Fic: Hearts in Seawater [Chapter Three]
Hearts in Seawater
Fandom: Glee AU
In this chapter:
Pairing: Dave/Kurt
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,534
Summary: David is a pirate and a lone shipwreck survivor, at the mercy of a mysterious, beautiful boy.
Notes: Hello again! :) This chapter isn't very long, but I hope you like it anyway. Sorry, not much to say about this one, really. Thank you so much reading!
Please enjoy (hopefully)!
One | Two | Three | Four
Chapter Three: Name
~~~
A week had passed since David had been washed ashore. He was intent on keeping a record of his days on the island, scoring a line in the trunk of a tree outside his shelter every morning. There was a lazy, sun-soaked monotony that seemed to hold the island suspended, dreamlike, in time. At first, unable to walk, he would sit in his shelter and watch for sails on the horizon from dawn until dusk. When night fell and the only light was the moon playing across the water, he would wait until he could no longer hold his head up or keep his eyes open. He was terrified of being lost to the world, swallowed by the mysterious island that slumbered blissfully like a lotus-eater. He didn't want to become a memory. He wanted to be found.
The boy had made himself scarce after their first encounter, although small parcels of foraged food and the porcelain bowl filled with water would be waiting for him when he awoke each morning. David kept watch for him, but would only glimpse him now and again; when he saw him he would be silhouetted against the brilliant backdrop of the sea, or sometimes treading the shoreline while dragging his feet through the hot sand. Sometimes he would be plucking crabs and shrimp and small fish from rock pools, or basking beneath the sun at midday, sprawled out on his back, absent-mindedly twirling his seashell necklace between his slender fingers. David would stare at him openly, but the boy didn't seem to notice, or care. The stranger always kept his distance, and David would spend the time he didn't use looking for passing ships to contemplate the other boy with a mixture of desire and mistrust. He had been startled awake on more than one occasion by the feeling that he was being watched. In the total blackness of night there was only the shiver of the trees in the wind and the rush of the sea and the calls of the forest creatures, but he was certain that out there in the blackness, or maybe even crouched beside him, looming over him like a nightmare, was...
Thinking of him as 'the boy' was getting tiresome, thought David. He decided that giving him a name would be the right thing to do. But perhaps he already had a name? It would be courteous to ask. That's if the boy understood him at all.
It had been a week, and David thought it was time he try and leave the shelter. He reached down to his bandaged leg to inspect his wound. He had woken each morning to it freshly cleaned and dressed. There was no smell, no flies. In fact, his leg didn't even hurt. He unwound the long strips of leaves, one by one, and when he was done, swallowed dryly and dared to look. He glanced, then froze, then stared in disbelief. The ugly gash in his leg was now no more than a jagged but otherwise perfectly healed scar. Clumps of the strange medicine that the boy had placed on it slid off, the skin beneath stained a light green. He lifted his leg, bent it at the knee, stretched it, and then touched the skin gingerly with the tips of his fingers. It was miraculous. He was certain that he would have died from the eventual putrefaction of the wound. His heart beat wildly with excitement at the prospect of movement, exploration, and escape.
David shifted onto his knees, and then crawled out of the shelter. Still weak, he had to hold onto a tree for support as he got to his feet. His legs trembled uncontrollably as he finally hoisted himself upright, but he didn't fall. He smiled to himself, victorious. The blank white disc of the sun glared down directly overhead. It was midday. Sure enough, on a large, flat rock where the sea met the sand lay the boy, lounging luxuriantly as he played with his necklace and combed his fingers slowly through his hair.
David inspected himself. He was wearing a white shirt with loose, drooping sleeves that hung past his fingertips, the fabric dirty and still crisp from dried seawater. A faded neck-cloth that was once a cheerful red was tied around his throat. His breeches were equally faded and stained with blood. Beneath those were his bare calves and feet. Though ragged and filthy, he convinced himself that he hadn't lost any of his charm. The women in port would never fail to drape themselves over him, to fall at his feet like he was a king. But then, he would be giving them gold at the end of the night. They had never interested him anyway. It wasn't the booze and the missing teeth and the clownish rouge that repelled him. It was the whores themselves, as people, as women. They weren't what he was looking for. What he was longing for. The boy on the rock stretched his pale arms behind his head, fixing David with a languorous stare beneath sleepy eyelids. David licked his lips, and approached.
'You there,' he called, uncertainly, the cold surf lapping at his feet.
The boy ceased running his fingers through his hair and rolled onto his side, hearkening. The heat must make him drowsy, David noted, trying to keep his eyes trained on the boy's face as that marvellous body curled languidly over the rock it reclined on. 'You saved my life,' David continued after remembering how to breathe, 'I'm eternally grateful.'
The boy blinked slowly, uncomprehending. He crossed one leg casually over the other, the dried salt and sand that coated his skin shimmering in the light. He bit his bottom lip distractedly, apparently lost in his own world of thought as he observed David in silence.
'Do you have a name?' asked David, edging closer to the rock.
No answer. The boy lay down again, turning his head so that he might still look at the pirate, his pink-tinged cheek pressed against the cold stone. David was knee-deep in water now, the closest he'd ever been to the boy since he had been fed by him that second morning.
He struggled to think back to the people whom he had met on his many travels, trying to settle on a name that he remembered and liked. There was one man that sprang to mind - a rebellious French privateer who had caught David's eye during a stay in a pirate port some years ago. Curtis (David had referred to him fondly as Kurtie in writing, unsure of how to spell his name) was his one and only fixation during many lonely months at sea, until he returned to that same port and found him absent. Upon further enquiries he discovered Curtis had been cut down - decapitated, in fact - by a particularly ferocious pirate captain. David had wept like a child and then drank himself into a stupor for a year before joining another crew and setting sail once more. To cut a long story short, that name had lingered on his mind ever since. Curtis, Kurtie... Kurt.
The heat of the sun was getting to David, making him feel strangely light and detached from his own body. He really was weak from his ordeal. This island was like Hell disguised as Eden, he mused. He might never have read the Bible, but he knew of those two places at least; in one flames scorched you endlessly for your sins, while in the other temptation writhed naked and inviting within your reach. David knew which place he would prefer, and if giving into temptation in Eden meant an eternity in flames, he was prepared for the consequences. He was aflame right now; Hell couldn't be much different.
'Your name will be Kurt from now on,' announced David to the boy. Despite not understanding a word, 'Kurt' blessed David with a playful smile that made the pirate's legs quiver uncontrollably all over again.
'Why don't you come closer?' the pirate cajoled in a low voice, stretching out a trembling hand. He could almost anticipate the softness of that skin, the taste of it. The thought alone was maddening. But before his fingers could even brush against his arm, Kurt lurched backwards, his pale green eyes wide and alarmed.
'It's all right,' urged David, hand still outstretched, 'I'm not going to hurt you.' He reached forward again, almost managing to seize one delicate wrist before the boy snatched himself away and flung himself into the sea. 'I'm not going to hurt you!' reiterated David angrily, smacking the water with his palm. He waded in waist deep, bemused as to why Kurt hadn't resurfaced anywhere in sight. He looked up and down the beach, but there wasn't a soul. Looking out to sea again, he saw a large shadow flit among the shallows before disappearing in a flurry of silver. Cursing to himself, he waded back onto the beach and crawled into the shade of his shelter. He needn't let himself be distracted. He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to leave this place. It was time to search for supplies.
Next Chapter: Lost
Fandom: Glee AU
In this chapter:
Pairing: Dave/Kurt
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,534
Summary: David is a pirate and a lone shipwreck survivor, at the mercy of a mysterious, beautiful boy.
Notes: Hello again! :) This chapter isn't very long, but I hope you like it anyway. Sorry, not much to say about this one, really. Thank you so much reading!
Please enjoy (hopefully)!
One | Two | Three | Four
Chapter Three: Name
~~~
A week had passed since David had been washed ashore. He was intent on keeping a record of his days on the island, scoring a line in the trunk of a tree outside his shelter every morning. There was a lazy, sun-soaked monotony that seemed to hold the island suspended, dreamlike, in time. At first, unable to walk, he would sit in his shelter and watch for sails on the horizon from dawn until dusk. When night fell and the only light was the moon playing across the water, he would wait until he could no longer hold his head up or keep his eyes open. He was terrified of being lost to the world, swallowed by the mysterious island that slumbered blissfully like a lotus-eater. He didn't want to become a memory. He wanted to be found.
The boy had made himself scarce after their first encounter, although small parcels of foraged food and the porcelain bowl filled with water would be waiting for him when he awoke each morning. David kept watch for him, but would only glimpse him now and again; when he saw him he would be silhouetted against the brilliant backdrop of the sea, or sometimes treading the shoreline while dragging his feet through the hot sand. Sometimes he would be plucking crabs and shrimp and small fish from rock pools, or basking beneath the sun at midday, sprawled out on his back, absent-mindedly twirling his seashell necklace between his slender fingers. David would stare at him openly, but the boy didn't seem to notice, or care. The stranger always kept his distance, and David would spend the time he didn't use looking for passing ships to contemplate the other boy with a mixture of desire and mistrust. He had been startled awake on more than one occasion by the feeling that he was being watched. In the total blackness of night there was only the shiver of the trees in the wind and the rush of the sea and the calls of the forest creatures, but he was certain that out there in the blackness, or maybe even crouched beside him, looming over him like a nightmare, was...
Thinking of him as 'the boy' was getting tiresome, thought David. He decided that giving him a name would be the right thing to do. But perhaps he already had a name? It would be courteous to ask. That's if the boy understood him at all.
It had been a week, and David thought it was time he try and leave the shelter. He reached down to his bandaged leg to inspect his wound. He had woken each morning to it freshly cleaned and dressed. There was no smell, no flies. In fact, his leg didn't even hurt. He unwound the long strips of leaves, one by one, and when he was done, swallowed dryly and dared to look. He glanced, then froze, then stared in disbelief. The ugly gash in his leg was now no more than a jagged but otherwise perfectly healed scar. Clumps of the strange medicine that the boy had placed on it slid off, the skin beneath stained a light green. He lifted his leg, bent it at the knee, stretched it, and then touched the skin gingerly with the tips of his fingers. It was miraculous. He was certain that he would have died from the eventual putrefaction of the wound. His heart beat wildly with excitement at the prospect of movement, exploration, and escape.
David shifted onto his knees, and then crawled out of the shelter. Still weak, he had to hold onto a tree for support as he got to his feet. His legs trembled uncontrollably as he finally hoisted himself upright, but he didn't fall. He smiled to himself, victorious. The blank white disc of the sun glared down directly overhead. It was midday. Sure enough, on a large, flat rock where the sea met the sand lay the boy, lounging luxuriantly as he played with his necklace and combed his fingers slowly through his hair.
David inspected himself. He was wearing a white shirt with loose, drooping sleeves that hung past his fingertips, the fabric dirty and still crisp from dried seawater. A faded neck-cloth that was once a cheerful red was tied around his throat. His breeches were equally faded and stained with blood. Beneath those were his bare calves and feet. Though ragged and filthy, he convinced himself that he hadn't lost any of his charm. The women in port would never fail to drape themselves over him, to fall at his feet like he was a king. But then, he would be giving them gold at the end of the night. They had never interested him anyway. It wasn't the booze and the missing teeth and the clownish rouge that repelled him. It was the whores themselves, as people, as women. They weren't what he was looking for. What he was longing for. The boy on the rock stretched his pale arms behind his head, fixing David with a languorous stare beneath sleepy eyelids. David licked his lips, and approached.
'You there,' he called, uncertainly, the cold surf lapping at his feet.
The boy ceased running his fingers through his hair and rolled onto his side, hearkening. The heat must make him drowsy, David noted, trying to keep his eyes trained on the boy's face as that marvellous body curled languidly over the rock it reclined on. 'You saved my life,' David continued after remembering how to breathe, 'I'm eternally grateful.'
The boy blinked slowly, uncomprehending. He crossed one leg casually over the other, the dried salt and sand that coated his skin shimmering in the light. He bit his bottom lip distractedly, apparently lost in his own world of thought as he observed David in silence.
'Do you have a name?' asked David, edging closer to the rock.
No answer. The boy lay down again, turning his head so that he might still look at the pirate, his pink-tinged cheek pressed against the cold stone. David was knee-deep in water now, the closest he'd ever been to the boy since he had been fed by him that second morning.
He struggled to think back to the people whom he had met on his many travels, trying to settle on a name that he remembered and liked. There was one man that sprang to mind - a rebellious French privateer who had caught David's eye during a stay in a pirate port some years ago. Curtis (David had referred to him fondly as Kurtie in writing, unsure of how to spell his name) was his one and only fixation during many lonely months at sea, until he returned to that same port and found him absent. Upon further enquiries he discovered Curtis had been cut down - decapitated, in fact - by a particularly ferocious pirate captain. David had wept like a child and then drank himself into a stupor for a year before joining another crew and setting sail once more. To cut a long story short, that name had lingered on his mind ever since. Curtis, Kurtie... Kurt.
The heat of the sun was getting to David, making him feel strangely light and detached from his own body. He really was weak from his ordeal. This island was like Hell disguised as Eden, he mused. He might never have read the Bible, but he knew of those two places at least; in one flames scorched you endlessly for your sins, while in the other temptation writhed naked and inviting within your reach. David knew which place he would prefer, and if giving into temptation in Eden meant an eternity in flames, he was prepared for the consequences. He was aflame right now; Hell couldn't be much different.
'Your name will be Kurt from now on,' announced David to the boy. Despite not understanding a word, 'Kurt' blessed David with a playful smile that made the pirate's legs quiver uncontrollably all over again.
'Why don't you come closer?' the pirate cajoled in a low voice, stretching out a trembling hand. He could almost anticipate the softness of that skin, the taste of it. The thought alone was maddening. But before his fingers could even brush against his arm, Kurt lurched backwards, his pale green eyes wide and alarmed.
'It's all right,' urged David, hand still outstretched, 'I'm not going to hurt you.' He reached forward again, almost managing to seize one delicate wrist before the boy snatched himself away and flung himself into the sea. 'I'm not going to hurt you!' reiterated David angrily, smacking the water with his palm. He waded in waist deep, bemused as to why Kurt hadn't resurfaced anywhere in sight. He looked up and down the beach, but there wasn't a soul. Looking out to sea again, he saw a large shadow flit among the shallows before disappearing in a flurry of silver. Cursing to himself, he waded back onto the beach and crawled into the shade of his shelter. He needn't let himself be distracted. He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to leave this place. It was time to search for supplies.
Next Chapter: Lost