Frank's left boot hit the deck boards with a thud loud enough to make three deckhands flinch. The man had a way of occupying space like a cannonball in a teacup — broad shoulders blocking lamplight, thick thighs straining his leather breeches, chest hair escaping his half-unlaced shirt like an invading force. He scratched his beard, flecked with sea salt and yesterday's rum, and squinted at the horizon like it had personally offended him.
"Bob," he barked, voice roughened by years of yelling over storms. His first mate turned, muscles shifting under sweat-slicked skin, the tattoos on his arms rippling as he wiped tar-stained hands on his trousers. The man was built like a battering ram with a face that made poets weep — all sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could split wood.
"Cap'n?" Bob's voice was quieter than expected, a deep rumble that made Frank's gut tighten. The crew pretended not to notice how their gazes held a second too long, how Frank's thumb rubbed absently at the hilt of his dagger when Bob bent over to check the rigging.
Frank jerked his chin toward the captain's quarters. "Need a word." The crew scattered like rats, suddenly very interested in scrubbing already-clean decks. Below, the door creaked shut behind them. Frank didn't speak, just reached out and hooked a finger in Bob's belt, pulling until their chests collided. The smell of him — salt, gunpowder, that damn lavender soap he insisted on — flooded Frank's nostrils. "Been starin' at your damn shoulders all week," Frank growled against his neck, his lips scraping skin. Bob's laugh vibrated through them both as his hands found Frank's waist.
"Took you long enough."
Bob's whisper was hot against Frank's ear, his fingers already working the knots of Frank's shirt loose. The captain shuddered as calloused palms slid up his sides, thumbs brushing rough circles over his nipples. He bit back a groan, his mouth sucking Bob's shoulder instead, tasting salt and sun-warmed skin. The first mate hissed, hands sliding down to grip Frank's ass hard enough, hauling him closer until their cocks pressed together through layers of fabric.
Frank kicked off his remaining boot, wrestling Bob's trousers down past his thick thighs with impatient tugs. The scent of musk and arousal hit him like a broadside — heady, intoxicating. Bob's erection sprang free, heavy and leaking against Frank's stomach as they stumbled backward, their knees hitting the edge of the bed. Frank's shirt tore at the seams as Bob yanked it off, buttons scattering across the cabin floor like tiny cannon fire.
"Christ, you're a fuckin' menace," Frank snarled, shoving Bob onto the mattress. The wood groaned under their combined weight as he straddled him, grinding down with deliberate slowness. Bob's answering grin was wolfish, fingers digging into Frank's hips as he arched up, their bodies sliding together in a slick, filthy rhythm. The captain's beard scraped red marks down Bob's chest, tongue darting out to lick a bead of sweat from his collarbone.
Bob suddenly flipped them, pinning Frank beneath him with effortless strength. The captain's breath caught as thick fingers wrapped around both their lengths, stroking in tight, twisting pulls that had his thighs trembling. The ship creaked around them, timbers groaning in time with their ragged breaths. Bob's mouth crashed onto his, their tongues tangling as precum smeared between their stomachs, the taste of rum and desperation thick on Frank's tongue.
A particularly rough thrust sent Frank's headboard slamming against the cabin wall. Somewhere above deck, a sailor yelped as the impact dislodged a barrel. Neither man cared. Frank's nails raked down Bob's back as teeth nipped at his earlobe. "Gonna fuck you through the goddamn hull," Bob growled, hot and wet against Frank's throat. The captain's laugh dissolved into a choked moan as Bob's free hand groped between his ass cheeks, blunt fingers pressing insistently.
Frank kicked out blindly, sending an oil lamp clattering across the floor. The resulting pool of liquid gold illuminated the sweat-slicked arch of Bob's spine as he reached for the vial on the bedside table. The scent of coconut oil mixed with gunpowder when Bob popped the cork with his teeth. Frank watched, rapt, as those thick fingers glistened in the lamplight before pressing inside him with delicious, agonizing slowness. His hips jerked involuntarily. Years at sea hadn't prepared him for how Bob's hands could wreck him.
"Move, you bastard," Frank gritted out, heels digging into the mattress. Bob's chuckle was dark with promise as he withdrew his fingers, replaced instantly by the thick, searing heat of his cock. The stretch burned sweetly; Frank threw an arm over his eyes as Bob bottomed out with a groan that shook the bedframe. Salt spray pattered against the porthole glass as the ship rolled beneath them, waves slapping the hull in time with Bob's first thrust — deep enough to steal Frank's voice, leaving only ragged gasps and the wet slap of skin on skin.
Bob's hands pinned Frank's wrists above his head, their fingers interlacing as his hips snapped forward again. The angle had Frank seeing stars, his cock leaking untouched between them. Every drag of Bob's length sent sparks up his spine, the head catching deliciously on that spot inside him that made his toes curl. Sweat dripped from Bob's brow onto Frank's chest, tracing the silver scars there before vanishing into dark hair.
Frank arched up, his mouth sucking Bob's shoulder as the rhythm grew frantic. The first mate's thrusts turned brutal, his grip bruising — nails biting into Frank's flesh as he chased his peak. The captain's broken curses dissolved into wordless noises when Bob wrapped a fist around his cock, stroking in perfect counterpoint to each piston of his hips. The oil lamp's glow caught the flex of Bob's biceps, the way his back muscles bunched with every punishing drive forward.
Bob's growl vibrated against Frank's throat when he came, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. The heat flooding Frank's insides tipped him over the edge; his thick sperm striped their stomachs as his back bowed off the bed. Panting, Bob collapsed atop him, their hearts hammering in sync. Outside, the waves murmured against the ship as their mingled sweat cooled on tangled limbs.
"Christ's bones," Frank rasped, fingers carding through Bob's damp hair. The first mate nuzzled his collarbone, exhaling a shuddering breath that ghosted across Frank's nipple. "You nearly split me in half, you brute."
Bob chuckled, the sound rough with satisfaction as he rolled them sideways. His calloused thumb traced Frank's bottom lip. "Aye, and you screamed prettily for it." He kissed the corner of Frank's mouth, softer than his hands had been minutes ago. "Like a siren pulling ships onto rocks."
Frank swatted his shoulder, but his fingers lingered on the muscle there. "Fucker." The insult lacked bite, his palm smoothing down Bob's flank instead.
"Your fucker," Bob murmured against his temple, breath warm where his lips brushed skin. He dragged the blanket up over their legs, tucking Frank against his chest like something precious. The captain let himself be maneuvered — unheard of for any other man — his cheek pressed to the steady thump of Bob's heartbeat.
"You're sentimental drunk," Frank muttered, though his arm hooked tighter around Bob's waist. "Like some blushing maid."
Bob nipped his ear. "You love it."
A pause. Frank's fingers traced the anchor tattoo over Bob's ribs — the same ink he'd watched the bosun needle into his skin three monsoons ago. "Suppose I do," he admitted, gruffer than necessary.
Bob's smile pressed into Frank's hair. "Good. 'Cause I'm keeping you." His fingers laced through Frank's, their scarred palms pressed together.
Frank scoffed, but his thumb rubbed circles into Bob's knuckles. "You need my strong back to swab the decks, eh?"
Bob squeezed his hand hard enough to make Frank grunt. "I need your smart mouth to give orders." A kiss to his forehead, surprisingly tender. "Need your stubborn arse in my bed." Another, slower, against his lips. "I need you, cap'n."
Frank's throat worked. He swallowed whatever sarcasm hovered on his tongue and buried his face in the crook of Bob's neck instead. The first mate smelled like sex and coconut oil, like home between bouts of cannon fire. Outside, gulls cried over the tide.
"Mutinous bastard," Frank mumbled into his skin.
Bob laughed, deep and warm, as the ship rocked them toward sleep.
Frank was just drifting off when a thunderous pounding shook the cabin door. "Cap'n!" The boatswain's voice sliced through the fog of satisfaction. "We're bearing down on Saint-Domingue — two bells off the port bow!"
Bob groaned into the crook of Frank's neck. Frank felt the rumble of it more than heard it. "Tell 'em to fuck off," Bob muttered, his breath hot against Frank's skin.
Frank sighed, untangling himself from Bob's limbs with a grunt. His bare feet hit the floorboards, sticky with spilled oil. He yanked the door open just enough to glare at the boatswain — a burly man who took one look at Frank's nude state and the love bites peppering his chest, then promptly studied his own boots.
"A week," Frank barked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Tell the men they've got liberty, but if I hear of one drunken brawl —" He didn't need to finish the threat. The boatswain nodded vigorously and scurried away.
Frank turned back to find Bob sprawled across the bed, grinning like a cat who'd emptied the cream jug. The lamplight carved shadows between his muscles — Frank could still see the marks his mouth had left on those shoulders.
"Saint-Domingue," Bob mused, stretching lazily. "That means fresh fruit. Real beds." His grin turned wicked. "Privacy."
Frank snorted, snagging his discarded breeches from the floor. "Privacy?" He jerked a thumb toward the door. "Half the crew probably had their ears pressed to the walls during that performance."
Bob caught Frank's wrist as he passed, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of salt and shared secrets. "Let 'em listen," he murmured against Frank's lips. "They might learn something."
Frank swatted him away, but his fingers lingered on Bob's jaw. "Get dressed, you insatiably lusty bastard. We've got a ship to dock."
Bob rolled upright, still gloriously naked, and stretched again — just to watch Frank's eyes darken. "Aye aye, cap'n," he drawled, taking his sweet time reaching for his clothes.
Frank growled under his breath, but his gaze traced the curve of Bob's spine as he bent to retrieve his trousers. The promise of a week ashore — of Bob pressed against him in a real bed, without the threat of interruptions — coiled low in his gut.
He'd have to remind Bob who gave the orders around here. Later.
The port of Saint-Domingue sprawled before them like a drunken whore — colorful, loud, and reeking of fish. Frank adjusted his freshly donned coat, the wool itching against his love bites. Bob, the bastard, had dressed slower than molasses in January, making sure Frank got an eyeful of every muscle flexing under sun-tanned skin. Now he stood at the rail, forearms resting on the sun-warmed wood, looking like sin incarnate with his shirt half-unbuttoned.
"Five minutes ashore," Frank growled, shoving a leather purse into Bob's hand, "and if I catch you eyeing those French tarts, I'll keelhaul you myself."
Bob's chuckle rumbled deep. "Jealous, cap'n?"
Frank's answering glare could've peeled paint. He opened his mouth to retort when a familiar scent hit him — lavender and gunpowder. Bob had somehow gotten close without making a sound, his chest pressing against Frank's back. "I've only got eyes for one man," he murmured, lips brushing Frank's ear. The captain shivered despite the tropical heat.
Their moment shattered when a bosun's whistle pierced the air. The gangplank hit the dock with a thud Frank felt in his teeth. Crewmen surged forward, coins jingling in pockets. Bob's hand lingered at the small of Frank's back — proprietary, possessive — before stepping away to bark orders. The men scrambled. Nobody questioned why the first mate's voice carried more weight than usual today.
Frank watched Bob herd the crew toward the tavern district, his shoulders blocking sunlight as he laughed at some joke. The captain's fingers twitched toward his dagger — not in threat, but in that restless way he had when he wanted to touch. Across the crowded dock, Bob turned as if sensing the weight of Frank's gaze. He winked. Frank scowled. The unspoken promise hung between them like a noose: tonight, locked behind a proper door, they'd pick up where they left off.
A merchant waved a bottle of rum under Frank's nose, breaking his reverie. By the time he'd batted the man away, Bob had vanished into the maze of sun-bleached streets. Frank exhaled through his nose. Seven bells until nightfall. Too damn long.
The tavern smelled of spilled brandy and unwashed armpits. Frank claimed a corner table, boots propped on a stool as he pretended to study shipping ledgers. Every few minutes, his fingers strayed to the fresh bite mark beneath his collar.
Bob found him just past dusk, smelling of citrus and gun smoke. "The room's paid for," he murmured, sliding a key across the table. His knuckles brushed Frank's wrist — deliberate, teasing. "Top floor. Thick walls."
Frank inhaled sharply. Bob had shaved. The bastard knew how Frank hated stubble burn in tender places.
Upstairs, the door hadn't even latched before Bob pinned him against the wood. Their kiss tasted of stolen oranges and danger. Frank's hat tumbled to the floor as Bob's teeth found his earlobe. "I've waited all day to hear you beg," Bob growled.
Frank retaliated by yanking his belt loose. "Keep dreaming."
The bedframe cracked against the wall on their first thrust. Outside, fireworks exploded over the harbor — gunpowder bursts of gold and crimson that matched the heat coiling in Frank's gut. Bob's hands bracketed his hips, calluses catching on sweat-slicked skin as he drove into him with the same relentless rhythm as the waves battering the docks below.
When dawn painted the room in purples and reds, they lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets. Bob's thumb traced the scar on Frank's ribs — the one from Barbados, when he'd taken a cutlass meant for his captain. Frank caught his wrist. "Stop mooning."
Bob kissed the scar instead. "Make me."
Frank rolled atop him, all teeth and possessiveness. Somewhere in the harbor, church bells tolled. Neither man moved.
A fist pounded their door. "Cap'n! Royal Navy's in the bay!"
Bob groaned. Frank cursed every god he knew.
"Five minutes," Bob shouted at the door, already reaching for Frank's breeches. His lips found Frank's shoulder as he helped him dress — a fleeting tenderness between pirates. Outside, the scent of gunpowder grew sharper.
Frank adjusted his pistol belt, fingers brushing Bob's as they both reached for the doorknob.
"Later," Bob promised, low and rough.
Frank shoved him against the wall for one last searing kiss. "Count on it."
They burst onto the docks like a storm rolling in. The Royal Navy brigantine loomed between merchant ships, its pristine sails snapping in the wind. Frank spat into the water. "God's fucking teeth." His crew clustered around them, stinking of rum and bad decisions — but blessedly armed.
Bob cracked his knuckles, eyeing the naval officer descending the gangplank. The man moved like a marionette with too-starched strings, his polished boots catching sunlight. "Let me handle this," Bob murmured, fingers brushing Frank's waist.
Frank's grin was all teeth. "Thought you'd never ask."
The officer's nose wrinkled as he took in their disheveled state. "By order of His Majesty —"
Bob grabbed him by the cravat, hauling him close enough to share breath. "Listen, pretty," he growled, his free hand slipping under the man's coat to palm the flintlock he'd hidden there. The officer froze. Bob pressed the pistol's muzzle against his ribs. "Tell your toy soldiers to stand down."
Frank watched the color drain from the officer's face with savage satisfaction. Behind him, his crew brandished cutlasses with drunken enthusiasm.
Bob leaned closer, his whisper carrying. "And if I ever catch you in my port again ..." He let the threat hang, hot and dangerous, before shoving the man backward onto his ass. They officer scrambled away, shouting orders at his trembling marines.
As the Navy ship retreated, Bob tossed the confiscated pistol to Frank. The weight was familiar in his palm — fine London steel, wasted on a bureaucrat. Frank tucked it into his belt beside the dagger Bob had gifted him last winter.
"Soft-handed fool," Frank muttered, watching the brigantine shrink on the horizon. Bob's chuckle was dark with promise as he stepped into Frank's space, the crew wisely looking elsewhere.
"Now," Bob murmured, breath hot against Frank's ear, "where were we?"
Frank's answering growl sent the nearest crewmen scattering. He dragged Bob toward a nearby alley, the promise of violence still thrumming in his veins. The first mate went willingly, his laughter a rumble against Frank's shoulder as they disappeared into the shadows. Somewhere above, a seagull cried. The scent of salt and gunpowder clung to them both — the perfume of men who answered to no one.
The ship could wait. Frank had more pressing battles to wage.
Bob pressed him against the alley's damp brick wall, his broad hands pinning Frank's wrists above his head. "You're wound tighter than a loaded spring," he murmured, teeth scraping Frank's stubbled jaw. The scent of spent gunpowder still clung to their clothes, mixing with the salt-sweat smell of victory. Bob shifted his grip, guiding Frank's palm to the curve of his own ass. "Work it out of you."
Frank's ragged exhale steamed in the humid air. His fingers dug into dense muscle through rough-spun trousers. "On your knees," he growled, voice rough with pent-up aggression.
Bob grinned, dropping faster than an anchor chain. Cobblestones bit into his kneecaps as he twisted, presenting himself with deliberate obscenity. The position arched his back, pulling his shirt taut across shoulder blades Frank had nibbled hours before. Frank wasted no time. His dagger slit Bob's waistband with a single practiced flick, fabric peeling away like orange rind.
The first lick drew a shudder from both men. Frank's tongue was broad and hot, tracing the furled sphincter with deliberate, filthy strokes. Bob pushed back against the intrusion, his groan echoing off the alley walls. Frank gripped those muscular cheeks, spreading them wider as he laved at Bob's hole with the same single-minded focus he gave to navigating reefs. Saliva dripped down Bob's taint, mingling with sweat.
"God's balls," Bob rasped, fingers scrabbling against brick as Frank's tongue breached him. The captain ate him like a starving man — messy, desperate, all tongue and spit and growls muffled against flesh. Each swipe of that wicked tongue sent tremors through Bob's thighs.
Frank pulled back, wiping his mouth on Bob's bare flank. "Oil," he demanded. Bob fumbled in his pouch, tossing the vial backward without looking. The liquid gilded Frank's fingers as he worked two inside without preamble. Bob hissed — the stretch burned deliciously, Frank's knuckles pressing against his perineum with every thrust.
"Now," Bob gritted out, arching his back further. "Fuck me raw."
Frank didn't need telling twice. He spat onto his cock — one last crude lubricant — before slamming home in one brutal stroke. Bob's shout bounced between the buildings as Frank set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips smacking skin against skin. The alley reeked of sex and salt, their sweat soaking into the stone beneath them.
Bob reached back, gripping Frank's thigh hard. "Harder, you bastard —" The demand ended in a punched-out groan as Frank angled deeper, his pubic bone grinding against Bob's ass with every thrust.
Somewhere beyond the alley, the church bell tolled. Neither pirate gave a damn.
Frank's fingers bit into Bob's hips. His thrusts lost all rhythm — just savage, jerking drives that shoved Bob forward with every snap of his pelvis. The brickwork scraped Bob's palms raw, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure coiling in his gut.
"You take me like you were made for it," Frank growled against the sweat-slicked notch between Bob's shoulder blades. His mouth found the tendon there, sucking a fresh mark into the already-bruised skin. Bob's answering groan morphed into a punched-out curse as Frank's cockhead dragged over his prostate with torturous precision. Precome dripped from Bob's neglected erection onto the cobblestones, each drop shimmering in the thin sunlight slicing through the alley.
Bob arched back, impaling himself deeper on Frank's length. "Gonna —" The warning died in his throat as Frank's calloused fist wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with their brutal coupling. The friction was too much — not enough — Bob's thighs trembled, his vision whiting out as his climax ripped through him. Semen striped the alley wall in thick ropes as his ass clenched around Frank's pounding cock.
The captain snarled something obscene, his hips stuttering. Hot sperm flooded Bob's insides as Frank came with a guttural groan, his forehead pressed between Bob's shoulder blades. For a heartbeat, they stayed locked together — breath ragged, skin steaming in the humid air — until Frank's softening cock squelched free with a filthy sound.
Bob turned, his back against the bricks now. Frank's spent load trickled down his thigh, mixing with his own drying release. The captain traced the mess with a possessive thumb before licking it clean. "Tastes like victory," he rasped.
Bob grabbed him by the beard, dragging him into a kiss that tasted of salt and gunmetal. Frank's hands mapped the marks his fingers had left on Bob's hips — a territorial claim written in bruises.
Somewhere out on the docks, drunken sailors began singing. Frank straightened his trousers with one hand, the other still gripping Bob's neck like he might vanish. "Bed," he ordered. "Now."
Bob smirked, adjusting his torn breeches. "Yours or mine, cap'n?"
Frank's answering "Ours."growl sent another shudder through him. The alley had been a prelude — the real battle would be fought between sweat-damp sheets.
They took the stairs two at a time, boots pounding the warped wood like a drumroll. Frank's palm burned against the small of Bob's back, propelling him forward even as Bob dragged him by the belt buckle. A serving girl flattened herself against the wall to avoid being trampled, her tray of empty tankards clattering to the floor. Neither man paused — Frank tossed a coin over his shoulder without looking, his other hand already working the key into the lock.
The door slammed shut behind them with enough force to rattle the oil lamp. Bob barely had time to kick off his boots before Frank spun him, pinning him against the doorframe with his mouth at Bob's pulse point. The first mate's laughter turned into a gasp as Frank's knee slid between his thighs, grinding up against the half-hard swell in his ruined trousers. The scent of their earlier fucking still clung to them — salt and musk and the faint metallic tang from the alley's brick dust.
Bob retaliated by ripping Frank's shirt open, buttons pinging against the washbasin. His mouth found a peaked nipple, biting just shy of pain as Frank arched into the contact with a hissed curse. The captain's hands fisted in Bob's hair, holding him in place as he rutted against his face — all desperate friction and the sharp sting of stubble burn.
Somewhere below, the tavern's piano struck up a bawdy tune. The ceiling trembled with stomping boots. Neither pirate heard it over the wet, filthy sounds of Bob's mouth working Frank's cock — the obscene slurps and choked groans that meant the captain was seconds from wrecking him against the nearest surface.
Frank's hips stuttered. Bob swallowed greedily.
The bed, when they finally reached it, groaned like a sinking ship.
Frank shoved Bob onto the mattress, his knees hitting the wooden frame hard enough to bruise. Bob grinned up at him, lips still glistening, and spread his thighs in deliberate invitation. The lamplight painted his chest in gold, highlighting the love bites Frank had left earlier.
Frank spat into his palm, stroking himself slowly as he drank in the sight. "Greedy bastard," he muttered, watching Bob's cock twitch at the insult. Their eyes locked as Frank pressed inside — no prep, no patience — just the slow, brutal slide of flesh yielding to flesh. Bob's gasp was ragged, his fingers clawing at the sweat-damp sheets as Frank bottomed out with a groan that shook the bedframe.
The rhythm started punishing — deep, measured thrusts that had the headboard slamming against the wall in time with Bob's punched-out curses. Frank dragged his nails down Bob's sternum, savoring the way his muscles jumped under the sting. Below them, the tavern's raucous singing dissolved into distant noise, replaced by the slick slap of skin on skin and Bob's increasingly broken pleas.
"Fuck — fuck," Bob choked out, his heels digging into the small of Frank's back as the angle shifted. The captain's hips snapped forward, grinding against that spot inside him that made stars burst behind his eyelids. Bob's cock leaked untouched between them, thick drops smearing across Frank's stomach with every brutal drive forward.
Frank grabbed Bob's jaw, forcing his head back. "Look at me," he growled, thumb pressing into the hinge of Bob's mouth. Their gazes locked — Frank's pupils blown black with lust, Bob's hazy with surrender — as the pace turned frantic. The bed's protests grew louder, wood creaking like a ship in a gale, but neither man cared about structural integrity now.
Bob came with Frank's name torn from his throat, his sperm striping their chests in hot spurts. Frank followed with a snarl, burying himself to the hilt as his climax ripped through him. The aftershocks left them both trembling — Frank collapsed atop Bob, their sweat-slicked chests sticking together, breaths mingling in the charged air.
Somewhere distant, waves crashed against the docks. Closer, their hearts hammered in sync. Bob's fingers traced the knotted scar on Frank's shoulder blade — a relic of a battle fought back-to-back. Frank nuzzled the juncture of Bob's neck, breathing him in: gunpowder, sea salt, and the musk of hard-won satisfaction.
Bob shifted beneath him with a wince. "Christ, Frank. You split me like a mast in a hurricane."
Frank's chuckle vibrated against his collarbone. "You begged for it." His thumb brushed a fresh bite mark on Bob's pec, earning a hiss. "Loudly."
A knock shattered the moment. "Cap'n?" The cabin boy's voice trembled through the door. "The ... uh ... the magistrate's here about the noise complaints."
Bob's groan shook the mattress. Frank rolled off him, snatching a blanket to cover their spent bodies. "Tell His Honor," he bellowed, voice hoarse from exertion, "we're conducting naval inspections." A pause. Then, quieter: "And fetch us a bath. With lavender."
Silence. Then receding footfalls.
Bob arched a brow. "Lavender?"
Frank swatted his thigh. "Your arse smells like a wharf rat's den." His fingers lingered on the hickey forming there. "Besides. Gotta keep you sweet for round three."
Bob's answering grin was all teeth. He caught Frank's wrist, flipping their positions with practiced ease. The bedframe shrieked in protest. "Who says I'm waiting for round three?" His knee pressed between Frank's thighs, finding him already hardening again. Below, the magistrate began shouting.
Frank tangled his fingers in Bob's hair, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of promise and salt. The bath could wait.
Bob's knee pressed harder between Frank's thighs, drawing a ragged groan from the captain as his half-hard cock twitched against rough fabric. Outside, the magistrate's indignant threats dissolved into spluttering when a drunk sailor vomited on his polished shoes. Bob smirked against Frank's lips. "Sounds like the crew's handling it."
Frank flipped them with a grunt, pinning Bob's wrists above his head. The first mate's pulse hammered against his palms. "You're insatiable."
Bob arched up, his erection dragging against Frank's stomach. "And you're still dressed." His teeth grazed Frank's collarbone. "Fix that."
The captain growled but reached for his belt buckle — only for the door to explode inward. A red-faced magistrate stood framed in the doorway, his wig askew. "By the King's authority —" His pronouncement died as he took in the scene: Frank straddling a gloriously naked Bob, their sweat-slicked bodies gleaming in the lamplight.
Bob sighed. "Christ's balls." Then he grabbed the chamber pot and hurled it.
The magistrate ducked with a shriek. The porcelain shattered against the hallway wall, spraying piss across his velvet coat. Frank barked a laugh, using the distraction to slam the door with his foot. The lock clicked just as fists began pounding.
Bob's hands were already on Frank's waistband. "Where were we?"
Frank kissed him bloody as the magistrate's muffled threats turned to retreating footsteps. The bath, when it arrived, went ignored until dawn.
Their last night ashore unfolded in tumbled sheets and bitten-off laughter. Bob rode Frank slowly by candlelight, sweat dripping onto the captain's chest as he rolled his hips with torturous precision. The bathwater grew cold while Frank traced the scars crisscrossing Bob's back — each one a story whispered against damp skin.
Morning brought harsh light and the bosun's bellowing from the docks. Bob stretched, muscles flexing as he stole Frank's shirt. The captain's protest died when Bob knelt to buckle his sword belt, lips brushing the exposed skin above Frank's waistband—a silent oath.
The walk back to the ship was a gauntlet of knowing grins. Frank glared; Bob winked at the gawkers. The crew scrambled to weigh anchor under their combined scrutiny, though none dared mention the fresh hickeys peeking above Bob's collar.
As sails unfurled, Bob pressed close behind Frank at the helm. His palm slid along the captain's forearm as he adjusted their course — ostensibly for navigation, really for the hitch in Frank's breath when his thumb circled the pulse point.
"Home?" Bob murmured, breath hot on Frank's neck.
Frank's fingers tightened on the wheel. "Wherever you are," he muttered, too low for any but Bob to hear.
The first mate's answering grin could've outshone the noon sun.
The crew wisely busied themselves elsewhere.
Bob leaned into Frank’s space, deliberately crowding him against the helm. The captain smelled like salt and last night’s lavender soap — an incongruous touch of refinement clinging to his sun-roughened skin. Bob hooked a finger in Frank’s belt, dragging him closer until the wheel dug into the small of Frank’s back. "You’re brooding," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of Frank’s ear.
Frank’s jaw worked. Below them, the crew pretended not to notice their first mate backing the captain against the ship’s wheel like a common doxy. "Not brooding," Frank growled. "Navigating."
Bob’s knee slid between Frank’s thighs, pressing just shy of rough. The wheel creaked as Frank’s grip tightened. "Liar." Bob’s teeth scraped Frank’s stubbled jaw. "You’ve been staring at that compass like it insulted your mother."
Frank exhaled sharply through his nose. The crew had the decency to suddenly become very interested in the rigging. "That’s because," he ground out, hips shifting against Bob’s thigh, "you adjusted our heading without consulting me."
Bob grinned, unrepentant. His thumb traced the inside of Frank’s wrist where the pulse jumped. "Of course I did. Faster winds northeast." His voice dropped to a whisper only Frank could hear. "It also takes us past Dead Man’s Cove. I thought you might fancy revisiting that cave where I —"
Frank’s growl cut him off as memory flashed between them — moonlit sand, Bob on his knees, seawater licking their ankles while Frank fucked his throat raw. The wheel groaned under Frank’s grip. Around them, the crew abruptly developed passionate interests in cloud formations.
"You planned this," Frank accused, voice thick. Bob’s answering smirk was interrupted when Frank seized his beard, yanking him into a kiss that tasted of salt and dominance. The ship listed slightly as their bodies pressed together. No one dared comment.
Bob broke away first, lips swollen. "Naturally." His palm slid down Frank’s chest, fingers dipping below his belt. "Got a whole barrel of rum and that pretty mouth of yours to put to work."
The mast creaked overhead as Frank twisted, pinning Bob against the helm with a hand around his throat — not tight enough to choke, just enough to feel the pulse hammering beneath his thumb. "You’re forgetting who gives orders here," Frank snarled, though his hips canted forward, betraying his interest.
Bob laughed breathlessly, fingers digging into Frank’s waist. "Prove it." He rocked up, grinding their hardening cocks together through rough-spun trousers. The crew scattered like startled gulls, suddenly engrossed in sail repairs that didn’t exist.
Frank’s grip tightened. "You little —" His curse dissolved into a groan as Bob bit his lower lip and sucked. The ship creaked around them, waves slapping the hull in time with Bob’s filthy rolling hips. Aloft, a rigging line snapped — whether from actual wind or the violence of Frank shoving Bob over the compass table, nobody dared ask.
Charts scattered as Bob landed on his back, boots knocking over the hourglass. Sand spilled across the floor like an hourglass of its own, grains sticking to the sweat-damp small of Bob’s back as Frank tore his breeches open. "You should’ve kept your mouth shut," Frank growled, spitting into his palm before fisting Bob’s cock with brutal efficiency.
Bob arched with a choked laugh, fingers scrabbling at Frank’s belt buckle. "Like you ever — fuck — wanted that." His hips stuttered as Frank’s thumb swiped over the leaking head, spreading precum in rough circles. The ship lurched — whether from waves or the force of Frank kicking Bob’s thighs wider, neither cared.
Frank crouched over him, blocking the midday sun streaming through the windows. His shadow swallowed Bob whole. "I should toss you overboard," he muttered, yanking Bob’s hips forward until his ass hung half off the table. Charts crinkled beneath them, ink smearing across Bob’s shoulder blades like war paint.
Bob grinned, hooking his legs around Frank’s waist. "You won’t." His fingers made quick work of Frank’s fly, freeing his cock with a practiced twist. "You like me too much."
Frank’s answering snarl was lost in the wet noise of Bob’s mouth enveloping his erection, tongue swirling around the head before sinking deep. The compass toppled over with a clatter as Frank braced himself against the table, thighs trembling. Bob hummed around him, the vibration wringing a ragged curse from Frank’s lips. Outside, footsteps hurried past the door — someone shouting about checking the starboard lines — but the world narrowed to the heat of Bob’s throat and the salt-sting of his beard against Frank’s thighs.
Frank fisted Bob’s hair, dragging him off with a filthy pop. “Turn over,” he ordered, voice wrecked. Bob licked his swollen lips and obeyed, chest pressed against spilled maps as Frank spat between his cheeks. No prep, no patience — just the blunt pressure of Frank’s cock breaching him in one brutal thrust. Bob’s shout smothered into the woodgrain as Frank set a punishing pace, each slam forward sending charts fluttering to the floor.
The ship rolled beneath them, waves crashing in time with Frank’s hips. Bob’s fingers clawed at the table’s edge, knuckles white, as Frank leaned over him, mouth sinking into the meat of his shoulder. “Still smug?” Frank growled, punctuating the question with a particularly vicious snap of his pelvis. Bob’s response dissolved into a guttural moan, his hips jerking back to meet every thrust.
Sunlight speared through the salt-crusted windows, illuminating the sweat sheening Bob’s back as Frank’s pace turned erratic. The table groaned under their combined weight, a splintering crack echoing as Bob reached behind himself, fingers digging into Frank’s thigh. “Fuck — right there,” he snarled, ass clenching around Frank’s cock as his own spilled across the ruined navigational charts.
Frank followed with a roar, hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside Bob. They collapsed together, panting, Frank’s forehead pressed between Bob’s shoulder blades. The ship creaked around them, the only sound beyond their ragged breathing.
Bob shifted with a wince, turning his head to smirk up at Frank. “Told you,” he rasped, “you like me too much.”
Frank swatted his ass, earning a yelp. “Shut up.” But his hands lingered, tracing the fresh marks he’d left on Bob’s hips — another claim in a sea of them.
Somewhere above, the crew began singing a bawdy shanty, conspicuously loud.
Bob chuckled, rolling onto his back with a groan. “Think they heard us?”
Frank yanked him up by the arm, tossing him toward the door. “Only the whole fucking Caribbean.”
Bob caught himself against the frame, grinning. “Good.”
The crew scattered as they emerged, but not fast enough to miss their captain’s hand lingering on Bob’s lower back — a silent promise for later.
The horizon stretched endlessly before them, blue and beckoning. Frank adjusted their course toward Dead Man’s Cove, Bob’s laughter ringing in his ears like the sweetest siren song.
"Still sore?" Bob asked, leaning against the railing beside Frank with a wicked grin.
Frank’s fingers twitched around the wheel. "Shut up." But the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.
Bob’s palm slid up Frank’s thigh, fingers squeezing just shy of painful. "Liar." His breath was hot against Frank’s ear. "You love it."
The captain growled low in his throat, shoving Bob away with a rough hand — but not before Bob caught the telltale hitch in his breath. The crew pretended not to notice, though more than one sailor ducked behind the rigging to hide their grins.
Dusk settled over the ship like a lover’s embrace. Bob cornered Frank below deck, pressing him against the bulkhead with a knee between his thighs. The scent of salt and sweat mingled between them as Bob’s kips grazed Frank’s collarbone. "Tonight," he murmured, lips brushing skin, "I want you on your back."
Frank’s grip tightened on Bob’s waist. "Bold words for a man who screamed like a —"
Bob silenced him with a kiss that tasted of rum and recklessness. When they broke apart, Frank’s pupils were blown wide, his breath ragged. The ship groaned around them, timbers creaking like an old bedframe.
Above deck, the crew struck up a raucous shanty. Neither man heard it over the sound of Frank’s belt hitting the floor.
Bob shoved Frank backward onto the cot, following him down with teeth bared. The captain’s knees hit the wood with a thud that would leave bruises tomorrow — not that either cared. Frank’s growl dissolved into a groan as Bob licked a stripe up his cock, the rough drag of his tongue contrasting with the gentle press of his fingers against Frank’s inner thighs.
"You talk too much," Bob murmured against Frank’s hipbone before sinking down in one smooth motion. Frank arched off the cot, hands fisting in Bob’s hair as his throat worked around him. The lantern swung overhead, casting lewd shadows across the bulkhead — Bob’s shoulders flexing, Frank’s thighs trembling.
When Bob pulled off with a filthy pop, Frank hauled him up by the beard. Their kiss was all teeth and shared breath, tongues tangling as Bob rutted against Frank’s thigh. The cot groaned beneath them, protesting as Frank flipped their positions, pinning Bob facedown against the mattress.
Frank spat into his palm, slicking himself in rough strokes before pressing against Bob’s entrance. No prep, no patience — just the relentless press of flesh yielding to flesh. Bob’s curse melted into a whimper as Frank bottomed out, hips flush against his ass.
Their rhythm started brutal, each thrust driving the cot against the wall with enough force to rattle the medicine bottles on the shelf. Bob’s fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white as Frank bent over him, mouth hot on the nape of his neck. "Still want me on my back?" Frank panted, punctuating the question with a particularly vicious snap of his hips.
Bob’s laugh broke into a moan. "Fuck you — ah —"
Frank’s hand slid beneath Bob, fisting his cock in time with his thrusts. "I already am," he growled, thumb swiping over the leaking head.
The shanty above deck reached its crescendo as Bob came with Frank’s name on his lips, back arching like a drawn bow. Frank followed seconds later, sucking Bob’s shoulder hard enough to leave marks as his hips stuttered through his release.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, sweat-slicked and sated. Somewhere above, a sailor missed a note. Bob chuckled against the mattress. "Think they heard us?"
Frank swatted his ass, earning a yelp. "Shut up." But his fingers traced the fresh marks on Bob’s hips — another claim in a sea of them.
Outside, the waves whispered against the hull, carrying them toward Dead Man’s Cove and whatever debauchery awaited.
Bob sighed, stretching like a cat in sunlight, his muscles flexing under Frank’s lingering touch. "You’re thinking too loud," he murmured, rolling onto his side to face Frank. "Plotting our next course or plotting how to ruin me?"
Frank traced the love bites along Bob’s collarbone, his calloused fingers dragging just shy of pain. "Both," he admitted gruffly.
Bob grinned and leaned in, his lips brushing Frank’s ear. "Good." His knee slid between Frank’s thighs, pressing deliberately.
A knock shattered the moment.
"Cap’n!" The bosun’s voice was strained through the door. "Ship on the horizon — Spanish colors."
Frank exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on Bob’s hip. "Fuck."
Bob nipped his jaw. "Later."
They dressed quickly — Frank buckling his sword belt with practiced efficiency, Bob lacing his breeches with a smirk. The crew scattered as they emerged, heads bowed but shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Frank ignored them, striding toward the helm.
Bob followed, close enough that their arms brushed.
The Spanish ship loomed, sails taut against the wind.
Frank’s fingers drummed against the wheel. Bob leaned against the railing, deliberately crowding into his space.
"Think they’ll fight?" Bob mused, thumbing the hilt of his cutlass.
Frank’s grin was all teeth. "I sure hope so."
Bob laughed — sharp, bright — and Frank’s pulse kicked.
The crew exchanged glances.
The Spanish ship drew nearer.
Bob’s fingers brushed Frank’s wrist — a silent promise.
Frank adjusted their course.
Beneath the salt and sweat and impending violence, their shared heartbeat thundered on.
And the horizon stretched endlessly before them.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
