Work Text:
Flint loves his ship. He does. But after spending the last three days shoulder to shoulder with DeGroot, completely re-rigging both the main and mizzenmasts, he rides towards Nassau town and Silver and Madi’s house on the morning of the fourth with a distinct sense of relief. With all the calculations done, he can leave the remainder to Connolly, their most senior rigger, and only come back when the whole mess is done.
The odd and charming little house faces East, and the morning light illuminates the front door, painted a cheerful blue. It’s a welcome enough sight that he sighs with pleasure as he stables his horse in Silver's little barn, and raps on the door.
Madi flings it open herself, and he’s greeted with her lovely smile, though to his eyes it looks a bit worn and strained around the edges.
“James! Come in, please.” She takes his hands and tows him directly to the small, bright kitchen, and baffled but amenable, he simply follows. “I would ask about the ship, but I would never understand your answer. That conversation is best left to John.”
“How is he feeling?” He drops his gloves on the sideboard, just observing. She lets go of him and bustles about, making tea, it appears, and his eyebrows raise. She’s clearly on a mission of some kind, and he’s clearly some part of it.
“Better,” she says, going still for a moment facing away from him, a teacup held quietly in her hand. “Somewhat better.” Her shoulders lift and fall in a sigh, and her voice quiets. “He has not been sleeping well, or much at all. He is...oddly frantic, at times, and serious at others. I think perhaps spending some time with his captain would do him good. Will you bring him the tea?”
“Of course, but won’t you join us?” Somehow, hearing Madi call him John’s Captain has always been a secret delight, and now it’s even more precious in his ears. He’s smiling helplessly as she turns to him, drying her hands on a small cloth, and she smiles in return.
“I have matters to see to at the old Underhill Estate. I think I shall leave you two the house for the day.” There’s a twinkle to her smile now that wasn’t there before.
Something very like alarm stiffens him up, as if he were a midshipman again, facing a superior officer. Even as his shoulders and jaw square themselves, and his hand finds his opposite wrist behind his back, he knows it’s absurd. Yet he’s powerless to stop it.
“I would not presume,” he begins, then clears his throat and starts again, awkward and miserable, watching her calm, clear eyes watch him the entire time. “This is your home, mum, and I would make no move that might ever be taken as a lack of respect for that. Or your marriage, or yourself.”
“If you do not call me Madi, and stop calling me ma’am, I shall definitely take that as a lack of respect,” she says, and his startled grin breaks the stiffness. “Sit down, please. I think we should have some of this tea before you bring any to my lazy husband.”
“I won’t say no,” he admits, and drops into the chair with relief. This is all just so very new. For Madi and John as well as himself, and part of him fears the discovery of jealousy, anger, or regret around each new bend. He knows well that those things might not ever be there, and yet, with his heart full of John Silver and so much of himself now content, even happy, it’s impossible not to worry.
“Has John ever told you much about himself?” Madi asks as she pours their tea, steaming and fragrant, and sets his cup before him. He busies himself with the sugar even as he shakes his head ruefully.
“No. Here and there, small things. Misdirections and half-truths and falsehoods, otherwise. Only once did we even come close, before the first invasion, and then he flatly denied me.”
“He did the same with me.” Sitting in the sunlight, Madi has never looked more like a queen, her face reflecting the depth of her thoughts. “But it is clear enough that before he came to your crew---and yes, I have heard that story--” her quick grin is as wicked as Silver’s ever was, “he was alone in the world. Then he became your quartermaster, responsible for all those men. And soon after that, Billy Bones made him a monster, and a legend, and a king.” She sips her tea. “That is a very great change, very quickly.”
“He seemed to handle it well,” Flint shrugs. In fact, if anything, Silver took to power a little too well. Casting his mind back, he can’t remember Silver struggling with much besides his leg. Fighting to always appear strong before the men, which Flint still thinks was an effort too far.
“Yes, he would have,” Madi hums. “To you, who he was ever working to impress.” He looks up, startled, and meets her eyes. She seems a little sad, and he can’t quite follow her, though that’s not unusual, given how sharply and quickly her mind works. “I was raised and trained to the responsibilities of this role. You as well, I believe, were an officer in the Navy? With their training?” He nods, wary. “And John Silver was no one at all, who was suddenly tasked with deciding the fate of nations.”
“It wasn’t exactly ideal for any of us,” Flint admits, after a long moment of rolling that around in his mind, and seeing the truth of it. “But he rose to the occasion.”
“Of course he did. He is possibly the most intelligent person I have ever met, and he was offered the one thing he wanted. A place to matter, and people who cared. But I believe the strain was very great. And I believe it is wearing on him again now, to some degree.” She glances fondly towards the back of the house, where the rooms are. “Naturally, he would rather die than admit such a thing.”
“You believe his illness was...a mental strain?” Flint frowns. He has become ever more wary of calls of madness since Thomas was labeled so, and nothing since then has convinced him that is an easy thing to define.
“Do not glower like that. It is not so unusual, nor so terrible,” Madi scolds him, a new sharpness in her tone. “It might very well have been the whiskey, or that food at the tavern. But I have seen similar things in those who come to me as refugees, who have been through great trials. It usually passes quickly enough, and is perfectly natural.”
“If you say so,” he defers to her judgement. He’s not heard of such a thing, but neither does he ask details of the illnesses his men and acquaintances suffer, so perhaps he’s only missed it, in the past.
“I do. And I’ll not have you mentioning it to him.” She’s stern and more than a little frightening, and he holds up his hands, surrendering.
“Not a word shall pass my lips, on my honor.”
She searches his face, then nods, satisfied.
“I wished for you to know, so you would not misjudge him, if you were to somehow find this answer yourself. And to know that this course we are on... It is not easy for him, and yet he will follow us through it.” She bends to her teacup, hiding her face.
“And I promised to hear his good counsel,” James adds, because although the idea of not pursuing the coming confrontation isn’t possible, he’s starting to see the rough shape of Silver’s position, what prompted his reaction that night. The reaction he’d expected, but but is now realizing he hadn’t fully understood. “I’ll admit, that hasn’t always been the case,” he adds wryly, after thinking about it.
“I have had to learn that as well.” She’s smiling at him again, this time in solidarity. “He really is astonishingly practical, you know.”
“It’s annoying,” he says, bluntly, pulling a face, and she laughs.
“It is. More tea?”
“No, thank you. I should--is John in the study?”
“He’s still in bed.” Madi shoos him away from clearing their cups. “I insisted. He was up for most of the night, and I informed him that his fever would return if he did not rest. Leave those, Colleen will be in later. Just take the tray.”
Obediently, James leaves the cups.
“And James?” She’s gathering her things, clearly readying for her trip to the plantation, as he turns in the kitchen doorway. She steps close, that wicked smile is back, and she leans in a little. “I used my fingers this morning. He should be well warmed up for you.”
Flint is paralyzed. He feels heat slowly flood his face until it is scorching, burning, and with the tea tray in his hands he cannot hide it. He can’t even close his eyes.
“Mu-Madi!” His voice is a thin, squeaking thing, and she starts truly laughing, and goes up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“There, you see? This thing you have with John, it should be full of laughter in the sunshine, no shame or secrets. I will see you both tonight, and if I am delayed, I will send word.” With that she’s gone, leaving him stunned and still standing in the doorway, tray in his hands, as off balance as any gale-tossed coracle. But when he finally starts to move, his steps are light, and as he gently shoulders the door open to the bedroom, he’s still smiling.
Silver isn’t sleeping, as he’d half-expected. He’s sitting up in bed with a large ledger in his lap, reading it intently. His face is all stern, hard lines, his eyes and brow heavy with shadows, and his hair, still uncombed from the night before, is wild around his bare shoulders.
It’s a sure sign of exhaustion that he doesn’t look up until James speaks, and then looks startled to see him standing there.
“I’ve brought tea,” James says, unnecessarily, as he holds the tray out before him before placing it on the table beside the bed, and taking a seat there next to Silver’s hip. Silver quirks a tiny smile at him. James is arrested, as always, just looking at him. The play of light and shadow over the muscles in his arm as he turns a page. His big, broad hands, roughened by sea life. The two long black curls of hair that just reach his nipple, and oh, he’s talking.
“The rigging job is going that poorly, is it?”
“No, that’s going well enough. Connolly is setting the lines now. Madi just thought tea might be restorative, since apparently you’ve decided that sleep is only necessary for other people.” James pours a cup of tea, a little sugar, and hands it over. Silver takes it, still with that barely-there smile, still with shadows in his eyes.
“Even with Max funding our stores, and please do not think I’m done yelling at you about that, we have limited tonnage for it. With the two bow and stern chasers added, and the additional powder and shot I’ve calculated we need, we’ll have little space for water barrels. They’ll have to be lashed to the deck.” Silver shrugs. “And then there’s the matter of food, and where to put that, once we’ve purchased it. If we expect the men to fight, they’ll need to eat first.”
“We have almost two weeks,” Flint points out. “Order what you need. We’ll find the room for it, even if we’re all sleeping between flour sacks for the first week out. You may not have forgiven Max yet for her alliance with Rogers, but her money is good enough, and I’d think you’d be happy to spend it.”
Silver shoots him a sour look, and closes the ledger with a sigh. He rubs his temples with one hand, even as he sets the tome aside and drinks his tea with the eagerness of someone who needs both the caffeine and the liquid.
“I suppose that’s on the docket for today, then,” he says, and even his voice sounds tired, Flint thinks. “Ordering provisions? Do you think there will be enough here in Nassau, or will we have to make a stop in Trinidad or Tobago?”
“No, not today,” Flint says, watching him in the morning sunlight. Madi’s words come back to him, and he’s suddenly warm to his fingertips, shaky with excitement and eagerness, feeling bold and desperate in a way that has nothing to do with ships or swords or battle tactics. He reaches for his boots, and shoves them off, followed quickly by his shirt, yanked over his head without ceremony.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Silver is genuinely shocked, and when Flint looks up to meet his eyes, they’re wide, and very blue, and he’s clutched the bedsheet to his belly in both his hands, a bit of primness that has Flint chuckling.
“I’m taking some very excellent advice. And also, joining you in bed, because it looks comfortable. Do you have any objections to that?” He pauses and waits for the answer. After all, Silver might prefer to nap alone.
“No-oooooo,” Silver draws out, clearly still baffled. He slides aside to give Flint room, eyeing him sideways a little suspiciously. The white of his thin sleep trousers is stark against his golden-tanned skin, soft where the cut of muscle over his hip is hard, and Flint wants to bite it. Later, he promises himself.
“With the Penelope beached and the ride inland so long, I’ve spent the last three nights on a cot in the beach shack,” he explains, finally shedding his pants, and reaching high over his head to stretch luxuriously. He can feel Silver’s eyes on him hot with curiosity and interest, and he’s carefully quick to slide into bed beside him, fully naked, and wiggle a little until he’s blissfully comfortable. “I’m more than a bit too old for that to be comfortable anymore. As there’s a bed on offer, with a most agreeable bedmate, I would be foolish not to accept.”
“On offer?” Silver is still wary, but he moves a little closer, interested. Flint closes his eyes, hiding his smile, and nods.
“Madi. She’s off on an errand today. We spoke a bit this morning, and she informed me that I was being something of an idiot. It was well intentioned idiocy, I swear.” He can feel the heat of Silver all along his left side, not quite touching, but so very close. He takes a deep breath.
“You’ve promised to fight to keep me in the daylight. I think rather that you are illuminating that darkness, all the dark corners of it that would lead me astray. And when the dark is illuminated, what’s left is possibility.” He glances at Silver, quickly, then away, before he gets trapped in the way Silver is looking at him right now. “Freedom. And you and I, we belong in that light together.”
Since the first time in the Penelope’s cabin, Silver’s kisses have always been surprising. This one is no different, the way it rolls onto him like a wave, first hands on his chest and shoulder, pushing him down to the pillows, then Silver’s broad, golden shoulders over him, and then finally, lips meeting his own, sure and confident of their welcome. Silver is trembling a little, exhaustion and emotion and arousal, he knows, but it brings a huge surge of tenderness from him, and he has his hands on Silver’s waist, holding him, steadying him, even as he opens his mouth for that insistent tongue and feels the sting of impatient teeth on his lip. He shoves those sleep pants down, feels Silver kick them away.
When Silver pulls back to breathe, he looks wildly irritated, which has James blinking up at him, confused.
“What gives you the right to talk to me like that?” It’s the kind of complaint that if Silver’s hands weren’t under him, supporting his weight, he knows they’d be waving around in illustration. “Just saying things like that, as if it’s somehow normal? You bastard.” And before Flint can even begin to process that or formulate a response, he’s being kissed again, Silver’s hands cupping his face now, letting his whole weight fall down onto James. This time it’s Silver who’s wild, a little sloppy, kissing him so deeply that their teeth knock together once and then kissing his chin, his nose, under his eyes.
The sun is hot on his skin, and he feels the prickle of sweat starting, distantly, under the fire that’s burning in his belly, that’s tightening his throat and making his thighs clench with anticipation. He slides his hands down Silver’s waist, the tender skin of his lower back, and fills his hands with the sweet curves of his ass, pulling him up his body a little with ease. For all his strength and power, Silver is a slip of a thing, lean and slim and lithe, and it makes something inside James purr when he moves him like this, gets him where he wants him, and right now, he wants his cock between those cheeks.
“Bastard,” Silver breathes again, but lets himself be moved. When James slides an inquisitive finger over his hole, finding it relaxed and slick with oil, he hums, deep in his throat, and his back arches in a slow, luxurious curve that has James’ mouth going dry with want. Flint’s cock, greedy and impatient, jumps and jerks and he nudges his hips up, breathing harshly, eyes locked on Silver’s wide blue gaze, the way his hair tumbles around them both, the way his working hips make those eyes go hot and half-lidded and Silver’s mouth fall open a bit.
“Let me in,” he murmurs, spreading Silver’s cheeks wider to give himself room, then pressing down a little, holding Silver still. His cock is right there, prodding against the yielding furl of flesh, and Silver hums again and his hips go liquid and soft in Flint’s hands, and Flint makes a noise that he can’t even recognize, pushes Silver's hips down, and back, and slowly, firmly, drives himself home.
In halfway to the hilt, and Silver rears up, breathing hard, fighting to adjust, his legs falling open even wider on either side of James. James rubs his hands in small circles again, massaging, working those slim hips in counterpoint to the subtle rotation of his own, because he knows somewhere in there--
Silver yells, eyes going wide, and there’s no need to be quiet now. They’re on shore, far from the ears of the men or any others, and James revels in it. Silver’s only half-hard, but his face is blank with ecstasy, his hands digging marks into James’s arms where they’re holding hard to keep him braced. His breaths are shuddering his whole frame, and James can feel the fierce grin on his own face, the zing of the unbelievable heat and tightness and softness of Silver’s body, taking him inside so smoothly, the perfect sheath for his blade. He presses himself in all the way, to the root, and Silver howls and shakes and now he’s moving too, rising and falling, not practiced enough yet to be graceful with it but the most beautiful thing James has ever seen.
They rock together without speaking, not even kissing, eyes locked, just breathing. Every muscle in Flint’s body is locked tight, pleasure winding him tighter and tighter, every thrust and the glorious feeling of it running up his spine, prickling his scalp, driving every thought from his mind but John, John, yes, John. All he can see is blue, and Silver’s hair is brushing his cheeks and getting caught in his beard, and without warning his hips seize and buck and he’s coming, his hands going hard on Silver’s ass and holding him firm, so he can jerk up and up and up as the wash of pleasure flashes through him like lightning, leaving him blind.
When he becomes aware of his surroundings again, he’s curled around Silver, holding him tightly, no longer joined but with Silver’s ass snugged up into the curve of his hips. Curious, he brushes the wild cloud of hair that’s blocking his vision aside, and then smiles.
John Silver is asleep.