smackenzie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smackenzie) wrote2013-11-23 02:08 am
smackenzie) wrote2013-11-23 02:08 am
Entry tags:
in which maggie and the priest go at it
"You want so much," he said quietly. "A navy, a kingdom. Ships at your command, a king in your debt."
"Not tonight. Tonight I only want you."
She leaned in and kissed him again, this time holding his face with both hands so he could not pull away. And he did not pull away - she knew he would not - but he did kiss her back. She pushed him down on the bed and lay half on top of him, pausing in her kisses to pull at his shirt and then his breeches. He had to help her, and then she had to stop and take off her boots and her own clothes, and then she was on him again, touching him, stroking him, devouring his mouth.
Once again he let her take control. She retrieved her hat and set it on her head at a rakish angle as she straddled him and rode him with steady rolls of her hips as if she were a ship rocking on the waves of a gentle sea. She watched his face as she always did, watched his throat work as he tried to speak. She put her fingers to his lips.
"Shh," she murmured. "Shh." She raised her arms over her head, stretched her back, rocked her hips against him. He moaned softly.
He kneaded her ass and told her he loved her, and she laughed, because of course he did, men always said that in the midst of their passion.
But he did love her, even when there was no passion, when he was walking the docks thinking and she was sitting down with pirate captains to make deals and gather followers. He loved her even then.
And she still did not love him, although as her desire swelled within her and as he pushed up against her, she knew she cared for him, and he could choose not to sail with her when she left and she would not coerce him to go with her, but she would miss him.
His breath came shorter and shorter and his chest heaved with exertion, and then his climax came upon him. Still she rode him, enjoying the feel of him inside her and underneath her too much to stop. He closed his eyes, caught his breath, and pulled her down close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
"You could have anyone," he murmured against her lips. "And yet you come to me."
"I like you, priest. Sometimes you are very good to me. The sex is always quite enjoyable. Why would I not come to you?"
He did not answer. She licked at his lips, and his mouth opened to her, and she let him hold her as they kissed and he grew soft inside her.
He would come with her. When the Black Lightning set sail from Port Doras, he would be on board. She knew it. He could not let her go without him.
She rolled off him and he rolled with her. He had clearly taken her lessons to heart, because she did not even have to show him what to do to bring her the pleasure she had given him. He took his time with her, so long that he grew hard again and entered her.
She lay on her back, her legs around his waist, her hands grabbing at his arms, his shoulders, raking her nails down his back and moaning with abandon as he plunged deep inside her. She felt the bed shake underneath them. She could hear the frame creak as they moved together. And then her pleasure peaked and crashed down on her, and her legs tightened around him and her hands clenched in his hair and he kissed her throat as she cried out.
He was not far behind her, and then he collapsed on top of her, a comforting weight, stroking her hair and her face and listening as she laughed softly.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked.
"I am so very happy." She grinned at him. His face was so close to hers that she could not focus on his features. But it did not matter, she knew what he looked like.
"Maggie."
"Priest?"
"Do you love me?"
"No." She was too spent and too satisfied and still a bit too drunk to lie. And she did not want to lie to him, even if speaking the truth would hurt him. "I do not. But I like you a great deal, and if you choose to stay in port when I leave to join my navy, I will miss you. Even now, I miss you when you are not around."
"What is that, if not love?" His voice was very quiet, as if he were talking to himself.
"I love my ship. I love the sea. Someday perhaps I might love you too." She twined her fingers in his hair. "I love the pleasure you bring me, how is that?"
She knew it should disturb her that she was so callously telling him what she knew he did not want to hear. But it was only the truth. Perhaps in the morning she would feel guilt, and if she did she would apologize to him for not wanting to lie.
"Are you telling me I should go with you so that you do not miss me?"
"If you wish to, yes. I come to you because I like you, because I want you. All the men you think I could have had tonight, you were the only one I wanted. Please, priest. I do not want to tell you things you do not want to hear. I only wish to lie with you, to sleep next to you, to wake with your arm around me. I thought you would wish to celebrate my great accomplishment, because finally I have done something great."
He pressed his lips to her forehead. She felt a surge of affection for him. Perhaps it was love after all.
"I must find my own happiness in all things, it seems," he said. "My path, my calling, my faith. You."
"Someday we will talk of lighter, more pleasant things." But she said it without malice or frustration. "But for now, enjoy the moment. Open the wine if you wish. I brought it for you."
"You brought it to drink yourself." He grinned.
"I brought it to share."
He shifted off her and slid off the bed. She watched him by the flickering light of the one candle as he went to the small table and retrieved the bottle. He stopped on his way back to the bed to pull on a pair of loose breeches, and then seemed to realize something.
"I do not have a corkscrew," he said.
"Knock the top off against the table," she suggested. Once, she knew, the idea would have appalled her. But she was a pirate, and pirates made do with what they had, or what they did not have.
The priest tried to break open the mouth of the bottle, hitting it against the table several times before it broke and splashed wine on the floor. He jumped back. Maggie laughed.
"But the opening is broken glass," he said, holding it out to her so she could see the jagged rim of the new opening. "And I have no glasses, no cups."
"Look in my coat pocket." Her coat was on the floor with the rest of their clothes. The priest picked it up, went through the pockets, and pulled out a small silver cup that Maggie had taken from the tavern. "You see, I am prepared."
So the priest brought the bottle and the silver cup into the bed with him. Maggie crawled under the covers and sat up with her back to the wall. The priest sat next to her, filled the cup, and handed it to her. She drained it and handed it back, and he filled it for himself.
They were nearly finished with the bottle before the priest leaned against her, sagging into her arm and resting his head against hers like a very tired man. Maggie patted his leg. Her head was swimming with wine and sexual satisfaction and the knowledge of what she had done on her own, how she had made alliances and convinced pirate captains to follow her.
The priest was a warm and comforting weight against her. She turned her head enough to kiss his temple.
"Come sleep," she murmured, pulling him down until they were both lying under the blankets.
"You are naked," he mumbled.
"So I am. Does it bother you?"
"I - Perhaps."
"Shall I put my shirt back on?"
"...Yes. Please."
So she climbed out of bed, which necessitated climbing over him, and flung clothes around until she discovered a shirt. Her hat had fallen off her head and landed on the floor during her coupling with the priest, and now she swept it up and sat it on the chair. She pulled the shirt over her head and realized that it belonged to the priest and not her, as it was too big and the sleeves were too long. She chuckled.
"I am wearing your shirt, priest," she told him. "It is too long but I like it."
"As you wish," he mumbled. His eyes were closed.
Maggie blew out the candle and crawled back into bed. She curled against the priest, breathing in the scent of sweat dried on skin and the lingering smell of slaked desire. He was warm and solid and his breathing was deep and even. She had perhaps had too much wine and she knew she would be a bit ill in the morning, but she believed the priest would let her stay in his room as long as she wished, and when she was ready she would go out into town and bathe and eat and take her ease, and in a few days she and her crew would set sail and her navy would gather and she would embark on the adventure that would bring her to her destiny.
But for now, she had a warm bed and a warm companion in it, and she was content.
words: 1686
total words: 39,221
"Not tonight. Tonight I only want you."
She leaned in and kissed him again, this time holding his face with both hands so he could not pull away. And he did not pull away - she knew he would not - but he did kiss her back. She pushed him down on the bed and lay half on top of him, pausing in her kisses to pull at his shirt and then his breeches. He had to help her, and then she had to stop and take off her boots and her own clothes, and then she was on him again, touching him, stroking him, devouring his mouth.
Once again he let her take control. She retrieved her hat and set it on her head at a rakish angle as she straddled him and rode him with steady rolls of her hips as if she were a ship rocking on the waves of a gentle sea. She watched his face as she always did, watched his throat work as he tried to speak. She put her fingers to his lips.
"Shh," she murmured. "Shh." She raised her arms over her head, stretched her back, rocked her hips against him. He moaned softly.
He kneaded her ass and told her he loved her, and she laughed, because of course he did, men always said that in the midst of their passion.
But he did love her, even when there was no passion, when he was walking the docks thinking and she was sitting down with pirate captains to make deals and gather followers. He loved her even then.
And she still did not love him, although as her desire swelled within her and as he pushed up against her, she knew she cared for him, and he could choose not to sail with her when she left and she would not coerce him to go with her, but she would miss him.
His breath came shorter and shorter and his chest heaved with exertion, and then his climax came upon him. Still she rode him, enjoying the feel of him inside her and underneath her too much to stop. He closed his eyes, caught his breath, and pulled her down close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
"You could have anyone," he murmured against her lips. "And yet you come to me."
"I like you, priest. Sometimes you are very good to me. The sex is always quite enjoyable. Why would I not come to you?"
He did not answer. She licked at his lips, and his mouth opened to her, and she let him hold her as they kissed and he grew soft inside her.
He would come with her. When the Black Lightning set sail from Port Doras, he would be on board. She knew it. He could not let her go without him.
She rolled off him and he rolled with her. He had clearly taken her lessons to heart, because she did not even have to show him what to do to bring her the pleasure she had given him. He took his time with her, so long that he grew hard again and entered her.
She lay on her back, her legs around his waist, her hands grabbing at his arms, his shoulders, raking her nails down his back and moaning with abandon as he plunged deep inside her. She felt the bed shake underneath them. She could hear the frame creak as they moved together. And then her pleasure peaked and crashed down on her, and her legs tightened around him and her hands clenched in his hair and he kissed her throat as she cried out.
He was not far behind her, and then he collapsed on top of her, a comforting weight, stroking her hair and her face and listening as she laughed softly.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked.
"I am so very happy." She grinned at him. His face was so close to hers that she could not focus on his features. But it did not matter, she knew what he looked like.
"Maggie."
"Priest?"
"Do you love me?"
"No." She was too spent and too satisfied and still a bit too drunk to lie. And she did not want to lie to him, even if speaking the truth would hurt him. "I do not. But I like you a great deal, and if you choose to stay in port when I leave to join my navy, I will miss you. Even now, I miss you when you are not around."
"What is that, if not love?" His voice was very quiet, as if he were talking to himself.
"I love my ship. I love the sea. Someday perhaps I might love you too." She twined her fingers in his hair. "I love the pleasure you bring me, how is that?"
She knew it should disturb her that she was so callously telling him what she knew he did not want to hear. But it was only the truth. Perhaps in the morning she would feel guilt, and if she did she would apologize to him for not wanting to lie.
"Are you telling me I should go with you so that you do not miss me?"
"If you wish to, yes. I come to you because I like you, because I want you. All the men you think I could have had tonight, you were the only one I wanted. Please, priest. I do not want to tell you things you do not want to hear. I only wish to lie with you, to sleep next to you, to wake with your arm around me. I thought you would wish to celebrate my great accomplishment, because finally I have done something great."
He pressed his lips to her forehead. She felt a surge of affection for him. Perhaps it was love after all.
"I must find my own happiness in all things, it seems," he said. "My path, my calling, my faith. You."
"Someday we will talk of lighter, more pleasant things." But she said it without malice or frustration. "But for now, enjoy the moment. Open the wine if you wish. I brought it for you."
"You brought it to drink yourself." He grinned.
"I brought it to share."
He shifted off her and slid off the bed. She watched him by the flickering light of the one candle as he went to the small table and retrieved the bottle. He stopped on his way back to the bed to pull on a pair of loose breeches, and then seemed to realize something.
"I do not have a corkscrew," he said.
"Knock the top off against the table," she suggested. Once, she knew, the idea would have appalled her. But she was a pirate, and pirates made do with what they had, or what they did not have.
The priest tried to break open the mouth of the bottle, hitting it against the table several times before it broke and splashed wine on the floor. He jumped back. Maggie laughed.
"But the opening is broken glass," he said, holding it out to her so she could see the jagged rim of the new opening. "And I have no glasses, no cups."
"Look in my coat pocket." Her coat was on the floor with the rest of their clothes. The priest picked it up, went through the pockets, and pulled out a small silver cup that Maggie had taken from the tavern. "You see, I am prepared."
So the priest brought the bottle and the silver cup into the bed with him. Maggie crawled under the covers and sat up with her back to the wall. The priest sat next to her, filled the cup, and handed it to her. She drained it and handed it back, and he filled it for himself.
They were nearly finished with the bottle before the priest leaned against her, sagging into her arm and resting his head against hers like a very tired man. Maggie patted his leg. Her head was swimming with wine and sexual satisfaction and the knowledge of what she had done on her own, how she had made alliances and convinced pirate captains to follow her.
The priest was a warm and comforting weight against her. She turned her head enough to kiss his temple.
"Come sleep," she murmured, pulling him down until they were both lying under the blankets.
"You are naked," he mumbled.
"So I am. Does it bother you?"
"I - Perhaps."
"Shall I put my shirt back on?"
"...Yes. Please."
So she climbed out of bed, which necessitated climbing over him, and flung clothes around until she discovered a shirt. Her hat had fallen off her head and landed on the floor during her coupling with the priest, and now she swept it up and sat it on the chair. She pulled the shirt over her head and realized that it belonged to the priest and not her, as it was too big and the sleeves were too long. She chuckled.
"I am wearing your shirt, priest," she told him. "It is too long but I like it."
"As you wish," he mumbled. His eyes were closed.
Maggie blew out the candle and crawled back into bed. She curled against the priest, breathing in the scent of sweat dried on skin and the lingering smell of slaked desire. He was warm and solid and his breathing was deep and even. She had perhaps had too much wine and she knew she would be a bit ill in the morning, but she believed the priest would let her stay in his room as long as she wished, and when she was ready she would go out into town and bathe and eat and take her ease, and in a few days she and her crew would set sail and her navy would gather and she would embark on the adventure that would bring her to her destiny.
But for now, she had a warm bed and a warm companion in it, and she was content.
words: 1686
total words: 39,221