Kidnapped by the Pirate

Pulse skittering with a fresh pulse of odd excitement, Nathaniel knelt and batted the pirate’s hands away, finishing the job. “Up.”

Hawk obeyed, raising his hips so Nathaniel could ease down his trousers and drawers, taking special care over the chunk of wood, tearing the material to make it easier. Hawk clutched the side of the bed, fingers white.

Now the pirate was naked from the waist down, and Nathaniel was faced with a thick, meaty cock and bollocks nestled in a thatch of dark hair. Throat dry, he ripped his gaze away, focusing on the bloody wound instead.

He handed Hawk the rum. “Drink.” Again, Hawk obeyed, and Nathaniel’s skin prickled, his breath catching. This man might kill him, yet Nathaniel thrilled at being close to him, at helping him. Perhaps winning some measure of approval. It was lunacy.

He held Hawk’s leg fast, hand over his knee. There was really nothing to do but get the wood out as gently as he could. He grasped the protuberance. “Relax your leg as best you can,” he ordered. Hawk did as he was told.

Fortunately, the wood came free without much effort. Quite unfortunately, it left several slivers of varying sizes embedded in Hawk’s flesh. Nathaniel glanced up to find blood smeared on Hawk’s lower lip and realized he’d bitten through the skin.

“You can shout. I doubt the men will hear, given the racket up there.” Footsteps clomped, and voices called out, a general commotion in the wake of battle.

“No need,” Hawk gritted out.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Yes, clearly all is well.” He fished out a pair of tweezers from the tin. The thought occurred again that he should leave the shards behind, practically ensuring an infection. But if Hawk died, Nathaniel didn’t know what the rest of the crew would do with him—or to him.

Better the devil I know.

With his left palm flat on Hawk’s upper thigh, only inches from his groin, Nathaniel leaned over and went to work. Blood oozed from the wound, and he had to stop to soak it up.

Hawk’s gaze weighed on him as Nathaniel teased out a thin piece of wood, and the parallels to the fable of the lion with a thorn in its paw weren’t lost on him.

When Hawk spoke, it was to hoarsely bark, “Why the fuck is it so hot in here?”

“Because you somehow never thought to install drapes to keep out the sun?”

Hawk gave him a withering look. “The windows open to let in the breeze.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel blinked over at them, still not seeing how to shove them up.

“The ones on either side can be hooked open,” Hawk muttered. “Just push them and make sure they latch.”

Nathaniel crossed the cabin and did as instructed, sighing and breathing the fresh, cool air deeply. “That’s so much better.”

“Indeed. Are you almost done?”

Nathaniel got out a tinderbox and lit a lantern, then handed it to Hawk. “Hold it close.” He poked around in the wound as gently as he could. Hawk’s labored breathing grew harsh and the other sounds of the ship distant.

“Are those from the lines?” Hawk asked. At Nathaniel’s frown, he added, “Your hands. Not as smooth as I would have expected, given your station.”

“I climb trees.” Hawk stared down at him, and Nathaniel shifted uneasily, that gaze prickling his skin much like slivers of wood. “I enjoy…using my body.”

Hawk’s lips twitched, gaze assessing—teasing. “Do you?”

Without warning, Nathaniel splashed rum into the wound, enjoying Hawk’s indignant yelp. Then he quickly bandaged it, keeping his eyes off the pirate’s devilish face and nether regions. “There. I think you’ll live, but the surgeon would have a better idea.”

Hawk thrust the lantern at him, any hints of teasing gone. “This is sufficient.” He pushed to his feet and promptly almost fell flat on his face, the bandage red and soaked.

Nathaniel put the lantern on the floor and pushed Hawk back onto the bed, pulling up his feet and swinging his legs around. “For the love of God, just rest here a few minutes at least.”

Perching on the side of the mattress, he pressed another bandage over the seeping wound. The sheets and floor were splattered red, and Nathaniel’s shirt and breeches were splashed with blood as well.

Keeping his eyes away from Hawk’s nudity, Nathaniel asked, “Were many men hurt?”

“Some.”

“Killed?”

“Two, last I knew.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel remembered how quickly the other ship had come upon them, everything going from normal to high alert in a heartbeat. And just as quickly, a life could be snuffed out. “Did they have families?”

“Us.”

“What would have happened if the other ship had gotten close enough to board?”

“We’d have a lot more dead men on our hands. On both sides.”

He wondered how many men Hawk had killed over the years but didn’t think it prudent to ask. At least Hawk finally surrendered, relaxing back against his pillow, gaze on the ceiling as Nathaniel kept pressure on the wound.