[We Interrupt Your Usual RP to Bring You... International Talk Like a Pirate Day!]

[kirktastic]

It was morning on the Enterprise, and it came with the slow creaking of wood deck around him, swelling in the heat of the morning, the sound of waves against the sides of the ship. Definitely a damn good way to wake up.

Even better was waking up between two warm bodies, one pressed to either side of him. On one side was his cabin boy, a young buck with a foolish head but a pleasing face and tongue. On the other, his first mate, a smug, stoic, uptight, ridiculously intelligent bastard who he had finally talked into ...sharing his bed. At least in the physical sense. He'd won the argument that the captain's bed was the most comfortable place on the ship, but anything beyond that was met with a pointed look and a reach for the sword hilt.

It was a damn good life here on the Enterprise.

He was Captain James T. Kirk of the pirate ship Enterprise, the most feared name on the open seas. He ran his crew with a mixture of charm, command, and the point of his sword. He was a good swordsman, a better brawler, and decent with a flint lock.

[OOC: This will be the ONLY pirate thread everyone, no multiple posts on multiple journals! Post just in here for this! Today only!]

Comments

[mirror-brightly.livejournal.com]

"Nohhua," Nero hisses in response, a correction, and a light laugh breaks his heavy breathing. His eyes part briefly, half lidded as he sneers, grinding back faster, more demanding, unable to keep the pace of the waves any longer. His vision lands lazily on Ephram's hand and he shifts, pinning it beneath his own. His fingers card between the Foriegn Marshal's but the gesture is neither intimate nor tender, merely an extra expanse of skin against skin.

"Faster--nnuihs, n' stronger," Nero demands, his voice so low that it nearly stops halfway through the sentence, slipping speed and inflection as it passes out of the international standard. His back arches, pressing him against Ephram's downthrust and the jerk of their hips forces him against the white-haired man's hand. The motion is hypnotic and his breathing quickly times to it.

The ship rolls, a slight motion comparatively but it causes Nero's foot to slip. The sudden change is immediately evident as Ephram slides into him with sharp force and strikes keenly. The sound that errupts form him is loud and involuntary and his hands tense against wood and the Marshal's as it tears out of his lungs. Their motion is involuntary at this juncture, and the second stroke occurs before his breath is ended. His head jerks back as his body tenses. The withdrawl almost pushes him over, leaves him gaping and breathless. It is Ephram's hand across the head of his arousal, tight and languid, that brings him to fruition.

[ephram-green.livejournal.com]

The slam of their bodies together, sudden as it is, nearly knocks all air from Ephram's lungs. His spine arches as he moves, struggles to keep balance while remaining inside the Commodore. His world is nothing but sensation: heated body against and around his, vibration of ship and vocalizations, slight creeping of fatigue in the legs, sound and scent. A brief flick of the tongue on Nero's shoulder brings the clean taste of sea salt and pure male.

Then the cursing. Ephram knows very little of the Commodore's native language, but the tone tells everything. Nero's hand clutching his does more to unbalance him than the actual rocking of the ship. Gods...nohhua, if he understood the right word, god, this body with him, taking his thrusts, and...oh... He could do faster and stronger.

It's the shout that undoes him. Then the impossibly tight clench of Nero's body. Ephram barely registers the wet heat across his hand as his head snaps forward, mouth tasting salt again on Nero's neck, and does not whimper.

"...ffffuck..." escapes his clenched jaw as his universe flashes purple and white. He feels his release through his spine and up into the back of his skull, ricocheting through his flesh.

[mirror-brightly.livejournal.com]

Nero's breath came loose and even as he slipped back into himself. His fingers clenched against the wood of the hull, the creeping fatigue in his arms and legs pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and his jaw was stiff as he closed it. Sensation was a strange mistress, indeed, and his body forgot her kind touch as swiftly and surely as a gentle beam of sunlight or a good, stiff drink. As he drew air through his nose and released it slow and easy, the weight of the Foriegn Marshal prone against his back, limbs locked and senseless, he was left with only the fetid remnants of her attentions.

"Sir," Nero began, his voice was raw and uncooth and he flexed his jaw. His back was tight, and he contracted the muscles there. The movement reminded him of his position and the twinge of Ephram's listless fingers around his length sparked white pleasure up his spine. It was but an echo of a far grander thing, but it stole his breath nonetheless, left him gaping and silent again.

[ephram-green.livejournal.com]

Ephram's natural impulse, cursed humours and emotional weakness, was to hold his partner close and slowly revel in the aftermath. Women mostly found this a charming quality. In what rational part of his brain remained, he knew that the Commodore was not likely to share this impulse, yet he couldn't move. He wanted to hold this moment for a while longer. Preserve the sensation, keep the knowledge of why people went to such efforts for physical gratification.

He also wanted Nero to remain nude for a while.

"A...a moment," he said, voice thready as his breathing recovered. The sounds of the ship made their way back into his consciousness. How long had they...not been playing chess?


[OOC - hey sorry captain, we're gonna try wrapping this up soon so your inbox stops exploding...350+ comments, avast!]