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Silver couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was always like this, the wonder of what he was allowed to do, of just how far he could push Flint, of what the man let him do with enthusiasm rivalling only destroying the British Empire.
His captain was on his knees, dressed only in his loose white shirt, and he looked absolutely ruined, despite them only having just started. His eyes half-opened, his mouth parted to gasp in rushed breaths, his hands at his sides, twitching but staying put obediently… He would let John do anything to him right now, a notion more intoxicating than the finest rum he’d ever drank. All for him.
And Silver still couldn’t believe his eyes.
Earlier that very evening, they had just gotten back from a round of negotiations, their heads filled with the buzz of talks. They had taken Nassau earlier that week. It had been a great victory to all of them, but it had inevitably invited political trouble, which was something neither Flint nor he had any patience to deal with. They had to keep order in the town they claimed as their own, and it had taken a toll on them both. Little fights had been breaking out in various places, some of them serious, some just downright stupid, all of them because the good citizens had suddenly decided to shift the pecking order with their fists.
Right before the negotiations had started, Flint had been in a tavern where one of such local battles took place, a dumb squabble over who got to build their shack on which plot of land. James had tried to keep away, but being the resident hero - and evil incarnate, depending on who you asked - he had been dragged into it anyway. When the negotiations had finally come about, he had joined the table with a bloodied eyebrow and a sour mood, a little too twitchy for everyone’s tastes.
Silver wanted to remedy that, so right after the old clock in the corner had announced the end of the newest round of quarrels, he’d fairly dragged Flint out of there and to the spacious bedroom they had commandeered for themselves.
And here they were - Silver, fully clothed, sitting on the governor’s bed, and Flint on his knees in front of him, half-naked and nearly liquid in his arousal. Flint always got like that whenever Silver initiated anything remotely intimate between them, and dragging him away to have some fun was guaranteed to put Flint in the right mood. Silver could hardly complain - there was something insanely hot about having his captain in a position like this. John had never thought about second-guessing him once the proposition had been put forward.
It had been three months before. They had done it a few times since.
Their regular tumbles in bed were very satisfying, sure - so very pleasurable he couldn’t see straight for hours afterwards, in fact - but the sight of the deadliest man on the Caribbean, the greatest nautical mind in their corner of the world, losing his faculties because of him had been a kick Silver had never expected to experience.
He loved it.
James, he had discovered, was quick to please his partner, once he had let someone in for long enough to talk about any sort of partnership in the first place. They had crossed that border back in the doldrums, half-mad and starving, lashing out at each other like feral dogs fighting for scraps. For all his lethal power and edges sharp enough to cut yourself on, Flint was very attentive in bed, always treating him with kindness he wasn’t sure he deserved anymore. James would kiss him for hours, touch him in places nobody had touched before, and bring him to the brink in a way so spectacular there would be no need for a repeat performance.
But then, right after they had been let out of the cages, Flint’s mood had turned dark. He had become a twitchy, haunted shell of a person, a grim spectre of his usual self. When John had tried to remedy that, hoping to bring him back to himself with the help of his own body, he had stumbled on a secret guarded so closely it was never supposed to see the light of day.
Flint liked to follow orders.
It shouldn’t have surprised him that an ex navy man had a fucked up relationship with authority, but when he’d seen just how badly James needed to have a tight grip on him, Silver was shocked.
And enamoured.
The proposition had come soon after, whispered like an apology in the wee hours of the morning. He’d had the opportunity to let it drop, to put it to rest and let the sleeping dogs lie, but Silver had never been able to stop himself once he’d seen something shiny within his arms’ reach. So, instead of letting it go, he had dug deeper, gently prying the secret out of his captain. Flint had been hesitant at the beginning, but the more he had talked, the easier it had become, and soon, he had asked John to join him on the darker side of pleasure.
Months had passed, and Silver still couldn’t get enough of it.
James looked beautiful on his knees, in supplication like an apologetic sinner, waiting for his god to dictate his faith. The few candles they had lit were making his mustache glow like real fire. He had lost all his clothes beside the shirt, and while it was long enough to cover most of his form, John preferred to leave it be. He had learned through trial and error that Flint liked to hide sometimes, to shield himself with the expensive material of it just so he wouldn’t shake apart before they were through. Silver didn’t mind.
When they had visited his former house at the outskirts of Nassau, mostly occupied with plans for a revolution, it had been the only item Flint had taken with him. John had thought it must have been a gift from Miranda, a keepsake for James, more precious for the memories that had been lost forever.
He had been mistaken only slightly.
The shirt had been a keepsake, but its story preceded their war, Flint’s captaincy and even his life in Nassau. It had belonged to Thomas, and was one of the few remaining items in James’ possession that had been unharmed when the little house had fallen to ruin and had gotten trampled over by numerous pirates.
Flint liked to sleep in it, to wrap himself in its cool, rich material and bring back the bitter-sweet memories of the long-lost love of his life. Strangely, John didn’t feel jealous over it, didn’t begrudge him the delicate comfort of it. Instead, he made sure to hold James a bit more tightly at night whenever he shivered, running his fingers gently over the soft fabric.
And if it helped James not to rattle apart on a taxing night such as this? All the better. He looked good in that shirt, delicate and vulnerable, not like the scourge of the Caribbean that he was at all. Silver could work with that, he could still give commands and steer Flint towards his goal, regardless of how much or how little clothing he had on.
“Look at me,” he ordered, cradling James’ cheek in one broad palm. Flint glanced up, then averted his gaze to the side, but even this little glimpse was enough for John to see just how dark his eyes were, so heavy with arousal he seemed drunk on it. It had been a long week for them both, and the situation in Nassau hadn’t been kind to his captain.
With his split eyebrow still looking angry, with the skin around the cut inflamed and red, he seemed a lot more tired than normally. Even the soft glow of the candles couldn’t erase the exhaustion from his features. But that wasn’t all - there was an angle to his shoulders that belayed his weariness, the minute twitch in his cheek that signaled his patience thinning dangerously. They seemed to blend into the background now slowly, melting away under Silver’s gaze, but he had seen them all earlier, stark in the dimmed light of the negotiations room.
“Come here,” he said, reaching out and pulling Flint to him, tilting his head up for a kiss. James went willingly, a sigh leaving him when their mouths met. He was hungry for it, biting into Silver’s lip with ferocity usually reserved for battles, and John had to slow him down, gentling the kiss into something lazier and deeper. His unhurried pace earned him a growl, but there was no heat behind it. “Easy,” he whispered, breaking apart for a moment. “It’s alright, we got time.”
Wasn’t that always the issue?
At the ship, at the island, even here, in the heart of Nassau, there was always too little time. They would start something, and one of their men would inevitably come looking for them, jarring them with impatient knocking and prophecies of incoming doom.
Not this night, though.
This time, Silver was determined to tell the whole world to fuck off while they enjoyed their evening, hard-earned as it was. Flint needed it - hell, they both did.
“Easy, Captain,” he murmured again, curling his fingers at the nape of Flint’s neck, soothing the tense muscles he found there. It earned him a groan as Flint let his eyes flutter shut. “I didn’t tell the men to leave us be for nothing,” Silver added, smirking, but his intention was clear in his gaze once James looked at him again. They would not be interrupted.
With a nod, Flint let him pull away completely, only to watch hungrily as John shed his own shirt, tossing it to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Silver could see how Flint’s hands twitched, before he obediently relaxed his shoulders, the muscles sloping lightly under the soft, white fabric. The collar of the shirt was unlaced, giving John a nice view of that sweet triangle of delicate skin right under Flint’s throat. He wanted to run his fingers over it, to rub down and yank the material lower, but he would wait.
He reached out, brushing his hand down the side of James’ face, until he could tuck his fingers under his chin and lift it. Green eyes stared back at him, expectant, and Silver felt the hitch in his own breath as he saw how far gone Flint already was.
“What would you like?” He asked quietly, steadily, but with just enough authority in his words to let Flint know the game was on. James swallowed convulsively, his eyes falling shut. “Come on, Captain. You can tell me.” He trailed one finger along Flint’s cheek, down over his neck and collar bone, then dipped it into the tantalizing gap of his shirt. He felt him shudder, a shaky breath rattling out of him.
“It’s been a long week for you,” Silver went on, contemplatively, scratching lightly through the smattering of ginger hair just peeking out from under the material. The skin there glimmered with the reflected candlelight, a sheen of sweat making it damp. He loved to place his hands on it. He loved to put his whole head on Flint’s chest and doze off, Flint’s steady heartbeat his favorite lullaby.
There would be time for that later, however. For now…
“I know how much you hate dealing with tavern politics… You could have left it all to me, but you chose to be there, didn’t you?” Silver went on, running his thumb down Flint’s cheek and to his lip, rubbing over it slowly. “I wonder, was it the martyr in you that needed more punishment for your sins?” He asked, then smiled when James’ eyebrows bunched together in defiance. “No, I didn’t think so. You just wanted to be there with me, didn’t you? To help me get through it,” he went on, and Flint relaxed again, the tiny wrinkles around his eyes disappearing. “I thought so… God, you’re like a loyal guard dog, aren’t you, Captain? Keeping an eye on your king, ready to bite anyone who misbehaves.”
A shiver echoed through Flint, his whole frame trembling slightly with it. He opened his mouth for a moment, his eyes still closed, but then thought better of it apparently, because he only licked his lips quickly and nodded silently. Silver grinned, dipping his thumb into his mouth, just the tip of it, just enough to feel the moist heat of Flint’s tongue waiting for him.
“Such good behavior… I’m proud. Would you like a reward?” He hummed thoughtfully, shifting so he was sitting a bit straighter. With him on the bed and Flint kneeling on the floor, with the captain’s bare ass covered only in the loose shirt and Silver still mostly dressed, he felt like a true king. Giving orders like that was so very easy…
“Answer me.” John demanded, shifting, his hand going up to grasp James’ jaw. He didn’t tighten his hold, he just kept it there, a reminder of their respective positions. Flint gasped, his eyes fluttering open.
“Please…”
A full-body shiver raked through Silver. That single word on his captain’s tongue always did something to him. It wasn’t weakness and it wasn’t need - it was intentional. It was Flint choosing him, again and again, to take the lead.
Such a heady thing to behold.
“I’ll tell you what I have in mind.” He leaned in, slow and deliberate, letting the space between them narrow until their breath mingled. “I want to bring you to the edge, slow and steady. I want you panting for it before I let you even touch my trousers.” Silver had always praised himself on his clever tongue. He had never thought he would be using it to reduce his captain to a shaky, delirious mess, but there they were.
“Then, once you’ve worshipped me enough, I want you on the bed, on your knees.” One hand curled around the back of James’s neck, the other slipping beneath the hem of the shirt to rest on the bare line of his thigh. He felt the heat there, muscles wound as tight as a bowstring. In moments like this, John wished for more light, just so he could have the pleasure of observing all the gorgeous freckles accumulated there. But it was alright, he had seen them plenty of times, he could imagine them easily. “If you’re very good, I’ll consider letting you finish as well… What say you?”
Flint nodded quickly, biting his lip viciously, and Silver smiled triumphantly.
“Good,” he murmured again, tilting his head, lips ghosting over James’s cheek. “You want your control taken, don’t you? I’ll take it. You won’t touch yourself, understood? You’ll come when I let you, and only then.” The small whimper that left Flint was so sweet John could feel it trickle down his own spine like warm honey. He pulled back to look at him, taking in the gorgeous blush spreading over James’ face, all the way down his neck, just to disappear beneath the white material.
“God… if your superiors could see you now, I bet they wouldn’t even recognize you…” His fingers began to trace up one trembling thigh, skimming over the edge of the bruises blooming dark beneath pale skin, reminders of their recent fight. The featherlight touch made James flinch. “Shhh… no, it’s alright. You’re fine,” Silver soothed. “Stay here with me, understood?” He whispered, dragging his mouth along the shell of Flint’s ear.
James nodded, quick and small, like a man afraid of shattering the moment if he moved too much.
“No,” Silver said, and his other hand tightened ever so slightly around the back of Flint’s neck. “I wanna hear it. Use your words, Captain.”
“Yes,” Flint breathed. “I understand.”
“Better,” Silver praised, and kissed the corner of his mouth. It was just a flicker of contact, the promise of something hungrier, but James leaned into it like a sunflower following the light in the sky. “Now keep your hands behind your back. Don’t move them, no matter what.” He ordered, and James closed his eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
The title pulled a dark chuckle from Silver’s chest. He shifted, rising a little so James had to tilt his head up to keep him in view. The power in that angle, the reverence in Flint’s posture - it lit something low and scorching inside John. The fact that he was still in his breeches, while Flint was only wrapped in the delicate, white fabric only enhanced the feeling. He brought a hand up to James’s jaw, thumb stroking just beneath his bottom lip.
“God, you’re a sight,” he murmured. “Beautiful and so obedient…”
He pressed forward at last, mouth claiming his captain’s with bruising heat. Silver made sure James felt every ounce of his devotion, his hunger, and his claim. He didn’t need to push harder yet - there would be time for that later. For now, he just wanted to ruin him with care.
So he eased back, only enough to let James feel the absence, to make him chase it. He traced the line of Flint’s collar bone with his fingers, lazy and possessive, eyes as sharp as cut glass.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “Breathing like you’ve run a mile, when all I’ve done is ask you to be good.”
His thumb slid down, dipped under the material. James didn’t stop him, only inhaling sharply and arching up, wordlessly asking for more.
“You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you? Because it’s me asking.” A beat. “Not only because you trust me. Not even because you want me. But because deep down, you’ve always wanted someone to take it from you.” His voice dropped. “The weight. The war. The endless fucking burden of being Flint.”
James swallowed hard. He didn’t speak, he just stared at him, pleading, his eyes heavy. He was hard, leaking under the shirt and leaving a wet patch on the soft material of it. John licked his lips hungrily, before he smiled, fond and devastating all at once.
“That’s it. You don’t want to be obeyed… you want to belong.”
He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of Flint’s mouth.
“You want to be owned,” he whispered it right across James’ tongue, before he kissed him again, slow and commanding this time. It wasn’t affection, not really - it was possessiveness. When he pulled back, James was shaking with breath he couldn’t seem to catch. Silver's voice was low and steady. “You’d let me walk you into the sea with a chain around your throat if I told you I’d hold the other end.”
Flint didn’t answer, except for a low moan and a slow closing of his eyes. A tiny nod followed, so slight it would have slipped his attention had John not been waiting for it.
“You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? Just to have this,” he said, curling his hand under the shirt and wrapping his fingers around Flint’s cock.
The contact tore a wild groan out of his captain, his whole body jerking forward like struck by lightning.
“Shhh…. It’s alright. I’ll give you what you want,” Silver went on, moving his fist at a steady rhythm. “In here and out there. Billy’s made me into a king, but I don’t want the titles or any jewels… I just want you,” he whispered, kissing Flint once more, deep and scorching hot. His own length was throbbing, neglected and screaming for any kind of contact, but he knew the wait would be worth it. “Come on, Captain, what would you do?” He asked cheekily, withdrawing his hand, making Flint whine.
James’ hands rose, but before he could do anything to harass the fragile balance they had forged between them, he seemed to remember himself. Instead of gripping Silver’s wrist to bring his palm back to where he so desperately wanted it, he placed both hands on John’s knees, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh of his thighs. They would leave bruises behind, despite the layer of material separating them. Silver found it so appealing he didn’t mind James not keeping his hands behind his back anymore.
“What would you do, I wonder? How far would you go? Would you burn this whole goddamn city to the ground?” Silver kept on whispering, so caught up in the fantasy he was spinning that he didn’t notice Flint going rigid right in front of him. “Would you put Woodes on the gallows for me? Would you let me pull the lever with my own hands, or would you be the one to do it?”
It was meant to be a flourish, just more words spilling from his tongue as he moved to unlace his breeches, both of them fevered and flushed, caught in the slow-burning fantasy he’d cooked for them. Silver’s voice had dropped to a low murmur, one hand curled at the back of Flint’s neck, anchoring him, the other thumbing slowly over the tip of his cock.
James froze.
He just - stilled. Completely. Like a storm turned to ice.
Silver felt it then, though it took a beat for his mind to catch up to the change. He had been speaking too quickly, high on power and arousal and that damned gleam he saw in Flint’s eyes whenever he gave himself over to this. He didn’t notice the shift until he was already too far down the path.
“…James?” he asked, pulling back a little.
Flint’s face had gone pale, his expression blank. A hollowness had stolen over his eyes and his breathing turned shallow. There was no lust there, not anymore - cold panic gripped his captain, his mouth setting into a thin line and his nostrils flaring.
“Hey, hey look at me,” Silver said, dropping the act instantly. Something was wrong, something was very very wrong… He cupped James’s face gently, brushing his thumbs against the damp line of his jaw. “What is it? What happened?”
James’s gaze darted to him, unfocused and unseeing. His lips moved, like he was trying to speak, but no words came out. His body was one rigid line, shoulders trembling.
“James.” Silver’s voice cracked.
Flint flinched under Silver’s hands like they burned him. He pulled away suddenly, scrambling backward with a sharp, ragged breath. His movements were awkward and frantic. One hand landed on the wooden boards while the other clawed at his own chest, fingers fisting in the fabric like he could tear something out.
“Flint-” Silver started, reaching out again, only for Flint to jolt violently away, eyes wide with animal panic.
“Don’t-” James rasped, his voice raw like something scraped through gravel.
“Don’t touch me.”
It knocked Silver back like a blow. His mouth opened, then shut again, no words finding their way out. Helplessly, he watched as Flint kept moving, crawling backward with one arm and both knees, clumsy and desperate. He didn’t stop until his back hit the wall with a dull thud. Even then, he tried to push further, as if he could disappear into it. He curled in on himself, trembling all over.
Silver sat frozen on the edge of the bed, a cold sweat breaking across his neck.
“James, I- what did- I’m sorry…” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean- I didn’t-
Oh god…”
But Flint didn’t answer - he couldn’t. His hands were shaking violently now, gripped tight around his knees, holding himself together by sheer instinct. He bowed his head low, eyes squeezed shut as if he could just disappear. He looked so miserable like that, so unlike the fearless captain Silver knew, it hurt to watch him.
So John moved, slowly and carefully, lowering himself to the ground, hoping to- Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do, only that he needed to do something.
He made it as far as the middle of the floor, before Flint’s shoulders went taut again, a coiled spring ready to snap.
“Alright, it’s alright,” Silver said quickly, pausing where he was. “I won’t touch you,” he added gently, hands raised in surrender. “I’m here, just- Just here. I… Fuck, I’m
so sorry…”
There was no recognition in Flint’s face when he glanced at him, just that hollow panic, buried in the wreckage of what had been a pleasurable evening. And Silver… he had no idea how to reach him. The mood was gone, that much was clear, but John was left clueless as to what to do from there on. He didn’t dare move for a long moment, simply sitting there on the floor, staring at James like he could somehow will the man back into his body.
But Flint didn’t come back.
He stayed curled against the wall, arms locked tight around himself like armor, breath stuttering out in shallow bursts. Sweat clung to his skin, and the flush of arousal was gone, replaced by the pale sheen of fear and the tremble of a man who’d come undone too fast.
Silver swallowed hard. His own arousal had long since vanished, burned out by the sharp terror in James’s eyes. He should say something… anything. He should reach for him, hold him- But every word in his mind felt wrong and like it would be too much. So he did nothing.
For minutes that felt like hours, Silver just sat there, silent and frozen, watching the man break down three feet away from him… and he still didn’t have a single goddamned clue how to stop it. He didn’t even know what had caused it. Had it been his touch? It seemed unlikely, they had touched multiple times by now, in so many different places and configurations, Silver would have noticed if it had been unwelcome at any point… Maybe Flint had been hurt-
No, John thought, they had talked about it, briefly, in passing. They had both been spared at least that violation in their dangerous lives.
It must have been something he’d said, then, something in those careless words he’d barely paid attention to. He went over them again, trying to find what might have triggered Flint’s reaction so badly, but nothing came to mind.
With no better plan for now, desperate to remedy the situation somehow, Silver reached back and grabbed one of the blankets covering the bed. He dragged it down slowly, then carefully made his way over to Flint. He must have looked absolutely ridiculous, crawling across the floor like he was approaching a wild animal, but the man was shaking so violently everything in Silver told him to wrap him up in the damn blanket.
Thankfully, James didn’t react to the fabric being draped over his shoulders other than to fist his hands in it, keeping it close to his body. He remained curled up into a tight ball, but he glanced sideways at John after a few long moments, his breathing returning to something approaching normal.
“I’m sorry,” Silver whispered helplessly again, and Flint sighed. It was long and shaky, but he seemed to relax the tiniest bit. John counted it as progress and tried to inch closer. He wasn’t stopped, and it loosened the tight knot that had wound itself up in his chest. “I didn’t mean to…” He shook his head, resigned. Flint shrugged slightly.
“You didn’t mean to,” he breathed out, closing his eyes again and leaning his forehead on his knees. “You didn’t
know.”
“What… What happened here?” John licked his suddenly dry lips.
The captain waited for a long time before he gave him the answer, and when it came, it was barely more than a breeze.
“Miranda.”
He swallowed convulsively, as if the name made him physically sick, his fingers twitching where they were still holding the blanket in a death grip.
“Miranda?” Silver parroted, surprised, and James nodded.
“In Charlestown… Before she- Before they shot her… She-” He broke off, averting his gaze and gritting his teeth. “She told me she wanted to see the whole city burn. She-” A sobbing breath escaped him, his hands shaking again, and finally John understood.
“Oh,” he said dumbly.
Oh fuck.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered immediately, reaching out on instinct. Flint didn’t flinch away this time, and Silver used the opportunity to wrap his arms around him and pull him closer. He could feel James trembling, the shocks echoing through his own body, and he squeezed him more tightly.
“I’m
so fucking sorry,”
he repeated, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, the short hair tickling his lips.
It took Flint a long time to calm down, his body alternating between shaky sobs and shallow, panicked gasping. John wouldn’t be able to tell how long they sat like that, only that his back started to protest the awkward position, made worse by him trying not to put too much weight on his stump. When he shifted slightly, the captain tensed against him, and he didn’t like it at all.
“Let’s get back to bed,” Silver murmured, and sent a little prayer to whatever god was still listening to him when James didn’t oppose. They picked themselves from the floor and made it to the mattress together, with Flint helping him without a word. It was almost instinctual by now, something John was normally glad for - he hated it when anyone paid too much attention to his missing leg, and having Flint acknowledge it without making a fuss was usually a weight off his shoulders.
This time was different, though, and James’ continued silence made John uneasy.
Once they slipped under the covers again, he turned to look at the man, taking in how fragile he looked in his shirt, soft and vulnerable in the candlelight.
“I don’t think I can…” Flint started, but broke off, sinking his teeth into his lip until it turned white. He looked down between them, his eyebrows creasing, and Silver felt his stomach tighten.
“No,”
he protested, maybe a bit too harshly, because Flint squeezed his eyes shut hearing it. “No that’s not why… No.” He shook his head. “Just… come here?”
He opened his arms in invitation and waited. Flint glanced at him, then at the free spot for a long time, the muscles in his cheek jumping as he mulled the proposition over, before finally, slowly, he inched closer. It was hesitant, as if he had done something wrong and was no longer sure of his welcome. Silver’s heart squeezed painfully.
Once he had the man pressed to his side, he wrapped his hands around him again, keeping them joined together from chests to toes. James let out a quiet sigh, relaxing gradually, and as more of his weight settled against Silver’s ribs, he found he could breathe more easily once more.
They stayed like this long after the candles had burned out, their eyes getting heavy with sleep. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had a chance to rise, Silver felt him stir. He shifted restlessly, twitching and turning away, and John followed him with his eyes closed, pressing into his back and sneaking an arm around his middle. Flint stilled, swallowing loudly enough to make John frown.
“Are you awake?” The captain asked, his voice raspy, and John hummed in reply. James fell quiet again for a few moments. “I didn’t mean to fall apart on you,” he murmured. Silver blinked into the dark, throat tightening at the veiled
stubborn apology
in those words.
“You think I wanted you to hold it together?”
Flint didn’t answer, not with words - one of his hands found Silver’s where it was hooked around his middle. Flint’s clever, elegant fingers wrapped around his wrist then, after a moment’s pause, tugged it down, between his legs. John frowned, pulling his hand away. He could feel James tense against him, and he hated it, so he grabbed his shoulder and turned him to his back.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly. “Not
this.
Not ever.” He watched as Flint’s jaw twitched.
“I know that.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, though, and Silver bit his tongue.
Here, right before him, was Captain Flint again, glaring and commanding. John knew it was an act. Sure, James was perfectly capable of being the biggest menace to society anyone could ever imagine, that much was obvious to everyone around them. But once Silver had gotten under the mask, he had seen the soft spots, the vulnerable belly of the beast everyone feared.
Once he had possessed that insight, it was easy to notice all the cracks in James’ walls, so when the man leaned in for a kiss, when he tugged John’s hand down between them again, Silver hesitated.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his fingers wrapped loosely around the length of his manhood. The delicate material of the shirt still separated them, and it felt very soft under his palm, despite the rising hardness underneath. Flint’s eyes opened slowly as he leaned back slightly.
“About what?” He muttered, and Silver nodded toward the thin space between their bodies, filled with deep shadow and warmth.
“About
this.
Because I’m not going to touch you just because you think it’ll fix something.”
James stared at him, lips parted slightly, like the question had knocked something loose inside him.
“I don’t need
fixing.”
He spat, low and stubborn, using every ounce of defense he had left.
“I know that,” Silver replied softly. “I also know what it feels like to be scared and think you have to prove you're not.”
Flint didn’t answer - instead, he glared at something only he could see somewhere near John’s shoulder. Silver gave him time he needed, shifting his hold, placing his hand on James’ hip instead. He could feel the heat of his body through the thin material, the shape of his muscles and the sharp angle of the bone beneath them. Flint had put on some weight recently, and it suited him almost too well. His body screamed power now, instead of malnourishment. He looked like one of the ancient gods, coming to rule over them, mere mortals.
He didn’t have anything to prove, not as far as Silver was concerned.
After enough time passed that Silver was almost sure the man had fallen asleep again, James finally moved. He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to Silver’s. His breath trembled between them.
“I just want to feel like myself again,” he whispered shakily.
Silver leaned into the press of their foreheads, letting the heat of Flint’s skin linger against his own. He could feel the man’s breath, unsteady and unsure, ghosting over his lips. He closed his eyes and kissed him, slowly and without demand.
“Sleep, James,” he whispered when he broke away. “We’ve had enough for tonight.”
Flint didn’t say anything to that, didn’t really react at first. It was almost as if he was still overthinking it stubbornly, trying to find another angle, something to cut himself on. John kissed him again for good measure, then pulled him close again, both arms wrapped firmly around his back.
Gradually, James relaxed against him, his whole body softening. He let his head sink into Silver’s chest, his breath slowing down. This time, when they closed their eyes, they both slept.
In the morning, they tried again, with deep kisses and grasping hands, with John’s voice commanding Flint to stay still as he ravished him, and Flint’s hands tearing into the bedding as he tried to remain quiet.