its prey. She imagined she made a rather accurate impression of a gold fish, gaping at him like she did.
“Girl, ye're a smart one. Ye know what'll happen if ye choose te stay.” She kept gaping at him. Did he really mean that? Was he just going to let her go if she wanted to? She glanced at the door but did not make a move towards it. After all, what awaited her out there was a perilous venture across the deck, and then she would face the crew, and she doubted she could keep being lucky. If the highly disciplined first mate had arrived at this point, what about the rest of scraggly bunch? She shuddered at the thought. Then she heard the shark-skinned man in front of her let out a strained breath - almost like a sigh, she thought.
“Go. Go now. While ye can.” He had closed his eyes and turned his face away from her, and she could tell he was fighting to keep his voice level.
“Who says I was going to leave?” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt. His eyes snapped back to hers. He sniffed at the air.
“Ye're afraid, and jus' now ye shuddered. Since it were nay from excitement it must've been disgust. So go...” Though she was impressed with his ability to read her body, she had to correct his assumption.
“You're right. But you're also wrong.” He cocked his head, his black eyes piercing her with that hungry look. She steeled herself. What she was going to say now, would probably be the longest piece she had uttered since joining the Dutchman's crew: “I am afraid. Aye. You say yourself, I've good reason to be. And I've never...” She couldn't hold his gaze. This was embarrassing. “Uhm, yeah. Disgust? Aye, but it was disgust with my alternative to staying here. Think about it. Where will I go? To the crew? Aye, bloody brilliant idea. If you can't resist the temptation anymore, how likely will I be to last the night with them?” She let out the last of her breath, and looked back to the man leaning over her, but she avoided his eyes.
He was staring at her, blinking dumbfounded, looking like he had trouble processing what she had said. She suddenly found herself growing self-conscious. “What?”
“Ye've never...? Blast it. I was thinkin' ye be older...” He took a deep breath and straightened up, though he let his hand remain on her shoulder. “Ye look older than tha'.”
“Older than what? I'm twenty-four.” That didn't seem to explain anything to him. He still looked as puzzled as ever. She almost began to find it funny. Seeing the first mate not knowing on which leg to stand was a rare occurrence.
“Twenty-four? So I were nay wrong about ye. But... ye never 'ad a 'usband?” He looked at her incredulously, and she realised just how different in every way the world of the Dutchman was. She shook her head and gestured to her face. The hand on her shoulder once again followed the scar and came to rest on her cheek.
“But... it be but a scar...” He shook his head as his thumb gently rubbed her marred skin. She raised her own hand to cover his. With a gentle touch she traced the length of his fingers and claws, like she had on that first day on the Dutchman's deck. Her other hand found its way back to his scar and let a gentle finger trace the outline of the sharp scales again.
“To some people scars matter.” But she was unsure whether he heard her. His breathing had become ragged again as she touched him. She smiled to herself. Interesting how a gentle touch could hold such power over the powerful first mate. His eyes were closed tightly and his thin lips slightly parted. Moving her left hand from his she brought it to his face and repeated his own action in turning his face to hers. Cupping his cheek she ran her thumb over his eyelid silently imploring him to look at her. He did.
She was taken aback by the burning desire she saw in his black eyes. Intently hoping she made the right decision, she whispered: “I choose to stay.”
“Ye don't know what ye be agreein' to, girl.” His hand had returned to grasp her chin, and hers did not move from his cheek as he brought his face closer to hers. She could feel his hot breath on her face. “I am no gentle man.”
“By saying so, you're proving to me that I'll be a good deal better off with you right now than with any of the others.” She wasn't quite sure that being better off meant that she was well off, though. But she hoped. He closed his eyes briefly as if acknowledging her statement, and then his lips descended on hers. They felt rough on her own, and he was not gentle with her, as he had warned. She felt his hunger wash over her and let herself be carried on its wave. As a soft tongue contrasting with rough lips slid along her lower lip requesting entrance she willingly admitted it. He tasted of sea, and she immediately felt at home and safe as their tongues dueled for supremacy. She flinched a bit as her tongue came in contact with his teeth; they were sharp and moments later she tasted faint traces of blood. Apparently so did he, and she heard his heavy breaths turn into a low growl.
His hands found her sides, and she gave a surprised squeak, as he lifted her up supporting her between himself and the rough boards of the cabin wall. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself up. That made them both stop short. Gasping for breath they looked at each other. Brown eyes opened wide as she became aware of the hard bulge now nestled between her legs. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She licked her lips and tasted her own blood again. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and back again. Then he gently stroked her hair and licked the blood off her lips. Perhaps he could be gentle if he really wanted to, she mused.
With a firm grip in her hair he tilted her head gaining access to her throat. He kissed, licked and nibbled his way along her jawline, across her scar, especially paying attention to its edges that still pained her. She moaned. She had never expected anything pleasurable to be connected with the hideous mark on her face. Wanting to kiss him again, she tried moving her head, but he held her still. She was just about to protest when he found a spot on her neck that sent shivers down her spine. Her gasp made it clear to him that he had found a sensitive spot. She could feel him smirk against her throat, before he gently bit at her skin causing her to moan again quietly.
This was not at all what she had expected. Strange, new sensations washed over her body as heat began pooling low in her belly. Suddenly he drew away from her neck, drawing a whimper of protest from her. The protest was quickly silenced, though, as he pulled her sodden shirt over her head. She had not even noticed him undoing the laces. Her shoulders and abdomen bared he looked down at her, still with that predatory glint in his eyes. In a brief moment of clarity, she realised how he must still be restraining himself. Seeing him like this, muscles all tense as before a battle, made her very grateful for his discipline - and his willingness to apply it. He truly did intend to keep his word and not harm her, but all the same, she decided she better not push him too far.
On her own initiative she made to untie the binds around her breasts. His hand had returned to its firm grasp on her hair, so she could not see what she was doing. She didn't need to, either, for she was busy looking at his face as he stared transfixed at her hands. Quickly undoing the knot in front she leaned away from the wall, towards him, and began unwrapping herself. She was not quite sure whether it was her movement against his body, the promise of her imminent nudity or both that made him groan. But she felt the slow vibrations in her thighs, and they traveled straight to the pool of liquid heat between her legs. It was a nice feeling, and she decided she liked it. A lot.
Having unwound the binds she let the cloth fall to the floor and rested her back against the wall once more. He let go of her hair, and let his eyes roam over her body. She began feeling self-conscious once more and was about to try and cover herself up, when he kissed her again. She thought she heard him mutter something against her lips, but she couldn't make out what it was. Once again she was drowning in his hungry passion, and he pressed closer. With every roll of the ship her nipples rubbed against his rough skin, sending tingles straight to her groin. A tightening sensation made her moan, and she found she wanted more. Much more. She felt like she was on fire and met his ferocity head-on with a growl of her own. Reaching up to rub the back of his neck she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. Hard. Even his blood tasted salty, she found.
Apparently he had not expected such eagerness from her. He pulled back with a slightly surprised look on his face. As his gaze met hers she let all her newly conjured need flow into the look she sent him. He saw it. A grin slowly spread on his face and setting her down he quickly tore off her breeches and then his own garments. He didn't let go of her at any moment, though, which was probably for the best. She wasn't sure she could have remained standing, light-headed as she was. Leaning on him she made short work of the bindings around her privates. They were soaked and not just with rain. He sniffed as she let them drop to the floor. She would have sworn his grin was positively feral, but she didn't have time for that.
He quickly had her pinned against the wall again, kissing her with frenzied passion. Suddenly she felt his hand moving between her legs. She tensed up. What was he doing? Though he had not yet cut her with those claws of his, she wasn't quite sure she liked having them that close to her important bits. Her apprehension was short lived, though, as she suddenly felt a jolting sensation flashing like lightning through her body, then settling and adding to the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. She must have said something because when she opened her eyes again she found his sharp-toothed grin in front of her.
“Ye like tha', aye?” He brushed the same spot again with his fingers. She could but mewl in response as all words left her.
“Aye, ye're ready.” She looked at him, not understanding what he meant, through the haze of lust that was her mind. He held his hand in front of her. His fingers were glistening with a clear, sticky fluid. With a smirk he licked it off his fingers and walked backwards to the bunk, dragging her with him. He sat on the mattress pulling her down, so she was straddling him. He took hold of her chin and held her gaze with an intense look of his own.
“Ye'll be in control. Ye can choose the pace yerself...” His voice sounded more hoarse than usual. “... for now.”
She nodded gravely. She knew well how much that concession was worth, and she intended to make the most of it. Looking down between them she studied his cock, and swallowed thickly. She suddenly lost heart. Its head looked an angry purple as it stood proudly at attention, what worried her, though, was the lobster-like shell covering on its overside, akin to the ones covering his lower arms.
He brought a hand to her cheek and gently stroked her. “It'll fit.” She looked at him uncertainly, she didn't quite believe him, it seemed big to her. Big and uncomfortable. Bringing her attention back to his cock she tentatively wrapped her fingers around it. It twitched in her hand and he let out a groan. He had closed his eyes, and she could see the muscles in his jaw working furiously. Gently she let her fingers slide along the soft underside of his cock until she reached the purple head. From his breathing she could tell he liked it. She grasped it with both hands and explored the unexpectedly soft underside. It felt almost like silk - a sharp contrast to the hard covering opposing it.
His hands left her arms. One came to rest on her waist and the other reached between them to find that sensitive nub between her legs. She gasped as he once more brought forth that amazing electrical feeling rushing through her blood. Breathing heavily, she placed both hands on his shoulders, as she had to steady herself against him. He urged her to raise herself up and then took one of her hands, placing it back on his cock. She followed his directions and held herself above him.
“Ye'll 'urt a mite the firs' time.” He warned her quietly in a gravelly voice. She nodded, she had heard that before. Then she lowered herself unto him slowly. He certainly felt big, but she didn't exactly have anything to compare to. Inching herself down she felt him pressing against her barrier. He felt it, too, she could tell as their eyes met. She raised herself slightly, for a moment he looked like he thought she had regretted what they were doing. Then she clenched her teeth and sat down heavily, feeling a sharp pain as her hymen broke. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails drawing blood as they moaned in unison. She was fairly certain she would have her own set of marks on her waist, where his claws were currently holding her very tightly.
Slowly the pain receded into a dull throb that eventually became the throbbing pulse of need. She moved against him and found the friction to be exactly what she needed. His hands on her waist helped steady her movements, but she soon grew frustrated with the inefficiency of it. She let out a growl. That had him seeking out her eyes once more. This time with a question in his own. His question was answered with a deep kiss conveying her need. She did not let go of his lips until she felt her back pressed once more against the wall. Briefly she wondered at that, but then he moved. Holding her steady against the wall he slowly pulled out of her, only to push back in with such force it knocked the wind out of her. And it felt amazing. The hard shells at the root of his cock rubbed against her nub sending waves of energy surging through her.
He kept his pace slow at first, but soon he picked up speed. She did not mind at all. Friction was good. She let him know she approved by nudging him with her legs. He was not slow to comply and settled into a steady rhythm. His teeth found her neck again and grazed the skin there, she buried her face in his as she felt evermore light-headed. The pleasure was building and her entire body was tingling. It was as if she was losing feeling in her extremities, as if her body closed in upon itself. She clawed at his back cutting her fingers on the sharp growths there. She ignored it and pulled him closer as she felt like she was falling into herself. Then lightning exploded inside her eyelids and she bit down on his shoulder. She felt a sharp pain in her own and heard from far away his hoarse groan, as she was carried away on a flood of pleasure she had never imagined possible.
When she opened her eyes again she was lying against his chest, nestled in his arms. She moved to get up, but he tightened his grip. She could live with that. Letting out a contented sigh she inhaled the scent of him; of them; of sex. Eventually she did get slightly uncomfortable. In fact, when she became aware enough to start noticing her surroundings, she realised that they were lying in a heap on the floor, him leaning against the wall. It seemed like he had just turned around with her and collapsed. It sounded rather likely. She also noticed a burning pain in her right shoulder.
This time when she moved to get up into an upright position, she did not let him hold her down. She groaned with every movement. Every part of her body was sore. Her back had taken quite the beating, and she felt what she expected would be some impressive bruises within the day. Bringing her left hand to her right shoulder she found that she was bleeding. She looked at him and found a contented smirk plastered on his face.
“Sorry, 'bout tha'. Go' carried away.” He didn't look at all sorry, she thought. He looked rather smug, actually. With the teeth he sported the wound would probably scar, too. A new scar on top of her old one. She briefly wondered if scar tissue could be scarred further and then noticed his right shoulder. Immediately she felt bad. Even with her blunt teeth, she had bitten down hard enough to draw blood, and it was not a clean cut; it looked rather nasty, in fact. He noticed the direction of her gaze.
“Ye're a lass after me own heart.” He sent her another of those feral grins, showing his rows of sharp teeth, and she felt utterly embarrassed. She had never thought she could be so wanton as to forget everything around her. Fighting to regain some dignity she shot him a scalding glance.
“Right now I'm a lass after a bed.”
He chuckled at her defensive statement and gestured at her mostly limp body, his smug smile returned. “Aye, ye look like ye need a rest.” He then nodded towards the bunk. “Tha' be a bed. Feel free to use it.”
She smiled her thanks and got up, pausing only to wince as he slipped out of her. His smile became more of a smirk. “Sore?”
“In places I never knew I had.” She deadpanned and turned towards the bunk. Before she could climb in, though, his arms wrapped around her from behind, and she heard him sniff at her hair.
“A month ago I said to the cap'n, ye didnae belong 'ere. I was wrong. Ye smelled o' the deep sea even before ye became a crew member.” He let go of her again. When next he spoke his tone had changed, though she could not quite tell what had changed about it. “The storm seems t'ave lessened summat. I be needin' to check up on the crew.”
He quickly pulled on his breeches and left her to her own devices. Not that she had much but sleep on her mind. Her mind was already drifting off to unconsciousness, when it suddenly struck her that the ship was rolling as much as it was before they had gone to his cabin. The storm had not let up at all.
She had no idea what to make of that. Instead she decided to sleep while she had the chance.
*********************'
Comments and criticism always muchly appreciated.
Genre: Erotica
Fandom: Same as my fic. Same OC, too. This happens roughly a month after chapter one. When I get to this in the plot, I'll make a note of it.
Rating: NC-17. Duh, it's smut.
Warnings: It's het. It's Maccus/OC, nothing much to warn about. Fully consensual.
So, gentle reader, here it is. This is only the second time in my life I attempt to write smut. (Well, that's not entirely truthful, but it *is* only the second time the attempt was completed.) The first time I did it was a couple of years ago and it was crap anyway. So bear with me.
This ties in with my fic, so look to that for explanations for some of my references here. This OC was not meant to end up with Maccus, but it ended up seeming right when I started writing. I'll see where I'll take the main fic from here. For now, ye may enjoy this little naughty vision of mine. And ye gods how I wish I was my own OC right now.
Oh, and one more thing. Since I simply cannot write smut from anything but a woman's POV, this is the much earlier than intended piece from my OC's POV. Very much not planned :P
Any Port in a Storm
Straining to hold on to the railing she leaned against the wind and pulled herself in the direction of the poop deck. This storm was proving to be quite the handful. The captain stood at the helm and merely seemed to enjoy it. Of course he did not have to move about on the ship either, but she could not help but feel he was rather too detached from events on slippery deck. It was as if he did not even notice how they all struggled to keep the ship aright. Unloading the heavy roll of rope from her shoulder she knelt down to secure it. Just then the ship lurched and she lost her balance hitting her head against some of the barnacles that seemed to grow everywhere on the ship. She cursed. It might be that the barnacles made it somewhat easier to get a good grip on things, but they were bloody sharp.
Fastening the knot she stood back up and cursed again, this time at the rain that had them all drenched. The water ran down her body underneath her clothes in multitudes of rivulets and she was getting much too cold for comfort. Despairingly she looked down at herself and started at the sight of a reddish brown spot forming on the front of her shirt. She quickly checked her head and then winced. The bloody barnacles had bloodied her up alright. A nice gash in the middle of her forehead. Nothing too serious she concluded, but the rain water spread the blood everywhere, and she was beginning to look a right mess.
She looked around for a place where she could seek some temporary shelter. Instead she found the eyes of Koleniko. The coxswain had been helpful this first month on board, but she found it difficult to feel any kind of trust towards anyone on board. She could see the question in his eyes, but she wiped at her forehead, shrugged and rolled her eyes to show that it was nothing serious. He didn't quite seem to believe it, but nodded and turned back to his own doings. Then a particularly forceful gust of wind sent the boat rolling heavily to starboard and pitched nose down.
Feeling herself sliding across the deck, she grabbed the nearest end of rope and clung to it for dear life. It tightened and she was slung into the railing, this time left shoulder first rather than her head. She felt her bones creaking, but they held. Feeling groggy she managed to right herself.
From behind a voice shouted something at her. She could not make out what was said aside from “... Captain's... stupid... girly!”
She only half-turned her head to shout back: “Mind yer own arse, ye filthy swab!” She had found that she could keep most of the crew at a respectful distance by joining in with their constant insults.
Suddenly an arm wrapped around her waist, and she was pulled flush against the body behind her. She recognised the arm. Or rather: she recognised the claws that adorned its hand. Then the first mate's hoarse voice spoke in her ear: “Mind who ye be takin' tha' tone with, girly” The threat was implicit. He did not need to say anything else.
She gulped in response and stammered out a “S...s...sorry, s...sir.” She was suddenly very aware of how much their clothes clung to their bodies and how close he held her. The urge to panic and tear herself away from him rose up as a lump in her throat.
“The captain ordered us all below deck, girly, it appears ye forgot to listen to him.”
“This blighted storm isn't making it any easier, you bl...” she stopped herself before she could shout another insult at him.
“Yer attention will always stay with the captain. Always! Storms come and go, missy, better get used to it.” He was taunting her. She bit her lip and forced herself not to rise to the bait. Instead she looked around and realised that most of the crew was already gone from the deck. When had that happened? Had she blacked out when she hurt her shoulder?
This was not the time nor the place to think of what had already happened. She tried to turn and head to the hatch leading to the crew quarters, but the first mate held her steady and she could not match his strength. Instead of allowing her to turn, he pulled her with him. She struggled and shouted at him that if he expected her to obey orders, he'd have to let her. His response was a low growl in her ear followed by: “Shut up and stop struggling!”
That was an order she was able to follow, and so she did. He guided her to the door leading to where the captain had his quarters. She was not entirely certain this seemed like a good idea, but she was too wet and cold to care. Disobeying the angry shark-man's orders was much more immediately dangerous. The door had already been latched and secured for the storm, so the first mate held her against the bulkhead with a hand on her shoulder, while grasping the latch with the other. He did not have much success with it as another towering wave crashed over the deck and caused them both to stumble, and with nothing to hold himself steady his grip on her loosened.
She grasped the opportunity. When he had regained his balance she had placed herself between him and door.
“I won't slip!” she shouted at him, letting him know he didn't have to hold her steady. She thought she saw the shadow of grin dart across his face, but it disappeared too quickly for her to be sure she had really seen it.
As he went for the latch again she suddenly regretted her move. His body was very close to hers. Perhaps that grin she had seen, had not been entirely imagined on her part. She could feel his heavy breath on her hair and was certain he could feel hers on his chest - even with the storm winds whipping about them. As the ship rolled again she found herself leaning into him. She quickly pushed away and sought the relative comfort of the wooden bulkhead, but he had noticed her sway and pressed a leg against her to steady her. Her first reaction had been embarrassment. Some crew member she turned out to be. The first storm they had run into and she was making a fool of herself.
Her second reaction was the realisation that his leg was positioned rather snugly between hers. One kind of embarrassment turned into another, and she was sure if it had been broad daylight her blush would have been visible several miles away. When she caught herself once more admiring the first mate's muscular chest she mentally slapped herself. She was thankful that they did not stay like that for more than a few seconds, before he had the door open and pushed them both through.
Moments later they were standing in a mostly darkened hallway looking at each other while puddles formed on the floor beneath them. Both wore carefully guarded expressions. Praying to all the gods she knew of, she hoped he had not noticed her embarrassment, nor the appreciative glances she had cast at him. She had never been in this part of the ship. It was off-limits to everyone but the captain and the first mate, the latter of whom was currently staring at her with an unreadable expression. It made her uneasy, and she was certain, if they did not do anything soon, she would start to fidget like a child, who had been stealing apples from the neighbours.
She decided to break the silence: “Where...?” That seemed to bring her companion back to reality and he gestured for her to follow him. The ship was still thrown about on the waves like a leaf, and they had to lean on the walls for support, but at least it was not slippery with water in here. He led her only a brief ways down the hallway, before he opened a door for her. She stepped inside and stopped short. This was his cabin. He walked up very close to her and closed the door behind them effectively shutting out the dim light from the hallway. Quickly taking another step forward she turned to face him. It did not help her much, as she could see absolutely nothing in the oppressive darkness.
When he moved she felt more than heard it. The rough shells on his lower arm brushed against hers and moments later a small oil lamp was lit. It sputtered a bit, but provided enough light for them to see each other. His eyes looked blacker than usual in this light, and he kept his lips pressed tightly together. She lowered her eyes. He clearly was not too happy about having to babysit her, and she couldn't really blame him. This was the first mate's private cabin, and she felt like an intruder.
“No need to fret.” His gruff voice interrupted her musings and also seemed to trigger something in her.
“I am not fretting!” She shot back defiantly, knowing all too well that it was a lie. Hopefully it was not too blatant.
“Yes, ye are.” He took another step towards her and she instinctively took one away from him. That, however, brought her up against the wall and with his next step he was standing as close to her as he had out in the storm. “I can smell it. Ye be fretting, girly. No need to.” With that he closed the gap between them and pressed her body against the wall with his own. Staring at the hard muscles of his chest she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Was this it then? Whatever he decided to do now, she had not much of a chance to prevent it. His breathing had slowed again, unlike her own. She was not quite sure whether it was because of her recent struggles in the storm or because of what she knew was coming.
She had managed to avoid the unwanted attentions of the crew for a month now. Somehow she had known all the time that it could not last, and thinking it over she figured she should probably be glad it was the first mate and not one of the others standing in front of her now. He was the one who had been charged with keeping her from serious harm at the hands of the crew, he had told her that much. She knew it was not a duty he appreciated, but she was also fairly confident that he would not harm her himself either.
He brought his right hand up to grasp her chin and turned her face towards his own. She did not fight him, but did not meet his eyes either. With his other hand he brushed the soaked strands of hair away from her face and carefully examined the wound on her forehead. Somewhere in the still rational part of her mind she was impressed with how he avoided cutting her with those claws of his. She kept her eyes cast down, but at the angle he held her face, that simply meant she was staring at his chest. The slow rise and fall she could see with every breath of his seemed to calm her as well, and she began to relax a bit more. If he was going to force himself on her, he would already have done so, she told herself. Like hell, another voice in her head interrupted, he was just making sure she wouldn't bleed all over his cabin. She found she could not entirely shake the uneasiness.
Seemingly satisfied that her wound was not serious he let his hand trail down over her cheek, turning her head slightly to look at it. She winced and tried to turn her head the other way, but he held on and prevented her movement.
“It 'urts ye.” He concluded quietly. That got her full attention and she finally looked up to meet his eyes. She was still unable to read his expression, though. But he seemed to be waiting for some sort of response from her, she looked away again. This time he did not prevent her from turning her head to the right.
“Only in bad weather. It... pulls.” She tried to explain. “As if the skin is too tight.” She felt him nod. And then his hand returned to her scarred cheek. She really didn't want to discuss it, things were already progressing in directions she would rather avoid. But he didn't ask. His fingers merely traced the broad indentation in her cheek, as if he was curious. She couldn't figure out what he wanted and she was growing nervous again.
He seemed to realise this, and he removed both hands from her face, letting his left rest on her shoulder instead. And then he surprised her.
“I ain't seen soft scar tissue in... years.” She looked back at him with what she knew must be a puzzled expression. She had never expected him to volunteer anything about... anything, really.
“Wounds on the Dutchman don't jus' heal. They change the body.” He explained and gestured at a rough line of large, hard scales and grey barnacles running along his left side.
“Oh.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as she curiously reached out to trace the old scale-covered wound. It was a straight line, probably a cut from a sword, she surmised. The sharp scales had simply grown out from the rough skin surrounding the old wound. Fascinated, she slid her fingers lightly across the rough, grey skin around the wound. In the light from the oil lamp it seemed to shimmer like silver.
A sharp intake of breath called her attention back to the rest of the man. She took in the sight of all of him. While the hand on her shoulder merely rested heavily there, her gaze followed his right arm until it fell on his claws. He had dug them deep into the planks of the wall she was leaning against. She pulled her hand away from his scar as if burned.
His breathing had become heavy and ragged. She dared to look up into his eyes again. This time she did see something in them, and it frightened her. Hunger. Intense hunger. He was looking every bit the predator, and he was looking at her, like a shark stalking its prey. She imagined she made a rather accurate impression of a gold fish, gaping at him like she did.
“Girl, ye're a smart one. Ye know what'll happen if ye choose te stay.” She kept gaping at him. Did he really mean that? Was he just going to let her go if she wanted to? She glanced at the door but did not make a move towards it. After all, what awaited her out there was a perilous venture across the deck, and then she would face the crew, and she doubted she could keep being lucky. If the highly disciplined first mate had arrived at this point, what about the rest of scraggly bunch? She shuddered at the thought. Then she heard the shark-skinned man in front of her let out a strained breath - almost like a sigh, she thought.
“Go. Go now. While ye can.” He had closed his eyes and turned his face away from her, and she could tell he was fighting to keep his voice level.
“Who says I was going to leave?” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt. His eyes snapped back to hers. He sniffed at the air.
“Ye're afraid, and jus' now ye shuddered. Since it were nay from excitement it must've been disgust. So go...” Though she was impressed with his ability to read her body, she had to correct his assumption.
“You're right. But you're also wrong.” He cocked his head, his black eyes piercing her with that hungry look. She steeled herself. What she was going to say now, would probably be the longest piece she had uttered since joining the Dutchman's crew: “I am afraid. Aye. You say yourself, I've good reason to be. And I've never...” She couldn't hold his gaze. This was embarrassing. “Uhm, yeah. Disgust? Aye, but it was disgust with my alternative to staying here. Think about it. Where will I go? To the crew? Aye, bloody brilliant idea. If you can't resist the temptation anymore, how likely will I be to last the night with them?” She let out the last of her breath, and looked back to the man leaning over her, but she avoided his eyes.
He was staring at her, blinking dumbfounded, looking like he had trouble processing what she had said. She suddenly found herself growing self-conscious. “What?”
“Ye've never...? Blast it. I was thinkin' ye be older...” He took a deep breath and straightened up, though he let his hand remain on her shoulder. “Ye look older than tha'.”
“Older than what? I'm twenty-four.” That didn't seem to explain anything to him. He still looked as puzzled as ever. She almost began to find it funny. Seeing the first mate not knowing on which leg to stand was a rare occurrence.
“Twenty-four? So I were nay wrong about ye. But... ye never 'ad a 'usband?” He looked at her incredulously, and she realised just how different in every way the world of the Dutchman was. She shook her head and gestured to her face. The hand on her shoulder once again followed the scar and came to rest on her cheek.
“But... it be but a scar...” He shook his head as his thumb gently rubbed her marred skin. She raised her own hand to cover his. With a gentle touch she traced the length of his fingers and claws, like she had on that first day on the Dutchman's deck. Her other hand found its way back to his scar and let a gentle finger trace the outline of the sharp scales again.
“To some people scars matter.” But she was unsure whether he heard her. His breathing had become ragged again as she touched him. She smiled to herself. Interesting how a gentle touch could hold such power over the powerful first mate. His eyes were closed tightly and his thin lips slightly parted. Moving her left hand from his she brought it to his face and repeated his own action in turning his face to hers. Cupping his cheek she ran her thumb over his eyelid silently imploring him to look at her. He did.
She was taken aback by the burning desire she saw in his black eyes. Intently hoping she made the right decision, she whispered: “I choose to stay.”
“Ye don't know what ye be agreein' to, girl.” His hand had returned to grasp her chin, and hers did not move from his cheek as he brought his face closer to hers. She could feel his hot breath on her face. “I am no gentle man.”
“By saying so, you're proving to me that I'll be a good deal better off with you right now than with any of the others.” She wasn't quite sure that being better off meant that she was well off, though. But she hoped. He closed his eyes briefly as if acknowledging her statement, and then his lips descended on hers. They felt rough on her own, and he was not gentle with her, as he had warned. She felt his hunger wash over her and let herself be carried on its wave. As a soft tongue contrasting with rough lips slid along her lower lip requesting entrance she willingly admitted it. He tasted of sea, and she immediately felt at home and safe as their tongues dueled for supremacy. She flinched a bit as her tongue came in contact with his teeth; they were sharp and moments later she tasted faint traces of blood. Apparently so did he, and she heard his heavy breaths turn into a low growl.
His hands found her sides, and she gave a surprised squeak, as he lifted her up supporting her between himself and the rough boards of the cabin wall. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself up. That made them both stop short. Gasping for breath they looked at each other. Brown eyes opened wide as she became aware of the hard bulge now nestled between her legs. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She licked her lips and tasted her own blood again. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and back again. Then he gently stroked her hair and licked the blood off her lips. Perhaps he could be gentle if he really wanted to, she mused.
With a firm grip in her hair he tilted her head gaining access to her throat. He kissed, licked and nibbled his way along her jawline, across her scar, especially paying attention to its edges that still pained her. She moaned. She had never expected anything pleasurable to be connected with the hideous mark on her face. Wanting to kiss him again, she tried moving her head, but he held her still. She was just about to protest when he found a spot on her neck that sent shivers down her spine. Her gasp made it clear to him that he had found a sensitive spot. She could feel him smirk against her throat, before he gently bit at her skin causing her to moan again quietly.
This was not at all what she had expected. Strange, new sensations washed over her body as heat began pooling low in her belly. Suddenly he drew away from her neck, drawing a whimper of protest from her. The protest was quickly silenced, though, as he pulled her sodden shirt over her head. She had not even noticed him undoing the laces. Her shoulders and abdomen bared he looked down at her, still with that predatory glint in his eyes. In a brief moment of clarity, she realised how he must still be restraining himself. Seeing him like this, muscles all tense as before a battle, made her very grateful for his discipline - and his willingness to apply it. He truly did intend to keep his word and not harm her, but all the same, she decided she better not push him too far.
On her own initiative she made to untie the binds around her breasts. His hand had returned to its firm grasp on her hair, so she could not see what she was doing. She didn't need to, either, for she was busy looking at his face as he stared transfixed at her hands. Quickly undoing the knot in front she leaned away from the wall, towards him, and began unwrapping herself. She was not quite sure whether it was her movement against his body, the promise of her imminent nudity or both that made him groan. But she felt the slow vibrations in her thighs, and they traveled straight to the pool of liquid heat between her legs. It was a nice feeling, and she decided she liked it. A lot.
Having unwound the binds she let the cloth fall to the floor and rested her back against the wall once more. He let go of her hair, and let his eyes roam over her body. She began feeling self-conscious once more and was about to try and cover herself up, when he kissed her again. She thought she heard him mutter something against her lips, but she couldn't make out what it was. Once again she was drowning in his hungry passion, and he pressed closer. With every roll of the ship her nipples rubbed against his rough skin, sending tingles straight to her groin. A tightening sensation made her moan, and she found she wanted more. Much more. She felt like she was on fire and met his ferocity head-on with a growl of her own. Reaching up to rub the back of his neck she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. Hard. Even his blood tasted salty, she found.
Apparently he had not expected such eagerness from her. He pulled back with a slightly surprised look on his face. As his gaze met hers she let all her newly conjured need flow into the look she sent him. He saw it. A grin slowly spread on his face and setting her down he quickly tore off her breeches and then his own garments. He didn't let go of her at any moment, though, which was probably for the best. She wasn't sure she could have remained standing, light-headed as she was. Leaning on him she made short work of the bindings around her privates. They were soaked and not just with rain. He sniffed as she let them drop to the floor. She would have sworn his grin was positively feral, but she didn't have time for that.
He quickly had her pinned against the wall again, kissing her with frenzied passion. Suddenly she felt his hand moving between her legs. She tensed up. What was he doing? Though he had not yet cut her with those claws of his, she wasn't quite sure she liked having them that close to her important bits. Her apprehension was short lived, though, as she suddenly felt a jolting sensation flashing like lightning through her body, then settling and adding to the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. She must have said something because when she opened her eyes again she found his sharp-toothed grin in front of her.
“Ye like tha', aye?” He brushed the same spot again with his fingers. She could but mewl in response as all words left her.
“Aye, ye're ready.” She looked at him, not understanding what he meant, through the haze of lust that was her mind. He held his hand in front of her. His fingers were glistening with a clear, sticky fluid. With a smirk he licked it off his fingers and walked backwards to the bunk, dragging her with him. He sat on the mattress pulling her down, so she was straddling him. He took hold of her chin and held her gaze with an intense look of his own.
“Ye'll be in control. Ye can choose the pace yerself...” His voice sounded more hoarse than usual. “... for now.”
She nodded gravely. She knew well how much that concession was worth, and she intended to make the most of it. Looking down between them she studied his cock, and swallowed thickly. She suddenly lost heart. Its head looked an angry purple as it stood proudly at attention, what worried her, though, was the lobster-like shell covering on its overside, akin to the ones covering his lower arms.
He brought a hand to her cheek and gently stroked her. “It'll fit.” She looked at him uncertainly, she didn't quite believe him, it seemed big to her. Big and uncomfortable. Bringing her attention back to his cock she tentatively wrapped her fingers around it. It twitched in her hand and he let out a groan. He had closed his eyes, and she could see the muscles in his jaw working furiously. Gently she let her fingers slide along the soft underside of his cock until she reached the purple head. From his breathing she could tell he liked it. She grasped it with both hands and explored the unexpectedly soft underside. It felt almost like silk - a sharp contrast to the hard covering opposing it.
His hands left her arms. One came to rest on her waist and the other reached between them to find that sensitive nub between her legs. She gasped as he once more brought forth that amazing electrical feeling rushing through her blood. Breathing heavily, she placed both hands on his shoulders, as she had to steady herself against him. He urged her to raise herself up and then took one of her hands, placing it back on his cock. She followed his directions and held herself above him.
“Ye'll 'urt a mite the firs' time.” He warned her quietly in a gravelly voice. She nodded, she had heard that before. Then she lowered herself unto him slowly. He certainly felt big, but she didn't exactly have anything to compare to. Inching herself down she felt him pressing against her barrier. He felt it, too, she could tell as their eyes met. She raised herself slightly, for a moment he looked like he thought she had regretted what they were doing. Then she clenched her teeth and sat down heavily, feeling a sharp pain as her hymen broke. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails drawing blood as they moaned in unison. She was fairly certain she would have her own set of marks on her waist, where his claws were currently holding her very tightly.
Slowly the pain receded into a dull throb that eventually became the throbbing pulse of need. She moved against him and found the friction to be exactly what she needed. His hands on her waist helped steady her movements, but she soon grew frustrated with the inefficiency of it. She let out a growl. That had him seeking out her eyes once more. This time with a question in his own. His question was answered with a deep kiss conveying her need. She did not let go of his lips until she felt her back pressed once more against the wall. Briefly she wondered at that, but then he moved. Holding her steady against the wall he slowly pulled out of her, only to push back in with such force it knocked the wind out of her. And it felt amazing. The hard shells at the root of his cock rubbed against her nub sending waves of energy surging through her.
He kept his pace slow at first, but soon he picked up speed. She did not mind at all. Friction was good. She let him know she approved by nudging him with her legs. He was not slow to comply and settled into a steady rhythm. His teeth found her neck again and grazed the skin there, she buried her face in his as she felt evermore light-headed. The pleasure was building and her entire body was tingling. It was as if she was losing feeling in her extremities, as if her body closed in upon itself. She clawed at his back cutting her fingers on the sharp growths there. She ignored it and pulled him closer as she felt like she was falling into herself. Then lightning exploded inside her eyelids and she bit down on his shoulder. She felt a sharp pain in her own and heard from far away his hoarse groan, as she was carried away on a flood of pleasure she had never imagined possible.
When she opened her eyes again she was lying against his chest, nestled in his arms. She moved to get up, but he tightened his grip. She could live with that. Letting out a contented sigh she inhaled the scent of him; of them; of sex. Eventually she did get slightly uncomfortable. In fact, when she became aware enough to start noticing her surroundings, she realised that they were lying in a heap on the floor, him leaning against the wall. It seemed like he had just turned around with her and collapsed. It sounded rather likely. She also noticed a burning pain in her right shoulder.
This time when she moved to get up into an upright position, she did not let him hold her down. She groaned with every movement. Every part of her body was sore. Her back had taken quite the beating, and she felt what she expected would be some impressive bruises within the day. Bringing her left hand to her right shoulder she found that she was bleeding. She looked at him and found a contented smirk plastered on his face.
“Sorry, 'bout tha'. Go' carried away.” He didn't look at all sorry, she thought. He looked rather smug, actually. With the teeth he sported the wound would probably scar, too. A new scar on top of her old one. She briefly wondered if scar tissue could be scarred further and then noticed his right shoulder. Immediately she felt bad. Even with her blunt teeth, she had bitten down hard enough to draw blood, and it was not a clean cut; it looked rather nasty, in fact. He noticed the direction of her gaze.
“Ye're a lass after me own heart.” He sent her another of those feral grins, showing his rows of sharp teeth, and she felt utterly embarrassed. She had never thought she could be so wanton as to forget everything around her. Fighting to regain some dignity she shot him a scalding glance.
“Right now I'm a lass after a bed.”
He chuckled at her defensive statement and gestured at her mostly limp body, his smug smile returned. “Aye, ye look like ye need a rest.” He then nodded towards the bunk. “Tha' be a bed. Feel free to use it.”
She smiled her thanks and got up, pausing only to wince as he slipped out of her. His smile became more of a smirk. “Sore?”
“In places I never knew I had.” She deadpanned and turned towards the bunk. Before she could climb in, though, his arms wrapped around her from behind, and she heard him sniff at her hair.
“A month ago I said to the cap'n, ye didnae belong 'ere. I was wrong. Ye smelled o' the deep sea even before ye became a crew member.” He let go of her again. When next he spoke his tone had changed, though she could not quite tell what had changed about it. “The storm seems t'ave lessened summat. I be needin' to check up on the crew.”
He quickly pulled on his breeches and left her to her own devices. Not that she had much but sleep on her mind. Her mind was already drifting off to unconsciousness, when it suddenly struck her that the ship was rolling as much as it was before they had gone to his cabin. The storm had not let up at all.
She had no idea what to make of that. Instead she decided to sleep while she had the chance.
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Comments and criticism always muchly appreciated.