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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" Chapter 6: Plagued by Love Trowa went back to the cabin after meeting with his crew to find his catamite sitting at the vanity, fluffing already fluffy blond curls. Quatre caught his gaze in the mirror and his face lit up in delight as it always did when Trowa returned. He stood up and turned around, holding his arms out to his sides. "Am I sufficient?" He was a vision, if Trowa was perfectly honest. The breeches he'd gotten the boy during a stop in Rome were snug around his slender frame. Long, supple leather boots cupped the length of his calves. His shirt was a deep plum colour, loosely flattering, opened at the collar with ruffled lapels and lace around his wrists. Wound about his delicate throat were necklaces of gold and nestled inside the elegant chains were small aquamarines and amethysts. They were among Trowa's favorite gems because they brought out Quatre’s colouring so beautifully, somehow enhancing the gold in his hair and the bright eyes that made Trowa think of summer skies. He'd required Quatre to grow his hair out and the luscious blond locks brushed the tops of his shoulders and curled fetchingly around his ears. Bewitched, Trowa approached him and swept the boy up into his arms, burying his face between his neck and shoulder and inhaled the delicate notes of lavender and jasmine that clung to his sweet skin. A mournful groan rumbled from his throat, wanting nothing more than to strip Quatre naked and plunder him again, despite already doing so less than an hour ago. "You look and smell good enough to eat," he husked against Quatre's neck, grinning when the boy's skin broke out in goosebumps. He smiled wider as Quatre's laugh echoed throughout the cabin and felt giddiness in his chest as he stroked his hands up and down the deliciously curved back. He groaned, not out loud, but deep within, knowing he'd essentially doomed himself. Christ Jesus. I love this boy. I'm so in love with him, it hurts. He hadn't meant to fall for him. He didn't even think he was capable of loving anyone, but he knew without a doubt, that this feeling was exactly that. He was a pirate who'd done the unthinkable. He wasn't supposed to love. It wasn't in the pirate code. Love was a liability. Love was what lead to your downfall. Love was what destroyed you. But he knew, as he held this boy in his arms, inhaling his scent, and feeling Quatre nuzzle him in return, that he couldn't stop. He'd never be able to let this go, even at the risk of his own peril. And he realized as he pressed his face into the soft golden hair, that he didn't want to. He jolted from his agonized musings when Quatre murmured against his chest. "Trowa? Are you alright?" Trowa squeezed him tight, then let go and stepped back a pace, a reassuring smile on his lips. "Of course I am." Quatre shot him a dubious look, but knew better than to argue. Instead, he grinned coyly. "Does that mean I'm presentable?" "You are more than presentable. You are delectable. I am the luckiest cutthroat in the world." The boy blushed, embarrassed, and it was so precious, Trowa wanted to drop to his knees and weep. Lord, have mercy. He's going to be the death of me. And that was more literal than he cared to admit. He'd been challenged for the boy already. Granted, it was only twice, but Quatre was desirable enough that men were willing to risk their lives for possession of him. Trowa may have been the most feared pirate alive, but he wasn't so obtuse, or egotistical to believe it would always be that way. It was only a matter of time before someone knocked him off of the throne he'd built from death and bones. There were always competitors, many of them with the potential to replace him. He'd heard word recently of a new pirate who was steadily climbing to the top of the select list of notoriety. Someone whose record was very similar to what his own had been two years ago. If this new pirate continued on the way he was, he would soon reach Trowa's precarious status and possibly even surpass it. Trowa had yet to meet him, but the name Maxwell was spoken of often in the pubs and taverns they'd frequented. Someone who was almost as savage as he, if not, more so. His kills had reached several dozen already and he was an extremely successful pillager. From what Trowa could discern, Maxwell was highly intelligent, resourceful, cunning, and charismatic. Like the Catherine, sailors often turned their ships around and headed for safer waters when the Shinigami appeared on the horizon. Trowa had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he came face to face with Captain Maxwell. Until then, he had a business meeting with Captain Zechs of the Tallgeese. Zechs Merquise was a rather eccentric pirate, and so full of himself, Trowa had difficulty hiding his distaste around the man. Not that he bothered to hide it. Zechs had once been a German Prince, but no one mentioned that if they wanted to keep their tongue. No one but Trowa. As much as it pained the former monarch, he didn't dare challenge Trowa's provocations and mockery. When Zechs took to the seas, he was disowned and removed from the hierarchy of the throne. He was bitter and he made no bones about it. But he'd done well for himself despite being cut off from the royal family. His tastes were ridiculously opulent, even more so than Trowa's. He was also infamously known for his harem of women and the man he'd enslaved for his own sexual purposes. Treize Khushrenada, once a top commander for the German army, had also been disgraced after a scandal was revealed about his sexual practices, namely that he'd allowed some of the men under his command to bugger him senseless. Zechs had returned to Germany long enough to convince the government not to execute the man, offering to take him off their hands instead. How he'd managed to pull that off, Trowa didn't know, nor did he want to. In a nutshell, Trowa had stolen a necklace from Zechs. One that held almost as much value as the Vatican. It had once been part of the collection of Crown jewels, taken by Zechs when he left Germany. And Zechs was nothing if not ridiculously careless, carrying much of his bounty with him instead of burying it. It had been almost too easy for someone like Trowa to swipe the loot from him and unlike Zechs, he was not so stupid as to keep it someplace where it could be stolen. Again. Trowa personally didn't much care about the piece beyond what he could get for it. There was, of course, a bounty on his head, issued by Zechs himself for stealing it, but no one wanted to risk their neck trying to take it from him. And as beautiful as Quatre looked laying in Trowa's bed, naked but for the Crown jewels resting against his clavicle, Trowa knew it was a liability. He didn't want the German army after his arse for the rest of his life. Better to let Zechs deal with that. He was intent on selling the loot to the highest bidder and soon received word that Zechs, desperate to get the piece back, agreed to double Trowa's best offer. The exchange would be made here, in Cape Town. The money Trowa would receive in this deal would provide enough provisions, amenities, and luxuries to last a few decades. All in all, he could say he'd done quite well. He checked his timepiece, noting they had about two hours before the meeting. Enough time to grab a bite and do a little shopping. Trowa was looking forward to spoiling his catamite and he wondered, with a self-deprecating laugh, when he'd become such a love-sick fool. Not that the gesture didn't serve other purposes. Being able to decorate the boy with fine things ensured he maintained his reputation and status in the eyes of the other pirates. They were the unmistakable symbols of success. He reached for Quatre, taking the boy's hand in his own, and fixed him with a stern look. "Now, remember, the way I treat you once we leave this ship -" "In no way reflects how you really feel about me," Quatre recited in a droll tone. "Yes, I know. You prove to me how you really feel all the time. It's okay, Trowa. I understand it's necessary." "Good." He reeled the boy in and kissed him breathless, savoring the hitch in Quatre's breath when he slapped his arse. "Now, you be on your best behavior." Quatre's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I'll be a good boy." *** Quatre was now adorned with a leather collar as he followed Trowa to the tavern where he would meet with Captain Zechs. Trowa had spotted it while they were shopping and purchased it off an elderly vendor who simpered and sucked up to Trowa like he was royalty. His wrinkly old hand reached out to pinch one of Quatre's cheeks, complimenting Trowa with a lecherous grin, his exquisite taste in catamites. Quatre did his best to remain silent and subservient while he listen to his captain and the vendor speak of him as though he wasn't even human. He forced his features into neutrality and kept his head low as he was roughly grabbed and held tightly against Trowa's side. He swallowed down his indignity when he was fondled right there in front of the vendor and the people walking past, reminding himself this was necessary to keep himself and Trowa safe. The more he was treated like an object, the more Trowa's enemies would reject the idea that Quatre meant anything more to him than an arse to fuck. Thanks to his three years of training, his was able to silence his outrage, something that would have been impossible before he met Trowa. He remained still, obedient as the collar was secured around his neck. Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that the addition of the collar only increased the heady feelings of arousal he experienced when he submitted to his captain. His cock was beginning to harden beneath his breeches, resulting from the collar and Trowa's hand rubbing against his groin. He unconsciously squeezed his thighs together and despite his humiliation, he was tingling with the desire to be buggered again. He did well hiding it behind a mask of reluctant resignation and allowed himself to be half-dragged, half-carried from one vendor to the next. After an hour, Trowa had purchased quite a few, rather scandalous, garments for his catamite and Quatre found he couldn't complain about that. He was looking forward to trying them on when they got back to the Catherine. It was sweltering hot and Quatre was sweating profusely by the time they reached the tavern. He swatted away the mosquitoes that were consistently drawn to him and tried not to glare at Trowa who seemed unaffected by the soupy heat and appeared not to be attracting the blood-sucking insects. Quatre swiped one off his neck when he felt the tell-tale sting of the bite and cursed under his breath. Wonderful. He was going to be spending the night furiously scratching the itchy little bumps that would no doubt cover his body. Say what you would about the Middle East, but at least bugs weren't a problem. Wufei met them at the entrance and he nodded at Trowa, completely ignoring Quatre which he was used to by now. He didn't take it personally. Aboard the Catherine, Wufei had developed a welcoming demeanor when in the company of his friend's catamite. Off the ship, Quatre was virtually invisible unless a fight broke out over him. To his eternal exasperation, the inside of the tavern was even more stagnant and reeked of body odor, urine, a dizzying amount of perfume, and warm ale. His nose wrinkled at the stench and he stumbled a little as he was yanked forward, Trowa's grip on his arm almost bruising. He bit down on the urge to snap, 'Not so hard', and obediently followed as he was pulled further inside. They stopped when they reached the back of the tavern and Quatre blinked through the haze of tobacco and peyote smoke to see the captain of the Tallgeese lounging languidly in an overstuffed armchair that stood against the wall. Impossibly long, elegant legs, clad in tight leather breeches were crossed, one over the other. Quatre's eyes traveled up the length of those limbs and took in the cream colored peasant blouse, even frillier than his own. Zechs had more rings on his hands than Quatre had ever seen and the gems glinted in the low light as the man flicked the ash from his hand-rolled cigarette. His hair was even more blond than Quatre's, bordering on white. It was long and silky looking, cascading over his broad shoulders. But it was the eyes that really demanded attention. Icy blue and sharp, they stared right through him as if he wasn't even there. Kneeling beside him was the man whom Zechs had taken as a catamite of sorts. He was older than the captain by at least a few years. He was shirtless, his bottom half wrapped in what looked like a sarong of some kind, the colour a deep red. Sandals, similar to the kind Quatre's own people wore, were wound around his ankles and calves. He sat on his haunches with his head hanging low. Quatre got a bit of a look at his face beneath the short brown hair. He noticed the man's eyes were closed and wondered if he was actually sleeping. He remained motionless as Zechs placed a pale hand on top of the man's head. Quatre had met Zechs once before, but that time, he'd brought a young woman with short black hair. She'd been similarly dressed as the former German commander. But instead of kneeling on the floor, she'd been in the captain's lap and her bare breasts were fondled and caressed during the entirety of the meeting. Come to think of it, Quatre recalled seeing her with her eyes closed, too, and assumed it was some strange preference of the captain's. He bit down on the yelp that wanted to escape when he was roughly yanked down and struggled to keep his balance as he was pulled into Trowa's lap, grabbing the table in front of him for support. Trowa's powerful arms closed around his waist and he resisted the urge to lean back against his chest. In public, it wasn't his place to do such a thing. He stared holes into the wooden grain of the table, his ears piqued as the two men greeted each other with reluctant amicability. He could sense Wufei standing behind his right shoulder as he always did, silently threatening. "Good to see you again, Barton," said Zechs, though his voice sounded anything but pleased to see him. Quatre watched out of the corner of his eye as the regal captain stroked his catamite's hair. He'd been completely uninterested when Zechs had had the girl with him, not the least bit aroused by the sight of her breasts. This time, he was more curious. Trowa had told him that the man had once been a German commander. Someone of high status who'd lost it all for the simple, yet despicable crime of enjoying sodomy. Having been through the same thing, Quatre's heart went out to him, though if rumor was anything to go by, Treize was more than satisfied with his lot and Quatre got the sense that was true. Even with his head down and his eyes closed, there was an element of peace in his expression. Contentment. Also something Quatre could relate to. Unlike the rest of the world, pirates didn't give much heed to the concept of sin. They indulged in it shamelessly every day of their lives. Homosexuality was just one of those many pleasures and no one really batted an eye at it. The proof of that was when Trowa cupped a hand over his groin and he, well-trained that he was, didn't jump at the stimulation. Trowa leaned forward and Quatre could feel the rumble against his back as he spoke. "Let's leave the niceties for another time, shall we? The money." Short and to the point was Trowa's way. Quatre chanced a glance up to see Zechs' eyes look down for just a moment in acknowledgement. He held out a hand to the man standing beside him who pulled a large satchel off his shoulder and silently handed it to him. Zechs grabbed the satchel and placed it on the table, then pushed it across the rough surface until it sat in front of Trowa and himself. He glanced into the opening and caught sight of shimmering gold. "It's all there. Where's my necklace?" Trowa's right arm uncurled itself from around Quatre's waist and held it up behind his back. Quatre could hear the slight jingle as Wufei produced the precious jewelry. A moment later, it was placed on the table and Quatre's eyes were drawn to it. Memories of wearing that very piece while he was buggered on Trowa's bed surfacing in his mind and he bit down on the sudden urge to smugly inform the former monarch of that delicious tidbit. Trowa didn't bother to push the loot across the table like Zechs did and the blond man scoffed and ticked a finger at the man beside him. Quatre watched long fingers wrap around the necklace and pull it away and felt almost mournful to see it go. "Your boy is very beautiful," Zechs murmured and Quatre's heart thumped as he was brought into the conversation, though he didn't dare look up. Trowa's arm tightened possessively around him. "Yes, I know." Zechs grinned and leaned back, picking up his ale. His glacier blue eyes twinkled over the rim of the cup. "How much do you want for him?" "He's not for sale," was Trowa's icy response. "You'd fight for him?" "You'll die if you try." "Pity," Zechs chuckled. "He would make a stunning addition to my collection." He glanced down at Treize and tucked a finger beneath the man's chin, lifting his head up. Treize's eyes opened, looking almost dazed and Quatre realized the man was actually drugged. "He would look beautiful lying beneath my own boy." "Only in your dreams, your Highness." Quatre could hear the mockery in Trowa's voice and wanted to laugh when Zechs' face hardened, all traces of playfulness wiped away. "Don't be too sure about that, Barton," Zechs hissed. He pointed a jeweled finger at Quatre. "Rumor has it this boy is held in much higher regard than you let on. That he's become your weakness. It would be a shame if something happened to him. Such a lovely little pup, he is." But Trowa wasn't taking the bait. "Only men who have nothing better to do than imagine tall tales to pass the time because they're bitter about their miserable lives will spread rumors. You're not one of those men, are you?" Zechs scoffed and waved his hand. "I am only repeating what I've heard in passing." He placed his stein on the table and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Speaking of which, there's word of a new pirate -" "Yes, Maxwell. I've heard." "Rising up the proverbial ladder, he is. Perhaps it is wise to watch out for that one. You might find yourself in stiff competition." "I'll believe that when I see it. What's his story?" Zechs shrugged and brushed a lock of hair off his shoulder. "No one really knows. They say he's from the New World, but his past is a mystery. He is quite savage, though. He's a known gift of finding a man's weakness and using it against him." Zechs' eyes briefly flitted to Quatre and his heart fluttered in his chest. It was unnerving news and he wasn't sure why Trowa hadn't told him about this Maxwell character sooner. "Granted, that only applies to men who have weaknesses," said Trowa. Zechs grinned, reminding Quatre of a shark. "Every man has a weakness. You are no exception, Barton." Quatre sensed Trowa's smile even though he couldn't see it. "And what's yours, Prince?" Zechs scowled at the honorific and leaned back in his chair. "As if I would tell you." Quatre's breath caught as Trowa suddenly stood up. He placed Quatre on his feet, but kept a strong arm around him. He handed Wufei the satchel of gold and said, "You don't need to tell me, Merquise. I already know what it is." Quatre walked forward, trying not to stumble when Trowa guided him back the way they came and he breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of leaving. He just wanted to go back to the ship. He was inexplicably tired. Zechs' voice drifted over the din of the tavern. "I highly doubt that." Quatre blinked in surprise as he was handed to Wufei. He didn't struggle as the Chinese man's arms wrapped around him, but he glanced over his shoulder to see Trowa step towards the man who knelt at Zechs' feet. His eyes widened as Trowa grabbed a fistful of brown hair and tipped Treize's head back, lowering his face as if he was about to kiss him. Zechs instantly shot to his feet, reaching into his breeches for his weapon and Quatre shouted as he was suddenly thrown to the floor. From his sprawled position, he looked up to see Wufei holding his sword with a steady arm, the razor sharp tip pressed against Zechs' Adam's apple. Zechs was frozen in place, his arm extended towards Trowa, pointing a jewel handled pistol at his head. Trowa, for his part, had not drawn a weapon, but he gazed at Zechs with an eerily calm confidence, like he knew Zechs wasn't so foolish as to pull the trigger. "Put it away, Merquise, or I will bleed you like a pig." Wufei's voice was low, but laced with the threat of violence and Quatre shivered at the deadly promise in it. He struggled to breathe, but was almost afraid to, not knowing what was going to happen. He watched a tiny drop of blood roll down Zechs' throat as the tip of the blade pierced the skin. After a moment of tense stillness, Zechs dropped his arm and angrily shoved the gun back into his breeches. After another long pause, Wufei retracted his blade and smoothly slid it into the sheath on his hip. Trowa smirked and stepped closer to Zechs who now refused to look at him. He leaned in and whispered against his ear, though his voice was loud enough for Quatre to hear what he said. "I found your weakness. Never forget that, your Highness." He stepped away and Quatre blinked up at him when he reached down to grab his arm and pull him to his feet. He was still in a state of shock, his heart jackrabbiting from the fear of seeing a gun aimed at Trowa's head. He wanted to turn around and smack him for being so reckless, but he knew he would only receive an even harder one for his troubles. He tried to quell the nausea in his belly as they stepped through the door, trying not to vomit up the lunch he'd eaten earlier. The relatively fresh air of the outdoors hit him in the face and he gasped, feeling lightheaded. "Tr - Captain Barton, please. I'm sorry, I need to rest for a moment." Quatre stumbled over to a large rock and leaned over it, his stomach beginning to heave. He vomited into the foliage growing behind it, coughing and sucking in lungfuls of tepid air. When the spasms subsided, he shakily sat down on the rock and lowered his head to his knees. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but didn't lift his head. "Are you alright?" No. "Yes," he said, not wanting to worry him. It wasn't the place for that. "I'm alright. I just need a minute to get my bearings." Nothing more was said. Trowa and Wufei waited patiently while Quatre recovered and thankfully, after a few minutes, the nausea and dizziness subsided. He straightened up and blew out a breath. "Okay. I'm alright now." He glanced up at Trowa, his heart melting at the concern in his eyes. "Are you sure?" He nodded and stood up carefully, grateful when Trowa's arm hooked around him and held him securely. "Yes, I feel better. We can go now." The adrenaline was finally beginning to subside, too, which left him feeling weak, his limbs trembling with the after effects. The muggy heat didn't help, but they made it back to the ship without any further incident and Trowa immediately ordered him to go to the cabin and lie down. He obeyed, wanting nothing more than to do just that and flopped down onto the bed with a heavy sigh as soon as the door closed behind him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Trowa demonstrate his prowess. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd seen Wufei draw his sword, but it was the first time he'd witnessed Trowa in immediate danger. He could have easily been shot and Quatre whimpered into the pillow when he remembered how close to death Trowa had been. Or, maybe he hadn't. Trowa didn't seem at all concerned so either he knew Zechs well enough to know the man was not that foolish, or he was overestimating him. The first option was the one Quatre decided to focus on because the second option terrified him. Trowa was smart, though. He knew what he was doing so perhaps Quatre was just overreacting. But it was the first time he'd been faced with the possibility that Trowa was vulnerable. That he could die at any time and Quatre didn't even want to think about that. The thought of losing Trowa made him ache with a sense of despair so profound, it left him feeling ice cold, which was strange given the heat inside the cabin. Exhaustion was quickly setting in despite his attempts to fight it and his eyelids drooped. His thoughts began to slip together nonsensically, but he had just enough coherence to jot down a mental note to ask Trowa about this Captain Maxwell. Soon, even that faded along with his consciousness and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep where he was plagued by nightmares of Trowa kissing Zechs' catamite, Trowa getting his head blown off, of himself getting buggered over the table by Zechs. He vaguely registered in his tumultuous sleep that it was hot. Too hot, which triggered dreams of being back home in the desert. He dreamed of the time he'd come down with Scarlet Fever, but instead of his nanny nursing him through it, it was Wufei for some unknown reason. The First Mate's face was grim, almost sad as he pressed cold compresses against Quatre's feverish brow and he kept whispering the same cryptic sentence over and over. "This is the price for your sin."
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