Until our next battle

The wood of the mast was rough against Benedict’s face as he was forcefully shoved against it
and agile fingers stripped his trousers from him. He was aware of the silent, staring eyes of
Tyrian&7;s 7;s crew and wondered vaguely what they thought about their captain fucking a pirate on
the deck before them. But he didn’t get to wonder very long, for soon his every thought process
was taken up with the strange sensations Tyrian was causing in his body. And all he was doing
was running his hands down Benedict’s bare back. But damn it was hot. Benedict’s erection
pressed against the uneven wood and he felt a shiver go through his body as he heard Tyrian’s
husky voice in his ear, “You want this so bad don’t you my lovely pirate, you want me to take
you, dominate you, make you mine, and make you love it.” He could feel Tyrian’s smile, “But
you don’t know what it feels like do you?” Things around him started to fade, and Tyrian’s voice
seemed to grow more powerful, without ever losing it’s husky, whispery quality, “Come to me
and I’ll show you.”

            Benedict awoke on his bunk, in his cabin with a raging hard on, and cursed. ‘He
destroyed your family. You hate him with a passion’. Benedict sternly reminded himself, starring
at the ceiling of his cabin as if it could save him. ‘But does he have to be so beautiful?’ He asked
it silently. It didn’t respond. Ceilings don’t know much about politeness. But they do know how
to keep a secret. Not like walls, you can’t trust them at all.

            Benedict felt his mind flash again to that fateful night when Tyrian, damn him, had once
again destroyed his life. It seemed he couldn’t get his mind to think about anything else. He’d
slipped into Tyriandamnhim’s cabin, intent on killing the bastard once and for all, but
Tyrianthebastarddamnhim had turned the tables on him and wrestled him to the floor with a
dagger to his throat. And then instead of killing him Tyrian had kissed him. Benedict’s face
flushed as he remembered that kiss, the spicy heat of Tyrianthatsexybastarddamnhim’s mouth.
The feeling of that mouth on his erection, erotically tracing a path with his tongue, followed by
the knife. The rich taste of Tyrian’s cock in his mouth, and the stream of sticky cum that had
filled his mouth when Tyrian had cum into it. The feeling of helplessness and how arousing it
had been to know that Tyrian could do whatever he wanted with him. And deep down Benedict
knew that the knife was irrelevant, knew that he’d enjoyed what Tyrian had done to him, enjoyed
what he’d done to Tyrian. And he wanted it again. He wanted Tyrian. And
Tyrianthatsmugsexybastarddamnhim knew it. He wanted Tyrian wi pas passion he didn’t know
anything other than revenge could inspire in him. But unlike revenge he didn’t know exactly
what he wanted or how to get it. Only that Tyrian, and Tyrian alone could give it to him. The
man he swore to kill. Benedict groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. What was he going
to do? The pillow didn’t have an answer. But it was there for him.