Chapter Text
After walking the streets of the Republic for over an hour, Pete’s resigned himself to a sexless vacation. Every reputable innkeep—all two of them—shoos him and Lucius away. The disreputable ones want more sterling than their rooms could possibly be worth, or else favors Lucius isn’t willing to trade.
“I’ve never seen you turn down this many blowjobs,” Pete mentions as they leave the seventh tavern. “Come to think, I’ve never seen you turn down any, at all.”
“It does help that everyone on board is either adorable or insanely attractive.” Lucius shakes his left hand like there’s something stuck to it, but Pete can’t see anything on it except for the wooden finger. “Like, gorgeous really. No idea how Stede pulled that off, unless he was just that dedicated to hiring the hottest men available.”
Pete chuckles. “Yeah, there’s usually at least one or two ugly mugs. Scares off the sea monsters or something—they go right for pretty faces with their tentacles, according to Frenchie.”
Lucius shakes his head. “That explains both Frenchie’s nerves as well as some of Stede’s more interesting books. There’s one that’s all woodcuts full of squids and di—”
"You're absolutely certain you aren't for sale?" interrupts a stranger's voice from the alley.
"Oh no," groans Lucius.
Pete mourns the sudden loss of a hand to hold as Lucius drops his arms dramatically. "What?"
"It's just I keep seeing you with a different man," the stranger continues, emerging from the shadow of a pub. He sounds like he gargles whiskey on the rocks thrice daily, heavy on the gravel. Pete doesn't know where to look first, as bedecked with mismatched jewelry as the man is, every facet of each probably stolen gem catching the meager sunlight. "Hard not to take it personally, you know," and he drags a heated gaze up and down Pete's body.
"Still retired," Lucius tells him. "Happily, blessedly retired from my paid dirty knees days."
The man hums thoughtfully, eyes twinkling like his jewels. "Especially rough on me when you appear to have a preference for a certain, hmm, distinguished group?" He grins at Pete. "Or else age is both a number and a coincidence."
Lucius rolls his eyes. "Keep going and you'll sound like an abundantly oversexed version of my last rabbi."
Pete opens his mouth to ask if rabbis are even allowed to have sex, but their uninvited companion bumps Pete's arm with his own. "You let him call you daddy?" he asks, smirking like he hasn't just upended Pete's entire brain.
The pause is painful, made worse by the triumphant return of Pete's nervous stammer, which he can vaguely make out over the sudden loud ringing in his own ears. He turns from the stranger to Lucius, who seems… Not concerned for Pete, or upset by the suggestion, or possessed of any real emotion, at all. Instead, Lucius has the same look in his eyes he gets when he studies whoever's lucky enough to model for him, like he's memorizing every individual speck God ever laid to skin, and whatever else the world saw fit to add after.
"Got the dynamic all upside-down," he says, never looking away from Pete.
"Respectable," crows the man, and Pete jumps from the friendly slap to his shoulder. "Or perhaps you'd rather it were disrespectable," he adds with a chuckle. "Very salacious, you know, a full grown man calling a boy that."
Pete screws his eyes shut to focus on speech. "I don't!"
The strike of a tinderbox; the heady odor of slightly damp tobacco and rolling leaf burnt once already. "Pity," the man tosses out; Pete can feel the exhale on the shell of his ear as he adds, "Bet you'd make a lovely boy yourself."
"Well!" Pete jerks his eyes open as Lucius links their arms together at the elbow, slightly dizzy from the promise in the stranger's voice. "Wonderful running into you again, but we've a room to rent for ourselves, alone, so we'd best b—"
"Oh you're not likely to find one of those unless you're an ass-saddled virgin." He exhales through his nostrils, every bit a fairy tale dragon, though he holds the end of his mostly gone cigar as daintily as Stede holds his tea. "Something called a con-vention in port. Bit of fuss 'bout a pyramid scheme, whatever that is. Whole island's booked up."
Lucius pinches the bridge of his nose. "No wonder Karl sent us to a partially vacant lot."
"What're we gonna do, babe?" Pete would sleep in a barrel if Lucius would join him. Might make sex a bit of a challenge, but Pete's definitely done weirder. "Back to the ship?"
"I think Roach and Buttons would literally murder us if we interrupted whatever…" Lucius' face went quickly through a complex series of emotions Pete could only define as, I've bitten into a muffin filled with toe jam and don't dare disrespect the baker. "Whatever they have going on there; I honestly don't want to know."
But the strange man makes a noise of intrigue. "Adventurous souls, these shipmates of yours?"
"I make it a point to do the absolute opposite of considering what they get up to during full moons with that many knives, thanks so much."
"A moon such as we have tonight." He considers the sky as he takes a final puff before flicking the remains of his cigar into the detritus of the alley. "Suppose it's your lucky days," and he begins fiddling with his necklaces, rearranging them until he comes up with a key threaded on a gold chain. "A private room has just become available for you both for the evening, given you send me in the direction of your, hmm, saucy shipmates."
Pete eyes the key with suspicion as it's placed in his hand. "We can't just tell you which ship they’re on!"
"No," Lucius says, grabbing the key before the stranger can take it back, "we can’t, but I can. You'll want the Revenge. She's got an entire bloody unicorn on the front and apparently the worst rigging on the entire ocean. Can't miss it."
But when they turn to leave, Lucius gripping Pete’s arm and practically dragging him along, the man grabs Pete's other wrist. "Small finder's fee, of course," he says. "Given how mad Miss Jackie's going to be with me for lending out my room. You understand."
"Depends entirely on what you're angling for." Lucius tries to pry the stranger's hand from Pete, but can't manage to make it work with his wooden finger. Still, the possessiveness of the intended gesture isn't helping the situation in Pete's smalls in any way whatsoever.
"Ah." The man gingerly pulls his hand back on his own. "No touching—I see how it is."
Pete thinks he mumbles, "Fucking right," but can't be certain with how much blood currently isn't reaching his brain. His face feels like it's burning; he can feel the thrum of his heartbeat in his cock.
"You seem to like to watch," and Lucius has that appraising look on his face again.
"Only as often as possible."
"Then it's your lucky day, actually, because we do love an audience." Lucius turns to Pete—whatever he sees must be funny given the suddenness of his smirk. "You game?"
Pete's mouth has gone entirely dry, still feeling the ghost of the stranger's incredible grip on his arm. "Uh. Sure?"
"Excellent," and Lucius releases his elbow to give him a little shove into the alley behind their… Guest, perhaps? Pete's never been one for etch-uh-cat or however it is fancy folks say the word for manners. He spins on his heel, no idea what the plan is, thinking he should ask, but Lucius grabs the front of his shirt with his right hand and drives all the words out of Pete's head. "What do we say when we need it to end?" Lucius asks, voice low as he backs Pete up against a cobbled wall.
"Cannon."
"And to stop the clock?"
"Belay." The word has barely passed Pete's lips before Lucius brings their mouths together, fingers of his right hand still wrapped in Pete's shirt, and the remaining original digits of his left clutching Pete's jaw. It's still a new enough experience to be an arousal all of its own—at least, Pete assumes that's why kissing Lucius sets his insides burning like oil. He doesn't have anything to draw a comparison with, but Pete figures that, if everyone had this reaction all the time to being kissed, the world would be either kissing much less or incredibly unproductive.
Pete realizes he should do something with his own hands, settling for slipping them beneath Lucius' shirt. But Lucius pulls his lips away and, okay, Pete definitely didn't catch that particular whine in time. It's so hard to stay quiet with Lucius; Pete hasn't had this much trouble keeping his tongue since his very first ship.
"Hands behind your back, I think." His eyes are lit with mischief as Pete complies. "That will do nicely, thanks," and Lucius lowers his hands to Pete's belt, pushing his lucky horseshoe off to the side. "Shame you won't go broadfall," he says as he begins unbuttoning Pete's trousers with his right hand. "Easier access."
The scent of tobacco reaches Pete again, and he's reminded of the stranger. "Um, belay?" he squeaks out, still kind of dumbfounded by the concept of watchwords, let alone making use of them. Pete clears his throat as Lucius reaches the last button. "Belay!"
Lucius immediately stops and frames Pete's face with his hands, and Pete doesn't like the concern he's put in Lucius' eyes. "What's wrong? What's the matter?" Pete looks at their companion meaningfully, then looks down at both their groins. "Oh, right," realizes Lucius. He turns his gaze back toward the entrance of the alleyway. "I don't suppose you're the type to take offense at a cunny or two, are you?"
The alley may be dim, but Pete can make out the rise of the man's brow. "Would be terrible if I were," he replies, his slow smile sparkling, "given my being attached to one and all."
Pete laughs in relief. "Nice," and the stranger gives a hint of a bow.
"Anything else?" Lucius asks, and Pete shakes his head. "All good?"
"Very."
Lucius crinkles his nose as he grins, then makes quick work of the remaining button. Pete inhales sharply when Lucius yanks his trousers and smalls down past his thighs, confused when Lucius doesn't follow their descent, back pain be damned. Instead, he leans his left forearm against the wall beside Pete's head, and puts his mouth to Pete's ear.
"Here's what I think," he begins, words for Pete and he alone. "I think our odd little friend over there chanced upon something about you before I did, didn't he?"
Pete chews at his bottom lip, brain racing. He squeezes his own wrist between the stone and the small of his back, trying to figure out how to answer, or if he even should.
Lucius makes a small sound Pete can't decipher, then kisses the tip of his nose. "You can just nod or shake, if that's easier."
"Not really," admits Pete. When Lucius kisses his forehead, he feels his legs wobble; Pete leans back against the wall with his shoulders, trusting that it's sturdier than he is at the moment. "It's kinda a weird thing, you know."
"Not that weird." Lucius mouths at the hinge of Pete's jaw, then drags his tongue further back. "Never done it from the top before, though." He places a sucking bite under Pete's ear; below the waist, Lucius does little more than pet at him, softer than he ever has before, and the teasing is driving Pete mad. "Must admit that I'm intrigued to try."
The word is blaring full volume and double time across Pete's scrambled brain, but he can't force himself to utter it. "Don't make me say it now," Pete manages, hips thrusting forward to chase a touch that's suddenly withdrawn. "Not in front of him, hon, please."
Lucius makes a show of sucking his fingers clean of Pete, all save for the wooden one. "That's not a 'no' to making you say it later," he says after popping his ring finger out of his mouth. "Right?"
"It…" Pete's mouth drops open as Lucius rubs featherlight at his cock. He tries to spread his legs further apart, but the clothes around his thighs prevent him, and isn't that just delicious? They play the Lucius-in-charge game fairly often, but never with anything particularly restraining involved. Pete hasn't let himself think about it in years, but now it's all he can consider.
"Babe?" Lucius stops rubbing and taps Pete's cock with the pad of his finger. "Do you want me to make you say it later? Yes or no."
"Please," leaps from Pete's mouth as a harsh whisper.
Lucius chuckles, then gives Pete a peck on the lips. "Excellent," he says, and then drops gracefully, carefully to his knees. "Hands to yourself, you pretty thing."
"Oh fuck." Pete doesn't know whether it's Lucius spreading him open or being called pretty that he's swearing about. He likewise doesn't much care, not with Lucius' tongue wrapped around his cock.
"Oh fuck, indeed," the stranger murmurs, propped up against the wall with his elbow beside Pete, but still far enough away to be an audience rather than a participant. Pete glances down for a moment, only long enough to see that the man's hand has disappeared below the wrist into his own trousers. "What a bit of luck I've had today."
Pete's certain he had a reply, but Lucius is currently sucking all the thoughts from his skull through his dick. He clamps his mouth shut, instead, trying to stay as quiet as he can.
The man appraises him far more knowingly than Pete's comfortable with. He pushes off from the wall, using his hand to fish into a pocket of his vest, withdrawing a bandana with a flourish. There's no question asked, only a curious raise of his eyebrow.
"I—um, I…" Pete grunts in protest as Lucius withdraws, and watches the flicker of amusement on his face as he deciphers the situation.
"You could just stamp your foot if you need to, instead of your word," he says with a shrug. "If you'd rather have your mouth occupied."
Pete would rather, actually. Yet another thing that's just never come up, not after… Well that's not here, only there, buried prematurely in the past, but he finally admits, "Rather it be one of yours."
The stranger laughs, albeit not unkindly, tucking the bandana back into his pocket. "Isn't that fuckin' precious?"
"He is, isn't he?" Pete's obligatory protest dies on his tongue as Lucius licks a slow line up his slit. "Do us a favor?" He dips inside, eyes never leaving Pete's frozen stare, and Pete wishes he could still get wet, could see himself dripping on Lucius' lips. "Give him my scarf."
"With pleasure." The stranger tucks his cigar behind his ear. Pete watches him unknot the scarf from Lucius' throat as he eats Pete out like a starving man at a feast. He splays his hands across Pete's thighs, pushing his ass back flush with the wall, and Pete can't help the sound that finally escapes him, even if he is mortified by the noise.
"Shit." He squirms involuntarily, then groans again when Lucius sucks his cock harder in response. "Sorry, 'M sorry, I can't h—"
"Hush now." At some point during the suction, the man had returned to Pete's side. He holds the rolled-up middle of the scarf between his fingers and thumb. "I think you wanted this, hmm?"
Pete looks back and forth, between the stranger and his lover. Lucius closes his eyes and hums around Pete's dick, and Pete slides slightly down the wall.
"Close," he tells Lucius. "Do it," he says to their stranger.
The scarf tastes a bit like Lucius' sweat, in that it's been cleaned the same as any other fabric on board a ship, washed in salt water and dried in salt air. Even decades later, though, Pete would know the taste anywhere. He can feel the stretch of his lips around the wad of cloth—his moan gets muffled, and the sound of it makes him feel light-headed.
Pete meets Lucius' gaze entirely by accident, but now he's stuck and couldn't look away if he wanted to. The tip of Lucius' tongue darts out to wet the corner of his mouth.
"Would you maybe want him to hold your hands?" and Pete's nodding helplessly before Lucius has even finished asking.
"Don't mind if I do." The stranger's hands are wider than Lucius', the skin rough and calloused. He grips Pete's wrists tightly, but doesn't make a move to do anything else, which Pete is grateful for. Pete almost wants to pull against him just to be certain he's going nowhere until Lucius is finished with him. Maybe some other time, once Pete has found the nerve to give voice to everything he wants.
Lucius licks teasing little circles around Pete's cock, like he wants to take his time with him. Pete thinks he'd be more amenable to that once they hit their new room; right now, he just wants to come, and oral has never gotten him there successfully on its own. Still, Lucius' mouth feels fantastic, and Pete distantly wonders if his praise is making it through the scarf, at all.
He tries to be nicer to it with his teeth than he was to the old rags in his youth, but then Lucius pulls back and switches to using his knuckles to jerk Pete's cock instead, and all bets are off. His hips keep shifting forward long after the tight spool in his gut has come undone, thighs clenching together as he rides out the aftershocks, even as the rest of his body slumps back against the wall. The stranger releases him, holding a hand out to Lucius to pull him off the ground, and Pete hates being let go.
"This has been quite the educational experience," Lucius quips as he lets the man help him stand up. "I really feel like I've learned something today." He dusts off his knees as much as possible, then starts putting Pete's clothes to rights.
"Happy to help." The stranger mimes like he's touching the brim of an invisible hat. Pete turns away from him when Lucius retrieves his scarf; he puts it back around his neck like it isn't covered in Pete's spit, which he probably shouldn't find as hot as he does. "And I won't come 'round your way this evening," promises their audience. "No good to loosen a tongue only to tighten it all over again."
Pete blinks, still a bit dazed, but mostly distracted by Lucius' seeming inability to tie his scarf back in its rightful spot. "...Thanks?"
He only smiles broadly as he backs his way out of the alley. "What are friends for?" The man turns to walk into the gloomy daylight of the Republic, but not before adding, "Always nice to be right about a beautiful boy, to boot."
Several long moments pass as Pete finds his feet and calms his lungs. "What the fuck just happened?" he finally asks.
"Gave you head in an alleyway for the benefit of a stranger and, more importantly, his room." Lucius sighs and gives up struggling with his scarf, leaving it open and dangling around the back of his neck. "Welcome to sex work, by the way, you're a natural."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Are you kidding? You were the entire floor show, babe."
Pete moves his head to the side to avoid being kissed. "Also you sold out our crew!"
"Don't let Roach and Buttons hear that you don't think they can handle themselves." He scowls when Pete ducks his lips again. "Rude."
"I know you're new to piracy, but you just—" He shuts his eyes, collecting his thoughts. "Look, I'm gonna go warn them he's coming."
"Are y—wait, are you actually mad?" Pete wants to immediately take it back; Lucius looks genuinely lost. "Are we fighting?"
"No," he says, deflating, picking up the ends of Lucius' scarf to tie it back himself. "I'm not mad, and we're not fighting; just really need you to think of us all like a unit more often."
Lucius has gone very still beneath Pete's fingers. "I can't believe you came so hard you turned into Izzy."
The corner of Pete's mouth twitches into a smile before he can stop himself. "Besides, if that guy sets the boat on fire before Wee John has the chance, Frenchie'll have both our heads."
"Oh." Lucius touches the knot on his scarf gingerly with his right pointer. "Suppose you have a point. Although then Blackbeard would just take us all to the QAR, wouldn't he?"
Pete shrugs. "He is pretty far up Bonnet's ass, so… Maybe? But I wouldn't count on it being a fun experience if I were you, sweetie. Trust me."
He seems like he wants to say something else, but Lucius takes a long blink, instead. "Rendezvous at Jackiez then?"
"Sounds like a date to me." Pete gives Lucius a brief kiss goodbye, because he really wasn't mad, just concerned and concentrating on talking it through. He takes one last look over his shoulder at the end of the road, and tries not to worry when he sees Lucius, still standing there, absent-eyed and touching his scarf.