Obey Your Captain

They would look after this little bundle like they were their own. He knew.

He felt movement next to him, legs sliding from the tangle as secure as the knots on the rigging. A groan sprung next to him as she clearly was unable to work her way free. Her warm body shifted from his chest that was using him as a mattress. “Where are you going?” he muttered, keeping his eyelids shut as if he was still asleep.

“I must get back to my hammock before the crew awake,” she whispered a groggy reply.

“There are still a few hours of our agreement left. Sleep.”

“I really must-”

“Kaliyah,” he purred, “If you sleep, I will arrange hot water for you to bathe or alas the scent of our activity will be all over you.”

He spied her through his lashes wrinkling her nose at him. There was no denying the whole cabin had the after-effects in the air, a heady musk even orcs could smell. “I will sleep.”

“Good girl.” Flattening her back to his chest, they dozed, a glimmer of contentment within them.

Captain Baron eased himself from under the firecracker he’d shared his cot with. A warmth deep in his chest. He would make her his, regardless of what she was. She curled her body around thin air as he landed silently on the rough floor. He wished to hover, watch her in such a vulnerable place, but, as was the way on the ship, there were duties to do.

He padded down the rickety stairs to the hot kitchen, a large tin bucket in hand. Stoking the fire that always burnt, he set the pale over the coals. “Cap’n?”

“Don’t mind me attention, Kendrick.”

“Are ya wan’ing owt?”

“Back to sleep with you.”

“Good nigh’?” he asked with a knowing grin.

“Are you wishing to say something?” He spun to the cook who had pushed himself out of his hammock. A firm glare warning to tread lightly.

“Won’t hear nuffin’ from me.”

“Good.” Turning away from the cook, he gave the water a quick swill with a poker before taking it from the heat using a coal smeared rag.

Moving past his cot on light feet, he splashed the warm water into a basin, regretfully washing himself of her smell. There was something about having the scent of a woman all over you, particularly one you wanted so.

Dressed in a fresh shirt, his boots gleaming after a polish, he stood beside his bed, the fair maiden still quietly slumbering. “Time to rise, Puoco.” A large hand placed on her shoulder for rousing.

She hummed, turning onto her back before her eyes snapped open. A smile found his lips as she flinched, bringing her arms around herself, her cheeks ruddying. “Come, I have heated enough water for you to wash your hair.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, “It is not necessary, I will merely bathe.” Her vibrant eyes glanced violently around the room, roaming intently.

“Embarrassment is far from what you should feel after our night.” Perching on the edge of the bed, his deft fingers began working on her braid, easing the strands free.

“It will not be repeated,” she growled, the fire reigniting to what he had witnessed a mere eight hours previous.

“No? I thought it should become a regular pastime.”

“You are mistaken.” Despite her words, she was not walking away, not burning him. His hands continued unthreading her hair.

“We will see. Please, the water will get cold.” He shifted with enough space for her to slide past him, a wicked glint in his golden eyes watching her derriere disappear behind the curtain.

Giving her a few moments, he stood, retrieving a chair from his office before pushing the curtain aside. “This is most-”

“Sit.” He crowded her until she had no choice but to move a few paces to the side before he placed the chair up against the basin and handed her his shirt she had worn the evening prior.

She shoved the garment roughly over her head. “Captain, our deal is over you can no longer-”

“Kaliyah, please. Will you do me the honour of sitting for me?”

She scowled, but plonked herself unceremoniously on the chair, facing away from the water.

“Lay back,” the whispered words appeared to get him further than barking orders.

“Salt water isn’t optimal for hair.”

“It is something I wish to do for you.” Tipping her head back until her silvery blonde hair splayed in a fan in the basin. Wetting her scalp, he relished the peaceful expression that shuttered over her face. She was clearly a lady who liked touch. A possessive squirm in his chest wished for it to only be his touch she would crave, desire, accept.

“Captain…” she murmured in pleasure, “This is highly inappropriate.”

“It be only inappropriate if we perceive it. Ignore the crew, think of you.”

“Daddy would-”

“I believe your daddy would have approved the match.” He lathered the soap, massaging the suds into her surprisingly soft hair. “I will arrange your cabin today, your salary will be paid alongside your cut whenever you wish. I understand if you don’t want pouches of gold on you.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Do you need gold urgently to be sent to your mother?”

“No, I have made arrangements.”

Perceiving her intently, he rinsed her hair, “Is this arrangement to cost more gold?”

The relaxed expression vanished, replaced by a hardened glare of burden. She stood, ignoring his hold on her hair, she tugged away. “I appreciate all you have done. Notify me when the cabin is ready,” her primer voice coming back into play.

“There is no harm in asking for help.”

Her eyes flashed along with the scowl on her face before she disappeared.

The chair groaned as he sunk his weight into it, running a frustrated hand over his face. He had wanted her the first time he clapped eyes on her. She may have met him a mere year before, however, he had been aware of her since her seventeenth year. Walking along the cobbled streets of Blackwater’s merchants quarter. Arm in arm with her sister it was her laugh that had alerted him to her presence. A musical tinkle. She didn’t look how she did now. Her hair a deep chesnut, the colour of her mother’s hair.

A month later he had seen her again, boarding her father’s boat. A part of him never believed her father would allow her on a boat, he knew Merchant Warren, he had sailed under him for close to a decade, he was a formidable, excellent seaman and regularly chartered dangerous waters to bring back the finest silks and spices. Meaning, to see his daughter boarding… Baron had wondered the thinking behind the man almost twenty years his senior.

It was by chance Baron had docked moments before the funeral procession began for Merchant Warren, he hadn’t even been aware the renounced sailor had passed over to the next plane. Within a week, the murmured rumours were his daughter was looking for work on a different boat. He knew she’d be better off with him than someone who would take advantage. Even a ferocious fire mage could be exploited so soon after the death of her dearly beloved father.

He could have easily exploited for his own wants.

Luckily for her, he was a somewhat gentleman. He merely manipulated her into what she wanted.

Giving his little firecracker the time she probably needed, he went about his duties, including sorting his private storage room ready for her. Did he neglect to mention it was next to his quarters?