Waiting

The dog of course, was bloody thrilled with the situation. It ran past the little boat again, sending sand up with its four paws and barking for the mad joy of it. The keys lay forgotten near Ragetti's foot in a patch of seaweed as he worked. The boat they took was in ill repair, no other way around it, and while it had served to get them out of Port Royal's harbor it hadn't gotten them anywhere near a friendly haven before springing a leak.

By God's mercy, this island had been near enough to paddle to. Together he and Pintel had dragged it onto the white sand and rocks and turned it over. Ragetti's hands went over the keel, seeking out the spots that needed the most attention and occasionally fending off attacks of overly-friendly dog's tongue.

The island wasn't terrible. Rather nice, despite being stuck here. He was grateful. Grateful for the sun that warmed him down to his bones. Grateful for both of them getting out of that mess alive and well. Even grateful for the ruddy dog - not a bad thing to have around when one's feet were cold and the fire had gone out.

Ragetti let his hands linger over a weakened spot in the wood and then settled against the boat, soaking the warmth up through his stomach.

All of them had been cursed. None of them had grown close over it, especially not where Pintel and Ragetti were concerned, but still . . . they'd deserved better. Charity hadn't ever murdered a soul, and t'wouldn't have killed the guards either to let them walk around outside before their appointment with Jack Ketch. The lads were barely the same bloodthirsty group what had been herded in months before.

Meek as kittens when it was their turn to go, hardly the same humans and grateful to follow the guards to the end they'd all been waiting for. One man, who used to be Twigg, even sang hymns as he'd walked. Rags stared through the specks of sand on the keel, thinking on them now.

Conrad would never settle that debt his brother owed him. Jaques wouldn't ever find out if his son had followed his footsteps out to sea. And old Mukesh wouldn't see his wife or his favorite whore again, the one with the big --

"Rags, blast it! You gone deaf?" Pintel's voice jarred his eyes open and he sat up, flustered. The man was tromping over, arms full of wood and ignoring the dog that was trying to jump into his arms. He scowled, although his tone was jovial. "I thought you were lookin at the keel, not the inside of your eyelids!"

"Eyelid," Ragetti corrected, though not with the same irritation as usual.

The wood dropped on one side of the boat, a pile meant for firewood. Pintel had found some trees then, at least Rags hoped. He half-mindedly went about his prior task. Pint knew something was wrong however. Because after a minute or so, Ragetti found the man's hands on his back, gently peeling off his jacket.

"Yer gonna bake in this weather in all that. And what after our stint in the coop you could use some extra sun." Pintel's own jacket was thrown over the fallen trunk of a palm tree and he was walking around in the tatters of his white shirt. Ragetti shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, shaking out the sand and trudging over to the palm. He didn't realize Pint had followed him all the way until he turned around and his chest was against the other man's.

He startled at the feel of flesh upon flesh. Rags hadn't felt that in . . .

Contact hadn't been initiated much since their incarceration. For obvious reasons. In the cells, Pintel hadn't ever given him more than a cuff to the ear to mind the soldiers, lest they think the two of them were fit for an early hanging. Other than that, they'd uncomfortably kept their hands to themselves.

It bothered Ragetti now of course, what they'd chosen in some kind of unspoken agreement. He didn't let on. Excepting that his arms slid around Pintel a little tighter than usual.

Pintel's calloused palms slid down the skin of Ragetti's back and the taller pirate made an inarticulate sound, hiding his face in Pintel's shoulder. Pintel didn't say a word as his hands travelled, lifting Ragetti's cloth belt above the waistband. Prison had made them hungry and Ragetti even skinnier. Pintel didn't even have to undo the front of his trousers to slide them down over Ragetti's hips.

Ragetti stumbled out of the pile at his feet, tugged forward by the sash - the only article of clothing he still had on - to rest against Pintel once more. An arm encircled his waist, pulling him along until Pintel was seated on the fallen trunk and Ragetti was nearly on his knees, straddling the man's thigh. He shivered as Pintel's hand stroked along his spine and over his hip. It was much too much. Ragetti gripped the trunk and stretched forward to kiss the man, drunk with sensation. His earlier guilt had all but fled.

Pintel kissed him back, hand clamped possessively on the small of his back as though Ragetti was planning on going anywhere. The stout man smiled wickedly, and shifted the man on his thigh, relishing in Ragetti's breathless gasping as the material rubbed against him. The younger man could hardly support his legs now and was nearly depending on Pintel to keep him in such a position. Instead of aiding him in any way, Pintel leaned back, rolling one of his shoulders to work the kinks out.

"So. Good news is, we've got a couple trees further in what could produce what we need for pitch," Pintel said, all too casually scratching his ear.

Ragetti looked up with a thin moan of desperation. Now was not the bloody time to talk about boat repair. Pintel looked at him slyly and Ragetti knew he was in for a ride, as long as it lasted. The dog was off in the distance sniffing and barking at piles of seaweed, thank God. If it came around and tried to jump on them now, Ragetti was sure he'd strangle it.

"So I think it'll be a couple days afore we can get the boat tip top again." Pintel's thumb brushed against the inside of Ragetti's thigh on the way up. "What do ye think?"

Ragetti shuddered, bit his lip, and fought for control. "I think ye better hurry up an' do somethin' what ain't jus' teasin'."

Pintel tsked at him, stroking under his chin. "We ain't had it proper for a while, 'ave we? It ought to linger as long as we can make it. Aye?" His voice had a strange tone. Deep, almost bitter, but Ragetti leaned toward it eagerly. "All good things," Pintel murmured and kissed him, hand tangled in the taller pirate's hair.

Ragetti's mouth was full, but he whimpered in agreement.