Archive of Our Own

**

It had been seven days since they took the Spanish ship, although it might as well have been a lifetime, and Captain William Scarcliff now found himself in possession of not only the prize of a galleon and treasure, but also of a very beautiful and distracting spitfire.
 

 
The battle and boarding hadn't lasted long at all, in fact the Spanish crew had surrendered more or less immediately at the first shot across their bow. All except for the spitfire, who hadn't seemed to understand that he was meant to give up and give in peacefully. William had seen him fighting from across the deck; it would have been hard to miss, really, what with Master Nicholas Gallowglass' fiery red hair drawing the eyes, his very pretty face frozen in a snarl of utter rage as he fended off three of William's men. It was true that he had landed a slash or two against his foes, but the press made him unable to attack vigorously. Yet he made his almost completely defensive sword play look like a ballroom dance.

William had felt something almost literally tighten in his chest at the time; it had almost seemed as if he knew the swordsman, but that was simply not possible. But that something had made him intervene before either his crewmen or the swordsman could be further injured. For some reason he still had not determined, it had been utterly unthinkable for him to allow that particular battle to come to its natural conclusion, the same way it would have been unthinkable for him to allow a book or a priceless artwork to be destroyed.

William had ended that particular imbroglio by imply sliding in behind the spitfire and striking the back of his head with his pistol butt. Nicholas Gallowglass had seen William maneuvering out of the corner of his eye, but it was too late for him to effectively counter; William was nothing if not surprisingly agile. The expression of shocked betrayal on Nicholas' face as he crumpled to his knees on the deck at William's feet had left William nauseous and lightheaded... and oddly pained.

He had managed to impassively regard the cringing passengers and crew, remembering to pick up the man's sword: a nice weapon, very nice indeed. He placed it carefully in its scabbard and tucked it under his arm and returned to supervising the transfer of goods and property from the galleon to his own ship. As usual, his men had run the enterprise like one of those clockwork automatons that were becoming so popular. Not that he expected anything less, but it was good to know. An efficient, well-disciplined crew was a happy crew. Or so he believed.

Neither William nor his crew had borne any malice at all towards anyone on the galleon, even as he made the arrangements for the crew and passengers to be transferred and secured in the hold of his own ship. He could deal with the ransom arrangements at Nevis Island. The galleon could be sailed to Bermuda for disposal and account settling, the prize money from which would undoubtedly please even the least of his crew members.

After the first couple of days of confinement in the hold, Master Gallowglass had practically begged to be allowed to work on deck instead of remaining imprisoned. William had seen no reason to refuse his request; it wasn't as if Nicholas could do much harm, surrounded as he was by a very loyal and high-spirited crew, and he was constantly supervised in any case.

It wasn't that the swordsman had particularly done anything since their first meeting to distract him. It was just that since seeing him that first time, William couldn't stop thinking of Nicholas Gallowglass, and how he might look on William's bed: long, shapely body arched in pleasure on midnight-blue velvet; his long, almost-crimson hair spread out against the dark green silk of the pillow, head thrown back and exotic eyes half-closed with desire. There was no doubt: Nicholas would look quite lovely there. And more, William could think of some very interesting uses for that beautiful mouth, perhaps after he wrapped silky flame-colored hair around his cock and stroked. And oh really. He needed to stop. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Right now, Master Gallowglass was engaged in playing hazard with crew members, his head tilted back as he took a long drink of the ship's ration of beer. William watched as they threw the dice, apparently in the best of good spirits. He could hear their laughter and joking banter; it was rather odd how easily Nicholas had fit in with them. Nicholas Gallowglass was Irish, of course he was, with a name like that, but sailors tended not to hold that sort of thing against a man, as long as he did a good day's work.

Nicholas was a puzzle to William: he appeared to be the type of person who accepted whatever fate threw his way with good grace and a smile, and William could only marvel at it. Had it been he and their positions reversed, he could not have prevented himself from railing silently against fortune; he had good reason to know it. But perhaps that was one reason he found Master Gallowglass so... engrossing. He was an enigma wrapped in a very enticing package, and suddenly William found himself very much desiring to unwrap... and Oh god, not again. He realized he was staring.

It was at that point that Nicholas Gallowglass looked over at him and met his eyes steadily and a little enquiringly. Then he smiled at him, and it was several minutes before William's heart resumed its normal rhythm.

Something had to be done.

As he pondered the problem, he concluded that he had several options. The first, in which he had so far failed abysmally, was to try and control his own responses. Usually that was not an issue, for he was a man of strong will, but he was far past the point where that was a viable choice. Or, he could have the man thrown overboard. That wasn't truly an option either; saving a man's life only to take it again seemed silly, and he didn't really seriously consider it, except for the sake of completeness. And really, it wasn't the man's fault he was delectable. Perhaps he and the rest of the other ship's passengers could be set down and arrangements made for ransom at the nearest port, but really there simply wasn't anywhere particularly close. The simplest course of action seemed the likeliest. Familiarity bred contempt -- almost inevitably, for him -- and so he would surround himself with Master Gallowglass. Perhaps literally.
 **

“Picket, eh? Of course I play it.” Nicholas Gallowglass had looked surprised and a bit puzzled at William's invitation to his quarters and dinner, but fell in beside him.

“I thought perhaps you might. Play Piquet, that is.”

“Ah well, most do. And a man needs to make a living, after all.” Nicholas smiled engagingly at him, his face apparently without guile. He had a lovely accent, William thought, almost song-like.

“Indeed,” murmured William noncommittally, entering his cabin and closing the door behind them. The cabin boy had already brought their meal and set their places, making sure the cabin was prepared and welcoming. Still, he was suddenly a bit self-conscious of the sheer number of charts and books that littered most of the surfaces in his room, not to mention the various pieces of gadgetry that were strewn about, some in various states of assembly.

William seated himself and tucked into his soup and bread, watching with some amusement as his guest inhaled the meal with some gusto. Deck work tended to give one quite an appetite; it was long and hard labor. After they finished, he took the dishes and set them in the hall outside his room and closed the door.

He took out his deck of cards, seating himself comfortably at the table and poured both of them some wine. Gallowglass hesitated a moment and sprawled a bit in his seat, then shook out the lace at his wrists and accepted the wine and the cards, and began shuffling them absently. William watched the cards flow easily – almost magically -- from one hand to the other. Nicholas grinned and returned the cards to him. “My apologies, that's a bad habit.”

“So, is that what you are, Master Gallowglass, a gambler?” William tapped the deck and handed it to Nicholas to cut.

“Mmm. What else?” He examined his card and showed it to William. “It would appear that I win the deal.” He dealt the cards, and seemed engrossed in sorting his hand, and if William hadn't noticed how his shoulders tightened almost – almost -- undetectably, he might have been fooled by Nicholas' show of nonchalance. Nicholas' expression hadn't changed an iota, although he bowed his head a fraction and allowed his unbound hair to fall loose around his face.

“Ah. I am very glad to hear it, you see.” William continued amiably. “I admit to a perhaps vulgar curiosity as to why an Irishman was found aboard a Spanish ship in these troubled times.” He commenced sorting his own hand. “And I confess to even more vulgarity, wondering how it is that a swordsman as accomplished as yourself accounts himself a mere gambler. ”

The silence grew tense, and both of them sat very still.

“Or perhaps you are a gambler, just not in the way it is commonly understood.”

Nicholas set his cards down on the table and rose. “I thank you for the wine and the meal. I believe we are finished here.” He gave a beautiful, graceful bow and leg; perfectly, exquisitely executed. His face was very pale, his mouth a straight line, but his eyes were blazing.

“I think not. Have a seat, if you please.”

“It does not please me. I'll not be mocked by the likes of you.” Nicholas' voice was steady and calm, but his hand strayed unconsciously toward where his scabbard would have rested against his hip, and he backed towards the door.

“Sit down.” William looked up at him. “I will not ask again.” He gave Nicholas a basilisk stare that had been known to almost literally freeze the blood of lesser men, and Nicholas audibly gasped and flinched back, his eyes wide and spooked.

William picked up his cards and examined his hand, discarding three cards and taking three cards from the deck. “I do believe it is your turn to exchange.”

There was another long silence, while Nicholas made a valiant attempt to recover from his earlier dismay, plainly wrestling with indecision. Then he threw himself into the other chair with a self-disgusted growl. He picked up his cards and exchanged two.

“Well?”

“Well what? It is your declaration, not mine.” Nicholas' head was bowed, his face almost completely hidden by his unruly, unbewigged hair, but his voice was defiant. He threw his cards on the table and drank his glass of wine down. William obligingly refilled it.

“So it is. Very well. I have point of five.”

“Holy Mother of God. To hell with you, and to hell with your games. I'll not be a part of this longer. If you have something to say or do, then say it or do it. Captain.”

“Master Gallowglass. Nicholas.” William sighed impatiently. “An armed Irishman – a most unlikely creature, I am sure you will agree, not to mention illegal -- on a galleon bound for Spain – again unusual in and of itself -- calls to mind some things.” He paused briefly, thinking of the chaos and aftermath of the Glorious Revolution of 1688 and the Williamite War in Ireland. Except ultimately it hadn't ended at all gloriously for Irish Catholics, had it? It was hard to comprehend, what it would be like to find oneself dispossessed, disarmed, and disenfranchised in one's own homeland, and he wondered if he could have endured it if he could never return to his own beloved Bermuda.

“And your name... Gallowglass. Are you one?”

Nicholas settled back into his chair and laughed a bit grimly. “As if you care about illegalities. You're a pirate, are you not? And don't be daft, there are no gallowglass any longer. It may be that me auld granda's granda was one though.” His accent coarsened self-mockingly.

“This is a merchant vessel, as it happens, with a perfectly legal letter of marque for privateering. Not a pirate ship. Do we really seem like such?” William's mouth quirked up in amusement. “But you are a soldier, perhaps.” He folded his hands on the table in front of him, long fingers twined together slightly as he listened, his dark hair concealing his own eyes.

“Perhaps... not a soldier. Not any longer, in any event.” Nicholas' mouth twisted a bit. “My commission would appear to have expired.” He smiled then, a bit ruefully, and drank down his wine.

“It has been five or so years since the rebellion was cru- since it all ended. You must have been very young.” He refilled Nicholas' glass.

“I was 16 when it ended, old enough. And... Rebellion. Aye, such as you would call it that.” He sneered, but his voice was haunted and quiet, and his eyes fell shut, long lashes a dark smudge against high cheekbones. “I could never have imagined... I never thought it would end so. We lost everything and gained nothing, and the fields at Aughrim will heave bones for generations to come.”

“Even so. And so, you are a Jacobite, and a traitor to the throne. A spy perhaps?”

“A spy?” Nicholas laughed and ran his hands through his almost-crimson hair. It was... distracting. “Surely, a spy that everyone everywhere would remember. No. I am the most loyal of men to the throne. And if I am a traitor, it is to yon Dutch pretender now, is it not?”

He paused and passed a tired, elegant hand over his eyes. “Ah well. There is no place for me any longer. And I can't be a soldier for you English, can I? Even if I would. We're doubly tarnished goods, we Irish Catholics. And soldiering is all I know. Except playing cards. And perhaps making love to beautiful women.” He opened his eyes and fixed his fierce gaze on William and shrugged. His voice was hard. “But none of it matters now, and I could give a shit. I have nothing. I am nothing. So whatever you may choose to do with me now is also nothing. Nothing. ”

William smiled, a tiny, secret smile. “Is that so. We will see, perhaps. In the meantime, I believe it is your declaration. More wine?”

Nicholas offered his empty wine glass for a refill. “So then. What is it you want from me?” At least he sounded merely wary, and not hostile.

William looked up from his cards and poured more wine. “I am not your enemy, you know.”

“Ah. I imagined it all, then: my voyage rudely interrupted, my person accosted and kidnapped, my money and my sword taken.”

William bit his lip. “Well. I admit that it does look badly. Although, seeing that galleon listing in the waves like a sow in mud, just crying out for us to claim her, was more than a rational man could be expected to bear. But be that as it may, I have no intention of trying to ransom you, or delivering you to the Admiralty.”

Nicholas shrugged. “So then, where are you headed? I am free to go when you get there?”

“If you wish. Of course, it might prove a trifle awkward to get to Spain or France from one of the British islands. We're heading to Nevis Island, currently.” William sipped his wine.

“I'll manage. I always do.” But Nicholas sounded uncertain. “It would be easier if I had my sword.”

William smiled. “I am sure it would. But I think I will hold on to it for now. If you don't mind.”

“It's the only thing I own. Besides my spare clothes. Which you also took.” Nicholas' voice was angry again, and he met William's eyes squarely and placed his cards on the table with a snap.

“Enough of this. Why am I here, William? Again, what is it you want from me? I want the truth, or I swear it, I will leave here now and the next and last thing you will see of me is my back as I leave this ship. I already told you, I could give a shit. Jumping over the rail is no hardship.” Nicholas rose from his seat, and gave him a long, enigmatic glance. He sounded so calm, so determined, and so final, and all at once William was panicked and floundering in uncharted waters.

“No! Nicholas, please. Wait. Let me explain. If I can.” William set his cards down and drew a deep breath, closing his eyes... trying desperately to think of a way to convey ideas and thoughts he himself didn't understand. He had to fight himself to not grasp Nicholas' arms, to make him sit back down and stay here, with William. But he didn't want to actually force Nicholas to do anything. Really, he didn't know exactly what it was that he did want. That was part of the problem.

At least Nicholas had stopped inching towards the door.

“I... I like to think of myself as a rational man. You probably noticed when you came in, my books, my scrolls, my charts, my machines and gadgets. I believe in science. I believe in the power of thought to solve problems. I don't believe in witches or fairies or the devil. Or that people can use magic either to help or to harm each other. I don't know if there is a God, but I think that nature and things that happen can be explained by logical processes. I try to use mathematics and the latest scientific discoveries in the things that I do, including sailing. I try to keep up with current scientific knowledge, and to keep myself educated. I like to read. I like to think. I like to know things, and to understand them. There's so much to learn, so many mysteries to solve, and not enough time in any number of lifetimes to possibly do or know everything. But I would if I could. I would spend my entire lifetime just learning if I could.” He smiled, a bit painfully.

“I am telling you all this, so you will understand that I don't understand. And I want to. But I don't know where to begin. I thought... perhaps if I talked to you, if I got to know you, I might be able to make some sense of it. But I still don't understand. But I know what I do know. I know that when I saw you fighting, saw your face across the deck on that galleon, that I knew you, as if we were the closest of... friends. And I know that isn't possible. But I also know, I know, that you know it too. Your face, when you saw me too, you see. And how you looked at me when I... when I hit you. So, that is why. I don't know how else to explain. But I would if I could, for you.” He tried to calm his breathing, order the chaos his thoughts, but his heart was racing wildly, and he had no control over that. He absolutely hated that he had no idea of what to do or say next to make things right.

There was a long silence, and then Nicholas stirred and sank back into his chair, letting his hair fall around his face.

“You shouldn't have done that, you shouldn't have interfered.” he mumbled at last, his voice a trifle sulky. “I could have handled it.”

William relaxed a trifle, and fought an urge to brush back a lock of bright hair from Nicholas' cheek. Instead he filled his wine glass and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed, and William felt a shock of awareness.

“Nicholas. Really, I should have let you be killed? Because you had already wounded my crewmen, and they were quite angry. I could see there wasn't going to be... a peaceful resolution. I would do it again, exactly the same way, if I had to. There are many aspects of this situation that I am more than sorry about, I hope you will believe me. But that isn't one of them.”

Nicholas huffed derisively and placed his chin in his hand, regarding William intently. “You know what I think? I think you think too much. Some things, you know, some things are just the way they are, there isn't any explanation for them. Maybe taking things on faith isn't such a bad thing, sometimes, hey? I don't understand this... thing... either, and I am not sure how I feel about it, but I am not going to drive myself mad trying to figure it out, either. It's there now, I suppose I can live with that.”

“So. What else? I can tell you haven't told me everything.” Nicholas' eyes grew hooded and his gaze speculative. He stretched and his legs fell open a bit, perhaps accidentally. His mouth crooked, as if he was suppressing a smirk.

William blushed slightly and tried not to stare. It was so impolite. “Ah, well. If we're putting all our cards on the table, so to speak, I... I suppose I had some idea of wining and dining you, and, well. Seducing you.”

There was another long pause, during which Nicholas continued to watch him, his expression almost fascinated. “I see... well. No one has ever... seduced me before,” he remarked slowly. “You know, it's not really usually, umm, necessary.”

“Is that so?” William looked up at that, his voice suddenly lowering to a purr. “That seems to me to be a very great pity indeed.”

He reached across the table and took Nicholas' hand and brushed his fingers across the tender skin at the base of Nicholas' wrist, then butterfly-light up the inside of his palm, raising that elegant hand up to his lips and kissed the palm. William was most gratified to hear Nicholas' breath hitch, and sucked the tip of his index finger into his mouth, nibbling and sucking at the pad. He looked up through his lashes at Nicholas' face, meeting his gaze, while continuing to suck. Then he smiled and laced their fingers together and tugged Nicholas into his lap, his other hand settling lightly on Nicholas' hip.

Nicholas' hands drifted up and buried themselves in William's dark hair, and his mouth lowered hungrily, but William reached up and caressed the side of Nicholas' face, carding his long fingers in flame-colored hair.

“Shhh, shhhh. Let me, let me,” William whispered, placing tiny soft kisses on Nicholas' beautiful lips. His tongue flicked into the other man's mouth, gentle and teasing, then deeper, and oh, it was so much better than he had dared hope, because Nicholas tasted of wine and sweetness and something that was all himself, and he needed it. Nicholas moaned, and William was unable stop himself from kissing him harder. Nicholas' eyes were closed, his mouth soft and open, and his forehead rested against the top of William's head. He was shivering, and William's lips brushed the soft skin at the side of his jaw.

William's hand fell free from Nicholas' hair, and edged to the front of his waistcoat. “Too many buttons,” he whispered breathlessly, laughing a bit. He fumbled the row of buttons open and tugged up Nicholas' shirt from his breeches, easing his hand underneath, lightly drawing his nails up the warm skin of of Nicholas' stomach and up to his nipples, massaging and teasing, while he buried his face in the crook of Nicholas' neck and gave delicate little licks and nips up the side of his throat. Nicholas threw his head back and groaned, clutching at William's shoulders.

William stroked down and was gratified to note the tightness of Nicholas' breeches. “I think we need to get these clothes off you,” he murmured, delicately caressing the curve of Nicholas' ear with his tongue. He gently pushed Nicholas off his lap and stood. Nicholas swayed, and his eyes were dark and a little wild.

“William, I don't... I can't...” His hands grasped the front of William's waistcoat, and they were shaking.

“You're so beautiful,” William whispered into Nicholas' mouth. “I had no idea you were so responsive, so passionate.” He kissed him softly, deeply, and undid the buttons fastening the flap on Nicholas' breeches, easing his hand down and brushing his fingers along the length of the other man's cock. Nicholas was hard, so hard, and ready, and William was unable to resist a quick stroke, his fingers swirling in wetness.

He undid Nicholas' cravat and began freeing the layers of waistcoast, justaucorps, and shirt, laying them neatly on his chair. “Shoes and stockings too,” he murmured, and fell to his knees, smiling up at Nicholas through his lashes. His fingers deftly removed shoes and unfastened garters, pulling off breeches, and then Nicholas was naked, and William laid his cheek at the juncture of Nicholas thigh and stomach, his fingers holding his hips firmly in place. Then he bent his head and licked hard and fast up the side of Nicholas' cock, restraining him as he flinched back.

“Oh god, oh god, oh fuck,” Nicholas breathed, burying his fingers in William's hair and pulling his head closer. William's eyes closed as he took the entire cock in his mouth and sucked and licked, his lashes dark and luxurious against the fairness of his skin. “William, please, please...” Nicholas twisted his fingers restlessly in coffee-colored strands. He sounded desperate, and William paused, looking up.

“Oh, are you begging me, then, Nicholas?” His smile went a bit wicked. He gave a final lick, swirling his tongue around the head, and then rose, walking Nicholas backwards to the bed, their mouths joined in wet, messy kisses. He gave a little push, and then Nicholas lay sprawled on the velvet spread, and William could only stare. He didn't exactly match the pictures in William's imaginings: Nicholas' body bore the scars and marks of a life that had been hard-lived, but the reality was better, so much better, and William couldn't restrain a groan. He undressed quickly, not bothering with folding his clothes, and joined Nicholas, his thigh nudging open Nicholas' legs, his hands roaming and teasing over hard planes and muscles. His own cock rubbed against the other man's stomach, and he was unable to stop himself from thrusting up.

Nicholas reached up and cupped William's face, kissing him fiercely, and William lost himself in pleasure for a few minutes. Then he pushed Nicholas back, straddling his hips and grasping his wrists. “Hold them there by your side, don't move your hands until I tell you.” He bent and licked up the side of Nicholas' neck, nuzzling at his ear. “Or I'll tie you down. Or would you like that, Nicholas, being tied to my bed?” Nicholas whimpered, and his cock jerked.

“Oh god, oh god, tying me down with words...” He panted breathlessly. “That's... that's...”

“Shhhh, my Nicholas. Shhhh.” He bent his head and bit lightly at Nicholas' nipple, his tongue stroking it hard. Nicholas cried out and arched, and William moved his mouth down his belly, kissing the scars he came across, tongue flicking and stroking across Nicholas' cock until the other man was shaking and writhing uncontrollably. His hands were frozen at his sides, and William sucked hard on his fingers.

“Oh god, William, William, please, please, I'll do anything, anything, just, please...” his voice broke and William lay over him and kissed him deeply and a little roughly.

“There's only one first time, so who should it be, Nicholas, me or you?” he rasped, his forehead resting against Nicholas' shoulder, his breath harsh and uneven. Nicholas turned his head and his kiss-swollen lips grazed the thumb stroking lightly over his cheek.

“Me, please, please, William. I want you, I want you to fuck me so much,” he moaned. “Please.”

William sat up, reached under his pillows and drew out a jar of cold cream, warming it in his hands, then sliding his fingers between Nicholas' legs and into his hole, twisting and loosening. He covered his cock with the cream, then draped and held Nicholas' leg over his own hip, and entered him slowly and gently. Nicholas groaned and pushed himself down on William until they were joined all the way.

“William, hard and fast, I want it. Do it...” He wrapped his legs around William's waist and drew him down.

“You're so impatient,” chided William, but he laughed quietly and thrust two fingers in Nicholas' mouth and began moving powerfully, head thrown back, caught up in the heat and the tightness and the... rightness... of being with Nicholas. “Touch yourself, I want to watch.” His eyes were half-closed, and Nicholas moaned, grabbing his cock and moving his hand almost roughly, sucking and biting at William's fingers.

He jerked his head to the side, releasing William's fingers and gasped, “William, I'm close...” and William embraced him tightly and surged up hard and strong and fast, and kissed Nicholas, pouring every bit of his longing and desire into the touch of his lips and his uncontrolled and unbidden whispered words of passion and yearning, and then he came so hard that he lost himself for a time. And when he returned to reality, he was draped over Nicholas, and Nicholas was tenderly stroking the hair back from his cheek, and kissing his lips softly and sleepily.

He spooned himself against William's back, arranging his legs and put his arm around William's waist, pulling him close. “Shhhh, my William, sleep now and rest. We'll talk tomorrow. And next time it's your turn.”

William smiled and cuddled into that so-familiar warmth, closing his eyes. “As you say, Nicholas. As you say.”