Written for Taylor Maine for the [Don We Now Our Gay Apparel 2004]. Consider this my swan song.

Song of the Sea
By: Rhys

“Was there news?”

Joey turned his head at the quiet intrusion, mustering a smile for JC even though his whole chest ached from what he had heard from the tavern keeper’s wife. When he was at sea, there were few on land that he trusted to hold news for him, but Kelly was one of them. He had accepted her words with dread then kept them guarded inside until his feet had touched the main deck. Even then, he had waited until night had settled and there was peace enough to reflect upon all that she had given.

“Was there news, Joey?” JC repeated, touching his fingers to Joey’s elbow.

“The Betty was lost at sea two weeks ago,” Joey replied.

“Survivors?”

“The cook and the First Mate survived. They floated together on a barrel of ale then were picked up by a Spanish merchant ship. Only two,” Joey said, staring out into the dark, ignoring the merry twinkle of the stars and the joyful singing of the crew from below deck.

JC came to stand beside him, his back held straight like a board. There was a sticky heat riding on the night air, but JC remained fully dressed, the lace of his shirt perfectly pinned at his throat. He tilted his head thoughtfully then sighed. “Are they lost then, man, or do we still have hope?”

“We still have hope,” Joey replied, resting a hand on JC’s narrow shoulder. “We stay on course, and hope that they will meet us in Port Royal as there has been no sign of them here. Those two are half of the sea. I find it impossible that a simple storm would do either of them in.”

JC grinned. “They likely floated ashore on two barrels of ale. More if they could manage it.”

“Aye,” Joey said, offering a half-broken laugh. It was all he had to give that night.

Gently, he rubbed his thumb over the soft skin behind JC’s ear, and JC turned to him. His brows creased questioningly, and Joey bowed his head. JC took his leave, disappearing into the settling fog, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the song of the sea. Joey smiled despite his heartache, curving his fingers over the smoothly polished rail of his ship, his Song of the Sea.

“You will lead me back to them,” Joey whispered, pressing his lips to the wood.

Leaving the ship in the hands of young Jack Mouse, a quiet boy of barely fourteen, he checked on his meagre crew, grinning gaily when they caught sight of him and offering them each another ration of ale for a job well done. If their happy laughter could ease the ache of his heart for a beat then he would gladly take it. Otherwise, his sorrow was too great to bear.

JC was in the Captain’s Cabin, sitting by the window in the dark. Joey walked past him, grabbing the nearest lantern and lighting it. JC’s flinch ripped through the shadows, and Joey’s heart broke again, but it was an old wound. One lamp was enough. He pushed the flame to a dim glow.

“Sit, man,” JC said, combing his fingers through Joey’s hair, and Joey leaned into his touch, letting himself be led to the bed and the shirt be pulled from his shoulders. JC already had a basin of water ready. Humming, he dipped his cloth into the bowl and started to wash Joey’s back.

Joey sighed softly, dropping his chin and leaning forward, his head falling into his hands, and JC’s careful touches stilled on his back. The basin set down on the floor with a thump, and then strong arms encircled his waist. Between that and the roll of the waves, Joey almost felt calm.

“They’re fine,” JC whispered, lips warm against the shell of Joey’s ear.

“Or gone to Davy Jones’s locker.”

“Don’t think on it, man.”

“Then make me stop,” Joey muttered as JC slid over his lap, long and lithe, a man of great beauty, inside and out, though Joey had spent half his life failing to convince JC of that. “At least I have you. Promise me, JC, that you will never leave me or this ship. We need you.”

“I’m as utterly without family as you are,” JC said, cupping Joey at the curve of his jaw and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Joey slid an arm around his back, bringing them flush together. The heat of JC’s body was incredible. He always burned like the hottest fire, though Joey would never dare tell him that. Desperate to feel it scald his skin, Joey pulled at JC’s breeches.

“Lift up,” Joey muttered into JC’s open mouth, licking his tongue against JC’s. When there was space enough between them, Joey pulled the fine breeches from JC’s legs then allowed JC to do the same to him, but when Joey tugged at JC’s shirt, JC shook his head sharply.

“It stays on.”

“When will you believe me?” JC looked down at him unhappily, mouth a tight line, and Joey sighed. “Fine,” he said, and kissed away the frown. The feel of JC’s mouth made him heady, like he’d drank too much ale, and the pain that had sobered him so mightily began to numb.

Joey walked his fingers up the line of JC’s body, under his fancy lace shirt, growling when JC caught his wrist and put Joey’s hand on his thigh. “Let my pain be numbed, too,” JC murmured, kissing lightly against Joey’s lips, and Joey nodded. He diverted his attention to JC’s stiff prick, which stood out proudly between his shirttails. He gripped it tightly, and stroked down.

“Oh,” JC breathed, like a virgin, always surprised and delighted by any touch offered to him. They all teased him ruthlessly over it, but Joey knew none of them would see it changed.

His belly twinged with regret, and Joey pushed everything from his mind but the man grinding so determinedly on his lap. Joey knew what JC wanted, but he wanted it more. Breaking their desperate kiss, Joey pulled his legs from under JC’s writhing hips, getting tangled for a moment as JC resisted, moaning his protest, then settled on his back, legs spread invitingly.

The fabric of JC’s shirt rubbed roughly against his chest, forcing his nipples to tighten, and Joey groaned helplessly, for he always liked that, to be touched there, especially with a wet mouth. JC happily obliged, licking and biting, leaving a map of pink marks. Joey lifted his hips impatiently, rubbing their pricks together, the salt of JC’s arousal mixing with his own.

“Now,” Joey whispered, hauling JC’s head up by the curls, slicking his tongue into JC’s red mouth. His kisses made Joey delirious, like a fever, and he welcomed them greedily, groaning again when JC pulled back to spit into his palm, an aid to ease his passage. A third groan escaped when the blunt head of JC’s cock poked at his arse, and Joey pushed back, opening his mouth again for a sweet kiss.

Mid-fuck, Joey ripped the neck of JC’s shirt, gladly accepted JC’s bite of protest and vowed to rip no more. He needed the line of JC’s throat to suck at, to mark, and he did as fully as could manage, leaving JC with the memory of him in case he, too, was someday swallowed by the sea.

ii.

The Gay Pirate Joey disappeared overnight. Joey more resembled his brother Steven, who had referred to himself as the Gay Pirate Steven and had been called (quite behind his back) the Miserable Bastard Steven, which JC had thought was more accurate. Joey was more like his father than Steven had been, happy enough with the sea beneath his feet, his ship in good working order, a plentiful supply of ale and a bed full of willing bodies. Or had been, until now, this morrow.

As acting First Mate, and not a very good one at that, it was JC’s responsibility to ensure Joey’s orders were followed. Their crew were a good-natured and easygoing lot, content enough to follow if it meant pieces of eight in their pocket, food in their bellies, and regular stops at Port Royal.

They seemed as unsure of Joey’s turn of mood as JC felt about it.

Granted, he felt the same sort of fear gnawing at his belly, but he had lived a life so wrought with terror and worry that it felt familiar enough, and he did not dwell on it. Either Chris and Justin were lost at sea, or they weren’t. Acting like a bastard to the crew wouldn’t change it.

Or, worse, attacking in broad daylight! JC crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the sea, blaming it for the audacity of the man. They were pirates. JC understood this, and pillaged with the best of them, felt little guilt, freely spent his share and a quarter. But part of Joey’s allure was, in fact, his gaiety, the fact he robbed with a grin, that he didn’t murder without provocation or condone the act of rape.

JC had barely been awake, reluctantly pulling himself from the luxury of Joey’s bed, when he’d heard William William, a most unfortunately named man, shout out from the quarter deck, “raise the Jolly Roger!” JC had rushed from the Captain’s Cabin to see Joey standing at the ship's wheel, eyes on a nearby vessel. They had raided without the usual style and with triple the usual violence, lost Edward Collins to Davy Jones, and then some vile beast had set the boarded ship on fire.

The Miserable Bastard Joey was not a man to love, or be loved by. When JC had seen the flames, he disappeared through the hatch, climbing into the welcoming shadows of the hold and hiding there, among the barrels of ale and wine, shivering with a fear that had shamed his life.

By afternoon, he had emerged, and accepted his share and a quarter with only a frown.

He had not spoken to Joey since. Joey’s eyes were always on him.

JC swept across the deck, pulling idly at the lace of his shirt where it scratched his neck. This Caribbean heat would someday kill him, much sooner than the sea ever would. He was better suited for piracy somewhere cooler, but Joey, Chris and Justin preferred it here.

They should never have left.

They were hours from Port Royal, and JC prayed that they would find Justin and Chris there. Or at least mention of them. There was nary a pirate, or a common man for that matter, who had not heard of Chris Kirkpatrick and Justin Timberlake. They caused too much trouble together.

JC spent the rest of the afternoon tending to petty injuries, minor burns that need a salve and cuts that needed a good drowning with whisky. On a ship of fools, he had somehow been forced into the roll of physician, as if he somehow knew more about it because of his tragic childhood.

When the last man was helped, JC washed up, one eye on the door. He made quick work of it, opening the laces of his shirt and sluicing the damp rag over his body. When he finished, he turned around and started slightly, noticing Joey in the corner of the room. Joey moved like water, too quiet for a man of his size and stature. Even the gentleness of his smile was unexpected.

“Are you still angry?”

“Yes,” JC said decidedly, holding his shirt closed with a white-knuckled fist.

“The man who set that fire. I know who it is, and he will be dealt with. We have rules.”

“That even the Captain could not follow,” JC pointed out quietly, lacing up his shirt.

“The Captain is sick with grief,” Joey muttered.

“The Captain is not allowed to be. He told his acting First Mate that we still had hope, and his acting First Mate believed him. But the man,” JC stepped up beside Joey and touched his knuckles to Joey’s bearded cheek, “he can be overcome with grief, but only where I can see.”

Joey sighed. “Why must you be so wise?”

“Because I am not brave.”

“You’re brave enough,” Joey said.

JC smiled, and their division was patched. He could never stay mad at Joey for long; none of them could. His heart was too good. JC pressed a kiss to Joey’s down-turned mouth, briefly touching his tongue against Joey’s before pulling back and reaching for his coat. If the boisterous commotion from the deck was any indication, they had finally arrived at Port Royal.

They were not two steps off the ship when JC wanted to turn back. Pirates, he thought disgustedly, stepping over a pair of them who had passed out on the dock. He kicked one of them with the point of his boot, grinning when the man did not so much as stir. It took every type, piracy.

“You shouldn’t look so disdainful,” Joey muttered. “What do you think you are?”

“More than this,” JC replied, giving the drunken pair one last kick before stepping onto shore. His legs wobbled ridiculously, and he laughed when Joey stumbled over nothing, swearing under his breath. “There’s an art to it,” JC continued, keeping his voice low. “This is just ... wasteful.”

Joey looked around, but JC doubted he was seeing the scene before them. JC did his own scan of the crowd, looking for their wayward mismatched pair. One dark, the other light. One short, the other tall. One sour, the other ... well, Justin could be a right bastard when he wanted.

“Do you see them, man?”

Joey breathed out sharply. “No.”

They walked into town, JC keeping one hand on his pistol. For all his gaiety, Joey had made more than one enemy, and took the brunt of whatever men Chris and Justin had managed to insult over the years. The number was incredible. And JC watched each of their backs because his own was safe.

There were men strewn about the streets, some too drunk to walk, some too injured to stand. Torch lights blazed in the night sky, and JC tried not to count them, but got to three and twenty before he could catch himself. He kicked another pirate for good measure and felt better.

“Stop,” Joey murmured, smiling, and JC grinned at him, innocently shrugging.

It was a short walk to the room Joey kept at the only respectable tavern in the entire port, a lavish affair Joey paid for yearly and kept adorned in red velvets and purple silks. It looked like a French brothel, and it was, JC knew, Joey’s only tie to land and a loose one at that. It still seemed too much to JC, who only spent his coin on handsome clothing. Nothing so earthbound.

Joey had, in recent months, acquired the bold step of a Captain, so JC was not surprised when he got the sense that they were being followed. By the slant of Joey’s neck, JC knew he felt it, too. JC stepped right as Joey took the left, and they turned as one, pistols drawn.

A wide grin answered them. “Have I been gone so long that you’ve forgotten me?”

“Justin!”

JC threw his arms around Justin’s neck, bringing the wretched boy tight against him where he could feel his obvious life, the excited beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath. Joey came into the crush, pressing his face to Justin’s cheek then grabbing him by the knot of his hair.

“We thought you dead,” Joey said, keeping Justin’s chin raised, his grin to the sky.

“You should thank the Spaniards for my safe return.”

“Spaniards!” Joey spit on the ground. He let Justin’s head free, tapping lightly against his jaw with the silver of his rings. “And what lies did you tell them, you troublesome imp?”

“That pirates killed my lovely wife,” Justin replied, the slice of his grin sharp like a blade.

“And where is your lovely wife?”

Justin looked at him, the joviality sliding from his face. “What? There’s been no word of Chris?”

“We thought he was with you,” Joey said quietly, gripping Justin by the shoulder and pushing him towards the rickety mess of stairs that would lead them to their safe haven. It was a wise decision. Who knew what words would slip from their mouths in worry? JC followed.

“He was,” Justin said as JC shut the door behind them, staying back at Joey went around the room and lit the oil lamps. “We were on our way back from England, as you well know. We had found work on the Betty, which I’m sure Chris explained in his letter. My mother, you see, knew the Captain, and he owed her a favour.”

“Is your mother well?” JC asked quietly.

“Oh, aye. And Chris’s mother, too. Whatever problems plagued them, Chris and I gladly took care of it all. Men should learn to respect ladies if they wish to seek pleasure with them,” Justin added wisely, and JC smirked. “So we found passage on the Betty, despite ourselves.”

“He knew who you were?”

“Aye,” Justin said, “of course. But he also knew you were our Captain, and held a begrudging respect for you as he feels, for a pirate, you are surprisingly honourable.” Joey nodded as JC hummed in pleasure. Justin scowled at them. “If I may continue with my story?”

“Please,” Joey said, sitting upon the bed and leaning forward intently.

“We were no more than half a day from Hispaniola when the storm struck. I thought the demons of hell had risen to swallow us whole. In all my years, I have never seen a storm rise so swift and so brutal from nothing more solid than fog.” Justin paced the room, the clip of his boots passing lightly over the wooden floor. “I know you told us to watch the other’s back ....”

“Justin,” JC said, leaning against the wall for support.

“I know! We broke our word, but there was a boy, a very wealthy boy, whose father had paid for his passage to the New World. We thought, or rather, Chris thought ...” His voice dropped guiltily as he scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. “... we thought we could ransom him.”

Joey tossed up his arms with groan, falling back on the bed.

“Very wealthy,” Justin insisted, “and the ship has been in terrible need of repairs.”

Joey’s voice was pained as he spoke. “Which I am responsible for, not you.”

“Nevertheless, we decided to part ways and meet back at Port Maria however we could manage it, but the bloody Spaniards refused to let me land there. They left me at Port Morant instead, so, as thanks, I helped myself to the Captain’s secret coin.” Justin fished a leather pouch from the front of his breeches and tossed it onto the bed. “Not much left after my journey here.”

“You think I care about this?” Joey asked, sitting up again, shaking the bag.

“I would give my weight in gold to know Chris was safe,” Justin said softly. “If he is not here, and he wasn’t in Port Maria, then ...” Justin’s shoulders fell, and JC saw at once how tired he was. He pushed away from the wall and took Justin by the hand, leading him to the bed.

“Then perhaps he’s been marooned,” Joey said, “again.”

“Or perhaps he simply washed ashore. If anyone of us could survive on a deserted island for weeks, it would be him,” JC added helpfully.

Justin nodded. “I need a map, then, and more ale, and perhaps some food.”

“I will get everything you need,” JC assured him, walking briskly out of the room and down the shaking stairs, jumping to the ground in a crouch. It was quick work, acquiring the items Justin had requested, and when he returned, Justin was in the appropriate state of undress.

JC slipped inside, locking the behind him, watching as Joey pressed gentle kisses over the line of Justin’s shoulders, his hand working at the tie of Justin’s breeches. JC put his loot aside, placing it where they could find it come the light of day. Whatever they needed to do could wait until morning. They risked mutiny if they tried to leave tonight, even if Chris was dearly loved. Pirates were, on the whole, rather selfish. JC had never regretted that fact before.

Lightly, JC knelt at Justin’s feet, pulling off his boots and dragging the opened breeches down his long legs. Justin lifted them helpfully, forcing Joey to take the brunt of his weight, leaning back into him, greedily accepting his kisses. JC watched the erotic dance of their pink tongues before sliding his palms up Justin’s parted thighs, gripping his stiff cock then licking over the tip.

“Mm,” Justin muttered weakly, spreading his knees impossibly wide. The trust he had in Joey was as intoxicating as the sight of him. JC curled his tongue around the head of Justin’s prick, gathering the salty pearls of his seed and swallowing it into his body. Joey worked at Justin’s mouth, their tongues flickering against each other like the bob of two flames caught in a wind.

Odd, then, that he thought of it like that, but JC was too far gone in his own head to worry about it. Justin was here, with them, alive and well, and though his counterpart could very well remain lost for all time, one was better than none, and JC was grateful to have this chance, to remember what he could not from the last time he’d taken Justin’s cock happily in his mouth. Chris had been there, then, hand steadily working JC’s prick as his mouth worked Justin’s, laughing in his ear, licking over the shell of it, kissing his neck where his hair ended, nose buried in JC’s curls. Joey had been cross with them, he remembered, for not thinking to invite him.

JC tried to memorise every part of Justin, but Justin wasn’t having it. He mewed like a kitten, shifting desperately on Joey’s knees, so wide and open, and JC dipped his tongue lower, to the soft skin behind his balls then further still, to that delightful part of him that opened so willingly to an eager prick. It opened now to JC’s tongue, and he slid it inside like he would his own cock.

“Shameless,” Justin murmured, and Joey’s answering chuckle brought heat to JC’s face, but he continued on, licking and kissing the most intimate parts of Justin, adding one finger, then two, fucking him steadily, delighting in his breathy cries, his ardent begging. It was cruel to tease, but he couldn’t help himself. Conquering made him heady. Justin was completely at his mercy.

“JC,” Joey said, his own voice as unsteady as Justin’s, and it was plea of his own. JC slid his hand between them, opening Joey’s breeches and taking out his cock. From base to tip, he licked the length of him, his tongue flowing from Joey’s prick to Justin’s like they were one writhing body, but there was no mistaking them.

“Please,” Justin added, and JC took pity on them, gripping Joey’s cock and leading it to Justin’s body, putting the head at Justin’s arse, watching as it slid in, disappearing as Justin’s body welcomed him, swallowed him whole. JC sat back on his heels, undoing his own breeches.

He chewed his lower lip as he watched them, rocking together so handsomely, and pulled at his own cock, delirious from the pleasure it offered. Dizzy with arousal, JC reached out with his free hand and grabbed Justin’s cock again, matching the slow motions he gave himself.

When Justin came off, JC closed his eyes and accepted the fury of his storm, feeling the heat splatter over his face and his throat like the gentle spray from a ship. Joey groaned loudly, his fingers splayed on Justin’s narrow hips, and JC followed them quickly, adding to the mess on his fine shirt, drops of his release clinging to the expensive lace. He hadn’t even brought a spare.

“Never leave us again,” Joey murmured, falling back into the pillows, taking Justin with him. Justin protested with a moan, reaching for the maps JC had scattered on the floor, but JC pushed him down, climbing over them and settling nearest to the wall. “Tomorrow, Justin.”

“I’m so tired,” Justin murmured, his eyes closed. “I miss him terribly.”

“Me too,” JC whispered, fitting himself against Justin’s damp back.

“We’ll find him,” Joey promised.

iii.

Justin had thought being back on the Song of the Sea would calm his nerves, but it only worsened them. He had spent half a day looking over the maps, trying to remember where the storm had hit, and which way the wind had blown, and where Chris could possibly be. The sea had never seemed so large and impossible until he had tried to make it fit onto a rickety table.

There was a brief interlude where Joey doled out punishment to Matthew Turner, who had burned a ship to the sea for no rhyme or reason other than wanton destruction. Justin ventured out to watch him receive the lash, feeling not the slightest bit of pity for the man. Joey had very few rules, and all of them were easy to follow.

Justin had spent another half a day plotting the course they would take, marking up the maps with ink, forgetting to eat, to drink, until JC brought him dinner from the galley, turtle stew and hard tack, a meal he had missed terribly while in England and now could barely stomach.

Finally, Justin had tossed the mess of papers at Joey with a grunt and climbed the main mast, hiding in the crow’s nest. It was likely safer just to hang his legs over the gaff and hold on for dear life, but it felt like Justin had no strength left in him. If he fell, then he fell. He needed to be alone.

From this vantage point, he could look for Chris, though Joey already had men on the detail around the clock, but another set of eyes could do no harm, and Justin had already spent his lifetime looking for Chris, who tended to disappear at every chance. Justin knew what to look for.

He fell asleep up there, wind biting viciously at his cheeks. He woke to the same abuse, grateful. The sails were full, and the sea cut easily before them. He watched the bustle of the crew below, caught sight of Joey walking the deck and taking time to thank them for sailing out with him days ahead of schedule. He had likely promised them more than he could afford to persuade them.

Chris was worth it.

Justin rubbed at his eyes, shrinking back into his nest. Chris. They’d been so merry when they’d parted ways, sure they’d see each other again. Justin couldn’t remember a time when Chris hadn’t been there. In fact, these weeks apart had been the longest separation they’d ever suffered. Before that, Chris had always been at his side, pushing into mischief, protecting him, teaching him. And loving him too, though that came much later, and after much begging.

Justin stood, grabbed hold of the nearest rig and used the complicated arrangement of sails and ropes to swing swiftly down to the deck, the slide of the rope warming his hands. He landed lightly on the quarterdeck, nodding good morrow to Thomas Smith and Thomas Teach, and swung over the rail and onto the main deck.

“Could you?” Justin asked, pointing at Hawkeye Henry, a one-eyed man who could see much further than even Justin could, a man with eyes Justin could trust beyond all question, and Henry nodded at him, clambering up the mast without another word. These were good men, honest, willing to work. Justin admired them all deeply. Joey had always attracted the best sort.

His father had been like that, too. Sometimes, Justin still missed the man, though he’d barely known him. A father was a novelty, he supposed, something he had never had. Oh, his mother had suspicions about who fathered him, but she had never shared them, and he had long ago given up eyeing the men who moved in his mother’s circles, wondering which one it was.

With a sigh, Justin disappeared into the Captain’s Cabin, where JC and Joey were, talking idly. They stopped when Justin stomped inside, crossing the small room in long, brisk strides.

“Did you see anything up there, man?” JC asked.

“Water, water, and more water,” Justin said miserably, collapsing into the nearest chair.

Joey turned from his post at the window. “The wind is with us today.”

“Chris isn’t,” Justin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The two of you,” JC said, shaking his head in dismay, and Justin scowled at him, pleased to see Joey’s face take on a similar look, but JC paid them no mind. He rarely did. JC’s family line was a mystery, but Justin thought he had the blood of the aristocracy in his veins.

Joey put his hands on Justin’s shoulders. “If only the wind would blow faster.”

JC sighed. “If only you had patience or faith in Chris’s amazingly good luck!”

“Like you,” Justin replied, rolling his eyes.

“Aye, like me, man. I refuse to bury him unless there is need of it.”

Justin watched as JC crossed the room to the array of maps, his fine leather boots clicking across the deck, his purple jacket majestically sweeping behind him, lace bunched at his throat. Justin looked down at himself, in his stained shirt and torn breeches, his dirty bare feet hanging over the arm of the velvet-padded chair. Joey was in a similar state, though more like a Captain and less like a common pirate. He wore silver in his ears and on his fingers, but had a shabby coat.

“If we ...”

“No more maps,” Justin moaned, jumping to his feet and brushing past Joey, pausing briefly to offer him a deep kiss, an apology for his rash behaviour. “I’ll keep an eye out for one marooned pirate on a beach. It’s been half a day since Port Royal. We must be near some land.”

JC sighed. “Take some hard tack with you, and some water, and a cover for your head.”

“I will,” Justin promised, slicking his tongue between JC’s infuriating lips, silencing him with a kiss. He ignored their looks, JC’s imploring, Joey’s openly worried. He knew what they thought, that he was a child throwing a fit of temper, but he was nigh twenty, and simply scared.

Justin took a silk scarf they had once used to tie JC’s wrists to the head of Joey’s bed, and wrapped it around his wild tangle of hair, knotting it securely. He climbed up the mast again, a satchel of hard tack clenched between his teeth and a canteen bouncing against his hip. The wind was wild, nearly stealing his footing more than once. The sails smacked at him threateningly.

“Bloody ship,” Justin muttered, reaching the top, panting hard. He settled into his nest, the mast firm against his back, and took a swig of water. Joey had once said he had eyes like a hawk, so Justin scanned the water, straining his sight as he munched on a piece of hard tack.

After a few hours, his head began to ache.

After half a day, he feared he would go mad from it.

“Oi!” Justin shouted, hanging over the sails until he saw Joey’s sun-darkened face turned up toward him, a hopeful glint to his eyes. “No sign of anything yet! But how long have I been up here, and could you send some ale? And, perhaps, a scope of some kind! And a blanket!”

The crew sent up an answering cheer, and some man, likely Sean McElroy, that Irish bastard, shouted, “the lad needs his mama’s tit, too!” Justin grinned, flicking his finger at him, and vowed his sweet revenge, which would likely come later when he had a full bladder and no safe place to empty it. McElroy favoured the spot below Justin’s perch, in the web of the shrouds.

It was good-natured ribbing, though, and a basket was sent up quickly, filled with all he had asked for. He waved his thanks, ignoring the hoots and whistles, and sat back down, cleaning the glass of the scope with his shirt sleeve. He extended it fully then looked around.

Nothing, he thought unhappily, grateful for the shine of the moon and the good weather. The wind was brutal, aye, but there was no fog, and no sign of bad weather. Though he would admit it to no one, the idea of another storm so soon after the last made his stomach hurt. He laughed bitterly. He was becoming like JC, fearful of everything that had ever done him harm.

And that was no laughing matter. Justin quickly stopped, guilt overcoming him. JC’s fear was not misplaced, Justin told himself, nor was his own. A storm could hit, and he could die, and he wanted desperately to live, with Joey and JC and Chris, if they found him. When they did.

The night passed quickly, and then the day. Justin rested fitfully, waking himself up with nightmares, determined to stay awake. It started raining as the sun set, cold and angry, and Justin huddled, shivering, refusing to abandon his post even when JC shouted angrily at him. Justin, as always, ignored his pleas. If they sailed right by Chris when his eyes were turned, Justin would never forgive himself.

The storm lasted the night. In the morn, a deep fog settled, dimming the dawn. Justin swore at it angrily, willing it away and then he saw it, a flicker of light cutting through the haze. He stood, narrowing his eyes and leaning out, one hand fisted in the rigging. A fire, he thought.

Heart in his throat, he jumped from his nest and slid down to the deck, landing heavily and ignoring the fire burning across his palms. He burst into the Captain’s Cabin, lighting as many lamps as his shaking hands could manage, and rolled a map onto the table. Behind him, he heard JC and Joey stirring, but he paid them no mind. With a pencil and a rule and using his own judgments of how fast they had been travelling and how much time had passed, he mapped it.

“Drop anchor!” Justin shouted hoarsely, slapping his hands on the table. They were nowhere near any large body of land. They were in the middle of nowhere, just a space of sea dotted with small pockets of land, inhabitable, deserted. “We’ve found him,” he said quietly.

Joey put a warm hand on his back. “Are you sure?”

“I feel it in my gut and my heart,” Justin swore. “He’s there.”

“Good job,” Joey said, hugging him tightly, patting his shoulder.

They rushed out, all three, into the fog. The ship was slowly coming to a halt, and the boats had already been dropped to water. Justin didn’t wait for instruction, just clambered down the ladder and into the first boat his feet touched. Joey landed next to him, despite JC’s quiet muttering about what a Captain should do wafting through the gloom. JC came third, grumbling.

Justin took the oars, leading the fleet, rowing harder than he had in his life. After mere minutes, his arms began to burn, but he paid them no mind, just set his will to it and rowed. Hawkeye shouted, “the lad’s right! There’s fire on that island,” and Justin took it to heart, poured all of himself into his arms, made them more than just two, but a dozen, a hundred.

The start of sand under the bow knocked Justin out his fervour, and he sprung from his seat, his long legs taking him past Joey and JC, who were no good on land after days at sea. The fire cut through the fog. It was small, nearly gone in the wet morning, but it was enough.

“Chris,” Justin said, stumbling to the two bodies laying within the glow. Asleep, he thought, or already dead. He put his hand on the dark-haired one, rolling the man onto his back, and it was Chris. Pink around the edges, but his chest rose with each laboured breath he took. The boy was next to him, the wealthy one, Lance Bass, Justin remembered suddenly, alive, too.

“I think you’ve got his luck,” Joey said quietly, coming to kneel beside him.

“All that I am, he’s taught me.”

“Let’s get them back to the loving arms of my ship, eh?”

Joey shouted for help, and Thomas Teach and his younger brother, David, came up and grabbed the boy by the arms, hauling him to his feet. He didn’t wake, though he groaned pitifully. Joey lifted Chris, and Justin offered his shoulder, taking the brunt of his weight until Joey could manage his share. Chris’s eyes flickered suddenly, and he blinked at JC like he’d never seen him before.

JC touched his hands to Chris’s blistered face. “Are you with us?”

“Aye,” Chris croaked, his head lolling like it was tied on by string. JC slapped him lightly on the cheek when Chris’s eyes began to roll, and Chris steadied himself with a grin. “Unless I drank some sea water, and then no, you blasted eel, I want nothing to do with you.”

“Delirious,” JC said wisely. “He needs water.”

Chris licked his parched lips at the promise. “Lance?”

“Alive,” Joey assured him, looking over to Justin, who nodded.

“My word,” Chris mumbled, as they pulled him along, his feet cutting through the sand and leaving a map of their journey behind him. Already, Justin’s shoulder ached with the extra weight, but he pressed on. “I gave him my word. He’s one of us now. My word,” Chris repeated.

JC raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and Justin followed his lead. Together, they looked to Joey, who bowed his head. Joey rarely turned a man away, and he would never on the word of someone whose honour he valued, like Chris. “No harm will come to him. He’s under my protection,” Joey promised, and with one last grunt, Chris closed his eyes and passed to sleep.

iv.

With Chris back on board, they turned around and returned to Port Royal, where most of the crew debarked and took their leisure time, a full week as Joey had promised when he had begged the lot of them to sail out with him and hunt for their beloved friend and mate, Chris.

Joey stayed on the ship where he felt more comfortable. JC and Justin stayed with him as he knew they would, JC to tend to his patients, though he was a most reluctant physician, and Justin to dote on whichever body needed the most attention. Chris and the boy, who Justin swore was named Lance Bass, remained unconscious. JC had them down in the hold, where it was almost cool and where there was space to set up two makeshift beds, and kept them lathered in a salve he had made from seaweed to treat their burns, which were grave. Their skin had bubbled.

“But they’ll live?”

“They should,” JC replied softly, washing his hands of the green salve. “I’m no physician, Joey, but I think they’ll be fine.” JC dried his palms on his breeches then fiddled with a lock of Chris’s tangled hair, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “We were lucky Justin saw them.”

“And this boy,” Joey tilted his head, “what do you make of him?”

“He’s very handsome, man,” JC said, moving his fingers to the light brown of Lance’s hair and brushing it off his blistered forehead. “Obviously wealthy, like Justin said. Do you think Chris truly intends for him to become one of us, not just a pirate but what we are to each other?”

“I can’t begin to guess how Chris’s head works,” Joey said honestly, poking at the green slime on Chris’s red skin. “If he’s to become a pirate, I have no choice but to allow it, as I gave Chris my word to respect his word. And for the other, well ... that’s for time to tell, is it not?”

“I think he and Chris ...” JC stopped abruptly and raised his brows, a sly grin on his lips.

Joey snorted. “What is it? You think he buggered the boy?”

“He has a taste for it,” JC pointed out, “especially virgins.”

“As you well know.”

“As you do, too. And Justin. He’s been the first in all our beds, if you’ll be so kind as to remember that fine detail.” JC licked his lips, and heat pooled in Joey’s belly, dancing down into his cock. Oh, he remembered. How could he not? “In fact, I think Chris enjoys it overmuch.”

“He does,” Chris confirmed with a croak, forcing his eyes open and blinking rapidly at the shine from the lamps, “though the complications that arise from a fresh deflowering are always surprising.” Chris coughed, and JC held a cup of water to his lips. He drank greedily then wiped his lips dry with a blistered hand. “It seems I cannot get rid of the lads once I’ve had my fun.”

JC smiled. “You’re too charming, man.”

“Aye, or my prick is large.” Chris struggled to sit up. “I like to think it’s both.”

Joey gripped him by the arms and helped him, pushing him down when he tried to stand. Chris didn’t have the patience for the recovery period after injury. He never had. Joey would tie him down if it came to that. It would not be the first time. Chris sighed at him then relaxed.

“How do you feel?”

“Like overcooked beef,” Chris admitted, taking another swig of water. “Where’s Justin?”

“Asleep. We promised him our weakest grog, and fed him full rum.”

“He’d been up for days looking for you,” JC added.

Chris pursed his lips, and nodded. He looked gruesome, truly hideous, but Joey made no comment, even in jest. It would, in time, heal, which was more than he could say about JC, who still hid from Joey’s open gaze after nearly eight years of friendship and almost as many of love.

He loved these men too much, he sometimes thought. Far, far too much.

JC sat down beside Chris, leaning in and offering his open mouth, which Chris claimed with an uncommon gentleness. His lips were cracked and raw, painful looking and probably worse to wear them, but he sighed when their mouths met and threaded his fingers into JC’s unruly curls. They looked so handsome together, despite it all. Joey’s cock hardened to see it.

“I missed you, too, Joey,” Chris said, grinning like a madman, and groped Joey’s prick through his breeches, giving it a squeeze. Joey moaned into the air and stepped back out of reach. No matter how desperately he wanted it, Chris was in no condition to do anything but flirt and offer a few sweet kisses. Joey bent his head, brushing his lips over Chris’s, and took his due.

“You should rest,” Joey said quietly.

“Does the good physician agree?”

“I can’t speak for any good physician, but I do,” JC replied, helping Chris lay back down then dipping his fingers in his pot of ill-smelling salve. Chris grabbed his wrist and led JC’s hand to his face and the worst of the burns. JC looked over at Joey and added, “you should rest, too, man.”

“In time,” Joey promised.

He left with one last kiss to Chris, and another to JC, who slicked his tongue into Joey’s mouth and teased him viciously. Chris hooted, whacked Joey on the arse and sent him away, promising to see him on deck in the morrow. The music of JC’s loud protests followed him out into the warm night, and Joey made a note to himself to look for rope before the dawn arrived.

Joey took a deep breath, and walked up to the quarter deck, looking to shore. Even from their distance, he could hear the sounds of celebration and excess as his crew and others ploughed through their treasure, spending it on booze, gambling, and women. Or men, some of them. There were quite a few on his ship who shared the same predilection Joey suffered with.

Joey made his rounds across the deck, checking on the Song of the Sea. Satisfied no harm would come to her if he closed his eyes for longer than a moment, he entered his cabin, undressing as he walked. He dropped his boots by the door, his tattered coat on the table, and his breeches at the side of the bed where Justin lay, naked save for a sheet tangled around his left leg.

Joey let his eyes linger on the handsome lines of Justin’s back, from the broad width of his shoulders to the narrow round of his waist, the long furrow of his spine, his muscles and how they bunched under his sun-kissed skin. He remembered Justin as a boy of twelve, with his angelic crown of blond curls and a head and a half shorter in height, standing next to Chris and JC on his mother’s stoop, telling him they wanted to be pirates, too. Joey had thought them mad, for he couldn’t believe anyone would want to be a pirate. For him, it was simply a family curse.

Joey had been born into this life; Chris, Justin and JC had chosen it.

It was a debt Joey could never fully repay.

Joey smiled as he sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand over Justin’s sweat-slick skin, and Justin hummed in his sleep, stretching out appreciatively. The mere sight of it took his breath away. Joey lay down beside him, rolling until their bodies touched, and Justin’s pale eyes opened and smiled at him. He caught one of Joey’s braids in his fingers and tugged.

“You woke me up,” Justin murmured, sliding one of his legs between Joey’s thighs.

Joey smiled. “Go back to sleep, Justin.”

“Mm, no.” Justin nuzzled under Joey’s ear, kissing at his neck. “Make me, Captain.”

“What would make you happy? And don’t call me captain when we’re in bed. I like it even less when you say it, and I hate it when Chris does.” Justin grinned happily at him, and Joey kissed him deeply, touching his tongue to the shield of Justin’s teeth until they parted for him. He licked inside, stroking against Justin’s hot tongue, treating it like a small cock, like a promise.

“That would make me happy,” Justin admitted, rolling onto his back and parting his thighs. His prick, that magnificent column of flesh, bobbed eagerly. Greedily, Joey dipped his mouth to it and sucked the head between his lips. With a gasp, Justin arched his back and lifted his hips, and Joey laid his forearm across Justin’s quivering belly. Grinning, he sucked Justin deeper into him.

Justin moaned. “You would have made a fine whore, Joey.”

“Lucky for your mother, then, that I’m a pirate,” Joey replied, pressing the flat of his tongue over one of Justin’s balls and then the other, back and forth between them as Justin twisted and squirmed, knees pressed to the mattress, open. Joey dropped his head, kissing behind his balls, then lower still, readying Justin for two slick fingers, which always drove him wild.

“Joey, please.”

“Shh, don’t beg,” Joey murmured, sliding two of his fingers in, driving them deep on the first thrust, and Justin whimpered, pushing back, taking all that he offered. Joey opened his mouth again, letting Justin’s cockhead slid across his tongue and into his throat, matching the bobs of his head to the fury of his fingers, dragging Justin to the edge then shoving him over it.

“You,” Justin said dazedly, grabbing Joey by the shoulders and rolling him to his back. Without preamble, he sank down on Joey’s stiff prick, rolling his hips, and Joey groaned loudly. Justin slid a finger into Joey’s mouth and murmured, “mm, yes, this also makes me happy.”

Joey bit his response into the knuckle of Justin’s finger then soothed the flesh with his tongue, knowing this obscene pleasure would be over before he truly had time to savour it, and sure enough, Justin rolled his hips and clenched his arse. Joey shouted as he came like a storm.

“You make me happy,” Justin whispered as he slid into Joey’s arms, eyes closed.

“You, too,” Joey replied, but Justin was already asleep.

v.

His mother, a very wise woman, had always said he attracted trouble. For more than ten years, he had assumed she meant Justin, whom Chris had inherited when Justin was just a baby, but the older he grew and the more of the world he saw, the more he understood what she meant.

In the last four weeks, he had been shipwrecked, marooned on a deserted island in the middle of the Caribbean with his bounty as his only companion, forced to survive on coconut meat and rainwater, burned by the sun, seduced by a handsome virgin, and gallantly rescued.

It was, Chris thought, exactly the sort of trouble his mother had meant.

All that, and he felt more rotten than he ever had in his life, too sick to venture out of the hold, too susceptible to the sun and too sensitive for Joey’s spicy turtle soup. Chris loved Joey’s spicy turtle soup. On the island, after he had made his peace with God, he had thought about that soup. JC had limited him to a diet of hard tack and water, which was perhaps the cruellest act yet.

For the first few days, Chris slipped in and out of sleep, feverish, hot and cold at turns, sometimes coherent enough to banter wittily with his friends, other times locked so firmly inside his own body that he could do nothing but scream out his nightmares. Death had been there with them on that island, at the end. Bellies empty, not a drop of water to be had, Death had watched.

Chris had always laughed at Death before, but that time.

That time.

On the fourth day, Chris roused with a violent start and knew that was the end of it. He felt weak and tired, but aware of his world, which consisted only of him and Lance. Chris looked over at the sleeping man, who was a boy, really, for all his scant years. Lance returned his look.

“Have you been awake long?”

“No,” Lance said, his voice lower than Chris remembered, just a rumble in the lingering darkness. He sat up, keeping the sheet rucked up around his waist, and Chris admired him openly. The time for coyness, if Chris had even known how to be coy, was very much gone.

“You’re on the Song of the Sea,” Chris said quietly, noting the way Lance’s sea-green eyes flickered from wall to wall and the way his mouth drew into a troubled line. They had been so comfortable together on the island, but now Chris felt awkward. “I spoke to Joey, and he’s agreed to let you stay on board, like I promised he would. Unless you’ve changed your mind ...”

“I haven’t,” Lance said quickly.

“Then congratulations. You’re a pirate.”

Lance smiled a little at that, and Chris grinned. At once, the strangeness between them melted away, and Chris wondered if Lance would consent to a kiss or two, for old time’s sake, but then JC burst into the room, with Justin close on his heels, caught up in some merry joke, laughing and smiling. Chris waited for Justin to notice him, and then braced for when he did.

“You madman!” Justin shouted at him, lunging at the bed and catching Chris around the waist with his arms. They rolled from side to side, shouting and laughing, then Justin grabbed him by his hair and shook. “Do you know how badly I worried? How much my heart ached?”

“I’m here now,” Chris said, grunting when Justin pulled again. He slapped lightly at Justin’s cheek, then got his own firm grip in Justin’s hair and pulled him close enough that their noses touched. Justin’s eyes were hot with rage, and Chris whispered, “I told you I’d be fine.”

“You think I trust the word of a pirate?”

Chris grinned then pulled him in for a bruising kiss, feeling first Justin’s surprise and then his submission as he gave himself wholly to it. He licked into Justin’s mouth, tasting him for the first time in a month, memory flooding back into his head. JC’s polite cough pulled them apart.

“There’s dinner, if you feel up to it. Both of you,” he added pointedly.

“We’d be delighted,” Chris replied, forcing himself to stand on his wobbly legs, grabbing hold of JC’s shoulder to steady himself. He looked down at himself, hissing at the sight of his ribs, then stumbled to the stack of clean clothes perched high on one of the barrels. He looked over his shoulder at Lance, who still had the sheet clutched firmly over his lap, and smiled.

Chris shrugged off Justin’s help when he offered it, preferring to stumble around like a drunken animal as he tried to get his breeches on. He steadied slightly when Lance padded up next to him, shamelessly, gloriously naked, and Chris smiled at him again, keeping it secret between them.

If this was to work, if their plan was to succeed, Lance could afford no modesty.

“These aren’t my clothes,” Chris said when he was fully dressed.

“Your clothes are rags,” JC replied, shrugging as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, making sure the lace rested handsomely on his thin wrist. Vanity was strangely becoming on him. “I took the liberty of buying you new ones while you were in no state to indignantly protest it.”

“So kind of you.”

JC smirked. “I thought so.”

“Thank you,” Lance said quietly, admiring the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers. JC’s eyes narrowed briefly then crinkled at the edges with his smile, though his merriment did not stop him from glaring as Chris tried to rip a hole in his shirt, making it more like his own.

JC lead the way, with Justin second, and Chris and Lance brought up the rear. Lance’s mouth had drawn straight again, obviously hit with a case of nerves, and Chris touched his hand, briefly. He was not a gentle man, but that never stopped him from trying to be. Lance exhaled.

When JC opened the door to the Captain’s Cabin, the smells of fresh food hit Chris’s nose like a hammer, and his stomach groaned loudly. Food, none of which resembled a coconut in the slightest, sat spread out on the table, a rich variety of meats, fruits and breads. Real bread, too, not that tasteless hard tack, and more meat than turtle. Beef, he thought, and pork, too.

“I’m Captain Joseph Anthony,” Joey said, offering Lance his hand, and Lance shook it.

“Most know him as the Gay Pirate Joey. The second one,” Chris added, plucking an apple from the table and biting through its crisp, sweet skin. It was, indeed, something like heaven. “His father was a pirate, and his father’s father, and so on, and so forth. And his brother, too.”

Justin nodded. “The gay pirate Steven. It didn’t have the same ring to it, though.”

Joey looked pained when he asked, “could we please not speak of him?”

“What happened to him?”

“Dead,” Joey said with a light shrug. He had wept when Steven had died, Chris knew, bitterly and openly, first on JC’s shoulder then on Justin’s, but it was Chris who had held him long after those two fell asleep, promising Joey that they would stay with him forever. Joey had looked at Death in the bloated face of his brother; Chris had seen it on that island.

“Steven was a ruthless man,” Joey continued, staring into his cup, “disliked as a Captain, hated by everyone who had ever sailed these waters and fallen to him, but he was good at what he did. He always found the richest ships, the greatest plunder. But he killed without remorse.”

“We’re not like that,” JC added softly. “We’ve all stuck a man to a sword, but we aren’t cruel. We’re more like ...” JC paused thoughtfully and tapped his fingers, which glimmered with expensive gold and silver rings, against his lips. “We’re more like Robin Hood.”

“Steal from the rich and give to the poor,” Chris murmured.

“Which is to say, us,” Justin piped in, grinning. “We’ve all come from nothing, except you.”

Lance did not so much as blink. “I can’t apologise for who I am.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to,” Joey said. “There’s not one of us at this table who would deny who he is or where he has come from. I can no more help being the son of a pirate than Justin or Chris can help being the sons of whores, or JC can help being,” he paused, “as JC is.”

JC grinned, and flicked a grape at Joey’s face, which he caught between his teeth and split with one quick snap of his jaw. Justin laughed, offering polite applause, then kicked his heels up on the table, leaning back in his chair. “On this ship,” he said, “we show and feel no shame.”

“We accept you as you are, if you can extend us the same courtesy.”

“I will serve you the best I can,” Lance promised, looking straight at Joey as he said it.

Joey grinned. “Well, you can’t be any worse than this sorry lot.”

“Here, here,” Justin said, lifting his cup and splashing red wine all over the table. Oh, wine, Chris had missed wine. He pushed a cup at Justin, who filled it for him, and Chris brought it to his lips, savouring the bitter taste. “Though, in our own defence, we were street urchins first.”

“They weren’t any good at that either,” JC said glibly as Lance took a seat, settling next to Joey at Joey’s insistence. Chris smiled at him from across the table, and Lance smiled back. “So, Lance, tell me, what was your profession before you crossed paths with Chris and Justin?”

“If I tell you, you might throw me overboard.”

Joey filled Lance’s cup with wine. “A lawyer, then?”

“Aye,” Lance replied simply, and Joey laughed, smacking him on the back.

They took turns asking Lance questions, though Chris had asked them all before and knew all the answers. Chris feasted like a king, eating until his belly ached, then sitting back and poking Justin for some of that good weed they often smoked together at night after a raid. Though it’d been months since Chris had boarded a ship, his nerves still felt frayed and raw.

They shared the weed with Joey, JC and Lance, who had never had such a thing before, then Joey started them on a song, an upbeat little ditty that was one of Chris’s favourites, and his sweet voice calmed the last of Chris’s nerves. Chris joined in, high and pure with his strange girl-like voice, leaning on Justin, who sang the song straight into Chris’s ear. JC’s voice, so true and so clear, took the lead, and then there was a fifth, a deep voice rumbling alongside them.

Chris grinned across the table, and Lance bowed his head like a gentleman, eyes bright with laughter, mouth wide with a smile. He could sing, then. That was a pleasant surprise. There had been no need for singing on the island, between the fighting, which had led to the reluctant moonlit conversations, and the fucking, which had made talking entirely unnecessary.

Oh, yes, Chris thought happily, this cunning plan of his would work.

Lance would be one of them yet.

vi.

Of all the things Lance had dreamed of becoming, a pirate would have been the last of them, but it seemed that his life, and all the pirates he had met thus far, continued to surprise him. They were so handsome, and kind, and nothing like the stories had said. They didn’t trust him, that much he knew already, but he also knew, given time to prove himself, they would come to.

He would make them, convince them, prove to them that he was more than he seemed.

He would pay Chris back for the life from which he had rescued Lance.

He would even forgive the sea for all the crimes done against him.

Head heavy with wine and belly full with food, his thoughts swirling in his head from that strange weed they had smoked at dinner, Lance let Chris lead him to a small room, empty save for one small bed, and nodded when Chris put a hand on his waist and said, “I have to speak with them alone. This room, it’s mine as First Mate, and it’ll be safer for you than in the forecastle.”

“Am I in danger?” Lance asked, collapsing onto the thin mattress, exhausted.

“You’re too lovely,” Chris replied, rubbing his thumb over Lance’s jaw, and Lance lifted his face, parted his lips, wondering if he would dare, but he didn’t. Chris dropped his hand, stopping at the doorway. “But they’ll not have you. You’re meant for greater things. For us.”

“If you say so.”

Chris smirked. “Oh, I do.”

And then he left, and Lance was alone, the floor rolling beneath his feet. Would he ever get used to it, the dance of the sea, the song? He could hear the lap of waves as much as he could feel them. His belly churning uncomfortably, he lay back and stayed there, listening, thinking.

He had sworn he would never ride the seas, yet here he was by choice.

There was also the matter of his parents, who likely thought him dead, and part of him wanted them to know he wasn’t, that he had finally grown into a man and chosen his own destiny, but the rest of him knew they would not approve. He had allied with pirates, with thieves, with men so far below his class and upbringing that they would never understand why he had left it all behind.

He slipped into sleep, waking suddenly when the door creaked open and Chris stepped in, a flush high on his cheeks, lips red and swollen, still wet. “Truly all of them?” Lance croaked, disbelieving, shifting on the bed to hide his own reaction. All of them, he thought again, dazedly.

Chris undid the remainder of his buttons. “What? Did you think I was lying?”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

Chris slid off his breeches, dropping them in a puddle, and Lance’s head went suddenly dizzy at the sight of his bare arse, his muscular thighs, the broad line of his shoulders and how his black hair cascaded messily over them. This was still so odd, this freedom to want what he had always secretly, shamefully desired. When Chris turned around, Lance’s breath caught.

That, Chris’s prick. Lance would never get over seeing it, and how it made him feel.

“Are they,” Lance swallowed and looked at the ceiling, “are they angry with you?”

“Somewhat,” Chris replied. “We have rules, you see, and one of them is that we don’t fuck anyone outside the group. I’ve seen men’s cocks rot from their bodies, and JC says that’s how it’s passed, through fucking. We live a dangerous enough life without adding to it.”

Lance closed his eyes. “I don’t want to come between you.”

“Look at me,” Chris said, and Lance did, surprised to see Chris so close, within kissing distance. Chris put a warm, rough hand on Lance’s face. “You’re not coming between us, because you’re meant to be in us.” Chris smirked wryly. “And I mean that in all possible ways.”

Lance shifted restlessly on the bed, his knees falling open, offering himself, desperate.

“All of them,” Lance said again, wetting his dry lips and trying not to imagine it, finding himself utterly incapable. Four men, together, in ways Lance had only ever dreamed about. He lifted his hips, his cock straining uncomfortably against his breeches. He wanted them off.

Chris kissed him, just briefly and not nearly enough. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Indeed,” Lance muttered, leaning forward for another kiss, and Chris grinned against his mouth, touching his tongue to Lance’s then sucking on his lower lip, biting at it, soothing it. It was so sinful, so forbidden, so dangerous. All his life, he’d been warned of it, of men and his own desires, by everyone, the church, his own family. No wonder, then, if it felt this wonderful.

For the first time in his life, Lance felt truly alive, and that he hadn’t known the difference before made his chest ache.

“There’s a rule,” Chris murmured, nipping at Lance’s jaw, a hand between Lance’s legs and pulling at the front of his breeches, “that handsome men I intend to fuck as often as my own prick will allow are to sleep naked, to avoid the frustration of knots and other annoying barriers.”

Lance looked down at Chris’s struggling fingers. “You can rip them. I don’t mind.”

“Ah, you don’t know JC, but you will. He’ll deny me the pleasure of his mouth if I foul up his gifts anymore than I already have. Plus, you look too handsome in JC’s fine French clothes.” Chris swore at the knot, then dropped his head and worked at it with his teeth, his hot breath seeping through the thin fabric, crawling up Lance’s cock. Lance bit back his own groan.

Chris chuckled. “Like that, do you?”

“No,” Lance replied, threading his fingers through the twisted tendrils of Chris’s hair, then shook when Chris’s mouth covered his cock, licking him through his breeches. On the island, there had been such a sense of impending doom that Lance hadn’t cared what they did, so long as it happened before he tragically died a virgin. Here, on this ship, that urgency was gone.

Finally, the knot came loose, and Chris pulled out his cock, making a fist around it and bringing it to his mouth. His tongue, usually so quick with insults and wit, slowly licked around the head before leading it inside, into the hot inferno of Chris’s mouth. Lance gasped, rolling his head into the pillow, and put a fist to his mouth, trying to stop the sounds from escaping his lips.

Chris pulled off suddenly, parting with one sticky kiss to the tip of Lance’s prick, which he mimicked against Lance’s mouth as he came up between Lance’s parted knees. Lance kissed him back, tasting himself on his tongue, and brought his legs around Chris’s waist. He liked this too, if that was what Chris wanted tonight. He liked all of it, really. Loved it, wanted it, needed it.

“Don’t be quiet,” Chris muttered, putting a hand on Lance’s hip and pulling him closer with a firm jerk, their cocks pressed together between their already slick bellies. Chris started moving against him, a slow and sensual dance, and Lance mimicked him, ignoring the gracelessness of his own sloppy rhythm It still made Chris gasp. “They know all about you.”

“Who should I go for first?” Lance asked, panting, poking his hard prick against Chris’s.

“Justin,” Chris muttered, hoisting Lance’s hip up higher, bringing them crushingly close together, and Lance slid an arm around the back of Chris’s neck, lifting his mouth to Chris’s ear. “He’ll love you because I love you. That’ll be reason enough for him. He likes to be buggered.”

Lance kissed across Chris’s stubbled jaw. “Who next?”

“Joey,” Chris said, his arse tightening with the strain of his thrusts under the backs of Lance’s calves. How could they even talk through this? Lance didn’t know. There was something about Chris that made the impossible entirely possible. “He’s impressed by your education, doubly impressed by your bravery. He values both. He likes to have his prick sucked.”

“JC’s last then?”

“He’ll be the hardest,” Chris murmured, the whole of his slick and slippery body sliding against Lance’s, holding no secrets, offering everything. His body was marred with scars and tattoos, the story of Chris’s hard life, and Lance wanted to know all of it. “Just love him completely.”

“But what does he think of me?”

“That you’re a fine dresser,” Chris replied with a grin, and Lance huffed his own helpless laugh before coming with a desperate groan, heat splashing between them. Chris slid through the mess, rubbing and pushing against the hollow of Lance’s belly before adding his own release.

Chris collapsed onto the bed, using his own shirt to wipe his seed of his stomach then scrubbing at Lance’s. He dropped it on the floor then settled next to him. Having expected to be abandoned for three warm bodies instead of simply one, Lance couldn’t hide his surprise.

“No man sleeps alone if he doesn’t want to,” Chris muttered. “Another fine rule.”

Lance nodded sleepily. There wasn’t much room for two men, but that only excited him.

“In the morrow, Joey wants to speak with you, as a Captain. He thinks he did tonight, but that was as a friend. For Joey, it’s hard to see the difference in that, which is why he makes such a good pirate and such a reluctant Captain.” Chris yawned and settled his chin in the dip of Lance’s shoulder, eyes closed. His arm snaked across Lance’s waist. “You’ll learn all of this in time.”

“I will,” Lance promised.

“Justin is an open book if he likes you, and I’ve already said he does. Read him, and you’ll know everything you need to.” Chris was overly warm and heavy against him, smelling like rum and sea salt. “With JC, be patient with him. If he sits in darkness, light a lamp for him, because he will not ask you. He’s a good man, but fear governs his life, and that’s unfortunate.”

“Is he very badly burned, then? His face ...”

“Is very handsome, aye. He’s lucky that way. But everything between navel and neck ...” Chris’s dark eyes flickered open, serious and kind, with an underlying determination. “I won’t lie to you, Lance. I love him all of him deeply, but the scarring is extensive. It’s shocking to see.”

“I won’t be shocked,” Lance said.

“Convince him of that, and you’ll have it all.”

Lance nodded into the dark then let the unsettling rock of the sea take him to dreams.

vii.

Justin was up with the sun, slipping out from under Joey’s protective arm and climbing over JC, pausing to loosen JC’s nightshirt from around his neck. His feet hit the deck with a slap, and he stretched luxuriously, arms held high over his head. He dressed quickly, wearing only a pair of brown breeches. It was too hot for a shirt, and he loved to rouse his lovers besides.

Sated from a good night’s sleep and the anticipation of sailing out after a long week of rest, Justin could not keep the happy bounce from his stride. Already, some of the crew were milling about, ready and eager to depart. That he wouldn’t miss, all the extra bodies and the fact he would have to keep quiet when being fucked, something he found dreadfully hard to do.

The boy, Lance, Justin reminded himself, was on deck, too, standing at the rail and watching the waves. He looked terribly out of place, worse than JC ever had, which made Justin think Lance was in exactly the right place. This ship was a haven to outcasts, himself included.

“Do you like eggs?” Justin asked, coming up beside Lance to lean on the rail.

Lance tilted his head. “Eggs?”

“Aye, eggs. Chickens make them,” Justin added kindly, grinning, and Lance offered his own toothy smile in response. Justin appreciated a man who could laugh. “If you’re hungry, I can fry us up some. Joey has his own clutch of chickens: Elsie, Meredith, Wilhelmina and Lucy.”

“I’m hungry,” Lance assured him, and Justin grinned again.

Lance followed him down to the chickens, who weren’t to be touched unless Joey or Michael Meathands, named for his talent in preparing various animal dishes, said they could, and Joey had long ago given Justin permission to do as he pleased, provided he didn’t take them all.

“Are you used to the sea yet?” Justin asked, breaking an egg and dropping it into the pan. There was a small room off the forecastle, which mirrored the room in which Lance and Chris had been spending their nights, that they used as a kitchen, away from the hold and anything that could catch fire. Joey had seen ships go down in flame due to a careless pirate. He was careful.

“Almost,” Lance said, slicing at the sour bread Justin had made yesterday for dinner. “Those first few nights, I thought I would never be, but now I almost find it calming.” He hissed suddenly, red drops of blood raining down on the table. Justin offered him a cloth. “Thank you.”

Justin smiled.

He thought he should feel jealous of this boy, of Lance. It seemed like Lance had all of Chris’s attentions, though Justin knew that was untrue. Just last night, Chris had stole him away to the hold, pulled down his breeches and fucked him slowly, making it last, hitting all the sweetest spots. Justin could still feel him, the slide of his cock, the pinch of his fingers, his wet kisses.

Had he fucked Lance, too, last night?

Thinking on it caused his cock to harden violently, from pleasantly soft to stiff iron in a heartbeat. Justin shivered bodily, drawing Lance’s attention, and blushed at Lance’s inquisitive look. Lance’s eyes widened suddenly, and Justin knew Lance knew what he was thinking about.

Still, though, they didn’t talk about it, and Justin returned his attention to the eggs, mixing them up with the blade of his knife. This whole Lance situation confused him. He had even asked Chris what was expected of him, but Chris had been less than forthcoming in that annoyingly smug Chris way, where he obviously expected Justin to figure it out on his own.

Did Chris want him to take Lance on the table right now?

Did Lance?

“Are you really a lawyer?” Justin asked instead, taking five bowls and setting them down on the table. JC, Joey and Chris would wake soon enough, and they’d be ravenous. Justin knew their appetites intimately.

“I studied it,” Lance replied. He put two slices of bread on each bowl. “It was dreadfully dull, though. It would have made me rich, especially in the Americas where they need educated men, but I.” Lance paused, and Justin looked over at him. “It would not have made me happy.”

“Are you happy here?”

Lance nodded, eyes a serious shade of pale green, and Justin grinned at him again, a third time, and he hadn’t even had food. Justin was notoriously grumpy in the morning on an empty stomach, but not today with the bright sun, the promise of open water, and this handsome new boy on board.

Lance, Justin reminded himself. Lance was older than him, after all, not a boy at all.

They ate together in amicable silence, before Chris came stumbling in, bleary-eyed, his hair a wild medusa mess around his shoulders. When he leaned over to grab his plate, his hair dipped into the jam Justin had set out. He swore then stuck the sticky end into his mouth, scowling.

“We have plenty,” Justin said, grinning. “You don’t need to salvage it.”

“Argh,” Chris said miserably, plopping down hard in his seat.

Lance looked fondly annoyed, and Justin sympathised. Chris loved fucking as much as the rest of them, but he was a right bastard when it cut into his sleep as it always seemed to do. Joey was no better when he wandered in, half asleep and begging for coffee. Lance brewed him a pot.

Chris and Joey came alive with food, at first shovelling it in by mouthfuls then slowing down, savouring the meal. Justin had just finished his bowl when JC swept in, looking dashing as always. It was hard to remember him as that filthy French boy he had found on the streets of London.

JC sat beside him, putting a warm hand on the small of his back, and Justin shivered. His cock was still hard and aching, still desperate for even the slightest touch. If JC noticed, he would be shameless enough to touch Justin in a room full of men. Strangers or lovers, Justin doubted it would matter. Justin shifted under JC’s light touch, trying to subtly encourage him.

“How do the skies look?”

“Clear,” Justin replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sighing more at the fact JC’s hand had not moved than the bitter earthy taste. “It looks to hold for a few days at least. I heard two men talking yesterday, quietly as not to be overheard. The Spanish are heavy in the south seas.”

Joey nodded. “We’ll head there, then.”

“They’re decoys,” Lance said quietly.

“Decoys?” Joey repeated, and Lance nodded. “How do you know?”

“When my father made his decision to send me to the New World, he also made sure my passage would be the safest, least likely to be attacked by pirates.” Lance smiled wryly, and they all mirrored it, whether with their own grin or a low happy chuckle. “The Spanish have changed tactics, he was told. The south seas look to be the richest to make the north seas safer to travel.”

“Bloody Spaniards,” Joey muttered, tapping his fingers on the table, obviously troubled.

“I’ll ask what nobody else will.” JC leaned across the table, his hand resting on Justin’s thigh now, so close, so far away. Justin sighed. “How do we know you’re telling us the truth?”

“C,” Chris said harshly, one biting letter, but it was enough to make JC sit back, his hand blissfully bumping into the insistent bulge of Justin’s prick. His fingers tightened reflexively, and Justin forced his eyes to stay open. “He’s to be trusted. Lance has given Joey his word.”

“And I’ve accepted it. We have nothing to lose by heading north instead of south.”

“Except a mutinous crew,” JC insisted, but the heat was gone from his voice. His hand started moving on Justin’s prick, squeezing and rubbing, with just the perfect amount of pressure. Justin squirmed in his chair, trying to pay attention to the conversation, but it was impossible, and just as well, it seemed, with the way Lance and Joey leaned into each other, talking quickly.

Justin spread his legs, begging, and wet his own lips, shifting his eyes to see Chris’s wide, knowing grin. This was what he had missed most in recent days, taking each other where they wanted, whether it be in the kitchen, the hold or Joey’s private cabin. With Lance, they had to show caution or, at the very least, discretion. Like they were doing now, Justin sprawled in his breakfast chair, JC’s hand working determinedly on his prick as Chris watched on, cheeks pink with arousal.

It still wasn't enough.

He wanted to be fucked.

Justin stood up abruptly, knocking his chair to the ground. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Joey looked over at him, eyes dropping briefly, amused. “Very well.”

Justin smiled gratefully and stumbled out of the small room into the hot morning sun, keeping his hands over his straining prick, wishing he had worn that shirt after all. He heard the sound of JC’s boots crossing the deck behind him and the patter of Chris’s bare feet. He was three steps into Joey’s cabin when Chris tackled him to the bed, ripping off his tattered breeches.

“You two are shameless,” he muttered, licking into Justin’s grinning mouth.

“He practically begged for it,” JC replied, pulling off Chris’s clothes with quick hands.

“I think he’s been having dirty thoughts. Haven’t you?” Chris asked, staring straight into Justin’s eyes, and Justin nodded, willed him to understand that he would welcome Lance into them, because he was handsome, and kind, and loyal. Chris kissed him deeply in gratitude, hands steady on his face, as JC worked down below, sweeping over Justin’s belly with a sure tongue.

“Up,” Justin said, putting his hands on Chris’s hips and sliding him forward across his chest, opening his mouth and letting Chris’s cock in. The angle was shallow, nearly impossible to breath through, but he could see Chris’s impassioned face as his prick bumped stubbornly against the roof of Justin’s mouth, and it let Chris see his face as JC took him inside his mouth, fingers poking determinedly at Justin’s arse. He let them inside, groaning onto Chris’s cock.

At the very beginning, when Chris shared his bed with Joey and JC and not him, Justin had imagined it as too complicated for a fourth, too many men in one bed, too many legs and arms and pricks to keep track of. He had told himself this to ease the longing caused by Chris and his bloody rules. It wasn’t until he had hair on his chin that Justin wormed his way into it and saw how blissfully, perfectly simple it was: there was no such thing as too many pricks.

With Chris bitter and hot on his tongue, JC spread Justin’s legs and slid into him with one quick thrust. Justin opened his mouth wide, groaning, and Chris’s cock slipped deeper, stealing Justin’s breath for one brief, incredible second before Chris lost all rhythm. His prick bobbed out between his legs, wet with Justin’s spit, and Justin grabbed it, sliding his fist up the hard shaft.

“God,” Chris said blissfully, folding his fingers over Justin’s hand, squeezing. He leaned back, his bare arse resting lightly on Justin’s damp chest, and offered his mouth to JC, who stuck a pink tongue into it, covering Chris’s lips with his own. Justin moved his hand more furiously over Chris’s prick, watching them kiss, then grunted in surprise when Chris came on his throat.

“God,” Chris said again, turning on Justin’s chest, his knees settling aside Justin’s ear. Justin put his hands on Chris’s arse, spreading him open, then kissed him there, inhaling his scent. Chris’s mouth settled on his prick, sucking and licking, as JC quickened his thrusts. It was too, too much. Justin came with a moan, lips wide against the soft skin of Chris’s inner thigh, feeling JC go stiff against himself, his loosely tangled curls almost blocking the intensity on his face.

Chris collapsed onto him then rolled to his back, knees bent and legs open, his chest rising with laborious breaths. JC pulled out slowly, one of the best parts in Justin’s opinion, and tidied his breeches, arranging them splendidly over his cock. Justin watched them, happy and sated, missing Joey with all his heart, and wondering how Lance would fit into this puzzle.

Knowing already that he somehow would.

viii.

“Oi, JC!” Justin shouted from the topmast. “French ship four marks off the starboard bow!”

JC pulled his scope out of his pocket, lengthening it then looking where Justin pointed. A ship with the French flag raised. Already, the crew had scattered, some to hide any sign that would betray them as pirates, others simply to act as though they were a lowly merchant crew on a French-owned vessel. JC cast a quick look to Joey, who nodded then broke into a wide grin.

“Captain,” he shouted merrily, “your orders, sir?”

“Speak your mother tongue, man!”

Joey laughed then grabbed Lance, who looked utterly confused by the turn of events, and explained everything to him in that simple way Joey had. Lance nodded and, together, they headed aft then lowered two rope ladders off the stern, disappearing down them. They were lucky that the ship was coming up starboard, unable to see the bright white paint that would betray the Song of the Sea for what she truly was. Even the French would know her as a pirate ship.

JC looked over the rail as Joey and Lance worked to release the complicated arrangement of mechanisms Joey and Chris had cooked up to make it a quick, easy change. He flinched as the board flipped, landing with a heavy crack against the stern. They were the Brianne now.

JC straightened his shoulders and tried his best to look like a Captain. In his head, he practised his French, which he had not used since he was a child, before. Nervously, he clenched his fists at his side, his torso aching from phantom pains. There was no need for this, he told himself sternly. The ruse had worked countless times before, and French was his mother tongue, even if he could barely remember what it had been like before.

“Your papers, Captain,” Chris said, bowing his head, and handed JC the rolls of false custom papers that Joey had bought years ago from a crooked lawyer. They were yellowed with age and badly written. Perhaps, if Lance consented, he could redo them. If JC thought to ask him.

JC ignored Chris’s grin, confident in the fact he made a better French Captain than Chris made an English one. JC’s accent was odd, an awkward mix of French and English, but Chris and Justin were poor Londoners through and through, and neither of them looked like a Captain. Appearances, JC had learned in his life, were much more important than the minds behind them.

“Relax,” Chris whispered, brushing his fingers across the palm of JC’s sweaty hand.

“I don’t like this.” JC squared his jaw, watching the French ship draw closer, obviously on Naval business. The northern waters were no safer than the southern ones for people like them. “I’m no Captain,” he added quietly, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, eyes ahead.

“None of us are. There is no I in Song of the Sea,” Chris quipped, a favourite saying of Joey’s. There were a multitude of reasons why men became pirates, and a problem with authority was only one of them. Joey’s greatest strength lay in his obvious reluctance to be their Captain.

“Are you my First Mate?”

“Not today,” Chris replied. “There’s always been the matter of my shoddy French.”

JC’s belly tightened. At least with Chris at his back, if things went to ruin, he’d have a quick sword and an even quicker mouth fighting with him. Chris was an excellent man to have in a sword fight; his words confused even faster than his blade did. “Who, then? There’s nobody better.”

“Lance,” Chris said simply, unapologetically then added, “please give him a chance, JC.”

“I don’t know him,” JC replied, eyeing Lance as pulled on his coat, bought with money Chris had loaned him. They hadn’t found a single Spanish ship in the Northern waters yet.

“You know me, and you know that I’m a good judge of character.” Chris smirked suddenly, his mouth twisting into an impish grin as he leaned in, his breath hot on JC’s neck. “Have I steered you wrong, yet?” He shifted his eyes upward to Justin then quickly over to Joey.

“I met Justin first,” JC reminded him, “and he begged you to befriend me.”

“Aye, but the boy was five and just as likely to befriend a crow as he was to take a lost French boy under his own wing. You shouldn’t have trusted him without meeting me first.” JC narrowed his eyes, and Chris smiled, pleased with his own jumbled logic. “Lance is a good man.”

“I know,” JC insisted, and he did know it, as much as he could. Lance seemed to be everything he said he was, but there were other matters to consider, complicated ones. He had noticed how Justin already looked at Lance, knew that Joey would look at him like that soon, and even JC admired Lance. JC had eyes, a mind, and a heart, too. It was the rest that worried him.

“Lance!” Chris shouted suddenly, “come stand beside your Captain!”

Chris left him with a pointed look, walking heavily down the stairs to the main deck, heading for the bow. The French ship was close, shouting at them to let them board so that they could check their papers. JC fingered them nervously, calmed only slightly by Lance’s presence.

“Do you speak French?” JC asked quietly, waving to the French ship, granting his permission. They would board regardless, and they did, beyond the obvious, have very little to hide. Pirates were not known for hoarding their riches. They spent them, freely and happily, whenever they happened ashore then spent the rest of their lives replacing the lost pieces of eight.

“I do,” Lance said.

“Better than Chris?”

“Aye,” Lance said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, and JC swallowed his own grin. For all his jesting, Chris’s French was atrocious. There was no telling what would leave his mouth if it ever fell to him to pose as the Captain of the merchant ship Brianne.

JC stood perfectly still, waiting. The ship rocked lightly under his feet; the good weather had held for almost too long. If it didn’t rain soon, they would run out of water, and men could not survive on rum alone, despite what Chris claimed. JC looked left, to Lance, who betrayed nothing in the line of his mouth or the staunch set of his eyes, which were so strangely green.

He was quite handsome. His profile was strong, accented by a slightly crooked nose and freckles painted over his eternally sun-pink cheeks. His hair had lightened in the last few weeks, gone from dull brown to a shimmery dark gold. His body, which JC had seen at its weakest, had regained some of the mass he had likely had before the shipwreck, with softly defined muscles and a full, round arse.

JC knew Chris shared his bed every night, but he also knew that none of the others had yet, despite the way in which they looked at him. What were they waiting for? If he was a braver man, JC would have already taken Lance to his bed, stripped him bare and ravished him thoroughly.

Lance looked at him suddenly, smiling, and JC returned it, surprised at how easily it came to his lips. It dropped from his face as the French ship pulled up next to them, three times as big and with thrice as many men. JC took a deep breath and waited for the French to signal him. When they did, he walked forward, conscious of his pistol at his waist and Lance at his heels.

This was the part of the act he detested, waiting for whichever French man the Captain had decided was that perfect mix between trustworthy and expendable. The walk of this arrogant man was slow across the plank, but JC did not move, his hand steady on the papers. When spoken to, the French tumbled easily off his tongue, and when Lance was questioned, he responded like he had never heard an English word. The papers were closely scrutinised, turned over and reread, before, finally, they were returned into JC’s waiting hand, and it was over.

JC did not fully relax until the French ship was a fading mark on the horizon and then he sat down, putting his hand to his beating heart. Lance collapsed next to him, looking pale and young. Sweat had blossomed at his temples. Justin walked up briskly holding two cups of ale.

“Good job,” Joey said, squeezing JC’s shoulder then doing the same to Lance, who smiled gratefully. It had been, JC realised quite suddenly, a clever way for Joey to prove Lance’s mettle to the crew, who were suspicious. They knew an outsider to see one. It wouldn’t erase their distrust completely, but it was a start and a good one. They had fooled the French yet again.

“If you’ll excuse me,” JC murmured, standing on shaky legs and holding up a hand when both Chris and Justin tried to follow him. Joey did not move. JC's hands were clammy and cold, and he simply needed a moment to collect himself. It was easy to forget just how dangerous this life was. After all these years, he was used to it, but sometimes, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

JC had been running from death all his life.

JC headed to the kitchen, brewing himself a pot of tea. Michael Meathands was nowhere to be seen, likely drunk from rum and asleep somewhere in the hold. It was no way to live a life, too numb to feel it. Fear was better. At least it was exhilarating, even if it also made a man look weak.

JC poured the tea into one of the fine cups he kept hidden in the uppermost cupboard. He had bought them a day before they left England on the Swift, the ship which had transported one pirate's son, two street urchins and a French orphan to the Caribbean to begin their exciting new lives.

JC smiled. It seemed so long ago, like he was looking back on it as an old man.

“May I join you?”

JC looked up at Lance and nodded. “Tea?”

“Please.” Lance sat down at the small table, smoothing his hands over the rough surface before dropping them to his lap. He looked up when JC set one of the fine teacups in front of him then accepted the sugar when JC offered it. His eyes were so green. “Does that happen often?”

“More often than any of us like, though it is not always the French. Sometimes it’s the British, sometimes the Spanish. We are clever and resourceful enough to get ourselves out of trouble when it does,” JC added, ignoring how his own hands shook, splashing tea over the table.

“What will happen to us, if they know we’re pirates?”

JC frowned. “Joey didn’t tell you?”

“He told me I would be put to death. I want to know how, so I am prepared for it.”

“They’ll hang you,” JC said simply, shrugging. He sipped at his steaming tea. “There’s no other way they do it, not for men like us. They’ll humiliate you, parade you to the gallows, pray for your condemned soul then snap your neck if you’re lucky, suffocate you if you’re not.”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Aye. Joey’s father and brother were both hung by the Spanish. We were there.”

Lance nodded, delicately lifting the fine china cup to his lips. He obviously knew what they were worth just as he likely knew that a man like JC would have had to steal them. Let him know, then. JC was not ashamed. He did what he had to do to live and would not apologise for it.

“We’ll be lucky, you and me,” JC added, unable to stop this morbid conversation. “We'll simply be buried face down below the low water mark, but Chris, Justin and especially Joey will be embalmed in tar and hung from a gibbet until they finally rot away, a warning to all young men who think a pirate’s life will be easier than whatever their father has planned for them.”

“You don’t like me,” Lance said quietly. “You think I’m exactly that.”

“Not exactly,” JC said, “and no, no. I’m just saying this because.” JC looked down at his shaking hands and murmured, “fear ruins me. I’m being cruel to you, and I know it. I’m sorry.”

“Then I will take no offense,” Lance replied.

JC nodded and returned to his cup, carefully sipping the scalding liquid, letting the heat warm his frozen hands. It was not uncomfortable, sitting in silence with Lance, even after the horrid things JC had just said to him. It wasn’t comfortable, but it could be someday if they tried.

“Tell me how it was like,” JC said softly, “growing up with parents.”

Lance’s eyes betrayed only the slightest hint of surprise and then he began to speak, slowly and surely, his voice a rumble of a storm on the horizon. JC closed his eyes and listened, keeping his stolen English teacup to his mouth, and he could almost remember, in that instant, what his parents had looked like and how they had loved him. He forgot about everything else.

ix.

His eyes were good, so Lance spent the majority of time with Justin, keeping watch and learning to track ships when they crossed their path. Some ships Justin dismissed immediately, for reasons Lance did not yet understand. Others, they would follow for some time before Justin climbed down to speak with Joey, who would then dismiss them. Only once, in the next few weeks, did they happen upon a ship with the intent of boarding it. It was a large but worn down Spanish vessel.

“We’re outnumbered at least two to one, if not three,” Lance said, peering at the ship through the lens of Justin’s dinged up telescope. It seemed tiny, so far away. They could never possibly catch up, even being the lighter, faster ship. “And it looks ... it looks like a poor ship.”

“Which are always the richest. Decoys,” Justin reminded him, smiling.

Lance smiled back.

“But we do need to even the odds.” Justin looked down to the quarter deck, where JC was standing at the ship’s wheel, turning it with Chris’s help, causing the whole ship to lean. “They’ve no doubt seen us. We run, like we think we have something to fear, and then, tonight, when their crew is at a minimum and they’ve taken up a leisurely pace, we catch up to them.”

“Is the Song of the Sea fast enough?”

“Aye,” Justin said, “she is.”

It seemed too simple a plan, but mid-morning, a storm came up on them, hard and fast, spitting down more water than Lance had seen since the Betty’s shipwreck. It came down in sheets, making the mast slippery and dangerous to climb down, and the sudden winds pushed at the crow’s nest harshly, determined to unseat him. Justin already had his hand on the rigging.

“Are you coming?”

Lance shook his head.

“I could carry you down,” Justin offered, “if you’re frightened.” Justin looked like he doubted he could but was willing to give it his best try. Lance thought about having both of them fall to their deaths, and shook his head again. “Once you understand her dance, you’ll be fine.”

“I think I need a little while longer,” Lance admitted.

Justin smiled and disappeared over the side. Lance watched him swing down effortlessly, his muscles bunching under his tan skin like a beautiful Grecian sculpture, perfectly formed. He had spent the early morning watching Justin and JC play amongst the sails, climbing and swinging, like they held no fear of death or what would happen if their hands slipped, even once. They moved with a natural grace Lance envied. His mother had insisted he learn to dance, and he had done so, but he was clumsy, awkward. His strength had always been in his mind, not his body.

On this ship, it was not a sin to admire beautiful men. What surprised him, and unsettled him, was how some men looked at him, as if he was an object to be desired. The Teach brothers paid him particular attention. They were very handsome in the face, and if it had not been for the reality of Chris and the possibility of the other three, he would have gladly turned to either one, or both.

“Are they all?” Lance had asked Chris once, laying in bed with him, naked and satisfied.

“No,” Chris had replied, petting softly at Lance’s spent cock, “but enough that the scales are balanced, at least on this ship. It’s more common than you would think, to feel as we do.”

Lance had no boyhood fling, no brother-in-arms to hide with in dark corners and explore their forbidden yearnings. His father had not employed a great many handsome men, which had helped him stifle his urges, but there had been some flirtations, he thought in retrospect, with his tutor, for one, and with his mother’s portraitist, for another, some undeniable pull to these men.

He was only beginning to understand desire.

Lance fell asleep in the crow’s nest, and had frantic dreams of pleasure, waking up with his hand in his breeches, fingers curled around his stiff prick. Heat rushing to his cheeks, he pulled his hand away and cautiously looked out over the ship. It was night now, the only light coming from the muted reflection of the moon on the water. Everything was draped in shadows. Chris was at the ship’s wheel, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and Joey was standing next to him, arms crossed, finely dressed.

Lance’s clothes were still damp from the rain, which had since vanished, leaving a dense cloud of fog in its wake. It moved across the water in strange, feathery shapes. Fumbling the scope into his stiff fingers, Lance extended it and looked out across the water. There was a phantom out there, a shadow of something much larger than them, which vaguely resembled a ship.

This was it, then. They were going to board a ship and rob them.

This was yet another of the many terrifying firsts Lance had experienced since meeting Chris.

Lance turned suddenly, catching a shimmer of light in his left eye, but there was nothing there. He drew out the telescope and peered through it, trying to cut through the impenetrable fog and the settling dark. His eyes were good, just as strong as Justin’s, but he wished Justin was there with him, to see what he saw, to call him a blind fool. Had there even been anything, or was it just nerves?

Lance looked until his eyes hurt then gave up. The fog passed briefly, offering a break in the gloom, and there was nothing there, no ship coming up on their rear, just clear water, moonlight and stars. It was dry enough now that Lance was sure of his footing, so he climbed carefully down the mast.

Fog passed over them again just as his foot touched the deck, blinding him. When there was a break, he found himself face to face with JC, who put his finger over his lips, and Lance nodded. He stole away into the First Mate’s cabin, retrieving his pistol and his cutlass, both gifts from Chris, who insisted he return the sentiment through a trade he believed in: fucking.

Lance was skilled with a sword, trained by one of the best swordsman in London. He had proven himself three days ago when Chris had challenged him to a mock fight, as much to test his savvy, which Lance had boasted about in bed the night before, as to prove to the crew that these skills existed.

When Chris had asked which hand he fought with, Lance had answered, “left,” and they fought left-handed in front of the crew, covering every bit of the deck, climbing over every obstacle. In time, Justin had joined them, taking Chris’s side and Lance had been forced to admit his ruse and switch to his proper sword-hand, his right. Chris had smiled gratefully and done the same, and they continued their game, though they all fought to win. And in time, Lance had.

His arm still ached from that day when he flexed it. It twinged now as he tested the weight of his blade before sliding it into his scabbard. Chris had scavenged a cracked mirror, and Lance looked at himself in it, seeing his pale green eyes, his messy sun-lightened hair. After only a few weeks, he looked utterly changed. Would he still recognise himself in a few hours?

“Stick with JC,” Justin murmured in Lance’s ear as he joined the quietly waiting crew. Lance looked over at JC, who was dressed in his sharpest coat, and JC nodded. When Lance turned back, Justin was gone, already on the quarter deck with Chris and Joey, who wore a merry smile.

A gay smile, Lance thought, and felt calmer, surer, as if he really could become this man.

This pirate.

The fog was still dense, and Lance wondered if Chris wasn’t steering the ship blind, trusting he’d find his target before they sailed straight into it. He had his head cocked, a faraway look in his eyes, and Lance realised he was navigating by ear, listening to a song Lance couldn’t hear. No one made a sound. Even the ship cutting through water offered only the dullest roar.

“Raise the Jolly Roger,” the men whispered, passing the command down the line, and Lance watched as the black flag unfolded like the crack of a whip, released by John Barber. The white, grinning skull was stark and fearsome against the black, and suddenly, anxiety rose up in him, making his palms damp and his belly churn. Lance hated the unknown, and he'd suffered too much of it in recent weeks.

He knew, in theory, how it was done. Joey had explained it to him over a private lunch they had shared, in which Lance had asked questions and Joey had answered them. It would done quickly, efficiently, with the fearsome pirates swooping in before the unlucky merchants had a chance to realise the pirates were outnumbered and outgunned. Fear, JC had said, was their greatest weapon.

Lance agreed.

A strange feeling came over him as they boarded, silent lines of pirates floating across the dense fog and climbing onto the Spanish deck. It was a feeling of calm, of determination. JC’s surety soothed him. He watched as JC took the butt of his pistol to the back of a guard’s head; Lance caught the man before he fell. JC did this to each man he snuck upon, and Lance secured each one, setting them down gently. All of them breathed, all of them lived, and he felt nothing for them.

When the deck was clear, they ascended like a swarm, moving briskly and quietly, each man knowing his role. Chris and Justin went into the Captain’s Cabin, and dragged out a man in his nightclothes and two young boys, obviously brothers, obviously sons. Joey met them on the quarter deck, eyes warm with happiness, mouth wide with a smile. It was rather unsettling, which Lance supposed was the point. They all had their parts to act.

“Come on, man,” JC said, cocking his head, and Lance followed him, hearing the faint song of Joey’s sweet voice catch on the wind, offering them a tune while they waited. Two men stood at the entrance to the Spanish forecastle, lit lamps in their hands, ready to trap the crew inside. An idle threat, Lance knew, but effective nonetheless.

William William rushed up to JC. “We’ve found the treasure. It’s all in gold.”

“Take it,” JC said, “everything you can carry, take it. Water and food, too, leaving only as much as they need to return to Pleasure Island.” They were near a port noted for its lovely whores, men and women both. There was a proper name for it, but Lance had only heard it called Pleasure Island. “Any more, and they may be tempted to follow us and take their revenge.”

Men began pouring out of the hold, arms full with bags of gold coins and other items of worth, including bottles of water and food enough to feed them all for at least a week. JC stood back, taking silent inventory of each item, and Lance did the same, counting quickly in his head.

“That’s the last of it,” Jack Mouse whispered, barely lifting his eyes from the deck.

“Then you may return to the ship,” JC replied.

Jack Mouse nodded, and the crew began to depart as quickly and quietly as they had come. Joey was still on the quarter deck with Chris and Justin, entertaining the Captain and his sons. The First Mate was there, too, and the other men of note: the Gunner, the Master, the Carpenter and the Boatswain. Lance had seen them dragged from bed by the Teach brothers. How they were identified as such, Lance did not know, but they were men of value aboard any given ship.

“Come on, man,” JC said again, not so much a demand as an invitation and Lance followed him to the others. Joey was in the middle of a dirty joke, one Lance had heard four times already, about a roguish one-legged whore. The captured crew looked entirely unimpressed.

He was two steps on the deck when the Gunner’s arm stiffened suddenly. All thoughts flew from Lance’s mind. He knew what a man looked like before he struck, not only the line of his body but the gleam in his eyes, the twist to his mouth. All of it betrayed him. Only a split second passed between inaction and action, but Lance moved quicker, drawing his blade, driving it deep into the Gunner’s belly. The Gunner dropped his small blade, the tip of it barely scraping Joey's throat. A pearl of crimson blood rose on Joey’s skin.

It surprised him, how much force it took to drive a cutlass into a man’s body, and how much blood came out once it was done, some bubbling up from the Gunner’s surprised mouth, more spilling hotly down his legs. He reached blindly for Lance’s neck, and Lance drove the blade deeper, relieved when the Gunner buckled then slipped off his sword, dropping to the deck with a heavy thud, bleeding, dead.

“I tried to make this pleasant for you,” Joey said quietly, the smile falling off his face. Somehow in the middle of it all, Chris and Justin had both moved, both pressing a pistol to the temples of the young sons, who were no more than ten. “Tell me, Captain, what I should do now?”

The Spanish Captain looked up at him. “Spare my sons, if you will grant me nothing else.” The Captain’s eyes shifted to the fallen man. “I swear, he acted without my permission.”

Joey pursed his lips then nodded. “Never let it be said the Gay Pirate Joey is anything but kind-hearted and fair. As much as a pirate can be,” Joey added, grinning again. “Take their sails and their rigging. Leave them with enough to limp to port, nothing more. I bid you farewell, Captain.” Joey tugged on the edge of his fine leather hat, bowing his head, then turned around.

“You heard the man,” JC said loudly to the remaining crew, stepping over the dead Gunner.

Already, some of the men were tearing down the complicated mess of rigging and sails, which Justin had always said came down easier than they went up. They did need new sails, and their rigging was prone to snapping if a man pulled too hard in the wrong direction. Lance helped carry it all aboard.

They sailed away like they had come, covered by thick fog, making only the faintest noise. Chris stood at the ship’s wheel, turning one way then another, trying to find the best wind. JC took Lance by the elbow and whispered, “join us in the Captain’s Cabin. You need some wine.”

Lance’s shirt and breeches were drenched in dark blood. His hands were covered in the same. If he had been in his right head, he would have declined the offer and slunk off to the First Mate’s cabin to wash up, but he was not in his right head. He had killed a man, yet he did not regret it. How could he? Joey would have surely died, and he hadn’t known that Gunner at all.

Hadn’t loved him.

Lance took a seat at the small table, accepting the wine with shaking hands and drinking it down into a queasy stomach. Joey joined them shortly thereafter, exhaustion hanging in rings around his eyes. Without speaking, JC poured him his own glass then carefully filled three more.

“Lance,” Joey said, and Lance looked up. “Thank you.”

Lance bowed his head, and even that slight movement made him tired.

Justin came into the room quietly, nodding once at Joey, then taking his place at the table, shoulders slumped, face pale. “That could have gone better,” he said, and Joey hummed his agreement. Justin turned to Lance. “That was atypical, what happened on that ship. Most men ...”

“But not all men,” JC said softly, and Justin reluctantly nodded.

“Some do fight back,” he agreed.

They drank without the usual stream of conversation, listening to the Song of the Sea race through the waves. In time, Chris came into the room and sat by Joey, who had abandoned his chair for a mound of exquisite pillows piled in the farthest corner, next to the extravagant bed Lance tried so valiantly to ignore.

He loved these men already, but he hadn’t been in that bed.

Yet, he reminded himself. Yet.

Lance watched as Chris pulled Joey’s shirt from his shoulders then began to unbraid his long hair, an act which caused Joey to sigh in pleasure. Lance found the rhythmic motions of Chris’s fingers to be soothing as he plucked and untied the leather laces then slid through each braid once it was unravelled with a fine ivory comb. They looked handsome together, those two.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Lance murmured, standing up quickly and exiting before he could hear any protests. He was too tired to put on a good face, and he smelled badly of another man’s blood. He stopped at the kitchen to heat water then brought the basin to the First Mate’s room.

He put the basin and a cloth on the table beside the bed then removed his soiled clothes, knowing he’d have to burn them. There would be nothing for the stains, and he refused to wear shabby clothes. He was more like JC than anyone suspected in that way. It was his one true vice.

Naked, the only part of him still red were his hands and his shoulders, where the man had spit up his dying curse. Lance dipped his hands into the basin, letting the hot water spill through his fingers, and watched it all wash away, though the worst of it clung under his fingernails.

He closed his eyes, heaving a deep sigh, and began to blindly wash his chest and his shoulders, taking pleasure in the warm sluice of water. He missed baths the most, he thought. There was no match for the luxury of a hot bath after a long day. It had always calmed his nerves.

He started slightly when another hand plucked the cloth from him, taking over the duties for his shoulders, but Lance relaxed again. He had not wanted to sleep alone, despite how it may have looked, and he should not have been surprised that Chris had thought of him, though he was.

Lance dropped his chin to his throat, letting his hair be swept up and his neck washed, including the soft spots behind his ears. Great care was taken with his back, every bit of skin covered by the warm water. It was almost as good as a real bath, and Lance was eternally grateful.

He shivered when he was kissed beneath his ear, in that spot he loved so much. An arm snaked out past his belly, dropping the cloth in the basin, and Lance grabbed it, turning it over to kiss at the wrist and noticed it then, the smooth skin, unblemished by tattoos.

This was not Chris.

Lance turned his head, and Justin smiled, leaning forward and kissing him sweetly, his tongue poking insistently at Lance’s lips. Lance opened for him willingly, desperately, not knowing how badly he had truly needed it until now. They grappled with each other like two virgins, touching every bit of exposed skin, tangled on the bed. Justin had come to him already naked.

“You are so handsome,” Justin murmured, dragging his teeth lightly over Lance’s jaw, and Lance tightened his fingers, digging into Justin’s muscular back. It took all his strength not to close his eyes. He wanted to see, needed to see, everything that Justin was under his clothes.

Lance had no words to offer in return, but he murmured nonsensically as he gripped Justin’s prick in his hand, delighted when Justin bit his lip and moaned. Tentatively, he began to stroke it, enjoying the feel of the skin in his palm, the heat that blazed, the slick salt that gathered at the tip. Justin breathed hotly into his ear, kissing at his neck, his cheek, leaving his mark.

“Let me,” Justin murmured, fitting his mouth over Lance’s, and they kissed again deeply. Justin’s hand slid down Lance’s body and settled between his legs, taking a firm grip of his cock. Lance’s toes curled. He tightened his own hand, happy when Justin fingers clenched in response.

They kissed, and stroked each other, and though Lance still felt tired, it was only in body, not in spirit. This, Justin, was so overdue. There had been times when Lance had caught Justin looking at him, eyes hot with passion, as if imagining something perversely delightful. Why Lance had waited, he didn’t know. It hadn’t felt right, without knowing Justin as a friend first.

“Lance,” Justin said, nipping at Lance’s lower lip, and Lance opened his eyes. Justin touched damp fingers to Lance’s brow, sweeping across his forehead and pulling back his hair. “I would like it if you,” Justin kissed him again, as if his lips were too tempting, “fucked me.”

“I haven’t,” Lance muttered, heat dancing across his face, “yet.”

“Then I’ll be your first,” Justin said happily, rolling onto his back, urging Lance between his legs. He hooked an arm around the back of Lance’s neck and pulled him close. “I haven’t been the first for anybody,” Justin whispered, licking Lance’s throat. “We’ll be each other’s.”

Lance smiled, and kissed Justin’s wide grin from his lips. Blindly, Justin fumbled in a bag Chris kept under the bed, some sack of hidden treasures Lance had never thought to ask about, and Justin crowed merrily when he found what he sought. It was a small glass vial.

“I beat Chris to it,” Justin said, laughing as he poured a line of oil on Lance’s prick, using his palm to cover Lance entirely, and Lance did his very best not to come right then, though he felt desperately close to it. “The thing you should know about Chris is that he likes it, too, that way.”

“Does he?” Lance asked, enjoying the feel of the oil on his cock.

“He does,” Justin insisted, hooking a leg across Lance’s arse and reeling him in, tilting his hips up, offering himself. His belly was tight with anticipation, his eyes hot with lust. “This oil is his,” Justin added, “which means he must have thought about it, being fucked by you.”

“He never said.”

“That’s not Chris’s way,” Justin murmured, sighing as Lance slid inside him, moaning pitifully when Lance went too slow and pulled him in wholly by the hips. Lance’s vision swam, and he bit his cheek, spilling sweet blood over his lips, as he fought his imminent release.

He did not fight hard enough.

Four thrusts, and he was coming against his will, feeling stupidly like a virgin but unable to help himself. It felt so incredible, so new and exciting, with Justin’s arse clenching around him, holding him deeply rooted inside. “It was noble of you to try,” Justin murmured, grinning.

“I can use my mouth,” Lance replied.

“Please,” Justin said, “and your fingers, too.”

Lance sucked at Justin’s prick, slicking two fingers inside, adding another when Justin begged for it. The slide of his fingers into Justin’s body was an intoxicating sight, how he opened for it, took it gladly, pushed back for more. Justin’s fingers combed through his hair, pulling him in, and Lance took Justin deep into his throat, his loud moan ringing in Lance’s ears as he came.

“Chris fucked me for the first time in this bed,” Justin murmured sleepily, hooking his arm around Lance’s waist and drawing him close, fitting himself against Lance’s back. “And JC and Joey, too. I’ve always slept well here, knowing that. If you have nightmares, think of that.”

“I will,” Lance promised.

x.

The cup fell out of JC’s hand, hitting the floor with a hollow thump. Chris looked over at JC, who had fallen asleep in his chair, legs swung over the arm, head tilted back. The man could sleep through the harshest storms, the loudest drunken brawls. It was not the best habit, to sleep so soundly with the lives they led, but Chris envied it.

Chris returned his attention to Joey’s hair, an act he found calming after an especially rough night. It reminded him of simpler times, before Justin had grown up, before JC had become such a dandy. Justin’s angelic curls were long gone, twisted into thick knots that could never be combed out, and JC kept his hair neat and tidy, cropped just below his shoulders.

“More wine?” Joey asked, rolling his shoulders, his muscles bunching handsomely.

“No,” Chris replied, “not tonight.”

He took a section of Joey’s freshly brushed hair and began to weave it into a braid, noticing for the first time that Justin was no longer in the room. When had he left? Justin had always claimed Chris disappeared, but Chris would argue the other way. It had been an issue when Justin was young, too ambitious for his age, and Chris had been a lousy guardian besides.

He himself had grown up fine, and he’d never had anyone to look after him in the hours his mother worked, which were many. It was hard to be bitter, though. Justin had, from a very young age, been too much fun to resent, all too willing to jump headfirst into trouble, a trait Chris appreciated. He had also turned out to be a very good thief, which had kept them both well fed.

“Justin’s gone,” Chris said, tying off a braid with a thin line of knotted leather.

“He followed Lance,” Joey replied, the line of his back tightening again.

“What troubles you?”

Joey sighed. “Guilt, I suppose. He killed for me. Already, his eyes are haunted. I never wanted that for him.”

“That’s just how they look,” Chris replied flippantly, thought he was also worried for Lance, who was, though he would loudly protest it, far too innocent for this line of work, but Chris would not say it was a mistake that Lance had come aboard. No, he wouldn’t ever say that, not when he still firmly believed that Lance belonged on board the Song of the Sea, belonged with them.

“He troubles me,” Joey admitted reluctantly, “Lance. How can a man be so devoted to a Captain he barely knows? We’ve lunched together from time to time, and I value his opinions, for they are so often right, but how can he love me already when I’ve done nothing to earn it?”

“You’ve given him a home, a chance to be happy, a place to be himself.” Chris put his hands on Joey’s shoulders. He hated when Joey suffered the melancholy. Joey had come by his pirate name naturally, full of gaiety and light-heartedness to the bone, but he was also just a man, prone to fits of temper. “There’s not a man aboard this ship, my dear Captain, who would not die for you, who does not love you.”

“I’m a terrible Captain,” Joey muttered unhappily.

“Not terrible,” Chris replied easily. “What you lack in skill, you make up in heart.”

Joey snorted.

“You simply need a better First Mate,” Chris continued, rubbing Joey’s tense shoulders, trying desperately to ease his great sorrow. “If you’re a terrible Captain then I’m an even more terrible First Mate, and I apologise for that. I would not object if you replaced me.”

“With who? If I recall, you only consented because you lost your bloody tournament.”

“Cheaters, the two of them,” Chris insisted, though he knew he had lost it honestly. It was the one time, in all his life, that his infamous good luck had utterly abandoned him, and he hadn’t won a game of dice since. “But you’re forgetting the obvious choice, my dear Captain.”

“Lance?”

Chris nodded.

“You're so desperate to be rid of me that you'd nominate a man who still cannot tell a flying jib from a fore topmast staysail?”

“I can't tell a flying jib from a fore topmast staysail,” Chris pointed out, sure Joey was talking about those three sails at the bow that he could never keep straight, despite all his years on board. “And he'll learn. He's a very quick study and very eager to learn. Believe me. I've experienced his skills firsthand, and I'm sure Justin will second them, if we ever see him again.”

“Why do I think we're no longer talking about his sea-faring prowess?”

Chris grinned. “Perhaps because we're not.” With his hands, he urged Joey back until he rested against Chris's chest. These last few weeks had been too busy, denying him the pleasure of Joey’s fine company. “Are you not tempted by him, Joey? He's lovely, and his prick is large.”

“Can you think of nothing else?”

“Why would I, my dear Captain?” Chris asked innocently, walking his fingers down Joey's chest then cupping him between his legs where his cock stood ready. “Between you and Lance, I can think of nothing but large pricks. I love them dearly, as you well know.” Chris put his lips against the shell of Joey’s silver-pierced ear, and smiled. “It's been far too long, Joey.”

“Indeed,” Joey murmured, lifting his chin, offering his smiling mouth. Chris kissed the corner of his lips then urged him to turn around. Chris was at once taken with the size of him, his broad shoulders, his powerful thighs. Where Justin, JC and Lance were slight, Joey was big in all senses of the word, a man of obvious strength. It roused him greatly.

They kissed for a blissful eternity, touching their tongues, tasting each other. Joey's hair covered him like a veil, and Chris grabbed a fistful of it, pulling it back. Joey's grin peeked out, and he sat back, knotting it into a wild mess upon his head. His breeches were full at the front, his cock straining valiantly against the brown fabric. As an act of kindness, Chris leaned forward and unlaced the breeches, letting it free.

Joey sighed as Chris began to stroke him, fingers moving deftly over Joey's stiff cock. Blindfolded, Chris would be able to identify this cock by touch alone. With all four of them, he could. Each man felt different, each tasted different, and together they filled every void Chris could possibly have, could possibly ever want filled. Few people understood this, and Chris was unable to explain it, just that he knew, deep in his gut, that these four were meant for him, and he for them.

“Kiss me,” Chris demanded, and Joey gladly obliged, cupping Chris's cheeks with his palms and touching his tongue to Chris's. They fell back together, kissing.

With Joey above him, Chris let himself sink into the mountain of pillows, legs wrapped securely around Joey's hips, pressing up against him. His clothes were an impossible barrier, so Chris began to pull at them, biting at Joey's lips. Something tore, but Chris paid it no mind. He preferred his clothes in shambles. It reminded him of home.

They kissed, and rubbed deliciously together, cocks locked between them in the vise of their bellies. Joey's hands roamed Chris's back, lifting him off the pillows and holding him against Joey's broad chest. When his hands came down and cupped his arse, Chris groaned in Joey's ear and rubbed himself more desperately against Joey's soft stomach.

“Let me fuck you,” Joey murmured, pressing the pads of his fingers against Chris's arsehole, insistent and demanding. Chris shivered, and tried so very hard not to beg, though he moaned a little and betrayed himself. He tightened his legs around Joey, nodding, but when Joey spit into his palm, Chris stopped him.

“I'm delicate,” Chris insisted, grinning, and Joey laughed even as he reached for something slick. Chris admired a man who could take a cock without much preamble, but Chris was not one of them. He enjoyed buggering as a rare treat, but he also enjoyed a pain-free arse to sit on the next day.

Joey turned him over by the hips then slid a slick finger into him, quick as a snap of lightning, and Chris opened his mouth against the pillows, the flicker of pain giving way to immense pleasure. Joey was so very good at this. He fucked Chris with his finger then added a second.

“Are you ready then, or should I tease your shy arse a little longer?” Joey asked, whispering hotly into Chris's ear, and Chris nodded, pushing back at him, eyes closed.

It was the first moment of penetration that Chris hated, that second where his whole body tensed against his will. Chris held his breath as the blunt of head of Joey's cock pressed at him, begging for entry, and he bit his lip when Joey was fully sheathed, like a sword in a scabbard. For a moment, he blindly resisted then remembered, with sudden startling clarity, just how right it felt to have a man's thick cock there. The last of his hesitation melted away.

“Can I move, then?”

“Please,” Chris mumbled, clenching around Joey's prick, testing the feel of it. Nice, he thought dazedly, then nearly lost his mind when Joey's slick fingers circled his cock and began to stroke him, banishing the last vestige of discomfort. It was very nice indeed.

Joey fucked him well and thorough, one hand pressed into Chris's hip, the other pulling at his cock. Chris used one arm to brace himself, brow pressed against his damp forearm. The other he slid between his own legs, covering Joey's fingers and weaving them with his. Joey's breath spread wetly across the back of his neck.

Chris came first, his thighs tensing with the effort to stay on his knees, and the clench of his arse brought Joey over. He kissed behind Chris's ear and murmured, “you have one of the very finest arses in this world, Kirkpatrick.”

“I do,” Chris agreed, collapsing onto the pillows, panting.

Joey rolled down beside him, cheeks pink with arousal, lips still wet. Chris leaned over and kissed him again, seeing again the patch of raw skin where the Gunner's blade had nicked him, bloody around the edges. He put his thumb to it, and Joey hissed sharply.

“We should put JC to bed,” Chris murmured softly, kissing away Joey's hurt, and Joey looked at him before nodding. Naked, they stood together and each grabbed an end of JC, carrying him over to the bed. Joey pulled off his boots as Chris removed his jewellery. They paused, regarding each other thoughtfully over the plush bed.

“Leave his shirt,” Chris decided, and Joey nodded. The lace would irritate his throat, but he loved JC too much to bare him without his expressed permission. Chris had done that only once, before he had known about JC's terrible scars. He had been more concerned about the filth of him, which had made him impossible to sleep with, smelling like the dead and making everybody else itchy.

Joey stripped off JC's breeches, then unpinned the neck of his shirt, opening it just wide enough that Chris could see just the top patchwork of JC's marred skin. How he survived, no one would ever know. JC's memories of the fire were vague and half-formed, more likely remnants of a boy's nightmares than what had actually happened. JC did not even know how he'd come to London at the young age of ten, just that Justin had found him wandering there and that Chris had recognised the language he spoke as French.

Chris folded JC's fine clothes then climbed into bed with him, smiling at Joey over JC's sleeping form. Joey was alive, despite the threats against him, and JC, too. A room away, Justin and Lance were likely enjoying each other, which made Chris happy. These men were meant for him, and a greater power protected them from harm.

xi.

There was nothing duller, Joey thought, than watching treasure be split. Jack Mouse had been nominated by the crew, though Joey still had to oversee it. The boy was smart, knew his letters and could count, but there was still an obligation to make sure each share was fairly done. The last thing Joey wanted was a mutiny, though he knew the chance of that was unlikely. His men had it well on the Song of the Sea, better fed, better watered, better paid than the average pirate ship, and freedom to act as they wished, provided no harm came to another in doing it.

He was, however, dreadfully bored.

He slumped in his chair, looking over at Justin and Chris, who were engaged in a mock sword fight, their work finished for the day. There were still a few men in the process of completing their duties, including Lance, who had been polishing the same bit of rail for the last hour. It shone brilliantly, but that was not the point. Lance watched the sea like he expected to see something. The minute this abominable task was completed, Joey would ask him about it.

“Sir?” Jack Mouse said.

“Yes, Jack?”

“What share should Lance receive?”

Joey pursed his lips, trying to think of the best solution, the least likely to make the others envious. Lance was so obviously favoured, and jealousy was a vile beast. “Give me one share, and give him one and a half. Without him, I would be too dead to enjoy it.”

“As you wish, sir.”

JC brought him tea spiced with rum. He watched as JC then crossed the deck to Lance, who smiled when JC approached. JC, surprisingly, smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. If they had made friends, then Joey was truly doomed. He would have to love Lance, too, or risk being marooned, left to grip his own sad cock.

He led such a hard life.

The pain continued as each man came to collect his share, which Joey sweetened with an extra ration of rum. This, he thought, was why he was such a poor captain, his ship in shambles and his breeches thin with holes. He made a good living, and he wasted it on others, but what good was hoarding his treasure when he was sure to be hung before he'd have a chance to enjoy it?

Joey knew where his life was headed. It had been mapped out for him the instant he was born to a pirate and his wife. He should have been grateful that his father had lived as long as he did before capture, but he still selfishly wished he'd had him longer, not only as a father but as a Captain.

As a boy, Joey had wanted to be an actor. His mother had taken him and his sister to the playhouse as often as she could manage it, and he had dreamed of being on the stage. By that age, a scant eleven, he had already spent half life aboard the Song of the Sea, though she was called the Orion then. He had re-christened the ship upon Steven’s death, who had called her the Sea’s Strumpet.

Joey sipped his tea, enjoying the warmth as it trickled down his throat. He was being morose, which had never suited him, but his throat still hurt where the skin had been cut, and JC had woken up screaming right before sunrise, and his bloody chickens hadn't given him a single egg for breakfast. He'd eat them all, if they kept that up.

“Sir?”

“Let it be good news, Jack.”

The boy smiled shyly. “We're done, sir.”

“That’s fantastic news, Jack! Take a third ration of rum for yourself,” Joey added, happy despite himself. He jumped to his feet, took his and Lance's shares, and made his way to the rail, where Lance stood alone again. Joey held out the heavy leather satchel in silent offering.

“Thank you,” Lance said.

Joey leaned on the rail, resting his forearms on the dark polished wood. He tilted his head, regarding Lance with curiosity. “What do you see out there, and should I be worried?”

“I don’t know,” Lance admitted, his lips pursed as if he wanted to say more but had thought better of it. Joey elbowed him lightly in the side, a touch playful, a touch encouraging. “I keep thinking I see something out there, but if no one else has ...” His words trailed off.

Joey squinted into the distance, but he could see nothing more than the heavy fog which had plagued them for nigh on two days now. The days of good weather were decidedly over.

“What does your gut tell you?” Joey asked, quite serious. A man’s gut could be his best guide, and Joey had learned to follow his own over the years. Mostly, it led him to the privy, but there had been a few notable times when it had delivered him to great treasure. “Lance?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, obviously troubled. “I think I see a ship, but ...”

“My best scouts have been drunk off their arses for the last day. If they haven’t seen it, it’s due to the rum, not your eyes,” Joey said decisively, his gut in complete agreement. “Justin’s sober enough. I’ll put him on lookout duty until ol’ Hawkeye is able to stand on two legs again.”

“It could be nothing.”

“Aye, but I cannot take that chance.” Joey put his hand on Lance’s shoulder, squeezing until Lance relaxed slightly, though worry still creased his brow. “Will you take an early supper with me, Lance? Michael Meathands has a chop or two left over from last night’s feast.”

“I will.”

Joey squeezed his shoulder again, shaking him affectionately and rubbing a thumb against the soft skin below his ear. This man had saved his life. Joey grinned suddenly, and Lance smiled back, lifting his hand and curling his fingers around Joey’s wrist. “I'll join you shortly,” Joey said.

He stopped by the kitchen, where Michael was busily preparing stew for the crew’s supper. Joey inquired about the chops and was promised a fine meal in an hour’s time if he had the patience to wait for it. He did. On the way to the Captain’s Cabin, Joey caught hold of Justin.

“I have reason to believe we’re being followed.”

Justin frowned. “By the Spanish ship?”

“No. It’s coming from the wrong direction, and they could not have caught up to us that fast. We left them in a dreadful state.” Justin smirked. “There’s a chance there’s nothing there, but I would sleep better if I knew for sure. Tell JC to hold steady the set course.”

“I will,” Justin promised. He leaned forward, and Joey gladly offered his ear. “All Chris has said about him is true, and he’ll seduce you if you let him.” Justin’s breath was hot and damp, fanning across Joey’s neck, rousing him. “Do let him, Joey, then tell me all about it.”

Joey bit back his groan, glaring at Justin as he pranced merrily away, a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome lips. Chris lifted his head as Justin passed, looking once at Joey then returning his attention to Justin, eyes on his firm arse as it shifted beneath his thin breeches.

“He has work to do,” Joey muttered as he passed, and Chris grinned widely at him.

“So do you,” he said coyly, shifting his eyes to the Captain’s Cabin.

Joey laughed, shaking his head as he walked to his cabin. Chris’s lack of subtlety both delighted and aroused him. It had been a long time since Joey had shared his bed with someone new. Years had passed since the night Justin found one lonely hair on his chin, convinced it was enough to prove his manhood, and it had been. Justin had always been wise beyond his years.

When he entered the Captain's Cabin, Lance already sat at the table, regarding his share of gold with one coin held between thumb and forefinger. Joey remembered his first share, which he had saved while the other men spent their loot on ale, whores, rum and more whores. When it had come time for him to return to his mother, he had carried it back to London with him then bought the very best seat in the playhouse for five nights straight, using only a small portion to buy a fine suit so nobody would realise how poor he truly was.

“Was that as dreadfully dull as it seemed?” Lance asked without looking up, eyes fixed on the coin.

Joey sank into his chair. “You have no bloody idea. It's worse with the bigger hauls, when there are jewels to split and these huge ugly statues to break apart.” Joey held out his hands, trying to fully convey the terror of these hideous monsters, and Lance grinned. “I like a ship that's tailor-made for pirates, like this one. I like coins.”

“I think you gave me too much.”

Joey shrugged. “Too much for my life? No, I gave you what you earned. It's not easy to take a man's life,” Joey added quietly, looking up at Lance, who regarded him before nodding. “I'm sorry that it came to that.”

“I knew it would eventually, and I don't regret it,” Lance admitted, dropping the coin back into the bag and tying it closed. “Chris tried desperately to talk me out of this idea of mine. I wasn't made for it, he said. I'd have to kill men, and live in rat-infested ships, and shit with my arse hanging overboard for sharks to eat. He warned me.”

“And then he bedded you.”

“Then I seduced him,” Lance said, correcting his error, and Joey bowed his head in apology. “After that, well, he got it into his head that I had been delivered to him through some act of destiny. Funny, but I thought it was greed.”

Joey smiled. “You knew, then.”

“Has Chris ever been subtle?”

“Not that I remember.” Joey leaned back in his chair, chin propped up on his fist, unable to turn his eye from this handsome man. The ease with which they spoke intoxicated him. It felt like Joey had known Lance all his life, a feeling he'd only experienced before with Chris, Justin and JC. Perhaps Chris was right to believe this was destiny. Perhaps it actually was.

“You're happy here?”

“Aye. Happier than I thought possible. The ship feels almost natural beneath my feet, though I know I'm still clumsy at times.”

“We can't all be Justin or JC.” Joey stood and walked over to his dresser, where he hid his finest whisky. He was thirsty, and Michael Meathands was not a fast cook. “They took to the ship better than I ever did, and I was very nearly born in this cabin. He'll not tell you this, but Chris was violently ill for the first weeks before he found his sea legs, and I still can't convince him to climb any higher than the quarter deck. He has a phobia, you see.”

Lance laughed. “Of heights?”

“Aye,” Joey said, setting two glasses onto the table and pouring them full with whisky. They clinked their glasses together before drinking. The burn was sweet and welcome, matching the heat of the Cabin, which had raised the sweat on his skin. “Chris is a myriad of contradictions and surprises. He'll keep you amused.”

“Is that what we call it?”

“Have you buggered him yet?”

“No.”

“We definitely call it that, then.”

Lance chuckled, and Joey took another mouthful of whisky, savouring the taste. He was keenly aware of the heat, and began plucking idly at the laces of his shirt. Lance shifted in his chair, sitting back, legs sprawled, knees parted. It offered the perfect view to his cock, which looked thick and enticing beneath his breeches.

“Justin's on the lookout for your ship.”

“It's likely nothing,” Lance murmured.

“I'll die by this life,” Joey said with that blunt honesty men had always admired in him. “I don't kid myself for a moment that I'll escape it. But I want to live as long as I can. Trust me when I say I do this more to save my own sorry arse than to humour you.”

“You don't fear it?”

“Should I?” Joey shrugged. “It's inevitable. If the piracy doesn't get me, the sodomy likely will. I live each day as if it was my last, indulging my fancies. In fact, I'm more willing to give up the Song of the Sea than I am to give up the pleasure of my four handsome lovers.”

Lance raised his brow, circling the rim of his glass with one deliberate finger. “Four?”

“Another inevitability, me and you, is it not?”

“I think so,” Lance murmured, letting his knees fall wider apart, flashing his crotch teasingly. Joey was torn between finally taking Lance to his bed and waiting for the chops, which might possibly show up in the next year, knowing the speed at which Michael Meathands worked.

“Is this how you seduced Chris?”

Lance smiled as he stood, removing his shirt. No chops then, Joey thought stupidly, forcing his own legs to straighten and lift his suddenly heavy body out of the chair. This was precisely why he made such a terrible captain: they were being pursued by an unknown enemy, yet here he was, engaged in some strange mating ritual, taking pleasure instead of precaution.

They met in the centre of the room, a breadth apart, and Joey hissed at Lance’s first touch against his chest. “Well,” Lance said, expertly plucking at one of Joey's nipples, “when I say seduced, I mean that I took off all my clothes and begged him to deflower me. I’m not above such things, the nakedness or the begging.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Joey said, dropping his hands and fumbling at the ties to Lance’s breeches, the heat of him burning across Joey’s knuckles. By the crotch of his pants, Joey tugged Lance to the bed then sat down, yanking more fiercely at the tight laces. Blasted things! Chris was right about them.

“Let me,” Lance murmured, batting away Joey’s hands then looking pointedly at Joey’s own breeches. He very clearly got the message and undressed as Lance worked on the knot, finally using a knife to slice through the tie. Joey watched with his head tilted, peering through his messy hair, as Lance wiggled out of his breeches, revealing a nice round arse and a lovely cock.

Joey put his hands on Lance's creamy smooth hips, pulling him between his knees, then grabbed the length of his prick, enjoying the feel of it against his palm. Lance combed his fingers into Joey’s hair, as much for balance, Joey assumed, as for the pleasure of it. How nice it would feel to have Lance come against his throat, but Joey angled his hips instead and pulled him down.

If Joey had ever known boredom, he forgot it the moment Lance’s lips touched his, their tongues reaching out instinctively to brush against each other. A moan escaped his mouth, and Lance smiled against him, setting down more firmly in Joey’s lap then wiggling his arse delightfully against Joey’s desperate, wilful cock. There was no hint of a virgin left in him.

Joey did not mind at all.

Joey touched every bit of Lance’s skin that he could find in his fumbles. His hands sought out each tight muscle, each handsome arse cheek. Joey especially liked those, noting happily how well they fit in his palm and how Lance writhed uncontrollably when they were firmly squeezed.

A knock resounded on the door, “Captain! Supper is served, sir!”

“Not now!” Joey shouted back. Though his preferences were no secret, he had no desire for Michael Meathands to get an eyeful. Michael swore loudly, but the door did not open, and Joey sighed. Lance was pink. Whether with pleasure or the shame of being caught, he did not know.

They grinned at each other then kissed again, and the interlude faded away to memory. Joey wanted to do everything with Lance, bugger him, be buggered, take his prick into his mouth, have his own sucked. He wanted to hold him in his hand. He wanted to rub shamelessly against him. There was time enough for it all, Joey reminded himself, leaning back when Lance pushed him with two sure hands. This was just the first of many chances, of many nights they’d share.

Joey looked down when Lance’s knees hit the deck with a loud thud. The tie to Lance’s hair had come loose, spilling his light hair over broad shoulders. He grinned up coyly from between Joey’s knees then took the tip of Joey’s stiff prick into his mouth, and oh, it was hot and good and a thousand other wonderful things, all of which made Joey sees stars behind his eyelids.

Definitely no virgin left in him, Joey thought, as Lance worked expertly at his cock, sucking and licking without abandon, as if he sought to make up for lost time. The bob of his head was steady, taking Joey’s shallow thrusts when he offered them, going deliciously deep on his prick.

Suddenly the heat was too much. Rivulets of sweat raced down Joey’s chest, pooling in the dip of his belly, and when Lance looked up again through his damp, stringy hair, Joey came with a muffle shout, fist stuffed in his mouth. Lance swallowed then came up licking his lips.

“Come here,” Joey murmured, taking him again in his lap. His spent prick protested at the contact, but Joey ignored it. He took hold of Lance’s cock and began to move on it, knowing how close Lance was to his own release, wanting to draw it out, utterly unable to do so.

Lance wrapped his arms around Joey’s head, pressing his face into his hair, breathing harshly against Joey’s temple. His hips moved desperately on Joey’s lap, an awkward but intoxicating rhythm, and Joey quickened the speed of his fist, delighted when Lance groaned.

“If you come,” Joey whispered, “I might be able to salvage those chops.”

Lance laughed then pressed his knees against Joey’s hips, and the heat rose up wetly between them, coming in pulses that seemed unending. When Lance wilted in his arms, Joey tightened his hold and swung them both flat to the bed. Lance smiled at him, and Joey returned it.

“Will you be my First Mate?” Joey asked, hand on Lance’s bare hip.

Lance lifted his head, and with a low, throaty laugh, asked, “Was I that good, Captain?”

“Oh, aye, but I meant to ask you earlier. And don’t, for the love of all that’s holy, call me Captain in bed. Keep this up, and JC will be the only one of you fools I bother to kiss at all.”

Lance smiled then grew serious again. “What about Chris, then?”

“Doesn’t want it,” Joey replied honestly, knowing it was better to lie but finding himself incapable of doing so. He’d always found that, when he was without clothes. “I’ll not lie to you and say it’s exciting. It’s usually not. And whatever you don’t know, you’ll learn.”

“Will I still have to scrub the deck?”

“No,” Joey said.

“Then I’ll gladly do it,” Lance said, grinning.

Joey thanked him with a kiss, and they continued that way until their growling bellies intruded, too loud to ignore. They dressed slowly, taking the time to admire the other’s body, a pleasureful task that Joey was reluctant to abandon, even for food. Eventually, they emerged from the cabin, fully dressed. It was more the pity for that, though the worst affront was yet to come.

Chris and JC sat on the deck, feasting on their supper.

“You bloody bastards,” Joey said, coming to sit next to JC, ready to wrestle away a chop if it came to that, but JC merely cut the fattest one in half and offered it to Joey. He accepted with a snap of his teeth, savouring the taste. Michael Meathands had truly outdone himself.

“You must be in desperate need of nourishment,” Chris said with a smirk, his plate already on Lance’s lap, his fingers walking slowly through Lance’s hair. Lance grinned at him, and Chris looked around briefly before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ve trained you well.”

“You wish,” Lance replied, and Chris plucked the chop from his fingers, laughing.

“Oi!” Justin shouted above, hanging from the top mainmast. “Save some for me, you ungrateful louts, while I’m busy saving your arses from disaster! And I’m lonely to boot!”

“Not it,” Chris said quickly, to which JC and Lance also chimed, “not it.” Joey scowled. Then again, he thought suddenly, his cock was only partially sated, and it had been some time since he’d had Justin all to himself. Standing, Joey stole JC’s last chop and a roll of bread.

“Gentlemen,” he said, touching two fingers to his brow.

Justin met him up top with a kiss, which was very nice indeed.

xii.

The fog cleared on the third morning, and the ship that both Lance and Justin had claimed was there finally appeared on the horizon, little bigger than Chris's thumb. It seemed so far away, when you looked at it like that.

Chris spent the early morning getting the ship moving, staying on deck and barking out orders. The Song of the Sea sat high and light on the water, which allowed them a quick start from their drift. It had been too dangerous to sail quickly with such heavy fog. He would have done it, though, had he known about that blasted mystery ship. It was serious enough that Joey had called a meeting.

Joey paced the Captain's Cabin, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a Captain when he did that. “You're sure it's us they're after? The sea is vast. Or perhaps they're pirates, out to rob us blind.” He offered a quick, pained smile.

“It looks British,” Justin said quietly, biting at his thumbnail, exhaustion pinching his eyes. “I can't tell for sure. They haven't raised a flag, but I've seen enough ships to recognise the make of them. I don't think they're pirates.”

JC drummed his fingers on the table before speaking. “I concur, sir. My eyes suffer at a distance, and even I can tell it's not a pirate ship. I know nothing beyond that.”

“Lance?”

“I agree with Justin. It's British,” Lance said decisively, looking over at Justin, who nodded. “By our count, we're outsized, outnumbered and outgunned, and it's gaining speed on us. If not for the fog of the past few days, it would already be within a day of us. As it is ...”

“How many days?”

“Three. Four, at best,” Justin said. “A ship that size shouldn't be so fast, but in the half a day we've been at full sails, it's more than kept up. By my count, it's gaining. I have no explanation for it.”

Joey slapped his hands down on the table, leaning forward. “Has anyone offended any British men recently?”

“How recently?” Chris asked, ignoring the fact that Joey had looked straight at him and Justin. “Justin and I ... took care of things in London, for our mothers, but I don't think any of those men were wealthy enough for that monstrous ship. Perhaps a rowboat, though.”

“That man with the mole on his face might've been,” Justin said thoughtfully, to which Chris vehemently shook his head. Justin stared at him a moment before nodding. “No, Chris is right. Not recently.”

“Anyone else?”

Lance and JC looked blank, and Chris rolled his eyes. It would never occur to either of them to take vengeance on a deserving soul. Without the proper encouragement, sins would only be committed again and again. Even Joey had never quite grasped that idea.

There was a long stretch of silence where Joey paced, Lance and JC shared a pot of tea, and Justin dozed in his chair, chin dropped to his chest. The deck vibrated beneath Chris's feet as the ship pushed mightily through the water. At least the wind was good today. At least they had that.

Chris really hoped he hadn't been the cause of this latest pursuit. He had, in recent years, tried to cut back on the number of powerful men he offended. It was a difficult task, but he'd been mostly successful at it. To an extent.

Finally, Joey collapsed into his chair and asked, “so what should I do? I'll take suggestions. I just can't.” Joey fumbled his words, and Chris felt real pity for him. “Any opinions would be valued.”

“I say we run, man,” JC said, his solution to everything. JC was not the man anyone wanted at his back in a drunken bar brawl. Chris had learned that particular lesson.

“To where?”

“Somewhere with reef,” Lance said suddenly, speaking with such force that Justin jumped violently in his chair. “We're the smaller, lighter ship. It's our only advantage. Our damage will be minimal. I think.”

“Chris?”

“As much fun as it would be to fight, even I have to admit we'd likely die for it. Consider this my first mature decision,” Chris said flippantly, trying to hide his unease. While he was prepared to die, today was a little too soon for his liking. Perhaps in fifty years. Perhaps then.

“Justin?”

“Run,” he croaked, rough with sleep, “and give ourselves some time to find a better solution. And if we run, at least we'll be sure it's us they're after.”

“Thank you,” Joey said quietly, one fist balled on the table, and they each stood and put their hands over his. Joey regarded them with a grateful smile then nodded. “ All right, then. JC, if you could take the wheel and see that the wind remains in our favour. Lance, you'll plot our course. I'll join you once I'm sure the crew is working their arses off. And Chris, for the love of God, put Justin to bed before he collapses.”

“I'm fine,” Justin insisted weakly, but he took three steps and tripped over not one chair but two, ending up in a gangly pile on the deck. He crossed his arms and scowled.

“Leave him to me,” Chris assured them as they left, the sombre mood lightened by Justin's antics. “And I'll try not to be offended over the fact I've been so cruelly demoted. I was a lousy first mate, Joey!”

Joey laughed as he shut the door, parting with a final, “aye, I know,” and locking them in.

“You,” Chris said, helping Justin to his feet. Justin teetered unsteadily then yawned widely, leaning on Chris's shoulder for support. “I hate to point out the obvious, but there are other men with eyes, most of them with two. You'll make yourself sick.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but you're not my mother,” Justin said grumpily, nuzzling at Chris's ear even as he grumbled. “I trust myself more than I do anyone else, even Hawkeye. I sleep better.”

“If you sleep at all.”

“Must you whine?”

“Must you be a bastard?”

Justin grinned. “I was born this way, I fear. The best of us are,” he added, kissing Chris on the cheek. Chris laughed, pinching him on the arse then pushing him toward the bed. Justin fell face first onto the feather mattress, and Chris knelt over him, pulling off his breeches.

“You could help,” Chris murmured in his ear, wrestling with his shirt, ready to cut through it with his blade. Justin's answering grin stretched his cheek, and Chris kissed his neck. “I should have drowned you before you outgrew me. I missed my chance.”

“When was that? I must have forgotten a time when I didn't tower over you. Perhaps when I was still in diapers,” Justin said thoughtfully, lifting up his arms before Chris had to rip the shirt off his back. “You remember back then?”

“I try not to,” Chris said honestly.

“Yes,” Justin agreed, frowning.

There had been an awkward moment in London when they had been discovered as lovers by their mothers. They had not been caught in bed together or so much as kissing. It was something more complex than that, something impossible to hide. Chris had never felt shame until then, unable to explain his reasons without condemning himself further. Sodomy was crime enough, without the added horror of being seen as a man who fancied young boys, and that was far from the truth. The boy had never interested him, but he found the man intoxicating.

“Are you asleep?” Chris asked, biting gently at Justin's earlobe then tugging on it with his teeth, delighted when Justin laughed. He let the whole of his weight fall on Justin's back, sprawled across him like he was a soft mattress. His cock nestled snugly against Justin's arse. “Are you tired?”

“Not that tired,” Justin mumbled, tilting his hips then pushing back at him. It was a terrible time to be wanting such things, but Chris was a slave to his cock, and he preferred thinking of this than what danger lay beyond the ship.

Propped up by one arm, Chris unlaced his breeches and took out his cock. His elbow buckled suddenly, knocking the wind out of Justin, who groaned pitifully. Chris petted him sweetly in apology, grinning, then pushed at him, grateful, as always, for Justin's willingness. He was Chris's favourite to fuck. He was made for it.

“Oh,” Justin breathed as Chris entered him, slicked with spit, his ankles rubbing against Chris's shins. Chris pressed his face between Justin's shoulder blades, against the horrid tattoo he had there. It had seemed a fitting tribute to Justin's mother at the time, but in the light of day and sober, it had been grotesque.

“You love this,” Chris murmured, balls deep, kissing beneath Justin's damp hair where the skin was smooth and pale, soft against his lips. Sweat ran off his face, pooling on Justin's back, blissfully obscuring the ugly tattoo.

“I love you,” Justin replied, pushing his arse back, taking it. It was a slow type of fucking that Chris normally didn't have the patience for, but sometimes.

Sometimes, he thought he liked it best.

xiii.

Two days, and the mystery ship had gained more ground. The crew had noticed, for it was hard to keep such things hidden, and it was too late to reinvent the Song of the Sea as something other than what she was. They had yet to raise the Jolly Roger, but they would eventually, Justin knew, when it came to battle. Even with the wind on their side, chances were slim that they'd make the reefs outside of Tortuga before the British ship overtook them. They'd go down fighting, but that didn't make Justin feel better.

Joey went through the crew, asking who might possibly have a reason for being pursued by the ship, but they were good men. Too good to bring the wraith of the British navy onto them. The only two men capable of doing it were him and Chris, which made Justin feel worse. If this was somehow his fault, he would never forgive himself. He hadn't yet done enough dastardly deeds to go down in infamy. He had merely annoyed people, albeit quite well.

How could a ship that size move so fast? Justin stood at the rail, watching it cut through the sea like it was nothing. Compared to this Majesty's ship, the Song of the Sea looked old and useless. Admittedly, she was in desperate need of repairs and twice as old as he was, but he loved her fiercely. She was fast as the wind when she wanted to be, and, at full sail, the most beautiful sight in the world.

Justin turned around just as Lance dropped from above, hitting the deck with a dazed expression on his face. Justin rushed to him, kneeling at his side. “Are you well?” He whispered, touching his fingers to Lance's jaw.

“Aye. I just caught my foot,” Lance muttered, blinking owlishly at him, shaking his head to clear it. Justin waved away the other men as they approached. They had come to like Lance too, he thought, in their own rough way.

“What did you see?”

“That's my father's ship,” Lance said softly, dropping his eyes to the deck. He looked so miserable that Justin's heart broke for him. “I didn't recognise it until now, but it's him. That ship's after me.”

“Maybe you're mistaken.”

“Maybe,” Lance agreed.

Justin helped Lance to his feet, grabbing him when his knees buckled. “My ankle,” he hissed, one arm heavy across Justin's back. Together, they limped to the Captain's Cabin, where Joey and JC were pouring over the maps, searching for treacherous waters. They both looked up.

“What’s happened?” Joey asked, pulling out a chair for Lance to sit in.

“That ship’s not looking for you. It’s looking for me,” Lance muttered, covering his face with a hand. His voice was rough and wet, like he fought hard against tears, and it frightened Justin to hear it. He had come to know Lance as a steady, calm man, full of humour and laughter, but also brave in the face of defeat. This man in front of him was just a boy crumbling to pieces.

Joey frowned. “How? No one knows you’re here. You must be mistaken. And JC,” Joey added, turning to look at him, “will you get Chris? Tell John Barber to take the wheel.”

“I will, man.”

Joey nodded then turned back to Lance. “Tell how you know this ship is after you.”

“I know it. Believe me, I know it. I’ve fought my whole life against that ship. I’ve not been entirely honest,” Lance admitted quietly. Justin and Joey exchanged quick looks. “My father was an official in the British navy. Very highly ranked when he retired, and very wealthy, thanks to years of successful service and sound investments. I’m of a sea-faring family, too.”

“Yet you can’t tell a flying jib from a fore topmast staysail.”

“Chris can’t either. I'm not even sure you can,” Justin muttered, sitting down

“I never wanted his life, so I bargained him down to the study of law when it came time for me to pick a profession. I hated it, too, but at least,” Lance stopped as JC and Chris entered the Captain’s Cabin, then continued, “it was not what he wanted of me. Oh, I speak of him like he’s a monster, but he’s not. He cares for me.”

JC came up and put his hands on Justin’s shoulders.

“Will he destroy my ship?” Joey asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Lance said, “if he can catch you. Or if I don’t surrender myself to him.”

“That’s what you plan to do, man?”

Lance looked over at JC and nodded. “What choice do I have?”

“Out of the question,” Chris said, rounding the table to stand next to Joey, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Chris, however, looked venomously angry. Justin could see it clear as day in the burn of his dark eyes and the curl of his lips. “You belong with us, Lance.”

“You do,” Justin echoed, reaching to squeeze Lance’s hand.

Lance smiled at him gratefully, but he still looked sad.

“We should stand and fight then,” Chris decided, but even he seemed to sense how impossible a task it would be to win. They had fought and won before, but not against a ship like that and not without severe losses. Justin wasn’t ready to lose these four yet, not when they'd hardly had Lance at all.

Lance sighed. “Chris, you know who my father is.”

It was, Justin thought, the worst thing to say. Joey, who had been calmly weighing the options, suddenly came alive with a loud snort of dismay. He turned to Chris, who crossed his arms and looked up at him entirely unimpressed. “You knew?” Joey asked quietly.

“We spent three weeks on that bloody island. Of course I knew! But by your words, Joey, we accept him as he is, even if his father is a bastard British commander. No offense meant,” he added sidelong to Lance, who nodded. Chris turned back to Joey. “Would you have turned him away? You feel how right he is for us. I know you do. Would you have said no?”

Shamefully, Joey shook his head, and Chris kissed him briefly on the mouth before pushing him to Lance, who took Joey’s head into his lap when Joey kneeled at his side. Lance murmured to him quietly, and Joey nodded. When he lifted his face, Lance put his hand on his rough cheek.

“In all truth,” Chris continued, “I’m worried we may have a traitor on board.”

Joey sighed and turned his head. “But what man even knows who Lance truly is besides us five? We’ve been to port only once since taking him aboard, and the crew knew next to nothing of him then. Most of them wouldn’t recognise a landman, no matter who his father was.”

Chris remained unconvinced. “And yet, despite all this, his father still pursues us. Someone betrayed him.”

“I,” Justin said suddenly then stopped, a sudden horror dawning in his heart. Memory rushed back into his head, and he knew at once who had done this thing. All four pairs of eyes turned to him, and he dropped his head, clasping his hands tightly in his lap. “I think it was me.”

“Justin,” JC said softly.

“I.” Tears burned at his eyes, and he felt younger than his twenty years by half of them. “When the Spanish ship picked me up, I made certain inquiries about Lance. I did it again at Port Morant.” Shame burned in his belly, and Justin could not lift his head. “This is my fault.”

“You,” Chris whispered, and Justin could hear the betrayal in his voice, could feel it.

“He was just a thing then, an object we needed, a ransom. He was not a man to be loved,” Justin protested, unable to bear Chris’s anger or even his disappointment. “I thought only to be helpful. I swear, I would take it all back if I could. I love him, like you do. I didn’t mean to ...”

“Justin,” Lance said, and Justin looked up at him, only him. “Trust me when I say I do not blame you. I would have done the same. Any man would have. You couldn't have known.”

“If we should blame anyone, it’s me and my badly laid plans,” Chris admitted.

“Or me, for letting him aboard without asking the proper questions,” Joey added.

“Or me,” Lance said, “for thinking I could so easily outrun the ghosts of my past.”

There was a pensive silence before JC spoke freely, “I’ve done nothing wrong, man.”

A heartbeat passed and then they fell into laughter, JC’s hands firm on Justin’s shoulders, Joey’s head cradled in Lance’s lap, Chris at the head of the table, grinning at them. Justin still felt terrible, weighted down with guilt and regret and sorrow. This was a terrible situation.

“What's to be done then, man?” JC asked. “If we fight, we'll lose, but if we don't, we'll lose Lance.” Justin looked up to see JC smile sweetly at Lance, who returned it. They were as intimate as lovers, despite never having shared a bed. Justin closed his eyes. How could he go back to three lovers when four felt so right?

“I'll go to him and beg him to let me be,” Lance said unsteadily, like he didn't believe it but wanted desperately to. Justin shared that feeling. “He's a reasonable man. If he knows I'm here of my own free will, perhaps he'll understand.”

Joey put his hand on Lance's arm. “There's no other way?”

“I could not live with myself if any of you died because of me, nor can I abide you killing my father. This is the only way. If I am truly meant to be here, then ...”

“Then you'll come back to us,” Chris said happily, and Justin could not help notice that he appeared to be the only one convinced of this. But then, that was Chris's way. He believed in the impossible, and the impossible had a way of crumbling before him.

“You'll go in the morning,” Joey decided. “The Song of the Sea has a little fight left in her yet, and it's been some time since anyone has given chase so well. Tonight, we'll feast together on fine food, finer wine and merry song.”

“One of us should go with him,” Justin said quickly, “to ensure the deal is fairly done.” He looked over at Lance, whose handsome face had softened with relief. “I will go with you, if you let me.”

“I will,” JC said, putting his hand over Justin's mouth, the metal of his rings cool against Justin's lips. “I doubt Lance's father would look kindly on having one half of the infamous duo of Kirkpatrick and Timberlake aboard his ship.”

“I could go,” Joey offered.

“The Captain stays on the ship,” JC insisted, and Joey frowned even as he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Then it's decided.”

“I suppose,” Lance said slowly, disbelieving, it seemed, that they'd go to so much trouble for him, yet to Justin, it didn't seem like enough.

Chris returned to the wheel, convinced by his hands alone would the Song of the Sea by safely delivered from her enemies. Justin rolled his eyes. And Chris wondered where Justin had learned such things. Joey and Lance headed out on deck, their hands brushing as they walked, determined to act like nothing had changed, on a mission for food.

Justin stayed in his chair, unable to stand, and JC knelt before him, taking his hands. There were a thousand apologies in Justin's throat, all of them useless. Though the blame was not entirely his, enough of it was, and it made him sick. He looked miserably at JC, who kissed gently at his knuckles.

“Don't fret,” JC said. “I think Chris may actually be right.”

Justin smiled weakly. “Then we are truly in danger. I swear, JC, I never meant ...”

“Shh, Justin.” He laid two fingers over Justin's lips. “You did what any of us would have in your situation. None of us blame you.”

“Chris does,” Justin said miserably.

“Does he? I think you're imagining things. I saw disappointment on his face, and fear, and sadness, but I saw no blame.” JC put his hands on Justin's thigh. He could feel the warmth of them through his breeches. “It was a mistake.”

“That may cost us Lance!”

“It may at that,” JC agreed.

“You and he never even shared a bed,” Justin said suddenly, and all at once, it seemed like the most terrible thing ever, that JC would miss Lance's sweet kisses, or his low throaty moans, or how lovely his arse looked nude. “You must go to him right now. Go, JC, now!”

JC smiled sadly and shook his head, and Justin wanted to grab him by his beautiful curls and knock sense into him. How could he not see it? How could he ignore the way Lance looked at him? His scars were shocking, yes, but the rest of him was so gorgeous.

“JC, you love him.”

“Very much,” JC admitted.

Justin opened his mouth to argue as loudly as his throat would allow, but JC grabbed his prick and began to massage it through his breeches. It was a vile, underhanded, dirty trick, but it worked as it always seemed to, driving the words from his head.

“This is not over,” Justin vowed, grappling at plans in his head and having every one of them erased as JC opened his breeches and drew out his cock. But oh, how he welcomed this, despite himself. The worry in his belly uncoiled as the warmth of pleasure crept up from between his legs, where JC kissed across his belly and his thighs, moving slowly, savouring it. They had time enough, Justin supposed, provided nothing about this terrible plan of Lance's went astray.

“Shh,” JC whispered, dragging his lips across Justin's quivering belly. Justin whimpered, tears inexplicably forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. “Shh,” he murmured again, gently kissing the tip of Justin's cock.

It was so terrible and so wonderful, all at once. Justin closed his eyes, threading his fingers through JC's thick hair, concentrating on the slick glide of his mouth, letting it bring him comfort. He didn't deserve this, not when Lance suffered so, but he took it selfishly, knowing it could be the last time. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? Justin had learned that lesson well, first with Chris, and now with Lance and JC. Joey was a loss in waiting, which was too terrible think about at all.

Justin came with a soft sigh, not at all like he normally did, and he pulled at JC until he rose and settled on Justin's lap. They kissed languidly, slowly, taking their time, but when Justin reached for JC's own straining prick, JC grabbed his wrist.

“That was for you,” JC murmured.

Justin tossed up his arms, nearly knocking JC off his lap. “You're impossible!” He shouted, and it felt good to do it, even if JC laughed at him, especially then.

xiv.

The Gay Pirate Joey and his band of merry men. The first time he'd overheard two men refer to him and his crew as that, he had smiled secretly to himself and held his head high as he walked, proud and honoured. He had never thought it would be possible, but he had come to love this pirate business, with these men at his side, turning his heart's regret to his heart's desire.

Now, his heart was broken, and he didn't know what to do. A real Captain would know, he was sure, but he'd only even been a piece of one, a piece which had fit with so seamlessly with four others, and he hadn't had the fourth long enough. Not nearly long enough at all.

He was deeply troubled, and wore it openly on his face. Still, he took the time to speak with the crew, to assure young Jack Mouse that they had a formidable plan and to swear to ol' Hawkeye that he'd yet live to see another twenty years and, finally, to beg Michael Meathands to prepare a feast fit for a king, or, barring that, even a farewell for a dear friend, if it came to that.

Joey prayed it would not.

Some of these men had served with his father, even fewer had been Steven's, but most of them were men Joey had sought out, using Justin's keen eye, and Chris's gut instincts, and JC's ability to unnerve. They were handpicked, much admired and loyal to a fault. He knew there would never be a mutiny, because he respected them too much and they returned it. Most Captains could not say that about their crew. That much he knew.

“You're a good man,” Joey said, coming up behind Chris and patting him kindly on the back. Chris looked at him, rolled his eyes then returned to his task, squinting into the distance. “Hear me out, you fool. You're a fine and able seaman, and I value you greatly. You were a great First Mate, too.”

“Please, I beg you, spare my ears,” Chris said, rolling the wheel a quarter turn then grabbing hold of it again. “Trust me, my dear Captain. I have a good feeling about this.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“It's not faith. It's luck, and with the exception of dice, it's never steered me wrong.” Chris spun the wheel again, guiding it with deft hands to the perfect spot. “Now, leave me alone, you embarrassing sop. I have dignity to preserve.”

“Do you? I've never noticed.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Chris replied, blowing him a kiss, and Joey left him laughing, feeling lighter in his boots. This he was good at, raising spirits, keeping the men hopeful and determined, a skill he had undeniably learned from his father.

Lance stood at the rail, arms crossed, eyes on the ship that sought to steal him away. Joey wanted to tell him how well he had fit into his crew, how much he valued Lance as a friend, a lover and a first mate, how suited he was to this pirate life, but he didn't. Joey knew the pain of a father's legacy, and how it hurt the most when it turned out to be the natural path. Well, natural enough, though he was still a lousy Captain, and Lance didn't have the grace or knowledge of most able seaman.

They made do, Joey thought, failings, fumbles and all.

“I could pay him,” Joey said, a keen note of desperation cracking his voice. Lance looked over, amused. “I'd need a loan. I should think you're worth at least twice what Chris and Justin thought.”

“Apparently.”

“I should thank the good lord that JC's an orphan and Chris and Justin are bastards. I don't think my heart take could take much more of this,” Joey said lightly, hoping Lance would at least smile, delighted when he laughed. “Are you sure this is what you must do?”

“Aye, I am. I'm not afraid to beg, for I have very little pride left.”

“And he's a compassionate man, your father?”

“I hope so,” Lance murmured, and Joey squeezed his shoulder before leaving him to his thoughts. There were times Joey needed silence, too. He rarely got it.

Once he had covered the deck, shaking each hand and assuring each man that the situation was well under control, he retreated to his cabin. Justin still sat at the table, head in his hands, as JC napped luxuriously on the bed. His mouth looked well-fucked, pink and wet and kissable, but Joey ignored the temptation. He sat down beside JC and pulled off JC's boots, suddenly feeling his own exhaustion pull at his eyelids. A nap was the best idea to come into his head in weeks, but he joined Justin at the table instead.

“You know it's not your fault.”

Justin heaved a great sigh then lifted his head. “Perhaps, but it feels like it is. If only I could speak to Lance's father, I'm sure I could convince him that Lance is meant to be with us. JC’s charming enough, well-spoken and affable, but I think I would be even better. Don't you?”

“And how do you intend to do that? Stubbornly refuse to leave until Lance returns? Or perhaps you mean to take Lance's father to bed and convince him that way.” Joey tugged on one of Justin's knots. “I know your powers of persuasion, and while they've worked on me more times than I can count, I think this time ...”

“This time,” Justin said decidedly, “we are well and truly fucked.”

Joey smiled. “Well, Chris, at least, thinks otherwise.”

“Chris is a madman!” Justin declared, once again burying his face in his hands. Joey patted him lightly on the back, trying to offer comfort. When Justin lurched at him, Joey caught him around the waist and gathered him into a fierce hug. They rocked together, equally miserable, equally worried. They shared a few shy kisses, meant entirely for comfort.

Michael Meathands showed up hours before Joey expected him, with John Smith and George Kincaid behind him, all three holding trays filled with sweet-smelling food. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Chris showed up forth, one idle hand rubbing at his shoulder. With the strong winds, it took all a man’s strength to keep the wheel steady, and Chris had been at it for hours.

“C,” Chris barked, “are you joining us for dinner or are you sleeping like a baby?”

“Mm, dinner,” JC mumbled, stretching on the bed, his bare toes widely spread.

Justin was already up and reaching for the wine. “Where’s Lance?”

“Lance!” Chris shouted, ignoring JC’s pitiful groans.

“Here,” Lance said in the doorway, smiling bravely as he walked to the table. The joy did not quite touch his eyes, but it was a noble effort, and Joey knew Lance was not alone in it. This felt very much like a farewell dinner. At least it would be a grand affair, Joey thought.

The delicious smell of eggs touched Joey’s nose, and he was at once thankful he had not eaten his clutch of chickens, however stubborn they might be. There was fruit, slightly wilted and lightly bruised, but it looked sweet enough with a pleasant aroma, and fresh bread, which made Joey’s stomach rumble happily. Wine already flowed freely, rained down by Justin’s deft hand, not spilling a drop. There was soup, stew, and a stack of chops that came to Chris’s chin.

“You’ve outdone yourself, sir. Thank you. An extra ration of rum for you all.”

“My pleasure,” Michael croaked, touching his knuckle to his brow, like Joey was a man more than just a lowly pirate Captain. John Smith and George Kincaid, two men that Joey had recruited only two years ago, did the same, and Joey grinned at them before giving them leave.

“Captain,” Chris said fondly in a way that brought heat to Joey’s face.

Justin held up his cup. “To the finest Captain this side of the sea.”

“Here, here,” Chris crowed, raising his own glass in salute. Joey made a face at him, but that only spurred Lance and JC to do the same, though without the comments, for which Joey was grateful. “Though let us not forget our equally fine First Mate and his very fine arse!”

“Now that I’ll drink to,” Joey said, laughing, even as Lance’s cheeks pinked.

“And to our fine physician,” Justin added, grinning at JC, who rolled his eyes but smiled into his cup, “and his even finer cock-sucking skills.” At that, JC’s mouth split into a wide slice as he bashfully bowed his head. Joey glanced sidelong at Lance, who so obviously yearned.

Lance looked at him sadly before clearing his throat. Yet another reason to admire the man, Joey thought. “To our fine lookout, who guards us all with his stubborn will, handsome eyes and … well, I should think his arse is the finest of all when it comes to sheer willingness.”

“I aim to please,” Justin said humbly, or some accurate representation of it anyway, Joey thought. Justin did not suffer the plague of self-doubt, and in Joey’s opinion, he had no reason to.

“To our,” JC paused thoughtfully, “fine man with absolutely no purpose!”

“Here, here,” Chris said loudly, banging his cup on the table, spilling wine all over the wood and his fingers. “And may that never change!”

Joey shook his head. “I’ll have you scrubbing the deck yet, you rascal.”

Chris grinned at him, and Joey grinned back, dipping his fingers into his cup and flicking wine at him, which Chris caught with a wide laughing mouth, licking his stained lips clean. With that, they dug into the food, laughing and talking, as friends do. These men made him so happy.

The wine made him heady and dizzy, confined to his chair. He drank until the pleasant tingle of intoxication covered his body. He grabbed the first man to stumble by, pulling JC into his lap. He smelled sweet like fruit, and Joey nuzzled against his cheek, enjoying the feel of him.

“To where were you escaping?”

“I wasn’t, man,” JC protested, but Joey knew the truth. He tightened his arm around JC’s narrow waist, pulling him close, and JC sighed softly into his hair. “I simply needed some air.”

“What troubles you?”

“Nothing,” JC murmured, but his eyes drifted to Lance as if he could not deny the pull.

Joey gathered him tightly, tugging until JC squeaked, pulling his knees onto Joey’s lap to avoid falling to the deck. If sense could be squeezed into him, Joey would have done it without remorse, but over the years, they had tried it all, and none of it had worked. “He loves you.”

“And I love him,” JC whispered unhappily, taking Joey’s cup and drinking from it.

Gently, Joey pulled his cup away from JC’s mouth. “Then you’ll go to him tonight.”

“No,” JC said, lips red with wine, “I cannot.”

“You must,” Joey insisted. “We have him for at least one more night, and I don’t want you sick with regret for the next thousand. You know how this works, JC. You’ve seen it done with me and Justin. To love each other as the whole, we must love each other individually.”

JC’s shoulders slumped, and he looked miserably at Joey, eyes pleading with Joey for absolution from the ritual, but Joey could not do it. It was not a matter of JC's or Lance’s disinterest, which would be a more troublesome issue and one that they could not overcome.

It was, however, a matter of deep, life-long fear.

“Do you think he'll laugh at you? Be disgusted? Make faces?”

“He might,” JC muttered, combing his fingers through Joey’s hair, wet eyes focussed on that task instead of Lance, who was sitting on the table next to a sprawled Justin. Chris fed Justin berries, marking his face with juice, and Lance painted his own designs on Justin’s tight belly.

“He won’t,” Joey promised. “He sees you with our eyes, not your own.”

JC frowned, marring his handsome face. “I wish I had your eyes, man.”

“A wish I share,” Joey assured him. “Will you go to him tonight?”

“I’m drunk.” At Joey’s pointed look, JC relaxed into Joey’s arms with a soft exhale of wine-spiced breath. “He is lovely, though. And kind. And his eyes, you’ve noticed them, how green they are? I’ve never seen eyes like his. I could almost believe they’re magical.”

“I think the whole of him is magical,” Joey said, looking at Lance, seeing how perfect he was for them and how seamlessly he had fit into them. Knowing how much it would break him to see him leave. Knowing that from now on, they would never be whole without him.

Tomorrow would decide it.

xv.

He had hoped, secretly, that he would share a bed with all four tonight. His last night on board, unless a miracle happened. Lance had tried to believe his own words, and while he was clever with persuasion and debate, had been educated in it, he didn’t think the words existed that would convince his father that his only begotten son was better off a rogue pirate than a lawyer.

He had hoped for such a night, but instead he was banished to the First Mate’s cabin, his cabin, drunk and overly hot and unable to sleep for all the worry racing through his veins. The rock of the ship lulled him into false rest, but his troubled head kept him awake. He listened for sounds from the Captain’s Cabin, but heard nothing. He was a fool. When he had left, Justin had been asleep on the table, two berries stuffed into his nostrils by Chris, who had then slumped into his own chair.

JC and Joey had been awake when he excused himself, though barely, knotted with each other on Joey’s chair, mumbling secrets. Lance had been sure to kiss each man as he left, even JC, who had looked at him and sadly smiled.

Still, it would have been nice to share that bed with them, his dearest friends, his greatest loves. He supposed he could have lied and claimed he’d merely fallen onto the feather mattress, too drunk to get up and leave, but the lies which had always come so naturally to his mouth were gone now, banished by this impossible love he felt. Did love make men fools? He thought so.

“No man sleeps alone if he doesn’t want to,” Lance muttered, following a bead of sweat down his chest with a fingertip then curling his fist around his cock. It roused at the contact, always willing, always ready. How could he go back to nothing, know what he missed?

How could he go back to a wife?

He wouldn’t. Marriage would be unfair to him and to the woman he married, who deserved to feel pleasure and to be properly loved, and he was incapable of that. Perhaps he’d become a Papist priest, with an excuse to live in celibacy for the rest of his life, alone with god.

He laughed roughly at himself, feeling like he could easily cry, and that feeling doubled when his door opened and JC’s handsome face looked into the room, his mouth drawn into an unhappy line. No, Lance realised, not unhappy, but worried and fearful and anxious, all the things Lance suffered, too.

JC stepped into the room then shut the door, latching it. Lance was at once painfully aware of his own nudity and his hard prick, which jutted out from his body, full with need. JC was, as always, fully dressed, his shirt pinned at his throat, his hands covered by his lace cuffs. Even in the stifling heat, he wore his best coat, unbuttoned, and his finest leather breeches.

JC turned around, leaning against the door. “You’re lovely,” he murmured.

“I could …”

“No,” JC said, holding out his hand, and Lance stopped his movement, sitting back on the bed and leaving his clothes where they laid folded on the deck. JC brought his shaking hands to his neck, where he began to unpin the fancy lace. It took all of Lance’s strength not to protest.

After fumbling uselessly at his cuff links, JC held out his slender wrists, and Lance removed the silver pieces. Each link resembled the grinning skull Joey used as his Jolly Roger, and Lance smiled despite himself as he set them down on the small table. JC grinned shyly before returning his attention to his shirt. His fingers lingered at his throat before dropping lower.

Lance’s cock, which had wilted slightly since JC’s appearance, rose again as JC slithered out of his breeches, revealing well-formed legs and a long, slender prick, which peeked out from between his shirttails. Already hard, Lance noticed with immense relief. This was not one-sided.

“I should warn you,” JC said softly. “It’s worse than you’ve imagined. So much worse.”

“I love you too much to see it as you do,” Lance replied, “but if you want to keep your shirt on, I won’t complain or if, in fact, this is not something you want to do.” Lance tried to rouse a brave smile, though he was nigh close to begging. “I should say I want you very much.”

JC smiled shyly, biting his lower lip between his teeth then bringing his hands back to his shirt, untying the tight laces. One small lamp burned dimly on the wall, and Lance looked at it briefly, thinking to ask but not asking. JC knew it was there. If he wanted it out, he would say so.

The shirt came slowly off JC’s torso, dropping messily to the deck, utterly abandoned. Lance lifted his eyes slowly, bracing his face against reaction, though JC would not have seen it. He kept his eyes down, his long curls veiling his face, spilling beautifully over his shoulders.

The scars were, in truth, among the most shocking sights Lance had ever seen. Smooth and white in some places, ridged and pink in others. The skin looked like clay, which had been grabbed and sculpted by a blind man, pieced together just enough to resemble a male chest.

And yet.

Lance felt no disgust, no recoil in his belly against this unnatural sight. He felt a great sadness for what JC had suffered and what he continued to suffer, but it was not the same thing at all. What strength JC possessed to live through something like that, what will to heal!

“Come here,” Lance said, “please.”

JC stepped forward, and Lance put his hands on JC’s burned skin, lightly as to minimise pain, knowing that the scars themselves were long healed but that the soul continued to hurt. It felt enough like human skin, warm beneath his fingers, that the strangeness of the whole melted away. JC looked as handsome naked as he did fully clothed. More so, Lance thought dazedly.

“You touch me like you don’t see them.”

Lance looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his tight belly. “Some would call that love.”

“I wish I was not so afraid, that I could be brave about it, but I can't. I've tried, and all I see is ugliness. If I had just,” JC put his hands on Lance's face, “you're one of us, even if through my own folly you've been denied the whole of the pleasure. Tomorrow, we might lose you. I hate that.”

“Me too,” Lance assured him, rubbing light circles on JC's narrow hips. He fit so well in Lance's hands, such a perfect fit. “And I don't fault you for any of your fears, no more than I can fault Justin for his ambition or Chris for his terrible plans. Or Joey, for being a pirate instead of something more sensible and less illegal.”

“What a sad bunch we are,” JC said. His whole face lit with his grin, and Lance mirrored it, his melancholy vanished, at least for now. In the morrow, he would rue his unfair life, but not now.

He tugged on JC's slim hips, spreading his legs so JC could settle between them. He still seemed shy, so Lance tilted his head and kissed him, lightly at first, testing this new mouth, then deeper, reaching out to touch JC's waiting tongue. He loved kissing. In theory, it had always seemed so strange, this business with tongues and mouths and lips, but in actuality, it was truly blissful.

“You kiss like Chris,” JC said delightedly, pushing Lance back to the mattress with two sure hands, “and a little of bit of Joey, too. Maybe some of Justin, though his kisses are so wild and unabashed that they are entirely his own.”

Lance grinned and kissed him again, seeing if he couldn't find his own flair with which to impress JC. All the same, he could see the influences in JC just as he could pick out the parts that were solely him. How all men existed without four lovers, he didn't know, and why this all felt so normal to him would always be a mystery, but he was sure it was right.

“What do you like?” JC asked, lowering his head and licking at one of Lance's dark nipples. A shiver cut through him, and JC grinned. “That, I see. What else?”

“Anything,” Lance assured him, groaning when JC bit lightly at his chest then kissed down his stomach. When he pushed at Lance's hip, Lance rolled over, spreading his legs at JC's insistence. Lance glanced over his shoulder, and JC smiled at him before dropping his head between Lance's legs, licking his arse.

“Oh!”

“All four of you like that,” JC murmured, kissing each arse cheek before returning his attention to the task at hand. His tongue poked and licked and prodded, entirely fearless, circling the ring then slipping inside. Lance choked on a startled groan, burying his face in his arms. There was still so much left to learn, left to do. Like this, none but JC had done this.

“Do you like to be fucked?” JC asked, replacing his tongue with his fingers, sliding easily into him. Lance nodded frantically, lifting his hips when JC pulled at them. Desperately, Lance reached back and grabbed JC's hard prick, putting the tip against him, ready. When JC leaned forward, Lance pushed back, hissing as he entered.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Lance muttered, marvelling at how he did not have to lie about that. The first time, with Chris, Lance had thought he would split apart before it ever felt good, but he could no longer remember that pain. In the recent weeks, it had been replaced by only fond memories, of Chris in him, and Joey, too, and now JC. If Justin had ever fucked a man, Lance didn't know, but he thought he'd like to try it with him.

The rough sheets rubbed deliciously against his cock, which ached with pleasure, wet at the head. JC slid his hand down Lance's belly to grip him, jerking his wrist in time with his thrusts. Sweat poured over them like rain, salty and clean. He wanted it to last forever, but between the wine and his sudden bone-deep exhaustion, he let the pleasure rise in him then release like pistol fire.

JC made a choked noise, his hand tightening on Lance's softening cock, then collapsed onto the bed. Lance kissed his open lips, fingers splayed against JC's heaving belly. There was a brief look of discomfort on JC's face that passed quickly, though he tugged the sheet over them, covering himself again. Still, that he had been so naked, so trusting, was more than enough.

“You should sleep,” JC murmured, sticking one thigh between Lance's knees, keeping them close.

“Will you stay?”

JC nodded against his cheek.

“Will you stay naked?”

“If you wish me to, I will.”

“I do,” Lance assured him, and fell asleep with his hand on JC's side, the scars invisible beneath his fingers, as if they weren't there at all, as if no bad things had ever happened.

As if no bad things ever would.

xvi.

Morning came too soon, as JC always thought it did. He hated waking, especially into unfamiliar surroundings. He'd been in the First Mate's cabin before, but years ago, when Chris had been his only lover and Joey only a wistful dream. Justin had been too young to think of, and Lance. JC looked down at him. Lance was a surprise.

JC dressed quickly, looking ahead at the wall as he blindly laced and pinned his shirt. Lance rolled onto his back, still asleep, gloriously nude. Unable to help himself, JC put his hand on Lance's cock and rubbed it lightly, pleased when Lance murmured happily. He would love to wake him, but Lance needed his rest and his wits if this plan had a chance at success.

JC was two steps out of the cabin when Chris grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the nearest dark corner, hands already at JC's breeches and pulling them down to his knees. JC stumbled backward, stopping only when his back rested against the wall and pushed Chris's head, growling with Chris nipped at his fingertips like an animal.

“It's broad daylight,” JC hissed, looking frantically around. Though the ship was well-stocked with sodomites, and proudly so, it was another to offer a show. True enough, the deck looked empty, and it wasn't daylight at all, but daybreak, when the growing light could play tricks on the eyes.

“If you'll be quiet, no one need ever know,” Chris whispered, opening his mouth and sucking JC's cockhead between his lips, his head falling into a steady, eager bob. JC bit his lip, fighting against a moan, and gave up his fight. He was far too easy when it came to pleasurable things.

Chris's desperation roused him in a way that surprised him. Though Chris was far from the most stable one, his emotions were often kept hidden even as his mouth spilled his thoughts. That he wanted this so badly, made it even better, though it also made him sad. If JC had known when he had watched Justin and Chris sail to England that he might lose them, he would have attacked them, too.

“Hurry yourself,” JC whispered, sure he could hear words coming from the waking forecastle. He could see Hawkeye in the sails, keeping his silent watch. Pray, then, that he kept his eyes ahead and not down. JC began to move his hips, fucking Chris's eager mouth, hand fisted in Chris's wild hair. Chris moaned at him, but willingly took each push of cock.

“Come, man,” JC urged, and Chris pulled back, glaring up at him.

“You come,” he said indignantly then turned JC by the hips, flicking his tongue against JC's arse. JC smacked his hands against the wall, his knees threatening to buckle. For all his wishing, Chris had never done this before. That he did it now further stiffened his cock.

Chris put his hand on JC's cock as his tongue fucked JC's arse. JC forced his eyes to stay open, to keep watch. The door to the forecastle opened, a bare foot stepping out onto the deck, and JC came hard, leaving his mark on the wall, too weak to pull up his breeches. Chris, in his wisdom, grabbed the waist of them and yanked them over his hips.

“Good morrow,” Chris said to George Kincaid and Donal Fraser as they headed to the quarter deck to relieve the men who had steered through the night. JC nodded at them, hoping he looked chaste.

“What happened to your good feelings?” JC asked, quietly, fixing the lay of his breeches.

“Oh, I still have them,” Chris insisted with a devilish grin, his lips glistening wetly. “It's simply that my last good feelings included a three week interlude on a bloody deserted island. Should we have to rescue you from the British navy, I would like to avoid any possible regrets.” Chris's face turned serious. “I could not remember how Justin tasted.”

“Fair enough,” JC said and quickly kissed his mouth before anyone could see. They exchanged smiles before heading into the Captain's Cabin, where Joey stood at the window. Seeing them, Joey nodded to Justin, who left.

“It's time,” Joey said briefly, and JC understood. On the deck, the crew was suddenly hard at work, set to bringing the Song of the Sea to a halt. They stood together and waited without speaking. When Justin returned, he joined them at the window, and when Lance arrived, he took his place, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and a crease on his cheek from the feather pillow.

This was it, then.

It was quicker than JC expected, dropping from a hurried pace to a complete stop. They heard the splash as one of the boats dropped to the water, and the tentative knock on the door followed by Jack Mouse saying, “we're ready, sir.”

But JC was not ready.

They came into a circle, all five, linked together by their arms, heads bowed. “A song to lift our spirits,” Justin said, and they fell into a sweet melody, not their usual cheerful ditty, but not entirely remorseful either. Their voices rose above the noise of the crew and the sea, and for a moment, everything was as it should be, one perfect voice.

The song ended, and JC took his leave first, unable to draw it out. He kissed each man, tasted each sad mouth, then went out to the rail and climbed down into the waiting boat. Lance came shortly after. Before his arse hit the seat, JC began to row. The wind was gone, reducing the roll of the waves to a few gentle laps against the hull. The sky was clear. The sun was bright. It should have been perfect.

They rowed in silence, moving briskly towards the British ship, which had slowed its pace somewhat. It surprised him how close the ship was. They would have lasted another day, if they were lucky. Only another few hours, if they were not. So very close to the end.

They came up quicker to the ship than JC expected. She was, in all truth, the most beautiful ship he had ever seen. Every bit of her was fine, with her masts reaching to the clouds and her sails a brilliant white. There was a majesty to her that took his breath away. Lance looked at her with hate in his eyes, unable to see the loveliness, but it was there. He didn’t know how Lance had resisted the seduction of this ship.

A rope ladder dropped over the starboard side, and Lance tied up their small boat then began to climb, favouring his right leg. JC followed, noting that even the rope was of the highest quality. He loved the Song of the Sea, no doubt, but he also loved beautiful things, which this ship was.

“I’m the man you think you’re looking for,” Lance was saying as JC came on the deck, a sharp edge to his voice causing the men around him to pause. Lance had likely grown up with some of these faces, and that he acted now as though he’d never seen them before was a clever ploy.

Inwardly, JC smiled. Perhaps there was a plan after all, though he could only pray Chris had no hand in it. JC loved the man fiercely, but his plans were awful, even if they worked out more times than not. It calmed his frayed nerves to see the men exchange nervous glances at Lance’s passive stance.

A fair-haired man emerged from the Captain’s Cabin, dressed in the finest clothes JC had seen outside of London. The man’s eyes immediately rested on Lance. His father, JC thought, seeing the ghost of the father’s face in the son, though the resemblance was slight.

“Lance,” his father said, lifting his hand to touch Lance’s chin, and Lance turned his face away. His pale green eyes briefly met JC’s gaze, a flicker of emotion crossing them before it disappeared again. Lance’s father did not like this, and he frowned. “Will you speak with me?”

“In private,” Lance muttered. His father paused briefly before nodding. “With my man.”

For the first time, Lance’s father noticed him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. JC straightened his back, keeping his chin high, his shoulders stiff. Lance's father came right up to him, and JC noticed how small he was, Lance’s size, without Lance’s sturdy thighs. “Is he armed?”

“No,” Lance said. They had agreed it was best that JC not carry weapons openly, though he had a blade hidden in his boot. He was not a reckless fool without value for his own life. This was such a poorly laid plan, JC thought again, feeling his shoulders begin to sag. “I give you my word.”

“Good enough,” Lance’s father said, nodding them toward the Captain’s Cabin.

It was more spacious than Joey’s, though less comfortable and less decorated. There was no bed, only a hammock in the corner, and he had a desk with papers strewn about on it, held down by various large rocks. If all else failed, JC thought ruefully, he could bludgeon a man to death with one of them, which would work much better than his small, hidden blade.

“You are my son,” Lance’s father said once they were settled, he on one side of the table, Lance and JC on the other. If JC was more brave, he would have reached for Lance’s hand. “I realise it’s been months since I’ve seen you, but that is you, Lance, is it not? I would know my own son.”

“It’s me,” Lance said quietly, “though you may wish it wasn’t.”

Lance’s father frowned briefly then spoke, “have they mistreated you, Lance? I notice you’re favouring your right leg. I have a quite clever physician on board, a man named Kevin. He’s about your age. If they’ve harmed you, you must tell me, even if it’s horrific or shameful.”

Lance betrayed nothing on his face, lest of all a hint of understanding. There had been plenty of sodomy committed aboard, but none of it rape. JC bit at his smile, digging his teeth into the side of his cheek. This was no time at all for the giggles. Later, JC promised himself.

“No harm has come to me,” Lance replied. “I’m there of my own free will, father.”

“They’re pirates!”

“I’ve noticed,” Lance said dryly, appearing brave, but JC saw how he wrung his hands under the table and the sweat that had begun to blossom on his temples. It was undeniably hot, but JC knew that was not the reason for it. “As you must know, the Betty was shipwrecked.”

“I heard word of it mere weeks after it happened, told you were likely dead.” There was real grief on his father’s face, and JC noticed that Lance’s calm expression crumbled slightly at it. “Yet here you are before me, telling me … what, exactly, are you telling me, Lance?”

Lance looked over at JC, who had no answers. If Lance lied, JC would not blame him. Admitting to piracy meant certain death, and though this man was Lance’s father, there was no telling how he would respond. Lance pinched his lips, looking torn, then admitted, “I joined their crew.”

“They’re pirates,” his father repeated, his fingers curling into a fist.

“I’m a pirate,” Lance whispered, shame in his voice, and that made JC angry. He was a pirate, too, and there was nothing wrong with it. Immoral, perhaps, and there were men at sea who were cruel and violent and greedy, but that was true of all men. “I will not apologise for it.”

“You’ll die for it!”

“Aye, I likely will.”

Would his parents have been disappointed in him, if they still lived? Would this even be his life if they had? JC had never really dwelled on it before. Chris and Justin had theories about his life in France, which they tended to share when drunk, but JC had never really considered it. Being a pirate had always felt natural, like he was meant for it, but what if he was not?

Would he have still ended up here, with these men in his life, doing what he did?

Lance’s father sighed. “Your confession will not leave these walls. You vex me, Lance, but you’re my son, and I do love you, even if it may not seem like it.” He stood and crossed the room to his desk, removing a bottle of rum and three glasses from the drawer. “How can I help?”

“Let me return to them, to that life.”

Lance’s father looked back over his shoulder, saddened. “You belong in this one.”

“Father,” Lance said softly, “you know that’s not true. I’m grateful for all the love you’ve given me, and for all the opportunities you’ve allowed me, but I want to be happy. I need to be. I could do everything you wish of me, but my soul would die. Is it any less valuable than my body?”

“I can’t protect you on this path,” he said, placing one glass in front of Lance and the other in front of JC, who drank only out of politeness and nerves. “They will ask you to do things, Lance.”

“They’ve asked nothing of me,” Lance insisted. “All that I’ve done, I’ve done for the good of my ship and my Captain. I’ve killed a man, father, and I’ve impersonated a French official, and I’ve done them both without regret. I'm good at what I do there.”

“Good at being a pirate? Those sinful, slothful, evil …”

“They’re fine men. It's society who has wronged them, and I, too, have been wronged. I belong with them.”

Lance’s father slammed his glass down on the table. “You don’t!”

“I do,” Lance whispered.

His father covered his face with his hand, slumping in his chair. “Was the life I offered truly so terrible?”

“It was a perfect life, but I’m not perfect. I'm a flawed man, father, who needs to be happy.”

“You’re a boy,” Lance’s father said. “You’re nothing more than a boy.”

Lance did not reply, staring into his cup with wet eyes, a glint to his eyes that looked like he agreed, but JC knew Lance’s father was wrong. There was no doubt in his mind, for Lance was one of the finest men he knew, and it was a truth he held deep inside him, buried in his heart.

xvii.

Justin made a noise of disgust, jumping from his chair and pacing the room again, a task he had been doing all afternoon. Chris glared at him but said nothing, his leg thumping wildly against the deck, betraying his nerves. Even Joey looked stressed, sitting at his window, waiting.

“I should have gone with them!”

“Sit down, you idiot boy,” Chris hissed angrily, reaching out to grab him, but Justin jumped away, glaring. He waited to see if Chris would leap from his chair, eager for a fight, but Chris just closed his eyes and looked pained. “Your presence would have done nothing to help.”

“It would have,” Justin insisted. “Joey, tell him I’m more charming than JC is.”

Joey turned from the window, smiling. “You are, I grant you that, but you are also a wild, mangy creature with tangled hair, a fuzzy face and ugly tattoos dedicated to your mother.”

“And handsome,” Justin added, “with a fine arse.”

“And handsome with a fine arse, which doesn’t help us, unless Lance’s father shares our preference.” Joey held out an arm, and Justin walked to him, letting Joey pull him close. Together, they watched the British ship. It had been hours, but the ship had not moved. They were just outside the range of their cannons, but Justin wanted to be closer. “Be patient, Justin.”

“I don’t know how,” Justin muttered unhappily. “I was never taught patience.”

“I’ve never knew it to teach you,” Chris replied, and Justin smiled at him.

He could have, he knew, learned it from JC, who had been in his life nearly as long as Chris, but neither of them had tried to sculpt him. Why would they? Justin had no need of a father or two, but he had need of friends and brothers and lovers, and somehow, they had become all three.

“It’s so dark,” Justin muttered, leaning his head on Joey’s shoulder. “How will we find them, when they come back to us?”

“They'll signal our ship, which Hawkeye Henry will easily see. I told you.”

“But if JC’s alone?” Justin pressed, looking at Joey then Chris, both of whom looked blankly back at him. Stamping his feet in frustration, Justin let himself yell for one brief, blissful moment. “He’s terrified of fire! How will he tell us he’s out there? We’ll sail straight over him and deliver him to Davy Jones ourselves!”

“God damn!” Joey swore as Chris smacked his head against the edge of the rickety table. All three exchanged looks, and Justin knew they were in agreement. He grabbed his pistol and his cutlass, fastening his belt around his waist and pulling on his dark wool cape. The dark would be their greatest ally, and if he sweated out half his mass at the same time then so be it.

“Quiet, now,” Joey murmured as they moved across deck. Justin nodded at Chris, who helped him lower a boat into the water. It landed with a light splash, swallowed by the shadows. William William appeared on the quarter deck, looking down. “Man your post! Joey barked.

“Aye, sir,” William William said, bowing his head and disappearing yet again.

They climbed down to the boat, Joey first, Justin last and Chris protected between them, cursing with every step. Once seated, they each took a pair of oars and began to roar. The sky above was thick with clouds, the moon swallowed up in the impending bad weather, which provided them with ample darkness. Still, Justin pulled the hood of his cape over his light hair.

Under the power of three able-bodied men, the boat flew briskly across the water. Justin kept his head cocked, eyes on the ship in the distance. They burned lamps on deck, which was his only guide, for the dark was near total. Had JC already returned, he was certainly lost.

They moved as one powerful body, not a single interruption in the rhythm they found. Even their harsh breaths came as one, inhaled and exhaled together. A steady burn built in his arms, but he fought it like he had fought it before, to save Chris and Lance, and he rowed harder.

“Halt your rowing,” Joey said eventually, the ship looming in front of them like a monster. Its cannons were already armed, ready to blow them to bits once it got in range, but Justin felt no fear, only a stubborn courage stir in his chest. They glided soundlessly closer.

The boat JC and Lance had taken sat in the water, tied to the rope ladder. They had practically put out a welcome, and Justin smirked, determination mixing with his bravery. He looked at Chris, who grinned back at him and asked, “do you believe in my good luck now?”

“I’ve always believed in it,” Justin whispered. “You’ve not steered me wrong yet.”

“Let us pray it holds a little while longer,” Joey muttered. “Now look alive.”

It was the dead of night, so the number of crew on duty was at minimum. Still, Justin was careful as he climbed up the ladder, trusting Joey and Chris to follow, trusting Joey to push Chris if he needed it, which he likely would. This ship was far too big for his liking, a veritable fortress in the water. He much preferred the Song of the Sea, which was much more like a home.

On deck, he saw no man at all, ducking into the shadows to wait for Chris and Joey. Chris appeared first, face shiny with sweat, mouth set with determination. There was obvious fear in his dark eyes, but he conquered it, like he always did when it was a matter of life or death, or when they asked him to.

“The things I do for you fools,” Chris muttered as he joined Justin in his hiding place. His hands were shaking, and Justin took them between his palms, holding them until they warmed. They stood that way until Joey came up to them, putting his hand on Chris’s shoulder.

“Lead on, Captain,” Justin said, grinning.

Joey made a face then tilted his head aft, toward the Captain’s Cabin. Light still burned through the windows, and there was a shadow of at least one man. Justin hoped that Chris or Joey had a formidable plan, for his brilliant idea had ended the minute they boarded this ship.

The plan was not formidable at all, but no worse than Justin could have concocted. Joey, in true fashion, merely opened the door to the Captain’s Cabin and stepped inside, his hand out.

“Good morrow,” Joey said cheerfully, walking past JC and Lance, who wore similar expressions of disbelief, and stopping in front of the man Justin presumed to be Lance’s father. “I’m Captain Joseph Anthony, and these are two of my crew, Justin Timberlake and Chris Kirkpatrick. I’m here to beg the release of my physician and my first mate, if you’ll hear me.”

Lance’s father looked at Joey as if he was insane, and Justin felt sympathy for the man. To his credit, he merely stepped back and steadied his features. “Will you sit, Captain Anthony?”

“Aye, sir. Thank you,” Joey said, taking the seat next to Lance. He looked up at Justin, who shook his head slightly, and then to Chris, who did the same. Justin was content to lean against the door, giving him first jab at any man who dared to enter. “Will you release my men?”

Lance’s father raised an eyebrow, and Justin saw now from where Lance got that. It was almost uncanny. Lance’s father leaned forward in his chair and said, quite seriously, “you are aware that you’re a pirate who has boarded the British ship Laurel without permission?”

“Aye, sir,” Joey said. “There’s no denying I’m a pirate or that I’ve boarded your ship.”

“I could have you put to death,” Lance’s father added, “where you would join your father and your brother.” Joey’s face betrayed no surprise, and Justin was inwardly pleased. Though his heart still ached for both deaths, that Joey’s infamy has travelled so far was good news.

“I am aware of that fact, sir.”

Lance’s father sighed. “Is my son so valuable to you?”

“I would argue he’s invaluable, sir, or else I would not have risked my own arse to plead a change of heart.” It was delivered with such earnestness that Justin had to cough down his rising grin, and he knew he was not alone in his struggles. Even Lance’s father looked faintly amused, which bode well for their plight. “I owe your son my life, sir, for he gladly saved it.”

“Did he?”

“I did,” Lance said quietly, “just as I told you. These are good men, father.”

Lance’s father looked around, first at Joey, who smiled kindly, then at JC, who looked flushed as if he’d had far too wine, and by the state of his cup, Justin feared that was likely true. He regarded Chris, who took the scrutiny without complaint, then Justin, who bowed his head.

“What exactly do you ask of me? That I pretend my only son is dead?”

“If that is what you must do to bear it then yes,” Lance said.

“And if I cannot bear it? If I let you go like I never found you at all, is this the last I’ll see of you? Will I hear of your death someday, or find your tar-soaked corpse swinging from some gibbet, or be forced to watched my beloved child hung from the gallows? Is this it, then?”

“Chris and I,” Justin heard himself saying, stepping closer to Lance’s father, “our mothers live in London, too. We visit as often as we can, once every year or three as our lives permit it. With the exception of the Betty, we’ve had no trouble doing it. Lance could visit.”

“How old are you, boy?”

“Nigh on twenty,” Justin replied promptly.

“How long have you been a pirate?”

“Since I was ten,” Justin replied, pride strong in his voice, unable to contain it inside him. “I’ve happily served Joey’s father and his brother, too. The only pirates who die young, in my opinion, are those with no care for anyone but themselves. Joey’s father lived to be nearly fifty, and had he not been betrayed by Louis Pearlman, he would have easily lived to be an old man.”

Lance’s father thoughtfully rapped his fist on the table, lips pursed, brow wrinkled with concentration. Silence stretched long, and Justin could hardly stand it, waiting for the decision. He looked to Lance, who was so pale, and smiled kindly. Lance smiled weakly back at him.

“No man saw you board my ship?”

“No, sir,” Joey replied.

“And you will ensure my son remains happy?”

“I will personally see to it, sir,” he vowed innocently.

“Then against my better judgement, but for the sake of my son’s happiness, you may have your men back, Captain Anthony. I believe I mistook your First Mate for someone else,” Lance’s father said, standing and walking to Lance, who took his father’s hand. “You promise to visit?”

“As often as I can.”

Justin stepped toward the door, allowing father and son room to say farewell, and he smiled in relief at Chris, who smirked knowingly. There would be no living with him after this, which was a hardship Justin would gladly bear. Joey joined them, proud at his accomplishments, and Justin took his hand briefly, sharing in his happy feelings. Drunkenly, JC stumbled to them.

“You are mad, man,” JC said to Joey, who caught him before he tripped and fell.

Finally, Lance joined their happy circle, looking as sad as he did pleased, and Justin understood as much as he was able. His mother had been none too pleased when Chris decided they would leave London and join Joey’s father’s crew, but it had been right for him, and he’d followed his heart instead of hers. Gratefully, Justin spared one last smile to Lance’s father.

He would never know the good he had done for them, so Justin would know it for him.

xviii.

The Song of the Sea was right where they left her, too high off the water for his liking, but he closed his eyes and climbed to the deck, taking small comfort in the fact the water would break his fall, provided he hit nothing deadly on the way down or attracted very hungry sharks.

The journey back to the Song of the Sea had been quiet, which Chris had not minded. It gave him time to reflect on the good things he had been given in his life, and they were many. Least of all were these four handsome men, who kept him well loved, well fucked and well entertained. If only all his plans worked out so well, he would never have to deal with insufferable lovers again.

Chris felt light as he headed to the Captain’s Cabin, unable to keep the merry bounce from his step. It was late, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He thought only of ale, some good food and fucking. The ale was easy enough to come by, though the food would prove far more difficult, but the fucking was inevitable. Finally, all five of them at once!

It was, by far, his greatest plan yet.

Chris entered the cabin first, locating five clean cups then pouring them full with ale. There were a few pieces of hard tack left on the table from last night’s delicious feast, and he nibbled at one for strength and endurance to get him through this night till morning.

“Oh, sweet ale,” Justin said, grabbing a cup and taking a swig.

“Are your nerves frayed, then?”

“Not all of us have the hand of fate guiding our paths,” Justin replied, wrapping an arm around Chris’s waist and reeling him in for a deep, ale-spiced kiss. Chris grinned against his lips then helped himself to a mouthful of Justin’s ale, putting his other hand on Justin’s pert arse.

“Will this teach you to trust me?”

“No,” Joey replied, laughing. “Fate may guide you, but trouble follows you.”

Chris grinned at him.

JC and Lance came in together, both pale save for the pink on their cheeks. Drunk, the two of them, though Lance hid it much better. Chris freed himself from Justin’s arm and marched up to them, kissing JC first and Lance second. “Have some ale,” he said merrily.

“I could use some,” Lance admitted shakily, managing a small grin, and Chris kissed him again, the most proper welcome back he knew. He led Lance toward Justin, who had sat down, and Justin leaned back, making room for Lance to perch upon him. They looked perfect together.

“To the loving hand fate,” Joey said, raising his cup, his arm around JC’s waist.

Chris lifted his own ale with a loud, “here, here.” It was so nice to always be right.

He stood there, watching them, his heart welling with love for these men. There was no question that he was lucky, but to have four great loves seemed somewhere beyond that. Most men would call it excessive, if they weren’t calling him pervert or sodomite, but it felt like just enough for Chris, who had never been a man to want much. One would have been far too little.

Chris put down his cup, and began to undress, to the obvious amusement of the others, who simply watched as he danced around on one leg, trying to shuck his breeches. His boot refused to budge, and the ties knotted tightly at his crotch, and his shirt simply fell to pieces.

No man said a word until, finally, JC squinted at him and asked, “do you want something, man?” There was no hint of teasing on his lips, but Chris saw it twinkling in his blue eyes. He reached for JC, pushing him up against the wall and kissing at his stoic lips. JC sighed softly.

Chris looked back over his shoulder to where Justin, Lance and Joey sat, watching him. “Is no one else willing, or will I have this lovely man to myself? We’ve waited long enough.”

“We’re simply enjoying the view,” Justin said, laughing, “though I wouldn’t mind having a view of this handsome man in my lap.” With that, he deftly opened Lance’s breeches, sliding them down Lance’s hips and off his legs without any trouble at all. It would figure, Chris thought, rubbing at JC’s cock through his breeches, knowing they both watched the same thing.

“I like that view, too,” Joey admitted, his own breeches pooled around his ankles.

Chris grinned then licked at JC’s throat, sliding his hand into the front of JC’s breeches. He had the loveliest prick, fitting perfectly into the curve of Chris’s hand, and sighed so beautifully whenever it was touched. “Will you let me take off your shirt tonight?” he asked.

JC opened his eyes, which had shut when Chris first touched him, and nodded.

“Thank you,” Chris said, and set to the task, eager to feel JC’s bare skin against his. It had been so long, and he very much liked the feel of JC’s sinewy body. He would have to thank Lance later, for whatever his reaction had been, it had been perfect. Perhaps, someday, JC would even come to believe that his body was not something to hate, but beautiful in its own way.

Both naked, they kissed again, legs threaded together, threatening to spill them to the deck. JC’s cock pressed hard against his stomach, and Chris took firm hold of it, loving JC’s soft sigh of pleasure. Cheek against JC’s shoulder, Chris turned his head and let his eyes fill with the sight of Joey on the table, Justin and Lance fighting over whose mouth would kiss his cock.

“Look at that,” Chris murmured, moving his fist over JC’s stiff cock. “That’s so nice.”

“We should join them,” JC decided, grabbing Chris by the prick and pulling him gently toward the table, stopping only when his arse hit the edge. “Up,” JC added, squeezing his cock.

The wood was rough and hard against his back, but it was a brief distraction, replaced as he came in contact with Joey, who leaned toward and licked across his lips, one hand spread on Chris’s neck. Joey was a very talented kisser, so apt and able that Chris had often thought if Joey kissed the men he robbed, they would gladly give him every valuable they had.

No less talented was JC’s mouth, which was busy at work between Chris’s legs, sucking on his cock, but he still envied the two Joey had on his. Selfishly, he reached down and grabbed the first man he reached, tugging him by the hair. Lance huffed indignantly, biting at his thigh.

“Thief,” Joey muttered.

“I could take Justin, too,” Chris threatened, licking into Joey’s laughing mouth.

The table groaned under the weight of them, too old for the affairs of young and virile men. With some reluctance, Chris mumbled about the impending death of their supper table, and all four agreed to move to the bed, which was better made for pleasure. It was a like a dance, the migration from table to bed, with the five of them a writhing mess of bodies, moving in unison.

The thought of stopping, even for a minute, crossed none of their minds.

In truth, Chris doubted he would have the strength to do it, to stop. And why would he want to? If he could, he would lie with these men night and day, fuck until his cock rotted off like those poor diseased men JC warned them about. He would not sleep, or eat, or drink, or do anything but kiss these mouths, and suck these cocks, and fucks these arses, and love them, too.

Joey took the top of the bed, grabbing the first heads he could reach, which were Chris and Justin’s. They grinned at each other then Chris set to prove his mastery at cock-sucking, taking the left of Joey’s prick as Justin took the right. If their tongues met at all, it was only because of that, and if they kissed around Joey’s cock, it was only because it made him moan.

At first, Chris didn’t notice the drizzle of oil over his arse, which he had poked up in the air like the dignified chin of an aristocrat, but there was no mistaking the fingers prodding at him. He sighed against Joey’s cock then relaxed himself, letting the fingers slip inside.

“Oh,” Justin mumbled, the head of Joey’s slick cock dropping out of his mouth, and Chris took the opportunity to take the tip between his own lips, delighted when Joey groaned. He looked down to see JC already balls deep in Justin’s arse, hands on Justin’s hips.

“You finally get your revenge,” Chris muttered, grinning at Lance.

“Aye,” he said, screwing his fingers in quick and deep, such a quick study. He would do just fine as First Mate.

Chris worked a little longer at Joey’s straining cock then lost his skill completely as Lance’s thick cockhead poked bluntly at his arse. Chris leaned up with an arch of his back, climbing Joey’s chest to get at his laughing mouth, none too surprised when Lance followed him.

“Such a delicate man,” Joey murmured, pinching one of Chris’s nipples.

Chris opened his mouth to retort, but moaned instead as Lance pushed expertly inside, stretching him impossibly tight. It stung badly at first, with nips of pleasure here and there, and then Joey put his hand on Chris’s cock and began to stroke him. It felt better then, with Joey’s sure hand between his legs and Lance’s chest flush against his back, an arm around his waist.

“If only I had Justin’s talents,” Chris muttered, hanging onto Joey’s shoulders.

“All men wish that,” Justin said, laughing.

“I have no complaints, though I might if my cock goes neglected much longer,” Joey mumbled, biting at Chris’s lower lip. Chris bit him back then tongued the injured flesh. From Joey’s happy grunt, Chris suspected that Joey had got his wish, though he was too busy to check.

Lance fucked him slowly, deliciously, drawing out the pleasure, ensuring no pain. Chris panted against Joey’s mouth, licking wildly at his lips, patting weakly at his back. Joey had the same dazed, satisfied look that Chris was sure showed in his own eyes. Sweat dripped off both their bodies, the heat of the room almost unbearable. Chris looked over at JC, keeping his face serious.

“I fear you drove the virgin right out of this one, C.”

JC’s face split into a wide, sunny grin. “There was little left by the time I got to him, man.”

“There’s been no chance to save him,” Lance replied, driving in deep, hitting that blessed spot, and Chris cried out into Joey’s mouth, ignoring Joey’s amused grin. Before Justin could chime in, Chris grabbed him by the knots of his hair and held his face steadfast to Joey’s cock.

Joey groaned at Justin’s indignant, wordless mumbles.

There came a time when all thoughts melted from Chris’s brain, replaced by grunts and moans and heaving breathing. He could identity each man by his sound, for they were all so different and so fundamentally them, but they came together as music, as song, with no seam between them, no need for it, no reason. How close they had come to losing it. How blessed they were for their turn of good fortune. These men were made for him, and he for them.

Lives and hearts in synch, as Chris knew they were destined to be.


The End