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☏ call. ≔ text. 💻 video. ✘ action.

[ with all the people he has brought to his bed and then never seen again, john should be better at being distant. at being charming without being too meaningful, giving himself enough depth for others to explore without seeming shallow and dull, but without giving himself away. he used to be so good at it. is that a sign of age, the simple way he falls into like, so to speak, with people here as though it's nothing. maybe it's what isaac did to him. gave him someone to come back to, someone to actually love, as easily as they ever skipped around the subject, avoided it as though it didn't existed even though it lay in bed with them every quiet sunday morning they shared together.

john wishes he didn't care. but as much as he tells himself that he picked cassidy's number out of his phone tonight for practicality, for the fact that he thinks they are both quite suited to this business of being casual about their partners, but now that he's here, he knows he cares a little more than he should. he knows that he cares about several people here far more than he should. but he tells himself that the pleasure rippling through him at the pathetically attractive sound that cassidy makes is the same kind of pleasure he'd get from doing this to anyone. ]

Now, now. [ with that, john dips his finger into cassidy properly, at long last, twisting and crooking, his nose pressing along the line of the young man's cheek until their mouths meet again in a brief but firm kiss that muffles the words that john mumbles against them. ] There's no need for that kind of language, is there?

[ if cassidy has an answer to that, it will have to wait until john is done with kissing him again. properly, this time. he doesn't care that his neck strains a little with the angle, all he wants is the taste of cassidy's mouth and the press of his tongue, coaxing and encouraging cassidy to turn his head and receive this movement that borders on apologetic in the way that john opens his mouth to him, pliantly, as though it's cassidy in control and not the other way around. steadily, john fucks him with his finger, alternative the rhythm between a smooth middle ground and something a little rougher, a little more telling of his own need. sweat is gathering between them where their skin slides together, heat that radiates from the activity of their bodies, and sometimes, john likes to think, heat that generates figuratively through the dialogue of possibility, of sex, coming into tangible existence.

gently, at first, john introduces a second finger to the first, his mouth still on cassidy's as he does so, starved of contact like a man in a desert without water. the pace of his fingers quickens and he groans softly as he feels his own cock twitch slightly, and he leans back from the kiss only to bite down on his lip a little, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he opens his mouth to speak, sounding breathless. his tone has effortlessly gone from seeming sultry and filthy to something far gentler, something that cassidy won't have heard before. he makes requests that aren't requests at all, but the words seem so soft in his mouth, so plaintive and careful, like he's handling something so beautiful beneath his hands (which he is). ]

Lie on your back for me, Cassidy.

[ caring more than he should is what gets cassidy into trouble. it's dangerous to care too much in what is quite literally a cutthroat trade. everything is temporary in a pirate town. people appear and disappear like castles in the sand, and all the time you spent cultivating a relationship can be dissolved in an instant by the ocean. and god forbid you let your guard down around anyone. if someone you trusted betrays you, it's your fault for trusting them in the first place. that's not to say cassidy doesn't have people he trusts, but they're a small group, and their bonds were formed over time by blood, sweat, and tears. he gives the impression of trusting the rest of his crew, enough to get them to trust him in return, but in truth he trusts most of them as far as he can throw them.

casual is better. casual is easier. he's very much like john, or the way john used to be, changing bed partners as often as the tides change. when he was younger, his mother entertained the idea of him settling down with a nice, respectable girl one day and having a family. she'd even had a particular girl in mind up until the day he left. the thought of settling down, of having a family, of having anyone that ties him to shore, interests him as little now as it did then. maybe one day he'll grow out of it, but it's just as likely he'll be dead before that day ever comes. and then he'll be someone's lost connection.

a pirate isn't meant to be moored, or so he tells himself. and as long as he doesn't dwell on the comfort and familiarity he feels in john's presence, he can keep telling himself that. as long as it's always fun, what's the harm?

and even as he complains, swearing a blue streak about john's unbearable teasing, it is fun. it's a game, and games are meant to be fun. whatever string of curses cassidy might've uttered next are aborted when john covers his mouth with his, and by that point john's fucking him properly with his finger, eliminating his need to complain any further.

instead, he moans into the kiss, pushing back as john thrusts forward. a smile curves his lips, forcing him to break the kiss for all of a moment, and in the space he mutters, ] You fucking bastard, [ in response to be chided for his language, but it's wrapped in a playful tone. he rekindles the kiss, just as hungry for it. heat races down his spine and coils at the bottom, the glide of skin against highly sensitive skin glorious. he realizes he's half-hard again and doesn't know when that happened. he becomes aware when his cock twitches as the second finger is added, and he feeds another pleased noise into john's mouth. though john seems to be giving him control of the kiss or perhaps because of it, the kiss is sloppy. cassidy has very little control over what his body is doing anymore. even the way his fingers squeeze john's is unconscious.

and when john gives that instruction, the tone of his voice tugs on something in cassidy's chest and suddenly it doesn't feel so much like a game anymore. he lets out a breath, his heart hammering for no good reason, and then slides his knees out from under him and turns onto his back. his eyes never leave john's face. despite the change in tone, he still tries to joke, ] Going to fuck me like a proper woman?

[ for all that john starts to care, he's mercifully (unhealthily) good at bottling it up. he's pushed feelings he's had for someone for seven years so deep into the recesses of what he qualifies as "transient liaisons" that the realisation of its permanence almost destroyed him, broke him down into pieces that he barely managed to pick up off the floor before he came here, and still he tries to blame himself for letting it matter, for letting it be one sided when it was no such thing. he tells himself that he's still over-reacting, as if someone you love threatening to kill you isn't a big deal. he treats every lingering thought as a product of sexual desire, casual interest, but it's not that, not really. he desperately needs something stable, but he won't accept it. he can't. not when the closest thing he once had to stable fell apart the way it did, and proved itself to be as untrustworthy as he ever thought it to be.

he'll sweep it all under the rug until there's a lumpen mound that he can no longer cross, and at that juncture, he won't know what to do with any of the things he's been trying his hardest to ignore. he wears the denial like it's the height of fashion.

grinning a little at the pointed way in which cassidy swears, john adds a bite to the kiss, catching the young man's lip between his teeth, chuckling softly. he should have expected that, cassidy being as he is, and yet the retort still catches him just a little bit off guard. enough to amuse him. the messiness of the kiss doesn't concern him, for his concentration is in too many places at once to care, and because it remains enjoyable all the same, the obvious hunger that passes between them only sets him more into motion as he flicks his wrist slightly to twist his fingers into cassidy. he ducks under the swing of cassidy's legs, fingers not leaving him, smiling just a little smugly at the sight of the other man growing hard again. it reminds him exactly how long he's been aching to fuck him. ]

Oh, of course. [ he ducks down to take cassidy's chin between his fingers, and that soft, meaningful tone has disappeared into the wind as quickly as it arrived, replaced instead by sultry amusement. ] Only the best for a well-to-do lady such as yourself.

[ but it's still there in the way that john leans down to kiss him yet again, a different kind of need that creeps into the pressure of their mouths, though it could easily be lost in the way that he takes cassidy behind the knee and hitches his leg up. with a sideways inclination of his head, gesturing to the bedside drawer and the condoms, he murmurs, ] If you wouldn't mind doing the honours, please.

[ as a person with experience with someone you love trying to kill you, cassidy can say for certain that whatever john's feeling is absolutely not an overreaction. or, he would if he hadn't made an unspoken pact with himself to not open that box ever again. for all intents and purposes, he left it on that spit of land where he'd been stranded. he left it with the blood that had dripped steadily onto the sand from the gash in his arm, courtesy of a shot from the pistol of someone he loved. he left it with the part of himself that thought it was okay to let someone get that close to him. and the man who sailed away from that island days later told himself, never again. the experience had tempered him the way the harshest of conditions temper a blade, but it hadn't made him cold. rather, his anger and his hatred for that person fueled a fire in him that's kept him going ever since.

it's not a healthy lifestyle by any means, but the steady diet of rum and tobacco, not to mention the near constant exposure to danger, have already ruined him for that.

maybe it's the need to forget the past and the ones who've harmed them that brings them together. maybe they've run from those ghosts straight into each other. there's nothing wrong in that, is there? it's all about mutual benefit, nothing more. at least, that's what cassidy will keep telling himself because like hell he's going to repeat the mistakes of his past. it doesn't matter, anyway, because regardless of what develops between them, eventually they'll both return to their own homes and be once more separated by a gulf of three-hundred years, and it will be as if they never met at all.

(and yet, something tells him that even after he goes home to the west indies, he'll remember the sound of john's laugh against his lips, that stupidly smug grin, and the way he kissed him like maybe it meant a little more than just mutual benefit. the way cassidy might've kissed him back with a similar kind of need.)

as john leans back, cassidy makes an affronted sound. ] If you were really treating me like a lady, you'd do the fucking honours yourself, you lazy dog.

[ despite his complaints, he twists and arches, reaching for the bedside drawer. the compass rose inked into his shoulder seems to come alive momentarily with his movements, as if the needle might actually start spinning, seeking true north. his fingers grasp the square packets he's come to associate with condoms and with a grunt he sits back again. he pulls off a square and bites one corner to make a tear that he can then pull the rest of the way open with his fingers. he still marvels at the thin material, which seems like it shouldn't be enough, but he's more than willing to accept that it is. ]

God, you future lot are so fucking lucky you have these. [ he sits forward, as best he can with only one foot for balance and no hands, the muscles in his stomach pulling in. his hands are busy reaching for john's cock, assuming he meant him to do all the honours. ] You know what we make them of? [ he holds john's cock with one hand and rolls the condom on with the other, nice and slow, squeezing just a little, just to be a bastard since he know how much john must ache. it's his own damn fault. ] Fucking animal skin. Can hardly feel a damn thing.

[ once the condom's on, he strokes john from base to tip for good measure, completely on purpose. ] Now, are you finally going to fuck me?

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