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"A Pirate's Trade"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Alternate Universe - Pirates, yes I
went there, Yaoi, Smut, Questionable Pirate Morality, Arrrrg Pairings: 2x1, 3x4 Summary: Captain Maxwell of the Shinigami, second
most feared pirate to sail the Seven Seas, unwittingly stole precious
booty from the one man who is more feared than he is. Oops. "A Pirate's Trade" Maxwell didn't typically go to the bilge. That job was reserved for the low ranking sailors of his crew, but at the moment, it was where his insurance resided. The one whose welfare was of the utmost importance and he was paranoid enough to venture down to the lower level to check on the boy just to be sure he was presentable for his return back to Barton. The blond catamite was being contained in a large crate that was used to transport exotic animals from the coasts of Africa and Australia. The boy was small enough to fit though he had to sit with his scrawny legs curled up beneath him. Sky blue eyes blinked blearily up at him from between the bars of the cage when the door was wrenched open, spilling bright light into the murky darkness. Maxwell approached, the steady steps of his boots scuffing on the dusty floor. The boy, recognizing who he was, curled in on himself, wrapping slender arms around his filthy, bare legs. He was dressed in a ragged old linen shirt that was far too big on him. He looked more like a child than a man in his late teens. He was small, delicate, and stunningly beautiful. He was a prize without a doubt and it was no wonder Barton was willing to go to great lengths to get him back. The boy had been spotted wandering through a marketplace in Turkey, sticking out like a sore thumb due to his more European features and coloring. Maxwell had mistaken him for a nobleman, or European royalty and gestured to his men to snatch the boy in the hopes of collecting a hefty ransom. When they traced the boy's lineage, they discovered that he was actually Persian and while he was nobility, he'd been disowned at the age of fifteen. Maxwell had been a little confused because the boy was well dressed in fine silks and decorated with jewels. Of course, they'd taken the jewels and silks and sold them when they docked in Greece a month later. They could not get a ransom out of him so he was given to the crew where his other...assets were put to good use. Maxwell himself had not participated in making sport of the boy. He had his own catamite that awaited him in his cabin. His beautifully exotic boy whom he'd taken off the streets of Bangladesh after spending the night with him for the price of a few measly coins. Heero was a runaway, originally from Japan. How, or why he'd ended up in India selling his arse was beyond Maxwell, but he didn't much care about the boy's history. His Heero had been a whore out of necessity and was furiously independent. He did not take kindly to being relegated to a catamite. Maxwell worked hard on training him to accept his lot, but it was no easy task. The dark haired boy had fought him at every turn and shouted with rage when he was inevitably overpowered and pinned to the captain's bed. He'd cursed vehemently in his native tongue when his thighs were wrenched open. He'd punched, scratched, and bit as he was buggered into the mattress. Eventually, he would tire and lay limp in resignation, tears dripping down his temples in impotent fury with his legs slung over Maxwell's shoulders while the captain sought his own completion. Over time, his struggles became less, inflicting only minimal damage and Maxwell had begun to reward his acquiescence by pleasuring him in return. Though he still fought initially, he began surrendering after only a few minutes and that provided Maxwell with the opportunity to explore the boy's body and learn what his catamite responded to the most. The scratches he received now were given when the boy was in the throes of ecstasy. He found Heero received more prostate stimulation while lying on his belly with Maxwell's pillows stuffed beneath his pelvis. It was the sure fire way to reduce his boy to shaky breaths and whimpers, the quickest way to make him come. He loved watching those blue eyes roll back into the boy's head as he was taken to dizzying heights of pleasure. Loved listening to the soft mewls and moans. Loved the erotic lilt in his voice as he repeatedly panted, "Hai...hai..." The only way to keep a boy like that was to treat him good. There was no need to hurt and abuse. He'd cut the throats of pirates on more than one occasion when he'd seen them mistreating their catamites. If you treated them properly, the respect would come. Their loyalty was priceless and it was forever once you earned it. It was give and take both ways. He knew without a doubt that he would tear the whole world apart to get Heero back so he couldn't blame Barton for doing the same. He simply hadn't known the boy was Barton's. If he had, he would have steered clear. Once he and his men had conducted their business in Greece, they'd returned to port only to find the Shinigami gone. The mutilated bodies of his crew that had stayed behind to guard the ship, strewn across the blood splattered dock. Tacked to the decapitated head of his boatswain had been a note, scrawled in the elegant handwriting of a well-educated man, and Maxwell knew it was Barton himself who had written it. You have taken something precious from me so I have taken something precious from you. If you wish the return of your ship, you will return my boy, unharmed, to me at the Newcastle port. Do not be a hero and do not mistake my generosity for weakness. If you attempt to deceive me, I will fire my cannons into your hull and sink my blade into your jugular. You have twenty five days to reach the coast of Ireland. Do not test my patience, or my temper. Captain Trowa Barton, The Catherine. Maxwell had done trades and dealt in business with him before. It irked him because Barton's reputation as a ruthless cutthroat exceeded his own. Barton was the only one who was more feared on the high seas than he was. His thievery and cunning were unprecedented and legendary. He guarded his loot with a ferocity unmatched by any other pirate. His men, most notably Chang Wufei, were highly skilled in combat training, with Chang himself a former top spy and lieutenant in the army of the Ming Dynasty. While most pirates took to the seas due to their backgrounds in poverty and possessed little to no education, pirates like Barton, Chang, and even Maxwell himself were extensively knowledgeable and highly educated. They had advantages that many of the other pirates didn't because of their high intellects which made their pillages and their business dealings all the more successful. They knew strategy, knew how to plan their excursions well in advance, and executed them with the kind of finesse and cunning that was highly revered. It wasn't the pirates who did so out of necessity you had to worry about, though you still did to a certain extent. While those pirates were unpredictable, irrational, quick to respond without thinking about the consequences, their knee-jerk decisions often led to disaster. It was pirates like Barton and Chang who had chosen this life, for whatever reason, despite having other options available to them. They were quick, intelligent, charismatic, and terrifyingly dangerous when crossed. As Maxwell stood looking down at the young man in the crate, he couldn't help but feel suddenly terrible about his plight. He tried to imagine if Heero had been stolen from him and used as sport for a pirate's crew and his body tensed in murderous fury. His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms so hard, they drew blood. The boy, sensing the anger and believing it was directed at him, scooted farther back with a soft whimper. Maxwell kicked himself for frightening him and squatted down to his level. He kept his voice soft, soothing as he spoke to the boy, though it was not easy to school his tone into gentleness. It wasn't something he was accustomed to. He had to use the voice he often used with Heero, the kind reminiscent of attempting to placate a wild, frightened animal. "Hey, it's okay. Just relax, boy. I ain't going to hurt you, alright? You're going to be returned to Barton tonight at sundown which is a few hours from now." He watched as the boy's eyes widened in surprise. Maxwell nodded, encouraged. "That's right. But we need to get ya cleaned up and ready." He paused, hesitant. What he said next didn't come easily to his tongue. "I'm...sorry. About what happened. I didn't know you were - didn't know you were his." To his shock the boy spoke up. His English was choppy with a strong Persian accent, his voice raspy with dehydration and probably for another reason that Maxwell didn't want to think about. "Why would it matter if I belonged to Captain Barton, or if I was just a random person on the street? Either way, I didn't deserve what your men did to me." The boy's tone was almost authoritative and it reminded Maxwell that he'd once been nobility. Maxwell leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around one of the bars. "Why were you disowned?" The boy snorted and looked away. "Why should I tell you?" Maxwell's nerves rankled at this catamite, this whore, having the nerve to speak to him that way. But he remembered that he owed this boy, owed Barton for sparing his life for this faux pas and took a deep breath to cool his temper. It wouldn't do to continue to mistreat him. "I am just curious, is all. I do apologize for what happened. I have no excuse for that." The little shit had the actual nerve to look down the elegant slope of his nose at him. "I don't have to tell you anything." Maxwell shrugged and stood up. "Fine. Guess you won't eat then." He turned and stepped back towards the hatch, grabbing the first rung of the ladder that lead to the upper deck. "Wait!" He placed his foot back down onto the floor and looked at the boy over his shoulder. The blond was fidgeting nervously, picking at dirty fingernails and Maxwell realized he was probably accustomed to being clean and neatly groomed. If the jewels and silks he'd been wearing when he was snatched was any indication, Barton enjoyed decorating his catamite in the best of the best. In other words, the boy was spoiled rotten. Maxwell approached the crate again. "What's your name?" The boy hesitated for only a moment. "Quatre." Fitting that such a beautiful creature have such a beautiful name. Maxwell nodded. "Of the prominent Alfayiz family. Your father is a Vali representative of Sultan Murad's vilayet in the Eastern Saudi province." The boy dipped his head. "That's correct." Maxwell propped his hands on his hips. "Now, what in the world could a fifteen year old boy do to anger his family so much that they would disown him?" Quatre scoffed slightly and scratched at a scab on his knee. "The Valis were summoned to the Sultan's palace and encouraged to bring their families. My father brought me because he wanted me to take his place as Vali someday." "Uh-huh." The boy's dirty face was pained and he couldn't meet Maxwell's eyes. "The Prince's nephew was there. Several years older than me. He - offered to show me around because he said he liked me." Quatre's expression contorted into one of revulsion when he said, "liked me". "I followed him into an empty room and he began to fondle me." He shrugged as if this was no big deal, but Maxwell knew he was only saving face. "Next thing I know, I'm naked on his lap and he's inside me. The Sultan and my father were furious. They blamed me for seducing the Prince and I was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on my back. Banished from my home and my family." "I see." "I sold what I had on me to survive, but it wasn't long before I had to take drastic measures just to eat." "You were a whore." Quatre's bruised eyes glared up at him. "I had no choice." Maxwell held his hands up. "I'm not judging. How did you wind up in Barton's possession?" The boy shifted uncomfortably, blinking rapidly though whether it was to hold back tears, or there was dust in his eye, Maxwell had no idea. His voice was steady enough when he said, "I was attacked by a group of young men when I was sixteen. They were...they wanted to bed me, but didn't want to, or couldn't pay me." Quatre pulled the loose collar of his shirt back over his shoulder. "They were going to take what they wanted anyway. Captain Barton rescued me. I've been his ever since." "And how do you feel about Captain Barton?" The boy's eyes were wide when he looked at Maxwell. "He's my savior. My hero. He takes care of me -" "He fucks you." Quatre looked away, his face sour. "That's none of your business." Maxwell nodded, letting that one slide. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up and into some decent clothes. Get some food and water into you so you don't get blown away by a slight breeze. Can't have Barton slicing me head off now." He unlocked the crate and pulled the door open, stepping back so as not to crowd the boy. He watched as the blond tentatively crawled out and stood on shaky legs. The shirt barely reached his upper thighs and he tugged on the hem in an attempt to cover himself properly. Maxwell snorted. "Since when is a catamite worried about modesty?" Heero didn't care one bit, often lounging around in Maxwell's cabin naked as the day he was born. Quatre's face was decidedly angry when he looked at him. "I bare myself only for Captain Barton. My clothes were taken from me, remember? This was given to me after I was stripped and buggered by your crew." Maxwell winced at the reminder. "Aye. I'm sorry about that. That was a terrible move on my part. I know I can't take it back, but if there's anything I can do -" "Just...get me some breeches and some water. A little food if it's not too much trouble." "No trouble." Maxwell gestured towards the ladder. "After you." The boy hugged his shirt tighter around himself. "You go first." "Look, kid. I ain't gonna molest ya, or nothin', okay? I won't even look. I promise." Quatre still hesitated and Maxwell felt his tumultuous patience beginning to unravel. "This is my ship and I'm the captain!" He studiously ignored the fact that it wasn't actually his ship and pointed up at the hatch. "Now get your scrawny little arse up there." The boy huffed and pouted, but grabbed the rung all the same. He paused with his foot on the first step and looked over his shoulder. "Promise you won't look?" Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Cross me heart." "And your crew?" "They will not touch you. If they do, I'll lop their hands off meself. Happy?" Quatre's voice was droll as he continued on up the ladder. "Ecstatic." Maxwell followed him up, valiantly refraining from the temptation of looking up the boy's shirt to check out his smooth, creamy arse, and silently applauded his self-control.
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