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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"
Quatre was jolted awake by a loud slam, followed by an even louder curse. He flailed in surprise, disoriented for a moment and couldn't figure out why his hands were bound above his head. He glanced to his left, seeing the boy lying next to him and his memory came flooding back. Heero was also wide awake, his head lifted off the pillow and his eyes glued to the still closed door. "This is not good." Quatre's heart thumped with fear, not knowing what was happening. "What's not good?" "He's angry." Heero dropped his head back down and sighed. Quatre listened to the sound of stomping boots approaching, trying to calm his panicked breathing. "Angry about what?" "Bloody Hell!" Maxwell shouted from just behind the door. There was another loud bang and then door rattled on its hinges from what Quatre assumed was a furious kick. "Fucking shite! That son of a whore!" Both Quatre and Heero braced themselves as the door swung open, revealing a very red faced and enraged Captain Maxwell. Quatre glanced back at Heero, trying to gauge his reaction to guide his own, but the boy was just staring up at the ceiling now. Quatre decided his only option was to do the same. Maxwell strode over to the bed, purpose in every step and Quatre instinctively flinched. But instead of attacking them, Maxwell simply bent down and sucked Heero's flaccid cock into his mouth, breathing hard through his nose as he worked his mouth over it. Heero's breath hitched, his long dark eyelashes fluttering closed. Quatre could see his legs shaking slightly and heard a soft whimper escape his lips. He squeezed his thighs together as his own cock responded to the visual stimulation, noticing how Heero's began to grow and harden as it slid through the captain's lips. The boy's breaths became more labored, hips beginning to lift off the bed. Quatre's face was flaming red. He turned his head away and faced the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the soft moans of pleasure and the distinct sucking sounds. His own cock throbbed with arousal and he begged it not to harden. I swear on everything that is holy, if you do this to me, I will never forgive you. He clenched his teeth in frustration and embarrassment when his cock had other plans and continued to swell, arching up over his belly. Feeling betrayed, he cracked his eyes open and glared at it. Well, that's just wonderful. Thank you very much. See if I do you any favors any time soon. His cock responded by drooling a little precome onto his belly. He turned his head when there was movement in his peripheral vision. Maxwell leaned up over Heero and untied the ropes that bound his wrists. The boy brought them down and rubbed them, stretching and curling his fingers to resume the circulation. Quatre had long since lost feeling in his own hands and felt a surge of envy. Maxwell's eyes flickered to him and he briefly wondered if he might also be released. His hopes were dashed when he saw the gleam in the captain's eyes. Maxwell turned back to Heero and grinned. "Today you get the chance to be a man, lad." He pointed a ringed finger at Quatre. "Bugger him." Quatre's eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. "What?" "What?" Heero echoed the sentiment, his expression showing obvious shock. "I don't repeat myself, boy, and I'm not in the mood for games." He looked back at Quatre, his eyes hard. "Glad you told me who you belonged to." Quatre sputtered. "I tried! I -" "Either way, it doesn't matter now," Maxwell waved his hand. "Your Master took me ship, the lowdown filthy cur. At first light, we set sail for Ireland." "For what?" "That's where your captain told us to meet him." "How are we going to get there?" Heero asked. "Don't question me, boy! I know what I'm doing. Now, you two are going to give me a little show to lift up me spirits. Bugger him." Heero looked at Quatre, his face oozing guilt. Quatre nodded, his eyes softening with resignation, knowing the boy had no choice. "It's okay." He stared at Maxwell as he turned around and headed for the chair by the door, plopping down with his legs stretched out before him and his hand resting over his groin. He was unsettled that the captain would be watching, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Just let it happen, Quatre. There's nothing else for it. Pretend he's not even there. He gave Heero another nod and opened his legs. Heero hesitated, then timidly scooted over and settled between the blond's thighs, lowering his head over Quatre's groin. He pressed gentle kisses over his cock, which jumped and swelled again from the feathery stimulation. Quatre sucked in a sharp breath, biting down on an involuntary moan when his erection was pulled into the boy's mouth. He chanced a glance at Maxwell and saw that the man already had his cock out, his hand working slowly over the thick length as his hungry eyes drank in the two catamites on the bed. Quatre couldn't help but respond to the soft, wet suction and his hips lifted off the bed, rolling languidly from the pleasure. It was obvious Heero was good at it, but was he good at buggering? Had he ever done it before? Did he know what to do, or would he accidentally hurt him from lack of experience? Despite his anxiety, the moans slipped out before he could stop them. His eyes opened when something small dropped onto the bed and rolled down the indentation made by their weight, coming to rest against his arm. He felt the cold of glass and looked down to see a vial of oil, relieved that he wasn't going to be taken dry. He considered thanking the captain for thinking of that, even though he had no real reason to thank him for anything. He pressed his lips together as his upbringing raged war on his sense of indignity. Heero swiped the oil and drizzled it over shaky fingers. Their eyes met and Quatre schooled his expression into reassurance, sensing the boy was afraid of hurting him, or doing this against his will. "It's okay. Go ahead," Quatre whispered and spread his thighs wider. "Turn him so I can see," Maxwell murmured from his chair. Heero grabbed the blond's legs and dragged his lower body to the left so that the act of penetration was visible to the captain. Quatre winced as the movement and new position strained and stretched the muscles in his arms. Trowa was fond of tying his wrists to the headboard sometimes when they made love and it never failed to send Quatre into rapturous arousal. Now though, he felt more like a mouse cornered by a pit viper. His breath hitched when Heero pressed two fingers inside him and immediately sought out his prostrate, almost as if in apology for forcing the blond into this. Quatre uttered a moan, unable to swallow it down in time. His back arched off the bed and his hips rolled and undulated, seeking the stimulation again. Heero pushed Quatre's shirt up over his chest and bent down to suckle on a nipple. The sensation sparked down his spine and into his groin and his hips gave another involuntary roll. "Kiss him." Heero lifted up at the command and took his mouth in a heated kiss and Quatre was unable to escape, or deny how good it all felt. His body responded to the exquisite stimulation, not caring what his mind and heart thought about it. He decided if he was going to have to do this, he might as well enjoy it. It seemed Heero was intent on making it as good for him as he could. Heero broke the kiss and nipped his way down to the blond's ear. "I'm sorry about this," he whispered. "I don't have a choice. Please forgive me." "It's alright, I understand. I don't blame you." "I'll try to make it good for you." "You already are." That earned him a smile and he was warmed to see it, thinking Heero should smile more often. Heero pulled his fingers out and coated his erection with the oil. He scooted up until his groin was pressed against Quatre's arse and hooked the blond's legs over his shoulders. Quatre could see the captain out of the corner of his eye, but refused to look at him, instead looking up at Heero as the boy guided his cock to his opening. It slid in rather easily and Quatre cursed Maxwell's crew for that, though he winced a little as it pushed through the still tender ring of muscles. He forced his body to relax, closing his eyes and thinking of Trowa. His beautiful face, the stormy green eyes, the curtain of brown silk that tumbled over his left eye. His powerful body and that sun-bronzed skin, smooth like Quatre's satin chemises. His fingers curled into his palms, wanting desperately to touch as Heero began a slow, steady rhythm. Despite his current situation, it felt incredibly good and instead of tamping down on expressing his pleasure, he opened himself up and let go, moaning with every deep thrust. He peeked through his lashes and stared up at the boy above him. Heero's eyes were closed, his mouth opened in rapture. He panted shakily, occasional groans rumbling from his throat. Quatre found himself wanting to touch the boy, feel his soft skin, grab those straining biceps and hang on for dear life, especially when Heero picked up the pace, instinct and the exquisite heat of the blond beneath him driving him to fuck hard. Quatre's cock leaked precome onto his belly as the slap of skin echoed off the walls. He'd always loved that sound. A scraping noise alerted his senses and he looked over to see Maxwell stand up from the chair and walk towards them. His heart pounded, not sure what the captain was going to do. He stared unblinkingly as Maxwell stopped beside the bed and leaned down, his face hovering a mere inch over Quatre's. "Does that feel good, lad? Does me boy feel good inside you?" He huffed out a soft laugh. "Look at how far you've fallen, little Prince. Once nobility, reduced to a lowly catamite and buggered by another catamite." Quatre's nerves rankled from the degrading, mocking words, but unfortunately they were punctuated by a hard thrust and he tipped his head back, moaning brokenly when the tip of Heero's cock touched the place inside that made his eyes cross and his toes curl. Maxwell laughed, his breath ghosting over Quatre's face. "I'm not a man who believes in destiny, but I believe you've finally found yours." His hand stroked sweaty blond bangs off the boy's forehead, a deep groan vibrating his lips. "You look beautiful when you're getting buggered. Especially by me boy. He doesn't get the chance to do this and I'm sure he appreciates the opportunity." He glanced up at Heero, "Don't you, my little whore?" Heero made a choking sound and slammed his hips against Quatre's arse. He was too far gone now, the need to chase his orgasm the only priority. Maxwell stilled him with a hand on the boy's chest and Heero whimpered as he was denied the friction he desperately needed, though he obeyed nonetheless. "Pull out for a moment." Heero looked as if he were in pain, but slid his cock out from the hot clutch of the blond's arse. Quatre glanced down, noticing it was flushed a deep red, bordering on purple, and twitching uncontrollably with the need to get back inside his tight heat. Quatre blinked in surprise as Maxwell untied his wrists and ordered him to roll onto his belly. He did so, moaning a little as his cock rubbed against the wool of the coverlet. Maxwell retied his wrists behind his back then grabbed his thighs, wrenching them open, and stepped back. Quatre caught the gesture of his hand and then Heero was all over him again. Quatre felt the tip of the boy's cock questing between his cheeks, seeking the tiny opening. He pressed back inside with the most heartfelt sigh of relief Quatre had ever heard. While the discomfort of having his hands tied behind his back put a slight damper on things, the rough thrusts pushed his body across the bed which gave his previously untouched cock the stimulation it was craving. He mewled and moaned and drooled against the bed, feeling his balls draw up into his body with each push inside him. Several minutes later, Heero jolted and froze, sucking in a harsh breath. Quatre craned his neck to look behind him and spotted Maxwell behind the boy, his trousers down around his thighs, and his fingers clenched into his catamite's hips. He huffed when Heero suddenly dropped onto his back, knocking the wind out of him, then choked when the thrusting resumed, this time by Maxwell pushing into the boy on top of him. Heero bleated and whimpered and murmured against his ear, overwhelmed by the dual stimulation of buggering and being buggered. His hands curled into the bed covers on either side of Quatre's head. Every thrust of Maxwell's hips pushed Heero's cock deeper inside him. Combined with the scratchy wool rubbing against his cock, Quatre quickly rose to the apex of ecstasy and whimpered into the mattress as he was fucked through his orgasm. Agonizingly, the constant pressure on his prostate didn't stop until Heero and then Maxwell came and by then, Quatre was so overstimulated, tears were leaking from his crossed eyes and he was weeping brokenly into the bed as his cock pulsed and spurted again. Weaker, but somehow it lasted longer than the last one and he was mindless when the motion finally stopped. He panted and blinked away the spots in his bleary vision, reeling from sensory overload. The weight on his back finally lifted which made it much easier to breathe. He didn't move as the ropes around his wrists came loose and he was rolled onto his back again and dragged up the bed. His arms were limp and lifeless as they were lifted over his head and his wrists were once again secured to the iron bars of the headboard. He dizzily turned his head and watched an equally disoriented Heero also being tied back up and absently wondered why the boy still needed to be bound after two years. Not that he was going to ask. Exhausted, he watched Maxwell reconnect his belts after shoving his cock back into his breeches, too tired to even care about the wet spot he was lying in. The captain stood over them, watching them with an unreadable look, then turned his back and headed for the door. Quatre had enough wherewithal to inquire about what happened next. "What happens now?" Maxwell glared at him and Quatre realized he'd stepped over the line. It wasn't his place to ask, but he was dying to know. The realization struck him that Trowa had found out who he was with and had stolen Maxwell's ship. That meant there was a chance that they could be reunited. His stomach twisted with anxiety as he waited to see if Maxwell would answer. "We leave at first light," he repeated. "Ireland. That's where your master will meet us. Provided he hasn't destroyed, or decimated me ship, I'm going to assume there will be an exchange." Quatre's face lit up and Maxwell's darkened upon seeing it. "Do not hold your breath, boy. This will not be as easy as you think. Your stinking captain killed three of me men. He is lucky I do not kill you now just for that." He huffed, his chest expanding beneath the open collar of his shirt. "But I also want me Shinigami back in one piece. For your sake, you'd better pray it is, or I will choke the life out of you with me bare hands, right in front of him." He swung the door open without another word and disappeared through the threshold. Quatre flinched when it slammed closed and he heard the click of the lock. There was a soft snore beside him and he turned his head to see Heero sleeping like a babe, his mouth wide open. Despite the possibility of danger, even death on the horizon, he couldn't help but smile at the boy. He didn't know what his story was, or how he came to be in Maxwell's service, but he was deeply curious and intent on finding out the first chance he got. Heero had an odd look of brooding about him when he was awake. He was complacent, obedient, but those remarkable blue eyes shimmered with intelligence, resentment, rebellion. It seemed he hadn't acclimated himself into the life of a catamite as easily as Quatre had and maybe that was why Maxwell still saw fit to keep him tied up. Perhaps he still tried to escape at every opportunity. Still, a blind man could see how much Heero had enjoyed getting buggered by his captain. If Quatre was any kind of observant, and he was, it was blatantly obvious that the boy had enjoyed it. It was interesting to watch the two of them interact and he was more determined than ever to hear their story. For now though, it was time to rest. His eyelids once again grew heavy and drifted closed. He listened to the soft breaths of his companion, occasionally interspersed with a snore, allowing the sounds to lull him to sleep. His thoughts began to slip together, reality mixing in with things that only happen in dreams, becoming increasingly difficult to tell which was which. He slept uneasily, visions of swords and revolvers, his dreaming mind making the pops of gunfire and the shiiink of blades pulled from their sheaths sound terrifyingly real. There were screams of pain, the meaty thud of metal hitting flesh and he was suddenly thrust into a world where everything was red, including the sky. It was as if everything was submerged in blood. He could feel warm stickiness on his face, in his hair, gluing his clothing to his skin. He looked down to find himself still barefoot and clad in the too-large shirt. He stood in a puddle of what looked like blood, the life-giving liquid oozing between his toes, making his stomach clench and he swallowed down a rush of nausea. His bare legs were streaked with it. It was spattered over the linen shirt and on the skin of his exposed shoulder and chest. When he raised his hands, he could see them also coated and though he mentally willed himself not to do it, he reached up and rubbed them over his face, spreading the blood over his cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. Distantly, he could hear cries for help, but could see nothing but a tumultuous sea of red. He realized with a sinking feeling of fear that he was aboard the Shinigami. Floating several knots away was the Catherine, close, but still out of reach. He strained his eyes, peering through the red-orange haze, looking for any sign of life on the ship and saw none. "Trowa?" He was startled to discover his voice did not carry, as if he was standing in an airless vacuum. It sounded disturbingly flat, muted, and he tried again, louder, only to experience the same. There was a roaring sound in the distance, too far away to be loud just yet and his eyes located a storm on the horizon, still many nautical miles away. He forced his feet to move, trying not to slip in the abundant amount of blood coating the deck. His legs felt heavy, but he wasn't sure why. The sound of crying became louder and he followed it, stepping around the main mast and reaching the helm where the agonized weeping seemed to be directly in front of him. He wondered why the voice of the person crying seemed to travel while his own did not. He reached the helm and squatted down when his ears told him it was coming from beneath the steering wheel. He peered into the murky, red darkness and saw a body curled up in the alcove under the wheel. He reached out cautiously with a trembling hand, his fingertips lightly brushing an equally bare and blood-streaked leg. "Hey," he whispered and cursed as his voice still seemed to only be heard in his own ears. "Are you okay?" The person lifted their head up and Quatre staggered back with a gasp, losing his balance. His arms flailed and pinwheeled, but gravity won out and he landed hard on his rump, soaking his backside in sticky blood. But he was far too shocked and horrified at the sight before him to notice. It was Heero who sat curled in a ball before him, but where his beautiful blue eyes once were, there were now only bloody sockets. The optic nerves, which still remained, swiveled around as if he was searching for the one who touched him. "Who's there?" "It's...it's me, Quatre. Heero?" He reached out to touch the boy again only to have him flinch away and ask who was there again. "It's me, Quatre," he said in a louder voice, dismayed when it didn't travel through the air between them. "I don't know who you are, but...just...just leave me alone! Haven't you taken enough from me?" "Heero, please! Can you hear me? It's Quatre!" His hand gripped the boy's shoulder, shaking him as if that would somehow make Heero hear him. The boy shrieked, his voice laden with terror. "Don't touch me!" Quatre's heart sunk as he buried his face into the small space between his knees again. There was a strange grinding sound behind him, becoming incrementally louder. He turned slowly, not knowing what he was going to be met with and was horrified to find Wufei trudging across the deck, his gait a clumsy shamble. Like Heero, his eyes were gone and he seemed unaware of Quatre. The grinding sound was from the tip of his katana dragging across the bloodied wooden boards behind him, leaving a thin trail through the crimson puddles for just a moment before it disappeared. Quatre struggled to his feet, slipping a little before he gained his footing. He hurried to catch up with the first mate, reaching out a timid hand to grasp the pleated edge of his waistcoat. "Wufei?" The man spun around and Quatre took an involuntary step back, staring at the rotating stumps of his optic nerves with morbid fascination. He was shocked when Wufei spoke, somehow knowing who had touched him without being able to see, or hear him. "Enough, Quatre. You've done enough." He turned his head, seeming to look around them. "Look what you've done. You've always been a disappointment. You've always been useless, but this time, you've gone too far. You filthy sinner. You no good, worthless whore!" Quatre clapped a hand over his mouth, stunned when Wufei's visage transformed into his father, then the many nameless faces of his customers. It shifted again to Maxwell's face, Heero's, and then finally Trowa's. The same sightless eyes looked at him, but now seemed to actually see him despite the impossibilities. "Trowa? Trowa, what - what happened? What did I do?" Trowa was silent for a long time, then his lips parted and he spoke with a strange monotone, shattering Quatre's heart with the cruelty of his words. "All this blood was spilled over you, Quatre. All of it. It's your fault. Because you were too stupid and foolish to stay beside me. This was for you. Are you happy? Are you proud? You've killed us all. You worthless little whore..." He jolted, choking on saliva and sobs, and howled through trembling lips and chattering teeth. In his still dreaming mind, those whose deaths he was responsible for continued to damn him behind his closed eyes. His ears still heard the judgement in their voices, the cruel accusations, but coasting over the top of them, another sound began to break through the haze. Someone calling his name. He dimly registered that he was being touched. A hand? Or something more sinister, gripping his arm with the intent of keeping him from escaping his Hell. He bleated and slurred disjointed words and phrases and the hand on his arm clutched harder, shaking him now. The voice calling his name was louder, shouting, almost drowning out the sea of voices in his head. "...atre...Quatre? Quatre!" He sucked in a sharp breath and flailed, panicking when he couldn't move his arms. Still immersed in his dream, he believed it was a demon holding him down. His legs kicked desperately and his mouth opened wide, unleashing an ear piercing shriek. He jolted again when a stinging blow struck him across the face and he hollered in surprise. His eyes popped open and took in his surroundings, noting with confusion that there was no blood. No ship, no ocean of red and better still, no eyeless men staring back at him. Trembling and sweaty, he glanced around, disoriented, and jumped when the faces of Maxwell and Heero appeared in his line of sight, staring down at him, the former with derision and a little surprise, the latter with concern. Reality rushed in like the waves at low tide and gradually, awareness came back. He breathed a sigh of relief, finally beginning to realize he'd only been dreaming, though he was still haunted by the images his mind sought to remind him of. He blinked owlish eyes as Maxwell straightened up and propped his hands on his hips. "Damn, kid," he said and Quatre thought he heard a hint of awe in his voice. "I've seen some shite in me life. Hell, I've seen me men succumb to nightmares sometimes, but I think you've got them all beat by a long shot." He bent down again, his lips split wide in a grin. "That must've been some dream." Quatre had no response to that, still trying to acclimate himself with the real world. He dipped his head in a vague nod and shifted his gaze to Heero whose eyes were swimming with questions. Are you okay? He wasn't, but he wasn't about to tell them that. He nodded again and swallowed around a dry throat. His body still shook with the after affects of adrenaline as Maxwell untied him from the headboard and helped him to his feet. "Can you walk, kid, or are you overcome with the vapors?" There was a tinge of amusement in his voice that Quatre resented, not quite in the mood yet for humor. "Yes...yes, I can walk. I just - just need a minute to get my bearings." Maxwell shrugged and stepped away. "Suit yourself. Do not take long. Boy," he said, addressing Heero who stood at attention. "Look after him. Make sure he's not going to keel over. I'll be down the hall when you're ready." He pointed a finger at each in turn. "Do not take long," he repeated. "If I have to come back for you, I'll take you both over me knee." Heero nodded and with one final pointed look, Maxwell headed out the door. Quatre listened to his retreating footsteps and blew out a breath, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. His body felt weak, useless, arms and legs heavy as if they were pinned down with lead weights. The mattress dipped beside him and he felt the warm press of Heero against his side, though he didn't turn to look at him. "Are you alright?" He nodded. "Yes. Just a nightmare." "Do you want to tell me about it?" "It's nothing," he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. He wasn't even sure he was capable of explaining it. It was still haunting him, filling him with a sick sense of dread. It felt like an omen. A glimpse of the horrors that were yet to come. What did it mean? Were they all going to die? Would everyone die except him? Would this really become a massacre? He hunched over, suddenly feeling ill, his body consumed with a flush of icy chill. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, the rising rush of panic. His stomach finally gave in and he dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, vomiting onto the polished wood. He shuddered and heaved, weak, sweaty, and trembling, only minutely comforted by Heero's hand rubbing his back. The sickening wrench of his gut finally calmed, but he remained where he was, sucking in deep gulps of air and silently praying that his dream wasn't some sort of premonition. He clearly remembered the words that lanced through his heart, now and in his dream, sharp as Wufei's sword, spoken in Trowa's voice. It's your fault.
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