To the reviewer (you know who you are -stern look-) who repeatedly mentioned a dark pirate!story with just UKCan. Here you go!
-smirks- Except its IlluminatedShadow's take on dark and pirate and UKCan. OHOHOHO~
Yeah, so I might take prompts. But don't expect it to be perfect because I'm a free spirit and all that shit.
...Okay, I'm sorry. I am kinda picky, I try not to be. I've already got another UKCan (two words: street performer :D) in the works. You guys know what pairings I write so don't be upset if I don't actually accept a prompt.
Anyways, I had a blast writing this. Probably one of my most favorite things I've written.
Warnings: pirate!au, cross-dressing, slash, language, OOCness, fail (lots of it) and inappropriate mood whiplash
Pairings: Guess. :)
Disclaimer: It's a good thing I don't own Hetalia.
Matthew bit back a hissed curse as the pirate manhandled him to the center of the deck, pushing him down onto the worn wooden planks with a sneer. Violet eyes glared hatefully at the visibly unwashed man and when the other gave him a wide smirk in return, decayed teeth and gaps greeting Matthew, the blond turned away and stared steadfast towards the stern.
"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" Another pirate sniggered and Matthew's expression darkened further.
If his sister survived the attack on Port Royal, he would murder her.
His fingers tightened in the top most layer of fabric, crinkling the expensive satin. He almost couldn't breathe with the corset shoving his insides together—and no wonder Amelia was in a foul mood whenever she had to wear the blasted things—and he was practically drowning in petticoats and chenille lace and ribbons. His hair, normally held back with a simple ribbon, was loose and in ringlets around his face. He had lost his sister's favorite hat sometime in the struggle, more concerned with fighting off three pirates with a rapier while his sister, her fiancé Lord Bonnefoy and Amelia's true love (and her fiancé's younger sister Madeline) fled to safety.
Oh what he did for his sister's happiness.
Matthew wasn't pleased when Amelia rushed into his room and held his face in her hands and admitted that she was smitten with Lord Bonnefoy's younger sister Madeline and wouldn't he please accompany her that night for dinner so she could charm her and oh, by the way, you must pretend to be me so as to distract my fiancé.
"We are going to hell for this." Matthew had hissed at her from behind a lace fan.
Amelia, hair pinned back cleverly and wearing his best doublet, had merely pinched his cheek and smiled smugly.
Matthew almost wished he was in hell.
He was staring down at the soft pink fabric, ribbons and bows fluttering down his chest and the high collar that disguised the fact that he was not a woman. He shuddered and tightened his grip on the skirt, sickened by the loud, raunchy frivolity of the crew. Matthew was, however, glad to be here because it could very easily be his sister or Lady Madeline and he didn't think he could bear the thought of that.
And, he thought with a glimmer of vicious satisfaction bubbling in his chest, he had managed to kill one pirate in the struggle before four others rushed to subdue him.
"This bitch has a temper." Another pirate, still bleeding from the sting of Matthew's rapier against his cheek, had snarled, grabbing his hair and tugging in rage.
Matthew's scalp burned, his pride stung, and he wanted the dread Pirate Kirkland to just show up so he could get this entire night over with.
Port Royal was smoking in the background and the sea was surprisingly docile despite the destruction that had happened hours before.
"The Captain won't mind if we have ourselves a little taste?" Another pirate mused aloud, elbowing a crewmate. "Get the bitch nice and ready, yeah?"
There was a murmur of agreement and Matthew felt his stomach clench and twist.
But, it was then, that a door slammed open, wood echoing, and was followed by deliberate footsteps making their way down the deck.
Matthew held his breath, seeing the worn black tips of boots enter his line of vision.
"So." The newcomer began, tone almost casually cavalier. "This is the girl who killed Thomas?"
No one responded.
"And whom injured John?" The man was now circling around Matthew, his gaze on the other's downturned head. "This is the girl who managed to hold off the lot of you and needed to be bashed about the head before she could be contained?"
Matthew almost smirked, the throbbing at the back of his skull a testament to the other's words.
The pirate stopped after completing a circle. "You, missy." He began, one gloved hand settling on Matthew's head gently. "You are quite the fantastical woman." He mused before his grip tightened like lightning and he tugged Matthew to his feet. "I hate those sort of women." He said darkly and Matthew was forced to meet his eyes.
The dread pirate Captain Arthur Kirkland had one bright green eye (the other hidden by a black leather eye patch) and it was focused directly on Matthew's face.
Matthew gulped, a little fearful of the rage on the other's face. But the captain had redirected his fury to the crew, though his grip on Matthew didn't falter.
"And you lot." He wasn't yelling but enough malice dripped from his words that the crew was cowed. "A mere girl in petticoats and gloves kept you busy and not even in pleasure." He sneered, shaking Matthew for emphasis.
"She had a rapier." One pirate ventured cautiously.
Without even glancing at the man, Captain Kirkland pulled out a pistol and shot him in the head. The man dropped and the rest of the crew scarcely drew breath.
"Any more excuses?" The man asked casually, pistol still smoking and leaning casually up to his temple. When no other spoke, he put it away. "Perhaps, lads, I need to remind you what you should do with lovely ladies, especially when they make you look like buffoons, instead of dragging them back to my ship." The Captain paused, giving Matthew a faintly apologetic look. "Begging your pardon, miss." He said with a sardonic nod.
And he ripped open the bodice of Matthew's dress, tearing through the ruffles and silk easily. Matthew, violet eyes wide open, began to struggle, putting up a decent fight as he shoved and kicked and clawed at the other man.
The pirate merely smirked, fingers shoving up the mass of skirts. "I rather like some fight in my whores."
The rest of the crew jeered as Arthur managed to get Matthew down to the deck, pressing his weight against the other. Matthew lashed out, kicking him hard in the shin and earning a furious glare. The tussle, perhaps playful in the beginning since Arthur believed Matthew would swoon upon having his virtue compromised and still decided to underestimate the 'woman' who put up a good fight, turned sour with Arthur actively trying to pin Matthew down but the blond continued to twist and grunt and even got a few good hits in.
Finally Arthur slapped him and Matthew, a little stunned, just blinked and waited in terror as Arthur shoved aside masses of lace and layers of fabric to grope at his stocking covered legs and up to his undergarments. And Matthew began to struggle anew, thinking that if this was how a gentlewoman was treated, how would a young lord be?
But Arthur snarled at him to be still and Matthew felt the other's gloved hands squeeze his thigh and then skirt his privates and then brush across his soft member and still.
And the Captain, eye narrowing and monstrous eyebrows furrowing, stilled for a split second before widening.
And Matthew took the opportunity to punch him.
The entire boat was silent. Even the ocean stilled and the breeze dared not blow.
The crew stared in shock as their captain jerked back, hand coming up to cradle his cheek where Matthew had struck him, the area already turning red.
Matthew, breathing heavily, scrambling back, rearranging the skirts and heart racing in his throat. He managed to gather himself, pulling together the tattered bodice and holding it together in an image of propriety.
"Wench." Arthur hissed, green eye sparking with cold anger. "Take her to my quarters."
Matthew was thrown against the bed unceremoniously, catching himself against the carved post as he slid down to his knees, forehead pressed to the unyielding wood. His knuckles throbbed and he felt cold and he couldn't breathe and he was sca—
It seemed like forever until the Captain entered.
Matthew glanced up at him, eyes red and wary.
But the Captain seemed to ignore him, taking his time to pull off the scarlet waistcoat and tricorn with the long, white feather. Next, he poured himself a bit of rum from a decanter on the antique table, the light of dawn glinting off his gold rings and catching on the glass.
Matthew could only watch.
Finally, the man spoke "Strip." He said coolly, taking a sip from the glass.
Matthew had already lost much of his dignity. He would not hand the rest over willingly.
The Captain, sensing this, sighed and said, his sandy hair falling into his face. "Or I can turn this ship around, find your sister and let my crew at her." He smiled, deceptively gentle. "Months at sea without a woman's soft skin. It's terrible."
"You're despicable." Matthew retorted, voice carrying a tremble.
The man shrugged and gestured for Matthew to get on with it.
Matthew, feeling the rocking of the waves under him and thinking that they couldn't be too far from shore, stood, barely stumbling despite the steady rocking, and began to struggle with the complicated ties and slick fabric of the ruined dress. Eventually he managed to shrug off the top of the dress, the pretty pink fabric crumbling around his sharpness and falling to his feet as he stepped out of the gown in just the corset and chemise.
The pirate smirked. "You call yourself a man." He mocked.
"Still more a man than you." Matthew responded evenly, cheeks red in humiliation and restrained rage. "You filthy pirate."
"Sticks and stones, love." Captain Kirkland responded, smirk not diminishing.
"I will see you hanged."
"You and the rest of London, I wager." The other regarded him coolly. "Need help with that blasted thing?"
"I'd sooner die." Matthew snapped lowly and within three steps, the dread pirate captain had shoved him face first into the bed and was kneeling behind him.
"Listen up, boy." He hissed, hand gripping the ties of the corset in the back and tugging so Matthew gasped at the added pressure on his ribs. Spots of black sparked in his vision and Matthew whimpered when the other pulled harder. "You killed one of my best men, injured others, and almost made me look like a fool in front of my crew." He tugged harder, ribbon entwined between his fingers, and Matthew gasped, tears beginning at the corners of his eyes, as his torso was pulled upwards and he was parallel to the other man, his warm breath at his ear. "If death is what you seek, seek it elsewhere because I will have my revenge even if I have to drag it out of your pretty, little mouth."
Matthew was confined to the Captain's quarters for the next few weeks, forced to wear the tatters of the gown and sleep next to the man.
"You did come as a woman." Captain Kirkland had mocked when Matthew struggled to put on the gown in the morning. "And that color is so lovely on you, m'lady."
Matthew hated the pirate. He rarely hated, preferring to ignore and overlook others since he was so barely noticed next to his vivacious younger sister that he was never slighted terribly.
The Captain never physically touched him, but his torment came in other forms. Matthew was forced to continue his charade. He was forced to share a bed.
The first night, Matthew had stubbornly stood there and swore to sleep on the floor. The Captain had dragged him to bed and lashed him to the bedpost with rope. Matthew had struggled even after the pirate fell asleep and was rewarded with wrists rubbed raw and bleeding down his forearms.
This had continued for a week until Matthew acquiesced and went quietly.
But he did not sleep the first few nights. Between the rocking of the boat and the endless terror and endless longing for home, he perhaps was only granted a few, fleeting moments of rest and he would be exhausted come dawn.
Matthew lay quietly, watching as the other man's chest rose and fell. Then, slowly, the blond sat up, chemise rustling (what? He wouldn't sleep nude!), taking a better look at his captor.
The pirate was snoring quietly, moonlight casting long lines across his face and highlighting the broken tilt of his nose and the faint, pink scar across the flat, slightly drooping eyelid of his right eye that was normally hidden by the eye patch. To say the truth, Matthew had expected a grotesque mess of skin, discolored and hideous, under that piece of leather. But, it seemed only slightly off-putting.
Matthew wondered, off-handedly, it happened. The dread pirate captain was still a brilliant shot.
He leaned over, ignoring the golden baubles the other was found of wearing in his ears and the loose linen shirt the other donned for bed.
The man, sandy hair mussed and mouth slightly parted, was asleep.
Matthew, lips pursed in thought, made a decision.
And he was about to bring his pillow down on the other's face, intent on smothering the slumbering pirate, but the gentle cocking of a pistol accompanied by cold metal pressed to his stomach stopped him.
Eyes still shut, the other said, calmly, "Rather uncreative, don't ye think?"
Matthew reluctantly lowered the pillow and held it to his chest. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it when no words came.
So, the pirate, eyes still shut, removed the pistol. "Go to sleep, git."
He was decently fed, eating the same things the Captain would have but he'd be treated to an entire dinner of the other watching him with barely disguised interest and amusement and Matthew often found himself lacking an appetite. The Captain often teased him, dragging the other to the edge of tears and almost liking the frayed bits of Matthew and tugging at them whenever he felt the urge to bully.
The breaking point came when Matthew found a weevil in his bread and pushed away the plate, sharp nose upturned when Arthur glanced at him.
"This isn't your manor, my lord." The other said coldly. "The cook slaved the entire day in the galley for this meal and you ought show some respect."
Matthew would've retorted with a scathing comment on how respect was earned and that no pirate would have his respect but instead he remained silent, fonder of the silent treatment because he realized that the pirate liked it when he fought back.
So he didn't.
The other tilted his head, a vaguely cruel smile growing on his lips. Then, purposefully, he picked up the wriggling thing and held it up to Matthew's lips and ordered, "Eat it."
Matthew shook his head, repulsed and Arthur, undeterred, brought the thing to his lips, his other hand cradling his skull, and Matthew grabbed his wrist and soon it turned into another altercation with Arthur swearing at him and Matthew turning his face away.
Finally Matthew slapped his hand away and, in doing so, managed to topple his chair over and hitting the ground sparked something in him and weeks of being trapped on the ship and at the pirate's mercy came to a head and something held taut snapped and Matthew broke.
Arthur just watched as the younger man began to sob, giant tremors overtaking his body as he cried into the planks. Face hidden in his arms and that ridiculously feminine dress pooled around him, Matthew cried.
Matthew's sobbing began to taper to silence, tears drying on his chapped cheeks and eyes burning. He slowly straightened, wiping his face roughly with the lacy sleeves as well as his dripping nose, ignoring the pain in his lower back as he looked around the empty cabin.
The dinner was forgotten on the table and the weevil seemed to be watching Matthew from the table.
Captain Kirkland was gone.
The moon filtered through the single window with its wooden frame and cast crosses on the ground and Matthew, stray sobs overcoming him ever so often, pushed his self off the floor, embarrassed by his moment of weakness.
Amelia had forced him to eat leaves as a child and even a worm on occasion as a dare and she, in turn, digested a fair share of detestable things during their childhood in England.
But that was his sister and this was a despicable criminal who merely wanted to break him.
And he let him win, Matthew noted bitterly, rising to his feet and glaring at the now filthy pink of the dress. He was tired. He was of the forgotten now. Who knows if his family were still looking for him. And on top of it all, he was filthy, foul smelling and grimy and he was fairly certain his own mother wouldn't recognize him if she were to see him again.
Seeing his reflection in the polished silver that the pirate had on the wall, Matthew almost didn't recognize himself either. His blond hair hung in tangles around his face and his face was shiny and Matthew grimaced upon glancing at his fingernails and ruined wrists.
If his nanny was here, she'd kill him.
Cleanliness was next to godliness.
She was of the opinion that people should bathe more often, especially in the Caribbean heat.
Matthew just smiled ruefully at his reflection and, ignoring the cold food, picked up the weevil and put him on the window frame.
The next day, the boat wasn't moving.
Matthew opened his eyes, blinking blearing and catching sight of the pirate pulling on his worn, leather boots, his white shirt rustling as he adjusted his cutlass, paying him no mind and giving no indication of the previous night.
The blond sat up and tried to stand but found himself stuck. Eyes widening, Matthew strained his neck and caught sight of ropes tying him to the headboard.
"Can't have you escaping on us, can we?" The pirate said quietly, a haughty expression on his face. "Besides, there be bad men out there with a fondness for pretty things." He added, a laugh in his tone. Then, a foot away from the door, the pirate said, quietly, "It's best if ye get used to this. This is your lot. Accept it."
Matthew flushed and settled for glaring as the Captain exited, locking the door behind him.
It was night when the Captain came back, reeking slightly of rum and perfume. "Come on then." He muttered, untying Matthew and dragging him off the bed, growling when the other stumbled. "You stink and I won't have you ruining the sheets."
"You could put me in the bilge." Matthew suggested snidely but the pirate paid him no mind, leading him out of the room and down the gangplank.
Captain Kirkland led him to a hovel of a hotel, past his crew who were elbow deep in merriment, loose women, and rum and up a creaky set of stairs to a fairly clean room with a tub set up in the center.
Then, shoving Matthew towards the tub, he said, "Wash yourself. I even got you something better than those rags." And he left, leaving Matthew to wash.
Matthew waited five minutes before opening the door and coming eye to eye with a burly man with jagged scars across his face and barrel chest.
"Captain's orders." The man said in a gruff voice, giving the other a disdainful look.
Matthew pressed his lips into a thin line and slammed the door, heading towards the window and prepared to climb down. But, just as he leaned down, a shot rang out and he felt his hair flutter, a few golden strands falling pathetically to the ground.
He quickly withdrew his head and stamped his foot in frustration, crossing his arms and glaring at the chipped tub of water.
Then he began to disrobe reluctantly, letting the ruined fabric fall to his feet before he made his way to the tub and slipped into the lukewarm water.
"Brought you a bit of soap." Arthur's voice interrupted his furious scrubbing before something hit the water.
Good grooming prompted Matthew to murmur a quiet thanks. He grabbed the tiny soap from the bottom of the now murky water and lathered it up between his palms and began to smooth it across his arms and chest and scrubbing it into his hair, even lifting his legs from the water and giving them a cursory swipe.
He stiffened when the pirate came next to the tub and knelt, tilting his head and watching him with a curious eye.
Matthew began to lower his leg, feeling very uncomfortable but the other stopped him, cradling his calf with one hand.
"Unhand me." Matthew said quietly.
"For a genteel young master, your manners are atrocious." The pirate mused aloud.
"And for a pirate, your manner of speaking is suspect." He responded and the pirate grinned at him, revealing a gold tooth.
"I was once a boy of good breeding, love." He whispered. "But I much prefer being a gentleman o' fortune than a dandy and slave to the fashions of the French court." He let go of Matthew's leg and instead focused on fussing with Matthew's wet curls that clung to his cold cheeks. "But, upon meeting you, love, I have lost whatever good fortune I had." He smeared the gold across Matthew's cheeks, the leather of his gloves catching strands of hair. "You killed my navigator—why he was off the ship, I haven't the foggiest so perhaps he deserved it. Now, we be stuck in a town full of ninnies and tits and no one who can read a bloody map." His hand stalled and Matthew almost braced himself for a slap.
But Arthur merely patted his face lightly and stood up. "Come on then." He demanded. "You're clean enough."
Matthew merely stared at him. "Could you leave?" He waited for the pirate to do so as he had in the past.
"I could, but I shan't." The sandy-haired man shrugged and smirked. "Besides, can't have ye trying to escape again."
Matthew glowered, this time in a more revealing, crimson dress that was meant to push up a lady's bosom but did nothing for him. White lace spouted from long red sleeves and at least this time he did not have to wear a corset. And that it was clean.
"Not much of a woman, is she?" One crewmember sniggered as they passed.
"Not much of a woman at all." The Captain said cheerfully, earning a round of laughter as they crossed the deck.
Matthew took it in stride, having heard it all before. His face was a shade too feminine and, if it weren't for his glasses (which were now lost, probably in pieces in Bonnefoy's parlor) and well-tailored suits, he'd be able to pass easier as a woman back home. However, Amelia, his twin's face was a shade too masculine. Her jaw was square and was cursed with broader shoulders. She wasn't small and was always too loud to be a proper lady.
"Don't look so insulted." The Captain rolled his eyes, pushing Matthew into the room and shutting the door. "The rest of you is dainty enough."
"I will rejoice when the floor gives way beneath your feet and you're left to rot as a warning to others of your kind." Matthew vowed, gathering up his skirts and curling up on the bed, his back to Arthur.
"…You're more bothersome than a real wench."
Matthew stared at the bit of apple hanging onto Arthur's dagger and then glanced the pirate.
"No, thank you." He demurred, going back to methodically shredding his bread for weevils.
"Wasn't a request." Arthur said coldly, the sharp tip of the blade suddenly pressed to Matthew's lips. "Won't put myself or the crew at risk because of your delicate sensibilities, now eat the bloody fruit or I will make you."
Matthew could feel cold steel against his lip and, eyes frosty, he obediently opened his mouth and neatly took the bite of apple, earning a semi-pleased look from the other. Once he finished chewing, Arthur had sliced another bit of the green fruit and was holding it to his lips.
There was a cold, heavy sort of tenseness, then, and Matthew felt a strange pressure on his chest, fearful, almost, of the way Arthur was looking at him. It was predatory, as it always was, but there was something else in the depths of his eye and Matthew, grudgingly, had come to count on the other's quiet snoring and cold idiosyncrasies and this was horrifyingly new and Matthew, shaken, reluctantly accepted the next bite and the next and the next. The sweet tartness of the apple's juice mingled with the old taste of leather on his lips and Matthew shuddered when the other smeared some lingering stickiness across his cheeks as he cradled his face and leaned in.
Matthew turned his face and shoved the pirate away, scrambling out of his seat, back to the door and body coiled in wariness.
But the pirate captain merely shook his head and laughed, hollow and cold, before giving him a mirthless look. "Of course, of course." He leaned back in his seat, imperial and statue-like, and watched Matthew.
One day, Matthew managed to pick the lock and stepped out onto deck.
And all the bustling stopped.
Arthur, up on the quarterdeck, looked down, having realized that no one was answering his commands.
Matthew met his gaze evenly and then, admitted with a little shrug, "I just wanted to see if I could. I'll go back, no need to drag me by my hair." He sighed and started to head back inwards before Arthur interrupted.
"Try not to be a nuisance or I'll have you lashed to the mast in your drawers." He drawled, before turning on his heel and barking for the rest of the men to get back to work.
"Women, tits or not, are bad luck on a boat." Someone whispered loudly.
A gunshot rang out and that man fell to the deck, blood pooling around his head.
"Oh bloody hell." Arthur swore. "Was that the new navigator?"
Arthur swore again and stormed down the stairs. He glared at the corpse, eyebrows knitted, and then sighed. "Can't be helped."
"Perhaps if you didn't keep shooting every man who spoke at you wrong. What's wrong with a flogging?" The first mate pointed out, quietly, his dark eyes almost annoyed.
"Well perhaps if the men realized not to speak when I desired no response, I wouldn't have to shoot them, now would I, my dear Welshman?"
Matthew returned to the Captain's quarters. Maybe tomorrow.
"Didn't expect ye to grace us with you presence." Arthur mocked, green eyes flicking over Matthew who was attempting to undo the laces in the back of the crimson gown.
"I just wanted some fresh air." Matthew huffed, fingertips grazing the topmost tie between his shoulder blades, his arm at an awkward angle.
He was just about to try another angle when he felt the pirate move directly behind him and place his hands on his biceps.
Matthew stiffened, nose wrinkling when the other, smelling of salt and sweat and spice, pressed closer, his nose poking the crook of Matthew's neck. Scowling, the blond was prepared to elbow him when the other's hands began to trail down his arms, briefly squeezing his fingers, before falling to tangle in the voluminous skirts. But he didn't say anything, cheeks burning, as the hands pressed against him, despite the mass of fabric, molding against his thighs before swooping upwards, one on his waist and the other splayed against his stomach, pulling him close.
"I am not a woman." Matthew whispered, cold fear settling in the pit of his stomach.
He could hear the smirk in the other's tone, feel the sharp slit of a smile against his neck, when the other whispered, "I know." And his hands slithered upwards, cradling the flat bust of the gown. Matthew barely felt the hands, could only feel the pressure, but it didn't hold back the shudder of disgust.
"Do I repulse you, pet?" Arthur asked, innocently, still cradling Matthew's nonexistent bosom.
Matthew was well aware of the strangeness, thank you.
So am I. Painfully so.
The dread pirate didn't care.
"Even after my kindness? My hospitality?" The other whispered and Matthew stared down at the gold and green rings that adorned scarred fingers that looked at home on the blood-red fabric. "I even let you share my bed."
"The dread pirate captain Arthur Kirkland pays his respects to sin, dines with the Devil, and frightens even cruelty." Matthew retorted, heart racing and hoping Amelia would not hate him terribly for dying.
But Arthur just hummed thoughtfully. "Oh, is that what they be saying?" He pressed a kiss right at Matthew's pulse point. "Actually, pet, I dine with you. You're not quite the devil but please, lead me to sin and I'll pay my respects." His voice dropped, tone dark and curling as he added. "With pleasure."
The door slammed open, ricocheting off the wall, as Matthew sprinted out onto the deck, wheat blond hair blowing in the furious evening wind.
The crew that was out there gave him strange looks as he passed.
"Women." One man said quietly to a stocky red head.
The red head snorted, thoughtfully stroking his stubble as he watched the blond start climbing up to the crow's nest.
"Woman!" Arthur stormed out, in just his trousers and white shirt and boots, and shook his fist at the fleeing blond. "Get down here!" He bellowed.
Alistair, the red head, snorted and walked up to the furious captain. "You could shoot her." He suggested. "I mean, haven't you already had at her? Surely she isn't that good." He waggled his thick eyebrows at his half-brother and smirked when Arthur snarled at him. "Unless you haven't had her…"
"Of course I have!" Arthur snapped. "The hours I spend between her thighs…" He faltered briefly, trying to recall his last encounter with any woman. "Her supple thighs…and milky skin..." He trailed off.
"…She hasn't let you touch her, has she?"
Arthur grimaced and thought of the boy—and what was his name? he should probably ask soon—and realized that the boy would probably either throw himself overboard or cry if Arthur ever attempted to fuck him. He sighed and gave the other a dark glare. "Don't be so loud, ya bastard." He grumbled. "Should just throw the wench overboard."
"Want me to go talk to her?"
"I'd rather James went."
"Because Jamie knows how to talk to a woman." Alistair snorted. "I'll go get her majesty."
"I'm not coming down!" Matthew shouted shrilly, the raging wind drowning his soft voice. "You can kill me first. Or...or I'll jump!" He started to hoist himself over the edge of the tiny lookout.
"Calm down lass." The pirate rolled his eyes, navy blue eyes holding his gaze evenly as he stood, hands up soothingly. "What did Artie do?"
"He…" Matthew trailed off, suddenly realizing he ran out of the room because Arthur had kissed his neck. "…he kissed my neck."
"Oh the horror." The other said dryly. "No man will want you now."
Matthew glared, cheeks heating up. The longer he was in a dress, the less masculine he felt. He could practically feel his manhood shrivel.
And, knowing Amelia, his sister was probably having a blast wearing his trousers and doing deviant things with Lady Madeline.
…He never did fully consider the implications of his sister's indiscretions, did he?
"She's so dainty and soft-looking." Amelia had daydreamed. "I just want to kiss her brea—"
"Amelia!" Matthew had chided, shoving his sister into a quiet corner and out of sight of the Bonnefoy girl she was openly ogling. "Stop saying such things in public!"
Matthew was snapped out of his daydreams by the pirate bowing low, his shaggy red locks flowing loose. "Alistair Kirkland. Quartermaster and keeper of his wee brothers." He gave Matthew a roguish smile and Matthew hesitantly returned it.
But if this pirate attempted to kiss him too, he would jump.
"That was just uncalled for." Arthur sighed, staring at the blunt knife sticking out of his shoulder. "And it bloody well hurts too." With a put upon sigh, he tugged out the utensil with a grunt, its surface slick with blood, and gave Matthew a displeased frown. "My patience be wearing thin, boy." He warned, waving the bloody knife at Matthew. "And, frankly, I be a little hurt too. Perhaps I'm too soft on ye. No dessert."
"You're mocking me!" Matthew blurted out, before remembering that he had just tried, again, to kill the incredibly dangerous captain and was probably a well-placed word from death. He blanched and sort of curled in on himself.
But Arthur seemed uninterested in murdering him. "And this was my favorite shirt." He sighed, plucking the stained fabric between two fingers with distaste. "Better mend it—"
"I don't know how—"
"Not you." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Probably prick your finger and fall asleep and I'd have to kiss you awake and you'd probably run crying back to the crow's nest and only Alistair—that wanker—could get you to climb down." There was a moody, annoyed gleam to his words that Matthew didn't understand. "Why'd ye do it anyways?"
"What? Stab you?"
Arthur laughed, short and sharp and bitter. "Nay, I know why ye did that. You hate me. Why'd you run off?"
"Er…" Matthew blushed. "You frightened me."
"You weren't afraid of a stampede of pirates but the moment a man kisses ye, you run for the hills?"
"You're a pirate." Matthew said quietly, fiddling with a loose bit of lace on his sleeve.
"Still a man." Arthur said quietly, green eye focused on Matthew.
"You know…Art used to be a sweet boy." Alistair said conversationally one day, sweeping Matthew up and placing him on a barrel near the main mast as the rest of the crew bustled around them and as the swabs swabbed the deck, dirty water spilling over the sides of the majestic ship and into the waves.
"Was he?" Matthew said airily, having been foiled again that morning when he tried smother Arthur with a pillow at dawn and was denied breakfast as punishment, keeping his voice whisper soft as he watched the activity around them.
The Scottish man nodded emphatically. "Used to be all honey and tears…then he went away for schooling, came back…different. Joined the Navy, did fine and then…just walked away at one port. Comes back, years later with those ridiculous trinkets and missing an eye." He coughed, scratching the ginger stubble on his chin. "And our Ma begged us to keep an eye on him and so Jamie and I did. Regretted it since then, but, blood is blood."
Matthew nodded, catching the fleeting fondness in the other's tone and knew he didn't really regret it.
He didn't really regret switching clothes with Amelia that night either. And he'd do it again and again if necessary. Hopefully she was alright.
He didn't want to think too much about it, however, lest his thoughts turn dark.
"I know you're trying to kill my brother—and I'm not about to stop you because the idiot needs it—but, he's a good captain. He keeps these morons in line by being hard and fair and killing one or two now and again. But, if you're just trying to kill him for the principle of the matter, well, that's silly, lass." Alistair paused, briefly. "PETER. GET BACK TO WORK, YA BRAT." He shouted, catching the tiny cabin boy off guard and causing him to fall off the pile of crates where he was trying to reach the parrot someone had bought at the last port.
The parrot flew away, its bright emerald and yellow feathers fluttering, as the bird shrieked, "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!"
Matthew hid a smile at the disgruntled and sulky expression on the boy's face as he stormed off. Alistair, in turn, grinned at him and tousled his hair. "You're a good lass. I'll get ye something nice next time we spot land, Margie."
"Do you even know her name?" James asked, snapping the telescope shut and handing it off to another crewmember.
Arthur grunted, watching as Alistair and Matthew conversed. Then he promptly ordered the Scot to get back to work and turned on his heel, pacing on the quarterdeck and avoiding the helm.
"It's Margaret, Arthur. Margaret." The Welshman added. "And, you know my opinion of the matter. Women do not belong on a ship."
Arthur stilled. Margaret? He glanced at Matthew. The boy did look like a Margaret. Maybe it was related to his real name?
"—and furthermore, we need to get rid of her. Either ask for a ransom or leave her at a port."
"No." Arthur said firmly.
His other brother gave him a hard look, before it softened and he sighed loudly. "You poor bastard. You're besotted."
"I am not besotted." Arthur said darkly.
Matthew looked alarmed. "I should hope not." He wrinkled his nose at the dread pirate who was taking a swig of rum at his desk. He fiddled with a piece of pink ribbon in his hands and held it up to his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. "I can't do anything with my hair." He tsked, tugging lightly at the messy tangles. "It's too short and, bless Alistair, but this ribbon doesn't match my dress."
Arthur stared at the rim of the bottle and said, off-handedly with a shrug, "I think you look nice regardless."
There was a beat of silence.
Both men blanched.
"I hate this!" Matthew wailed. "I hate you."
"Oh, as though I'm enjoying this." Arthur spat, slamming the bottle onto the sturdy desk. "Do us both a favor and just jump overboard!"
"…Twit." Arthur muttered, staring down at the waterlogged and shivering blond.
Matthew gave him a withering look, hair plastered to his skull and a fine film of salt smeared across his face from when he tried to wipe it with a soggy sleeve. He opened his mouth to speak but instead began to cough, eyes watering, and seawater bubbling out of his mouth.
Alistair rolled his eyes and patted the shivering blond's back and murmured something soothingly over the other's hacking.
With an annoyed huff of air from his noise, Arthur, annoyed at seeing the way his brother fussed over Matthew, knelt down and picked up the wet and miserable boy, the sodden layers of the skirt hanging over his arms as he carried Matthew, not sulking, back to the cabin.
In the cabin, Arthur quickly began to undo the laces of the other's gown, pulling the soaking fabric down wet skin and ignoring Matthew's indignant sputters.
"Don't want to get sick, do ye?" Arthur snapped, green eye flashing. Matthew quieted and let the other unpeel his clothes. "Won't have you infecting the entire crew, either."
Once Matthew was undressed, the pirate threw the soaked dress in a corner of the cabin and grabbed a blanket from the bed, opening it with a flourish and wrapping it tightly around the now shaking boy.
Then it occurred to him.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Matthew." Matthew said, violet eyes downcast. "And I'm not going to call you Arthur, pirate."
"Then I'll keep calling you 'git'." Arthur rolled his eyes.
There was silence for a moment, Arthur just rubbing the rough wool against the other to warm him.
"I want to go home." Matthew whispered, curling in on himself. "My father would pay any ransom. And haven't you tormented me enough for your crewmember's death?"
Arthur didn't grin. "Don't want ransom." He admitted. "Are you so miserable here? You've even made friends."
Matthew gave him an incredulous look. "Alistair and Peter are good, that is true. But the rest of your crew gives me dirty looks. They attempt to flip up my skirts. You keep me in that ridiculous gown. You bully me. You—"
"You've tried to kill me." Arthur pointed out, tilting his head. "And I've put up with your ungrateful hide. You're fed, you're not in the bilge. And yet you still find reason to complain and insult me."
"You're a pirate." Matthew emphasized. "And you had me kidnapped after you pillaged my home."
"Is that it?"
"The lady doth protest too much, me thinks."
Matthew stared at him, eyes impossibly wide. "If I could, I'd punch you." He finally said, indigo eyes narrowing.
Arthur merely smirked and pulled the blanket tighter before tugging Matthew closer to him. "If I could, I'd fuck ye."
And, as he realized early on, Matthew attempted to run out the door.
And Arthur let go of him, only to watch with a grin as the blond tripped, tangled in the cocoon, and fell onto the hard wood. Landing with a thump, Matthew, cheeks bright pink, swore loudly. In French.
"Oh lovely. You speak French too." Arthur noted, disdainfully, stepping over the blond who was now grappling with the blanket.
Yeah...there's more. I'll post it later, if there's interest. -shrugs- It was getting ridiculously long haha.
Also, Matthew is in a dress because, well, Arthur is a dick and I kinda like putting him in dresses. I don't get to do it often. Also, I think that Matthew (and Alfred for the matter) could probably pass as girls in the right outfit. Also, Matt is maybe around 16 here so he's about Arthur's height.
And, yes, Arthur is missing an eye. Alistair is Scotland and James is Wales. They're based off the popular OC designs. Also, Amelia is fem!Alfred and Madeline is fem!Canada. Alfred might make an appearance in the next part. No this will not be a threesome.
Arthur's speech is weird because I didn't want to write all pirate speech or proper speech. He was from a well-to-do, educated family so his speech fluctuates at times. Also, I didn't give Scotland a Scottish accent or Wales a Welsh accent. It's distracting to me and I felt silly trying.
Arthur's also not phased by Matthew's attempts to kill him. It's not the first time people have tried to murder him. XD
Also, this is not a comedy. Nor is it an angst-fest. This could get darker. And more navigators might just die.
...So...how was it?