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“Have you tried telling him that?”
“Of course I’ve tried, John, but you know how he can be!”
“Well try harder! If you’re going to engage in this nonsense, you need to know!”
“John. Dear, naive John. Do you really think that me ‘trying harder’ is going to work? Why don’t you put your legendary skills of persuasion to use and try to convince him yourself.”
As they came storming through the door, James closed his book. He stopped pretending not to be listening and looked up, waiting.
“Convince me of what?” he said drolly. He should have never sent these two off by themselves. He should have known it wouldn’t turn out well for him.
“He needs to learn how to fight,” John said. He had that look about him—lips pinched tight, eyes burning brightly—that he only got when he was terrified. And trying to hide it.
James walked over to him, studying him closely, trying to find the source of John’s fear. The man before him was jittery, panicking like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap. For the life of him, he didn’t know why.
“Where is this coming from?” He murmured.
When John didn’t answer, James glanced at Thomas, hoping he’d fill in whatever James was missing.
“I took him to Murphy’s print shop,” he supplied.
Oh.
James turned back to John, who was still staring at him beseechingly. “And this is important to you.”
The knowledge that John was so shaken over a possible threat to Thomas was causing funny things to happen in James’s belly. His whole body itched to pull John into his embrace.
“Yes,” John said, jolting James out of his thoughts, “If you won’t teach him, I will.” He stared at James, daring him to contradict.
James studied him again, unsure. He sighed, knowing that, if nothing else, John was right. Thomas needed to learn to defend himself. After all, who more than he knew how cruel the world could be? And though he hated the thought of Thomas wielding a sword, hated the thought that he may not be enough to protect Thomas (he tried to ignore the whisper reminding him he’d already failed to protect Thomas once), he knew he would give in. Not only for Thomas’s sake, but for John’s too. Because he’d promised himself that if John should come back to him, he’d listen to him. And he had promised himself that he would never allow Thomas or John to live in fear again.
He glanced over at Thomas, “And this is what you want?”
“Yes,” he said.
“All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll do it. I suppose it’s time you learned.”
“Good,” John said, visibly relaxing, “but you won’t train him. We will.”
James nodded once, a smile spreading across his face. If John was going to help train Thomas, he had to physically be there. Perhaps he wasn’t going to leave after all.
“We can start tomorrow, if you’d both like.” He held up a hand, to stop John’s inevitable argument.
“There’s a storm brewing, which will take all of our concentration and strength for tonight. Manning a lighthouse isn’t as rigorous as manning a ship, but it is still extremely demanding when the weather is poor. John, you’ll help?”
“Of course,” John said. His face shuttered briefly, and James knew he was remembering another storm, years ago. “Of course I’ll help, just tell me what needs to be done.”
James nodded again, mind already listing the things that they needed to accomplish before the storm hit. But first —
“Thomas, I need you to ride out to Mr. Ducat’s farm. Tell him we won’t need him today.”
“I will.” Thomas grabbed his coat off the hook by the door, pausing only to press a short, firm kiss to James’s lips.
“Be safe,” he said.
“You too.” With that, Thomas stepped out of the cottage into the wind and closed the door behind him.
James and John quickly prepared the lighthouse for the oncoming storm. They tied down everything that could be strewn about by the wind and the waves, cleaned the lamp until it shone, and carried spare oil up to the light deck. Silently, they worked side-by-side, as though they had worked in a lighthouse together for years. Their dance was so seamless, their movements blended into each other’s. Perhaps a lighthouse isn’t so different from a ship after all, James mused. He’d missed this, missed the exhilaration of he and Silver acting as one.
Thomas arrived back just moments before the storm hit. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than the lighthouse shook with the force of the waves crashing ashore. The wind whipped around the circular structure, shaking windows in their casings and rattling doors on their hinges. James could taste the sea spray as surely as if he’d been standing on the Walrus’s deck.
With the lighthouse prepared, there was little to do except watch the angry waves break against the wall and pray that no ships would try to make it into harbor until the weather broke. Any sensible captain would know better, but the men in the lighthouse were more familiar than most with captains of the non-sensible sort.
“It’s a ship killer,” whispered John, echoing DeGroot's prophetic words. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Yes,” said James, “But this time, we’re safe in here. Not out there.”
“I’m sorry,” Thomas interjected, “you mean to tell me you sailed in a storm like this?”
“Only once,” said James, “it was right after—”
Whatever he was going to say was lost as a loud snap, followed by a crash, echoed through the lighthouse.
“Fuck,” said three voices in unison.
“That must have been the pulley with the spare oil. I’ll go salvage what I can. Stay here,” James said.
“James, no—” Thomas began.
“I’m going. Keep safe in here. I’ll be back shortly.” It had the ring of an order, and neither man protested. He fought down the urge to apologize. There was no time for that now.
He ran outside, ducking his head behind the collar of his coat. Storms at land were different than storms at sea, and he no longer had demons howling louder than the wind. He stuck close to the ground, knowing the wind would literally sweep him off his feet if he wasn’t careful.
Of course, he was so busy focusing on besting the wind that he didn’t stop to consider how slippery the rocks surrounding the lighthouse would be. Though it had been years since he’d set foot on a ship, so used was he to the slipperiness of the smooth decks that he stepped without thinking and immediately felt his foot slip. His ankle twisted and he crumpled, landing bodily on the sharp rocks.
Groaning, he tried to stand, but his ankle would bear no weight. He yelled, but it was futile against the screaming wind and crashing waves. He had no choice but to drag himself up towards the lighthouse and seek shelter until the wind either ceased or someone came looking for him.
The climb up toward the lighthouse was, in a word, excruciating. Every movement sent pain shooting up his leg, radiating all the way to his hip. He’d been shot, stabbed, beaten, and sliced, yet none of those pains compared to this.
Rain pelted him from all angles, stinging his scraped hands like buckshot. He closed his eyes, waiting. Whether for rescue, or death, he wasn’t sure. Old habits died hard, after all.
Finally, sometime after the shivering set in, he heard them. Two voices, shouting his name through the wind.
“I’m here!” He yelled, voice quaking. “Over here!”
Thomas and John emerged from the haze of rain, looking frantic and, somehow, even wetter than he was. They rushed to him, Thomas crouching at his side.
“We were so worried! Are you all right? Are you injured?” he asked.
“Of course he’s injured, you idiot, look at him!”
Thomas waved away the insult, eyes insistently checking James over. “What is it?”
“My ankle. It’s twisted, maybe broken. I can’t walk.”
“Fuck,” John cursed, doing his best to lean down next to Thomas. James thought he’d never seen John look more frightened — not when he had a knife pressed against his neck, not when he told James about his double-cross for the Urca gold, not even when he’d held a pistol to James’s chest.
“We need to get you inside and dry,” said Thomas. “John, can you help me get him up?”
John nodded resolutely. Together, the three of them managed to get James standing upright. They half-carried, half-dragged him into the lighthouse. Once inside, Thomas ordered John to start a fire while he got dry clothes and blankets for James.
Despite the pain, James couldn’t help but marvel at Thomas’s calmness and control over the situation. In another life, he would’ve made a great naval commander.
John, on the other hand, was clearly falling apart. Each time Thomas gave an order, John took half a second too long to follow it. When his task required he turn his back on James, he struggled to tear his eyes away. Eyes that held too much concern for James to feel entirely comfortable. John looked at him as if he was about to be ferried across the River Styx, not sitting in his own kitchen with a slight chill and broken ankle.
Once they had managed to get James into a dry shirt, Thomas crouched down at James’s feet and tried to remove the boot off his injured ankle. Even though he was gentle, James couldn’t stop the grunt of pain from leaving his lips.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to cut it off,” Thomas said, eyes wide with concern.
“Like hell you will. I‘ll fucking kill you before I let you mutilate him,” John snapped, pulling Thomas away roughly.
“The boot, John,” he said. “I need to cut off the boot. It will hurt him too much to remove it any other way.”
John turned away, but not before James caught the look on his face. He was concerned for James, clearly, but James had the distinct impression he was seeing not the scene before him, but one in which a younger, two-legged man was about to be forever changed.
Thomas grabbed a sharp knife off the kitchen counter and once more knelt at James’s foot. James struggled to remain silent as Thomas sawed the boot off of him, eyes watering from the effort.
Finally, Thomas peeled the boot away. He let out a low whistle. “It looks dislocated. I’ll have to reset it. James, this will hurt.”
“No!” John shouted, once again lunging at Thomas. “You aren’t touching him — I won’t let you. He needs a doctor.”
“It must be set now, John. This can’t wait for a doctor. Besides, we would never get to one in this storm.”
“No.”
Thomas looked beseechingly at James. “I can do this,” he murmured, “I’ve done it before.” Thomas had no medical training that he knew of. No, this must be a skill learned and honed through the years they’d been apart. That thought hurt James worse than his ankle did.
He nodded. “All right.”
Silver glanced frantically between them, as though he was unsure who to address. “No! This will not happen — I ... I won’t allow it. I’ll—"
Whatever he was going to say next was lost, as James grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him down, pulling John’s lips to his own.
The softness of John’s lips was a surprise. James had expected some resistance, even if just at the suddenness of the kiss, but John melted immediately at his touch. He clung onto James’s shoulders as if James alone could save him from drowning. James’s tongue pressed against the seam of John’s lips, and he opened them with a desperate groan. James swept his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. He could have explored the sweetness of John’s mouth forever, all thoughts of pain swept aside, until—
“Fuck!”
Thomas, taking advantage of their distraction, had used the moment to snap James’s ankle back into place.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding not at all contrite. “You should feel better now, love.”
James caught the glint in his eye, and he had to admit, he did feel better. In Thomas’s eyes, there was no reproach, no disapproval. Only something akin to relief.
“Thank you.”
Behind him, James heard the distinctive thump-step of John’s gait. He turned in his chair just in time to see the last of John’s curls disappear down the hall.
“John!” No answer.
“Silver!” No answer.
“Fuck,” he said, looking back at Thomas. “I need to get up — need to go to him.”
“Let me splint your leg first. Then yes, you must.” Thomas worked quickly, efficiently wrapping James’s ankle in fabric torn from an old shirt.
Once the task was finished, James rose, suddenly torn between the need to embrace Thomas and the need to see Silver, to gauge just how much damage he’d caused. Thomas placed a hand on James’s cheek, the warmth of it reassuring.
“Go. I’ll see you both in the morning.” James pressed a soft kiss to his lips in thanks, then turned and limped out of the kitchen.
Once he reached the second-floor landing, he rapped softly on John’s door.
No response. James’s heart pumped shards of ice into his chest as he reached down and turned the knob. He’d disrupted Silver’s solitude many times before, but never with this much trepidation.
James found him staring out the window, watching as the rain continued to pelt the ground below. At least the wind had quieted somewhat.
“She thought I killed you.”
He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t what he expected.
“She was so angry with me, for taking away her war — your war — that her opinion of me was forever shifted. No matter how many times I told her the truth, I’m not sure she ever believed that you were alive.” Finally, he turned to James, so he could see the unshed tears shimmering in his eyes.
“How could she not have known that I could no sooner put you in the ground than her?” he asked, voice breaking.
God, James wanted to reach for him. But John upset was John at his most skittish, and James couldn’t reach out for fear he’d break the fragile thing between them once and for all.
“I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly, lamenting his own inadequacy.
“For what?” John asked, an edge creeping into his voice. “For kissing me?”
“God, no. I’m not sorry for that. But I didn’t want — I didn’t want it to be like that.”
John moved a half-step closer. “Like what?”
“Like it meant nothing to me more than a means to shut you up. I always thought that when we kissed — I mean, if we kissed — it would be more...well, more...” he faltered, unsure.
John moved forward again, nearly closing the gap between them. James was transfixed; not even lighting striking could draw his attention away.
“Will you show me?” John whispered.
The air crackled with electricity as James closed the space between them. He reached out and tangled one hand in the thicket of John’s curls, while his other hand caressed the side of his face. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over John’s lips, watching his eyes flutter closed. James leaned in and pressed a feather-soft kiss against each of John’s eyelids. Then he repeated the same across John’s cheekbones and down to his lips.
He pressed their lips softly together once, twice. Each time he pulled away, John’s lips chased after his. The third time, he pressed his lips more insistently against John’s, using the hand in his hair to angle his head just right. John opened his mouth, inviting James to plunge inside and seek the sweetest treasure he’d ever known.
The first time their tongues met, James felt a shiver go up John’s spine. As their kiss deepened, John worked his hands under the fabric of James’s shirt and ran his fingers up and down James’s sides, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. He pulled James in, still gripping his sides, until their bodies were flush against each other. As their kiss grew more desperate, James stepped out to cradle John’s thighs with his own, and winced when he put weight on his injured ankle. John pulled back, hands never leaving James's sides.
“Seeing as we’ve only got two good legs between us,” John said, voice breathless, “maybe we should continue this on the bed.”
James nodded, and together, they lay down on the bed, side by side. Just as John leaned back in to kiss him again, James paused.
“Have you ever been with a man?” he asked, reaching around to rub his fingers over the crease of John’s ass through his trousers. He wanted his meaning to be perfectly clear. There was a significant difference between kissing and fucking, he knew. And he would not push John into something just because he wanted it so badly. So. Fucking. Badly.
“In some ways, yes,” John admitted, “but not like that.”
James exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He nuzzled his nose into the crook between John’s neck and shoulder, content just to be near him, their barriers stripped away. He would ignore his throbbing erection, if John needed him to. “We don’t have to,” he started, “if you don’t—“
“I want to, Captain,” John said. “I’ve always wanted it to be you.”
That did it. Whether it was the title or the admission, James was undone. Desire unfurled in his belly like a sail catching wind. In one motion, he pushed John onto his back and slid between his legs, trapping John beneath his body. His hips shifted until they found what they sought: the hard bulge in John’s pants pressing against his own.
James began to move against him, frustrated by the layers of fabric still separating them.
“I need you naked,” he growled into John’s mouth. “Now.”
Without breaking their kiss John pushed him back onto his knees and tugged James’s shirt up over his head.
“You first.”
The cold air in the room hit James’s bare chest, causing his nipples to peak. John leaned forward and laved his tongue over one pointed tip, while squeezing the other between his fingers. James moaned.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your shirt is still on.”
John chuckled softly before pulling back and divesting himself of his shirt. What he didn’t do, however, was lean back in to James’s waiting lips. Instead, he made a show of playing with his own nipples, pinching one and then the other the way he had James’s. He moaned obscenely, working himself harder, pushing his hips into James at a tantalizingly slow rhythm.
James couldn’t take it. His hands fairly flew to John’s trousers, eager to end the teasing. Once John’s trousers were unfastened, James made quick work of removing them, and then his own.
He settled in back between John’s legs, reveling in the feel of their cocks sliding together, already slick with pre-come. Reaching his hands under John, he grabbed his ass to pull them more snugly against each other, as John captured his mouth in a searing kiss. James thought he might burst into flames.
“Fuck this feels good,” John moaned. “I can’t wait to have you inside me.”
James tore his lips away from John’s, kissing and sucking a line down his throat and onto his chest. He sucked one nipple into his mouth and bit down, causing John to cry out sharply. He repeated it with the other, and then again, until John was squirming beneath him. Only then did he continue his assault, kissing down John’s taut stomach to his hips. Though James noticed the scars marring his skin — some he recognized and others that were new — he pointedly ignored them. This moment wasn’t about mourning what they’d lost; it was about finding themselves in each other. Becoming whole again.
James kissed lower, following the path of John’s hipbones to his cock. He paused for a moment, admiring, before opening his mouth and swallowing John whole.
John’s hips bucked violently against James as he sucked at him, reveling in the weight of John on his tongue. He swallowed around him, then pulled up to tease the slit of his cock with his tongue, collecting the evidence of John's desire as he went. He pressed kisses along his shaft before engulfing him in his mouth once more. With the hand not holding John’s hips steady, he tugged lightly on John’s balls, rolling them between his fingers.
“Oh Jesus — oh fuck Captain, fuck, keep going — just like that. Captain — I’m —“
James pulled away from him with an audible pop. “I should’ve known you’d be loud in bed,” he said with a grin. “I wonder how loud you’ll be with my cock in you.”
“Why don’t you fuck me and find out.”
He had a point, James would admit. “Any chance you have oil?”
John rolled over and rummaged through the sack at the side of the bed, pulling out a small vial. “It’s for my hair, but I think it’ll work,” he said.
James unstoppered the bottle and poured some over his fingers before crawling back up John’s chest.
“If this hurts, we stop.”
John nodded. Assured, James kissed John again, running his fingers down John’s side, leaving a slick path in his wake. At the first press of his finger against John’s hole, John moaned obscenely.
“If this is what it feels like, there’s no way we’re stopping.”
“Oh, love, you haven’t felt anything yet,” James said, slowly pushing his finger deep inside John. He stilled, waiting for John’s body to adjust to the intrusion, before pulling out and thrusting his finger in again, quicker. Under him, John keened, trying to push back onto James’s finger. James added a second finger, scissoring them. He leaned up and kissed John deeply, tongue thrusting into John’s mouth in time with his fingers.
John tore his mouth away from James’s. “Jesus, Captain! I need you. Now.”
James withdrew his fingers slowly, pouring oil over his throbbing cock with the other hand. He lined himself up against John’s entrance, rubbing the head of his cock over John’s hole before pressing inside.
Heaven itself couldn't compare to being inside John. He was so tight, so hot, that James wanted to weep from the sheer pleasure of it. Not that he had the chance, however. John crashed their lips together once more, teeth sinking into James’s lower lip, then his neck. John pressed his hips against James’s, pleading silently for him to move. James pulled out of John slowly before snapping his hips and thrusting back in until he was fully inside, his hips pressed against John’s luscious ass. John wrapped his legs around James’s hips as they moved together as one, so similar and yet so different from what they’d shared before.
"Fuck me harder, Captain. Yes, that's it. God, you're so fucking good darling."
Though he wanted to take it slow, wanted to make it last, James quickly felt himself losing control. His hips stammered but never lost their rhythm, guided by the thrust of John’s body back onto his. John wrapped his arms around James’s neck, keeping their bodies pressed together. His fingernails scored James’s back, his shoulders. He loved the sting of it, of being marked by this man.
“Touch yourself,” James demanded. He shifted slightly so John could fit a hand between them. The sight of John’s thick fingers wrapping around his leaking cock was nearly pushed James over the edge. But he was determined for John to come first. He shifted their position, angling John’s hips upward so he could thrust in even deeper. He knew the moment he hit that spot inside John: he went tense, a moan-turned-cry escaping his mouth, head thrown back in pleasure as his release shot white streaks onto their bodies. James followed nearly immediately after, his vision whiting out as he came deep inside John.
Afterwards, he collapsed onto John’s chest, too sated to move. They lay like that for a while, John stroking his fingers lazily down James’s back, until James rolled away in search of a cloth to clean them with.
When he came back to the bed, John was propped up on his elbows, watching him with a dazed smile playing on his lips. With his lips swollen from James’s kisses, bite marks covering his neck and chest, and skin glistening from their shared sweat and come, he looked thoroughly debauched. Like Dionysus returning to Mount Olympus after a night of revelry.
James shook his head, amused by his own romanticism. He could never, never let John know that he was comparable to the gods.
“What are you thinking?” James asked him, flushing under John's continued scrutiny.
“I’m just wondering,” he said, voice husky, “why we never did that before.”
James chuckled, throwing the damp cloth at his head. “We were busy. Stealing gold, planning wars, you know. Am I to assume you enjoyed yourself?”
In response, John simply grabbed his hand and yanked him in for another kiss.
“I have waited a very long time to be able to do that,” he said, pressing his forehead to James’s. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
“Of course,” James replied. “Will you stay with me, tomorrow?” Forever?
“Yes,” said John. “I promise.”