The Sea's Rough Magic Page 9

  “Bosun, find us that rum we stole from the Wailing Bride las’ year. Should be mighty fine by now. Let us repair to the Maid, gentlemen, and slake our five-year-gone thirsts. What say you?” Angus called out.

  The return trip to the Maid found McSwain leading his men in a badly-out-of-tune chorus of a shanty about a sailor and a mermaid with only Ike Stern silent. He kept his head down and his attitude subdued but when Angus met his eyes, McSwain remembered for the first time what it felt like to be afraid for his life again.

  )O(

  Chapter 11:

  August 1718, Continued

  McSwain made his decision as he swung a leg over the bulwark and inhaled the smells of the Maid. He rested a hand on some kecking then drew it back, revolted at the layer of slime that came off on his palm. As he glanced around at his men, he could see that some of them were also coming to understand the level of filth they were now living in. It could wait, though. The men needed some reward now that this was all over. But not you, Angus thought as his eyes fell on the Lash’s son.

  “Lock ‘im in the brig,” McSwain ordered. He raised his voice to address the rest of the crew. “An’ don’t get no ideas!! If even one hair on ‘is head is touched, I’ll give the man responsible a full forty lashes, eh?”

  The import of that statement fell on the suddenly silent crew. Before, they had all been in this together. Now, though, they regarded one another with new, very human eyes. McSwain felt the change as well and saw the bosun eyeing him with a look that he wasn’t sure he liked. He glowered back at the large former dock-hand.

  “Should ye need me, I’ll be in me cabin. But make sure ye knock first, eh?” He gave Brennan the slightest of smiles but it revealed all of Angus’s intentions. “We brought rum, lads! Drink up!!”

  The bosun rolled his eyes disgustedly then nodded. He watched McSwain disappear below then turned to oversee the retrieval of the casks of rum from the water. There was time enough after the fortune was aboard the Maid to plot a mutiny.

  McSwain entered the wardroom with a feeling of relief. He tried to swallow but his throat felt like sandpaper. He fetched wine from his cupboard and uncorked it. Tilting it up, he began to drink but nearly choked when he tried to inhale as he drank. Guess I’m a bit out of practice, He considered. The alcohol hit his system with a rush and his head swam pleasantly. A sound from the depths of his cabin brought Aaron to mind and the lust returned full force. With another swig of wine, he headed for the door to his cabin.

  “Aaron, prepare yerself. We got some years o’ makin’ up t’ do,” Angus heard his voice slur and remembered, with a half-smile, that drinking did that to a man. “Where are ye, Aaron-me-boy?”

  Slowly, Aaron emerged into the light. McSwain blinked at the sight of him. He looks tired and sick. He didn’t look that way when I left, he mused. McSwain’s grin widened and he set the wine bottle aside. He heard a strange grumbling sound from within and realized he was hungry. It can wait, He decided, his longing for Aaron Johnson was far more important at the moment.

  “Where’s Ike?” Aaron asked, licking his lips and swallowing visibly.

  “The whelp?” McSwain asked, tossing his hat onto the back of the chair. “He’s all taken care of. Ye have nothin’ t’ worry about, hmm?”

  “Where is he?” Aaron asked again, his voice revealing the fear. “What have ye done with Ike?”

  Angus shrugged. “Ye needn’t bother yerself with that little detail, whelp. He’s none o’ yer concern now.”

  “Ye killed ‘im!” Aaron said it so vehemently that, for a moment, McSwain wondered if he had.

  “Nay, I did not,” Angus answered and stepped forward, reaching for Aaron. “Now don’t be a fool--.”

  Aaron twisted away from him. “Ye’re lying! Ye did kill him. Else, why would he not be here with us--?” Aaron’s expression grew even more horrified. “How could ye?”

  “I did nothin’ o’ the sort!” McSwain found himself bewildered by the barrage of feelings. Guilt, anger, fear yet an uncontrollable desire to put Aaron straight on it all. “The whelp’s safe in the brig, Aaron. I jus’-I jus’ wanted t’ be alone with ye.”

  The expression of disbelief and loathing twisted, knife-like, into Angus’s gut as Aaron fled from him. “What is it ye want from me? What more can ye take? Ye’ve got all I got t’ give, Angus. There’s nothin’ left.”

  McSwain finally caught Aaron, drawing him into an embrace that Johnson resisted as much as he could. Angus pressed a kiss to Aaron’s temple. “Ye have one thing left that ye can give.”

  Aaron shoved him to arm’s length and the sapphire eyes met his. They were so deeply injured and so cold that McSwain felt something sting his eyes. “That’s one thing ye can’t have, McSwain. It’s long lost t’ Davy Jones’s locker, jus’ like Henry, savvy?”

  McSwain felt the anger surge to the fore then. “As ye wish, Aaron. If I can’t have yer love, then at least I can have you!”

  He shoved Aaron onto the bed then unfastened his breeches as he approached. He seized Aaron’s hair and pulled his upper half to the side of the bed as he knelt on it. As he shoved his cock into Aaron’s mouth, the sensation made him come almost immediately. But it has been five years, He reminded himself. Five years with him so very close and yet so very unreachable. I need more. He pulled Aaron up to kiss him and tasted his own seed, salty and slightly bitter, on Johnson’s mouth. He drove his tongue into Aaron’s mouth as he yanked at Johnson’s breeches. He was so thin that they came off with ease and he filled his hands with Johnson’s ass before forcing his fingers up inside. He heard Aaron sob—as he had nearly every time he’d taken him since the mutiny—and, to his shock, he was no longer hard as a bowsprit. The guilt and sorrow returned far more quickly than he anticipated. He drew away from Aaron then looked for his bottle of wine. When he glanced back at Johnson on the bed, he had pulled his clothes back on and was huddled at the farthest reaches, his hand covering his mouth.

  “Sorry,” McSwain muttered the word before he was able to stop himself. Sorry? What in hell do I have to be sorry for? He wanted to put his eyes out at his own stupidity. The truth, though, was that he was sorry. Sorry that he’d done such things to Aaron over the years, sorry that he’d mutinied, but, most of all, sorry that he’d sent the Lash to his death. But I’m a ruthless, blood-thirsty pirate, McSwain argued with himself. I have no regrets! The truth, though, peered out of miserable eyes as he slumped down to sit beside Aaron on the bunk.

  Aaron said nothing, just pressed himself farther away from Angus. After a minute, McSwain spoke. “Stern’s whelp ain’t dead. And he ain’t entertainin’ the men neither, I swear t’ ye on the Maid’s sheets. He’s in the brig. If ye like, I’ll have him brought up t’ join us.”

  “Ye will?” Aaron’s voice shook.

  “Aye, I will,” McSwain answered then turned to look Aaron square in the eyes. “On one condition.”

  “An’ that is?” Aaron was uncoiling a bit, not sure of McSwain’s reactions now.

  “Ye mus’ make love t’ me,” Angus spoke the unfamiliar words softly, as if he was afraid how they would feel in his mouth. “Ye mus’ let me take me pleasure with ye willingly, as ye once did. D’ ye remember?”

  Aaron turned away, his silence eating away at McSwain’s composure. When he finally spoke, he couldn’t look at Angus. “I remember. I-I find yer terms acceptable, Captain. We have an accord.”

  “Agreed,” Angus felt a huge weight lift off his chest. He reached for Aaron and, this time, Johnson submitted to his touch then his embrace.

  Moving more slowly, Angus unlaced Aaron’s shirt and slid it off his frame. There was, assuredly, some savage blood flowing in Johnson’s veins. Even after half a decade with only sporadic moments in the sun, his skin retained a rum-gold glow. McSwain filled his hands with Johnson’s flesh, drawing him close as the sigh, shuddering from his very depths, left his lungs.

  He studied the face before him carefully. Time and the abuse he’d withstood had left
their marks on Aaron but he still retained that wild beauty in some measure. The eyes, though, that had once rested upon him with coy humor were now dead, as dead as his own must surely have been while the curse was laid upon him. He pressed his lips to Aaron’s. To his surprise, Johnson’s mouth opened to his invading tongue. Aaron’s own tongue responded timidly and Angus had to grab his cock to keep himself from climaxing at just that tiniest instant.

  “I find I’ve gone from a randy goat with no satisfaction in sight t’ the naivest bridegroom ‘pon his wedding night,” He whispered, running a hand down Aaron’s concave belly to fumble drunkenly at his trouser laces.

  To his shock, Aaron’s own hands began to work at the buttons to his own pants. Aaron managed to free his cock in a mere minute or two. His own clumsy digits took far longer trying to find Aaron’s privates. To his chagrin, the second Aaron touched his penis he climaxed again, the pleasure wrenching an almost pain-filled cry from him. He took Aaron’s member into his own hand but there was no response, as if Aaron’s soul had taken his desire with it. McSwain nipped the tender flesh of Aaron’s neck, just below his ear, and his own lust quickened him a third time with no effort.

  “Have ye no yearnin’s at all, Aaron?” McSwain whispered into his ear. “Does nothin’ stir you now?”

  He leaned back to look into Aaron’s face. Johnson opened his mouth, briefly, as if to answer then dully shook his head. McSwain snorted.

  “Ye always were dishonest, weren’t ye?” He pushed Aaron’s breeches down. Tracing his fingers in his most recent emission, he spread Aaron’s legs and forced two fingers up inside Johnson. With a bit of concentration, he found the pleasure spot inside the hot tunnel and coerced a response from him. Aaron gasped then choked as he tried to inhale. “What is it ye’re seein’, hmm? Stern? His whelp? One o’ those whores in Tortuga ye used t’ chase after?”

  Aaron’s eyes fluttered. He shook his head and bit his lip hard as his hands dug into the sheet below him. Angus realized, at that moment, that he hadn’t seen Aaron in such a state since they’d brought the Navy officer aboard the Maid years ago. He continued to drive his fingers into Aaron until he could almost see the cock throb in anticipation. At that point, he removed his digits and replaced them with his cock.

  He slid up the tunnel, shocked at how tight it still remained in spite of the violence it had experienced. He realized he could almost feel, against his own manhood, the knot of pleasure that kept Aaron’s mast from flagging. He withdrew slowly, careful to make sure he moved in just the right manner, then lunged forward again. Once more, to his consternation, he peaked almost obscenely early. The only consolation was that Aaron was ready to climax as well. Aaron came with a soft, shapeless noise that made McSwain wonder why he’d never bothered to pleasure Aaron before. He slumped down atop Aaron and whimpered as his member withdrew from the warm body below him.

  He was awakened moments later by a sharp slap on his shoulder. “Ye promised me ye’d let Ike join us! Keep yer word, ye bastard.”

  Without thinking, Angus rapped Aaron in the ribs with his knuckles. Growling about his ill-fortuned life, McSwain rose and made his way, unsteadily, to the door. “Brennan! Are ye sober?!”

  The large Irishman tossed open the wardroom door and glowered in at McSwain. “Aye, sir. What is it you want?”

  “Bring me the whelp! Alive an’ whole, eh?” McSwain glanced back at Aaron to see he was dressing. McSwain lowered his voice. “Might as well forego yer clothes. I got more plans fer you.”

  Aaron paused then spoke. “I’m jus’ tryin’ t’ stay warm fer you, Captain. That’s all.”

  “Ah,” McSwain swayed as the ship seemed to tilt unexpectedly. “Seas mus’ be gettin’ rough.”

  “Or ye’re gettin’ drunk,” Aaron responded, lifting the empty wine-bottle McSwain had dropped by the bed.

  “Aye,” McSwain grinned. “That’s what it is.”

  He left the door open and staggered back to the bunk. He launched himself onto the mattress and seized Aaron in his arms. He had a notion that he wanted to be fucking Aaron when the Stern whelp came into the room but the last thing he remembered was the sensation of soft black hair against his cheek.

  )O(

  When Ike was shoved into the cabin and the door was slammed shut, Aaron was finishing lacing up his shirt. He didn’t look at Ike, who decided that McSwain had raped him again. Aaron spoke with a hitch in his voice, as though the pain in his side was back.

  “Are ye all right, love?”

  “Well enough, considering,” Ike answered, showing Aaron the scabbed-over line across his palm. Ike reached for Aaron only to have Johnson turn away from him. “Aaron? Are you all right?”

  Aaron shrugged and went to their makeshift bed. From the bunk, McSwain snored loudly, muttering something unintelligible in his drunken sleep. Ike glared at the pirate captain then followed Aaron.

  “We should kill ‘im right now,” Ike muttered. “It’d be easy enough. Bet he’d never even know what happened. He’d wake up in hell where he belongs.”

  “Isaac, love, please, not now,” Aaron’s voice told Ike that he was exhausted but there was something more wrong. “Ye mus’ be patient a bit longer.”

  “But why?” Ike asked then whirled to look at McSwain when he grumbled and tossed at the noise. He lowered his voice. “I don’t understand.”

  Aaron settled onto the blankets with a groan and a hiss of pain. He wedged up a corner of a blanket to serve as a pillow then shook his head. “Neither one of us is in any condition t’ be fightin’ our way off this ship, savvy? An’ if we can’t escape, then ‘tis better the devil ye know.”

  Ike shook his head but dropped to his knees next to Aaron, arranging the remaining blankets into something he could sleep on. “I’ll do what you say, Captain, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Aaron gave him a half-smile. “’Sall I can ask, mate.”

  As Ike settled in beside Aaron, he felt the older man wrap an arm around his waist. He moved back against Aaron so they could share a threadbare quilt that Roth had produced one morning last winter. Aaron’s breath was warm on his back. He realized Johnson had dozed off when, suddenly, Aaron spasmed. He heard Johnson gasp for air.

  “Aaron? Are you all right?”

  For a moment, Aaron’s hand clutched at his belly then it gradually relaxed. “’m sorry, I jus’ had a bad dream. Did I wake ye?”

  “No,” Ike answered, letting his good hand rub across Aaron’s where it lay against his shirt. “Tell me a story?”

  There was a moment of silence then Aaron inhaled. “Anythin’ you want, love. ‘Member when we came t’ the Caribbean? ‘Twas a lovely day t’ sail out o’ Liverpool. Fine northeast wind t’ blow us along an’ I had me best mate Ike t’ help me steer the Maid. Aye, he’s a good lad, yer son, a good lad . . .”

  The voice drifted off and Stern realized Aaron was finally asleep. He fought to cling to the vision of that morning, ten years earlier, when Captain Aaron let him man the helm as they sailed down the Mersey toward the Irish Sea. It was the one time when he felt completely surrounded by love. The realization, though, that Aaron had probably fucked McSwain, which was why he was back here with him, destroyed the vision for him. He drifted off after a long time of plotting his revenge.

  )O(

  To Aaron’s relief, McSwain and the crew were too busy the next day to be concerned with Aaron or Ike. Aaron spent most of the time sleeping when he wasn’t telling Ike to be patient. At one point, Ike brought him some cheese and bread with a mug of, to his astonishment, wine. At his expression of shock, Ike grinned wickedly. “What McSwain don’t know won’t hurt him, savvy?”

  For a moment, Aaron hesitated then he smiled in response, clinked his mug to Ike’s, and drank up. When they finished with the food and drink, Ike held his hand out to Aaron. Briefly, Aaron looked up at him then placed his hand in Ike’s. With an easy movement, Ike drew him to a standing position then into his arms. Aaron slid his arms around Ike and started t
o ask a question. Instead, Ike pressed his lips to Aaron’s then pushed his tongue into Aaron’s mouth. At that, Aaron shoved him away.

  “What are ye doin’?”

  Ike looked confused. “Kissing you? I just- I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  Aaron shook his head and pulled out of Ike’s hands. “I’m—Ike, love, we dare not. If McSwain should discover us . . .”

  “We’ll kill him,” Ike said with an evil grin. “Then we’ll take the Maid back! All the swag will be ours and we’ll--.”

  “No,” Aaron shook his head wearily then sighed. “Never mind, mate. I jus’ don’t have the strength t’ argue anymore. I’m goin’ t’ sleep some more. If ye need me, jus’ speak up.”

  Aaron returned to his bed and forced himself to stay calm. He didn’t know how much control he could exercise over Ike anymore. He found it odd that the more control he had over McSwain, the less he had over Ike. He only hoped that Ike would ask him before he did anything stupid. When Ike joined him later, Aaron roused enough to realize who it was then returned to sleep, his head resting against Ike’s shoulder-blade.

  Aaron didn’t know what time it was when he felt the warm lips brush across the nape of his neck. He jerked to full consciousness and realized there were two strong arms holding him. He tried to pull away.

  “Lemme go, love,” Aaron muttered softly, still befuddled as to who was holding him.

  “No,” Was the reply and a hand closed on his throat. “Hold still.”

  Aaron felt his heart begin to race. He pulled at the hand gripping him. “Please, ye’re hurtin’! Let me go!!”

  When the knee forced its way between his legs and he was rolled onto his face, Aaron grew desperate. “Let go o’ me, ye bastard! Now!!”

  “Not done yet,” The voice replied and Aaron recognized it was Ike.