Desire and Crucifix
...could I ever hope to have you?
Billy felt his stomach turn in anxiety, frayed and tortured nerves coating his throat with rotten bile. He washed this taste from his mouth, like soured milk, trying to burn out the acrid scum with cleansing whiskey. The creaking hull of the Crown of Roses droned on, disguising the infrequent moans of despair and desire. All he could think of was her.
Her, with dusky, caramel colored skin, not adorned with whorish cosmetics, but natural in its own beauty. Hair, shaded, sorrel-in-shadow, thick enough to suffocate him should he dare to breathe in her scent, or try to catch her color… and oh, her eyes, he could never forget her eyes. Warm gems of radiance and goodness; they were as dark and rich as chocolate, just as sweet to behold.
Standing, he paced about the hold, her image floating in his mind, smiling, gentle and wholesome. With a surge of vigor, he pulled himself from his bottle and wound his way through the corridors, nearing the inner sanctum of the ship, her domain.
She was the Machinist Minor aboard the Crown of Roses, the big picture leader of the submissive engine crews. Ah, but she was so good to them, a saint, even. She made sure they worked hard and lived well. She was the Madonna of the ship; pure, untouched, and benevolent, loving all and fearing none. No small feat on a pirate ship.
As he neared, he could almost smell her, the flowery scented soap that was her one vanity. Never the same thing twice; she had a collection going by now, what with the exotic ports and rich prey they often found. His body stirred at the thought of her washing with the delicate bars, smoothing the lather over her skin, long hair a curtain of embers, burning lightly over her soft body…
Billy started. How dare he blemish her with his lust? Impugn her goodness with his Satan-spawned desire? Even as he suppressed the thoughts, he felt the blush rise over his face as she stood in his minds eye, beautiful and bare, serenely washing herself.
“Billy Brown, is that you?” And there she was, smiling bemusedly up at him, round face full of concern. The blush deepened, and Billy stumbled back onto some cargo.
“Uhh, um, yes, ma’am, it’s me.” He couldn’t help but hear the way she had spoke his name. Billy Brrrown- the rolled ‘r’s liquid and soft. He was lost in the gloriousness of it, when he realized she had started speaking again. Sitting up straight, he caught only that last of it.
“… and so, what are you doing here instead, Billy?” She was polite, but she obviously had been moving this way with a purpose. The engines needed her constant attention; that she would leave for any reason other than disaster was unheard of.
“Oh! Um, I was wondering, if perhaps, you could-” See me, love me, forgive me for what I am… “um, well, if you had anything you wanted me to do.” The second wind was gone; he could feel the whiskey’s power fade, and he slumped back, already dejected. She frowned in thought, her eyes taking an inward cast. Sadly, she shook her head and opened her hands.
“I’m sorry, Billy, but we have things covered here. But I know that the armory need a few extra hands for the new weapons. Why don’t you help them?” He nodded, and she moved past him, already lost in her own concerns. Sighing, he stood, his knees fluid and unsupportive.
Pulling it from his hip, Billy took another swig of his whiskey, and moved up the corridor. He had work to do, long hours and demanding jobs, if he wanted to sleep tonight without being haunted by her.
Billy felt his stomach turn in anxiety, frayed and tortured nerves coating his throat with rotten bile. He washed this taste from his mouth, like soured milk, trying to burn out the acrid scum with cleansing whiskey. The creaking hull of the Crown of Roses droned on, disguising the infrequent moans of despair and desire. All he could think of was her.
Her, with dusky, caramel colored skin, not adorned with whorish cosmetics, but natural in its own beauty. Hair, shaded, sorrel-in-shadow, thick enough to suffocate him should he dare to breathe in her scent, or try to catch her color… and oh, her eyes, he could never forget her eyes. Warm gems of radiance and goodness; they were as dark and rich as chocolate, just as sweet to behold.
Standing, he paced about the hold, her image floating in his mind, smiling, gentle and wholesome. With a surge of vigor, he pulled himself from his bottle and wound his way through the corridors, nearing the inner sanctum of the ship, her domain.
She was the Machinist Minor aboard the Crown of Roses, the big picture leader of the submissive engine crews. Ah, but she was so good to them, a saint, even. She made sure they worked hard and lived well. She was the Madonna of the ship; pure, untouched, and benevolent, loving all and fearing none. No small feat on a pirate ship.
As he neared, he could almost smell her, the flowery scented soap that was her one vanity. Never the same thing twice; she had a collection going by now, what with the exotic ports and rich prey they often found. His body stirred at the thought of her washing with the delicate bars, smoothing the lather over her skin, long hair a curtain of embers, burning lightly over her soft body…
Billy started. How dare he blemish her with his lust? Impugn her goodness with his Satan-spawned desire? Even as he suppressed the thoughts, he felt the blush rise over his face as she stood in his minds eye, beautiful and bare, serenely washing herself.
“Billy Brown, is that you?” And there she was, smiling bemusedly up at him, round face full of concern. The blush deepened, and Billy stumbled back onto some cargo.
“Uhh, um, yes, ma’am, it’s me.” He couldn’t help but hear the way she had spoke his name. Billy Brrrown- the rolled ‘r’s liquid and soft. He was lost in the gloriousness of it, when he realized she had started speaking again. Sitting up straight, he caught only that last of it.
“… and so, what are you doing here instead, Billy?” She was polite, but she obviously had been moving this way with a purpose. The engines needed her constant attention; that she would leave for any reason other than disaster was unheard of.
“Oh! Um, I was wondering, if perhaps, you could-” See me, love me, forgive me for what I am… “um, well, if you had anything you wanted me to do.” The second wind was gone; he could feel the whiskey’s power fade, and he slumped back, already dejected. She frowned in thought, her eyes taking an inward cast. Sadly, she shook her head and opened her hands.
“I’m sorry, Billy, but we have things covered here. But I know that the armory need a few extra hands for the new weapons. Why don’t you help them?” He nodded, and she moved past him, already lost in her own concerns. Sighing, he stood, his knees fluid and unsupportive.
Pulling it from his hip, Billy took another swig of his whiskey, and moved up the corridor. He had work to do, long hours and demanding jobs, if he wanted to sleep tonight without being haunted by her.