Kidnapped by the Pirate

“Of course. Just this once.” Snell always knew how to keep the peace amongst the men, which made him an excellent quartermaster. The brat would fail in no time, so the wagers wouldn’t spin out of control.

“All right,” Hawk called. “Let’s start with a simple half hitch. Mr. Lee, will you demonstrate? Then the boy gets one chance.”

While the men murmured amongst themselves, placing bets, Plum looked up over his shoulder. “And how many knots do I have to master before I win?”

Hawk gave him a wolfish grin. “As many as I say.” He knocked Plum in the back with a sharp tap of his knee. “All right then, prove us wrong. Bend the line.”

And then…he did.

Each knot and hitch Lee demonstrated, Plum mastered in one go. Figure eight, reef, even sheepshank. Hawk came around and watched the concentration on Plum’s face, pink tongue sometimes darting out between his lips, gaze focused in on Lee’s hands, ignoring the growing murmur of the crew, who called out suggestions to Lee to stump the prisoner.

Somehow none did. The coarse rope reddened Plum’s fingers and palms, but he didn’t hesitate as he mimicked Lee’s movements, watching keenly, sweat gathering on his brow even in the day’s chill.

Despite himself, admiration began to grow in Hawk. Plum was unbowed, unintimidated. Some of the crew started cheering for him, and wagers flew fast and furious.

Finally, his attempt at a back splice unraveled, and Hawk called an end to it. “Do we think he’s earned his prize?” The “Ayes” were almost unanimous.

Then Plum grinned up at him.

And for an insane moment, Hawk wanted to smile back. For fuck’s sake, clearly his brain was addled from too many days of peaceful routine aboard ship instead of stalking the seas for prey.

Fortunately, he schooled himself in time and hauled Plum to his feet, hurrying him back down to the cabin. One of the men brought the bucket of seawater, and Hawk sliced off a sliver of soap.

Back behind his desk, he couldn’t force his gaze away as Plum stripped off his shirt, revealing surprisingly firm, lean muscles. Plum realized he was being watched, and his hands stuttered on the waist of his breeches.

Hawk almost turned his head, feeling strangely guilty, before reminding himself he was a God-damned pirate and this was his prisoner, to whom he owed no courtesy or shred of privacy.

He turned his chair to face Plum’s corner and leaned back. Still in his breeches, Plum blinked at him. He glanced down at himself, then back at Hawk. Clearly he was unnerved, but there was something else—a hum vibrating through the room, a low tug between them. Hawk recognized something in this boy that flared his nostrils and stirred his blood.

Legs spread in his chair, boots planted on the floor, Hawk took him in. “Where did the spoiled son of Walter Bainbridge learn to bend a ship’s line?”

“I never have until today. I’m just good at using my hands.”

Better than good, and quicker than many men Hawk had sailed with. Perhaps there was more to the younger Bainbridge than met the eye. Not that it matters, since he is nothing more than a means to an end.

Yet Hawk found himself asking, “Is that so? Hmm. More muscles than I expected. You’re small, but strong. Would’ve thought you much…softer.”

“I… I always…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do go on.”

“I always loved the outdoors. Climbing trees, running, swimming. And there’s wrestling. My tutor taught me.” He flushed scarlet all the way down to his chest, shifting guiltily.

“Did he now?” Hawk smiled slowly, wickedly. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial pitch. “Did your tutor also bugger you senseless?” The thought that another man might have unlocked that treasure was strangely disappointing.

Plum’s eyes popped wide, and a gasp escaped his bow lips. “No! He was a good man. Not like—” He swallowed hard, apparently thinking better of what he was going to say. “No. I’ve never… I would never! My tutor wasn’t like that. He was kind and proper.”

“Ah. Kind and proper men are scarce. How fortunate for you. A shame your luck has run out.”

Plum licked his lips, his gaze dropping from Hawk’s face down to the bulge between his spread legs, and he shuddered, unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

Ah yes. There it is.

Hawk’s instincts were correct—he knew it in his bones. The question was why he should care in the slightest. What did it matter that they shared common desires? Plenty of men did.

Over the years since that initial bloom of excitement and tenderness, Hawk hadn’t given it much thought beyond finding the odd anonymous man for release.

It had been so different with him. John.

Irrepressible smile, blond hair falling over his blue eyes, rebellious and beautiful. They’d been so innocent, so fucking naïve, believing they could have anything good and pure in the belly of that frigate. That they could have happiness despite their low circumstances, their virtual imprisonment.