Preventing A Mutiny
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
4,695
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
4,695
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Characters and PotC belong to Disney. No profit, monetary or otherwise, gained from using them here.
Latitude
-------------
The tepid wash of shame which flushed the Admiral was not enough to rinse away the taste of rot ascending from the stagnant, putrid, diseased grip around his vitals as he stood before Lord Beckett.
There was a stark contrast between his appearance - starched, stiff, timid - outstanding, lawful, right - and the unsounded debris he stood in, firmly knee-deep, in guard for it not to reach his heart, and it would’ve been laughable, had he given it a thought.
Instead, he followed as the Lord, with measured moves, descended graciously onto his level, lulled James further into their play in which an act irrevocably followed an act, always beginning in whispers.
A hand a drama, voice a tragedy, sharp recognition that the weight of the key was the pound of a heart a mundane comedy.
With each overly, deliberately, disgustingly tender touch of powdered fingers, a sheet of what made him was peeled off James’ skin, while the nigh-stroke corroborated the revelation of who he yearned to become.
Coaxed with no more than slight drama, a few, scarce tragedies, the Admiral lie, prone, his shame coursing and coiling from tepid to as vigorously demanding as his rock-hard cock, eager, now that he knew what needed to be done.
Now that he knew how to take it a step further, how to gain punishment untried, penance never reached before despite the bent pleads of the culprit, even with the smell of the evidence of his crimes still heavy about. James‘ guilt soared with each deliciously depraving caress over his secretly marred skin, creating a wonderful infinity of his lust and despise overlapping.
Fervently, he sought to fulfill his desire, impatiently fulfilling the one of Beckett, earning the Lord’s gratification, his seal and sign, the milky-white strips sousing James’ chest, while James himself thrust deep, coming in sweet, violent spouts.
Carefully grabbing his Lord by the wrist, the Admiral raised the hand to his lips with a breathless smile, ghosting meaningless kisses over the delicate fingertips, and under the suspicious eyes of his new-found solution, gasped out his own death sentence; “I have the key to Jones’ heart.”
----------------------
The tepid wash of shame which flushed the Admiral was not enough to rinse away the taste of rot ascending from the stagnant, putrid, diseased grip around his vitals as he stood before Lord Beckett.
There was a stark contrast between his appearance - starched, stiff, timid - outstanding, lawful, right - and the unsounded debris he stood in, firmly knee-deep, in guard for it not to reach his heart, and it would’ve been laughable, had he given it a thought.
Instead, he followed as the Lord, with measured moves, descended graciously onto his level, lulled James further into their play in which an act irrevocably followed an act, always beginning in whispers.
A hand a drama, voice a tragedy, sharp recognition that the weight of the key was the pound of a heart a mundane comedy.
With each overly, deliberately, disgustingly tender touch of powdered fingers, a sheet of what made him was peeled off James’ skin, while the nigh-stroke corroborated the revelation of who he yearned to become.
Coaxed with no more than slight drama, a few, scarce tragedies, the Admiral lie, prone, his shame coursing and coiling from tepid to as vigorously demanding as his rock-hard cock, eager, now that he knew what needed to be done.
Now that he knew how to take it a step further, how to gain punishment untried, penance never reached before despite the bent pleads of the culprit, even with the smell of the evidence of his crimes still heavy about. James‘ guilt soared with each deliciously depraving caress over his secretly marred skin, creating a wonderful infinity of his lust and despise overlapping.
Fervently, he sought to fulfill his desire, impatiently fulfilling the one of Beckett, earning the Lord’s gratification, his seal and sign, the milky-white strips sousing James’ chest, while James himself thrust deep, coming in sweet, violent spouts.
Carefully grabbing his Lord by the wrist, the Admiral raised the hand to his lips with a breathless smile, ghosting meaningless kisses over the delicate fingertips, and under the suspicious eyes of his new-found solution, gasped out his own death sentence; “I have the key to Jones’ heart.”
----------------------