Chapter Text
Silver scans the tavern after finishing his conversation with the woman behind the bar. It takes him a moment to spot Flint, tucked away into the far corner of the room. He found a free table? Though judging by the wary glances cast in his direction, it’s possible it wasn’t empty until recently. Perhaps Flint chased someone off. Politely, of course.
He weaves his way between the tables and drops into the chair opposite Flint. The edge in his posture smooths out as soon as Silver sits and his impassive gaze, which until a moment ago had been roaming the room in search of danger, focuses completely on Silver like he’s the only thing worth his attention.
It’s a heady, reckless feeling - to be the sole thing holding Flint’s focus, even for a moment. Maybe - probably - it’s the kind of focus that should make Silver cautious. He knows what happened to the people Flint let close, and no one sane should want to be the centre of his world. But he had already decided back in the woods that he was nothing like the other three.
"Did they still have rooms available?" Flint asks, unaware of the turmoil in Silver's head.
"Only one. We must share, I’m afraid. I hope that doesn't bother you too much?" Silver asks, all innocence.
The corners of Flint's mouth twitch slightly. “I’m sure we’ll… make do.”
Silver grins.
They are in Inagua. He knows they’re here to complete a task - some supply run, some dockside contact but still. It feels like they’ve slipped away.
The crew is with them of course, but most of them stayed on the ship, ready to leave immediately if something goes wrong. They had not even considered forbidding them to visit one of the many brothels here. That sort of thing always caused resentment and in the end some of them tried to sneak away anyway, contrary to orders. Flint and he had headed for one of the smaller, more remote inns. Probably none of the men would stray here as there was plenty of alcohol and whores right by the harbour.
It's not quite two weeks since they… added fucking to their friendship. Not that they've had much time alone in the last few days. Meetings. Other minor and major problems to deal with. Including a supply run that almost ended in disaster. A second British ship had appeared out of nowhere and intercepted the Walrus. Silver had only heard about it when the wounded were brought back to the village, as he himself had stayed behind to take care of another matter.
Flint had not needed to be carried like some others - and thankfully no one had been killed - instead he had stayed upright until the last of the wounded had been tended to and he had given his report to their allies. It was only when Silver had accompanied him to his hut and he had stepped over the threshold that he faltered. Two days of unconsciousness followed. A mild concussion, the doctor said.
Silver watched over him. When Flint was finally back among the living, Silver snarled at him that he would not stay behind again. And then he stormed off, disappearing for the rest of the day. Angry. Relieved. Terrified. In exactly that order. He hadn't known what to do with all these feelings. He hadn't known he was capable of that kind of fear.
It wasn't until the next morning that he returned to Flint's hut. Flint said that he would not apologise for doing his duty as captain. Silver, still shaking with leftover rage, said he could at least apologise for scaring him half to death. A moment later Flint went down on his knees and Silver learned that his captain had a very persuasive mouth.
"Is my apology accepted?” Flint asked afterward, when Silver leaned dizzy and breathless against the desk. How was he supposed to not forgive him?
The thought of Flint on his knees curls heat low in his stomach now, enough to make him shift slightly in his seat.
“Want to head upstairs right away?” Silver asks. “Or have a drink first, now that you've gone and claimed us a table?”
“I wouldn’t mind if we went straight up to the room,” Flint says, voice low. He leans back slightly, his foot brushing Silver’s under the table. A pleasant tingle travels down his spine.
Silver pushes back and smirks. “Yeah. I thought so.”
***
The door clicks shut behind them, and before Flint can even draw breath, Silver is on him.
“Finally,” he murmurs against Flint’s mouth, “I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day.”
His hands are already at Flint’s waist, tugging him close. Flint laughs, surprised and a bit breathless, right before Silver kisses him open-mouthed and greedy. He feels like he’s starving and Flint’s the only thing that’ll do.
“Wait a minute…” Flint tries, but his voice breaks in the middle of it, as Silver slides one leg between his thighs. Flint buries his hand in his hair, moaning softly, and Silver grins.
“What?” he breathes, teeth grazing Flint's lower lip. “Don't tell me you didn't?”
“No. Yes. Of course. But lets... lets get a bit more comfortable first.”
Reluctantly, Silver lets go of him. He’s got a point. They pause for a minute to lay down their weapons. Half amused, half impatient, Silver watches as Flint neatly folds his coat on the chair, while he has long since thrown his own messily towards the table where it has slipped onto the floor.
While Flint draws the curtains, Silver lights some of the candles in the room. Then they come together again. It's a bit slower this time but underneath it all is the need that has built up over the last few days. Days spent too close without being alone - passing each other on the deck with fingertips grazing, sharing looks across the crowded mess.
Silver’s hands find the hem of Flint’s shirt first. He pushes it up over Flint’s ribs, his knuckles skimming warm skin, the shift of muscle beneath. Flint lifts his arms without a word, and Silver peels the fabric away, slow enough to savour the reveal. He lets it fall behind them, not caring where it lands. Flint is too distracted to protest.
He mirrors the motion, and his hands slips beneath Silver’s shirt, less practiced, more hesitant, but no less eager. Then, they’re bare from the waist up. Their bare chests brush, warmth meeting warmth, and their hands don’t stop moving. Palms glide over ribs, shoulders, backs.
Silver deepens the kiss, tilting his head just enough to draw Flint closer, to make the fit seamless. His hand slides up Flint’s spine, feeling the shiver run through him as their bodies align. Their hips find each other almost without thought, a slow grind that sends heat sparking low in Silver’s belly. Flint presses in with deliberate weight, answering each shift with one of his own, and Silver lets his lust take over for a few minutes, satisfying his first hunger.
Then he slowly remembers what this means. It's the first time they can be sure of being completely undisturbed. They have the whole night ahead of them. No need to rush. Silver has imagined this embarrassingly often. He has plans.
He steps back.
Flint starts to follow, instinctive, but Silver presses a hand to his chest and holds him there.
“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Stay right where you are.”
Flint’s back meets the wall again, breath catching ever so slightly. He stills and watches him.
Silver steps back further, just far enough to take him in. His eyes move slowly across the hard lines of Flint’s hairy chest, the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The thick softness of his belly, solid and warm-looking, that makes Silver ache to finally press his mouth there. And lower, the unmistakable bulge in his trousers.
Flint doesn’t speak. But his fingers twitch at his sides, restless, betraying nerves or anticipation or both.
“I'd like to try something,” Silver says.
“Yes?” Flint asks in an eager tone that suggests he's open to anything.
Silver gives him a slow smile. “Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down.”
As always - well, in the very few times they’ve done this -, Flint doesn’t hesitate. He strips quickly, then eases back onto the bed, stretching out slowly, his eyes never leaving Silver’s face. There’s curiosity in them, yes, but no tension or guardedness. It makes Silver pause. Flint has no idea what he’s planning. None. And still, he follows without question. Once again, that trust knocks something loose in him. God, he wants to be worthy of it.
Silver comes closer, stops right in front of the bed.
“Hands above your head.” That's not necessary for what Silver has in mind. But he has the sudden urge to test just how far Flint would go for him.
Without a word, Flint slides his arms back against the pillow, wrists crossed just above his head. Silver’s breath catches. He feels the usual rush of power when Flint follows like this. And fuck, doesn’t he look beautiful like this?
Flink is still watching him, and the right corner of his mouth curves, just faintly. There's something in his expression that tells Silver, ‘yes, I know exactly what you’re doing and thinking’.
Silver feels a little caught out and shrugs. He sits down on the bed and gets rid of the rest of his clothes and the peg. Then he climbs over Flint, leaning in slowly to kiss him.
“You like it,” he murmurs against Flint’s mouth, lips brushing with each word.
“I've never denied that,” Flint murmurs back. "Are you going to tell me what you're up to?"
"Not yet," Silver replies. His fingers move up Flint’s arm in a slow drag until they close gently over his wrists. Flint’s pulse jumps under his touch and there’s an involuntary hitch in his breath.
"But you trust me, don't you?"
"Yes,” Flint says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world and Silver kisses him again, deeper this time.
Soon enough, he lets his lips trail lower. He kisses the curve of Flint’s neck, lingers at the hollow of his throat, then traces his lips across the sharp edge of his collarbone and moves to his chest. Until now, he’s only explored this part of Flint with his hands, never his mouth. The hairs on his chest catch slightly on his lips, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the texture of Flint - rough in places, soft in others.
He licks a stripe up to his right nipple, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sealing his lips around it and sucking gently. The soft, breathy moan from Flint goes straight to Silver’s cock. He shifts to the other nipple, giving it the same slow, deliberate attention, and feels it stiffen beneath his tongue.
His hands don’t stay idle either. He smooths one hand down the curve of Flint’s ribs, moves to his middle. Flint is solid everywhere, broad and thick with the kind of strength that doesn’t come from youth anymore, but from years lived hard. And yet, there's a softness beneath the strength too, in the slight give of flesh over his belly. He palms Flint’s stomach, fingers splayed wide.
Silver pauses there, just feeling. The rise and fall of Flint’s belly beneath his hand. The way the muscles tense and shift. He lifts his gaze. Flint's face is flushed, eyes half-lidded, and he's biting his lower lip.
"I like to hear you," Silver reminds him, voice low and coaxing. He wants every sound Flint has to offer.
“You can touch me too,” he adds, and Flint slowly lowers his arms, flexing his hands.
Silver doesn’t wait and leans down again, finally kisses Flint’s belly, slow and claiming. He noses along the slight rise of it, kissing lower, just above the navel, then nuzzles in. Flint’s breath catches in his throat, before it slips into a low groan. His hand twitches at his side, like he’s not sure whether to draw Silver closer or push him away - though they both know he won’t do the latter.
There’s a vulnerability here, raw and unspoken. Silver feels it in the way Flint’s body tenses, then eases, only to tense again. It makes Silver all the more determined to show Flint how desirable he is. Everything about him.
Silver tilts his head and presses another kiss, open-mouthed this time, letting his tongue trace a languid line, savouring the warmth and the faint taste of salt. One of Flint’s hands reaches up, hovering, then it finally finds Silver’s hair. Just resting, not guiding.
Silver nips lightly at the skin and drinks in Flint’s little gasps. His hands move lower, over Flint’s hips now, thumbs brushing the hollows. His fingertips trace along the soft crease where hip meets belly, grazing feather-light, then deeper, firmer.
He can’t really imagine what it's going to be like. He's gone down on women often enough, but obviously never did this with a man. Flint seemed to enjoy himself while doing it a few days before and Silver has been curious ever since he dropped to his knees. There is certainly power in watching your partner slowly fall apart just because of your mouth.
“Oh?” Flint says, quite surprised, as he realises what's about to happen.
Silver looks up, eyes catching his. “Can’t promise it will be any good. But I want to learn you,” he murmurs. “Let me?”
There’s a small pause and then a nod. “Yes. Anything.”
"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong. Or if you want something different."
“I’ll tell you,” Flint murmurs. “But I’m not worried. You’re a quick learner.” The faintest smirk tugs at his mouth. “Just… watch your teeth.”
Silver huffs out a laugh and then sinks his teeth into the soft skin of Flint’s inner thigh. Not hard. Just enough. Flint jolts, a moan breaking free, and Silver grins up at him.
“Brat,” Flint grumbles, but it sounds like an endearment the way he's looking at him.
"Understood. No biting," Silver says earnestly. He follows the sharp sting with a soft kiss to soothe. Then he moves his tongue along the underside of Flint's cock. Somehow, he'd expected it to feel harder, but in fact the skin is quite soft and warm, and the heat of it pulses against his mouth.
He watches the way Flint’s cock twitches under his breath, the way the skin flushes darker at the tip, already slick. He brings one hand up, wraps it around the base, feeling the heat, the weight. Then, slowly, he licks another long stripe from base to tip. Flint’s whole body jumps, and he chokes on a groan.
Silver hums softly. “That good?”
“Yeah,” Flint gasps. “Fuck. Yes.”
Silver tries again, another lick, more focused this time, over the tip, tasting salt and skin and want. After a breath, he closes his mouth over the head and sinks down slowly, cautiously, letting himself adjust to the shape, the unfamiliar stretch of it.
He moves up again, circling the head with his tongue and pressing it against the small slit. Flint gasps, burying a hand in Silver's hair. Silver hums, a little pleased with himself. He sucks gently, hollowing his cheeks, working his tongue. His jaw aches already, just a little, but he ignores it, too focused on Flint’s reactions - a shaky breath, a murmured curse, the way his thighs tremble with restraint. He would like to comment on what he sees, but that is clearly the downside - his mouth is occupied otherwise.
“You’re… fuck,” Flint says, voice cracking a little on the edge. “You’re doing well.”
Silver can’t help himself and pulls back just slightly, breath brushing against slick skin. “Yeah? You like watching me work your cock like this?” His voice comes out rough. “Can feel how fucking hard you are for me.”
Flint’s hips twitch, a low groan breaking loose. He looks down at Silver, flushed and desperate. “Fuck… Need your mouth back on me. Please?” The plea is low, wrecked, and Silver smirks before sinking down again. That’s all the encouragement he needs.
He takes him deeper, feels a mild gag reflex, but gets it under control. Then Flint’s cock is down his throat, and he can only breathe through his nose. It's unfamiliar and intimidating and thrilling. Silver moans. A second later, he fumbles a bit when Flint shifts his hips, nearly choking, and must draw back.
“Easy,” Flint murmurs, hand flexing in his hair. “Don’t try to take too much at once. You don’t have to prove anything.”
Silver huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Wasn’t trying to prove anything,” he lies. “Just feeling… enthusiastic.”
Flint’s lips curve faintly. “I noticed.”
He tries again, slower this time, and doesn't go as deep. His hand is stroking what he can’t fit, the other steady on Flint’s hip. He falls into rhythm again, learning with each pass how Flint arches, how he moans when Silver flicks his tongue just so along the underside.
“Yes. Don’t stop. Don’t…”
Silver glances up. Flint’s eyes are on him, dark and a little wide, lips parted. He carefully takes him deeper again, adjusting his angle, ignoring the ache in his jaw and the burn in his throat.
“Fuck, I… if you keep… fuck. I won’t last…”
Silver doesn’t pull back.
He feels it first - the stuttered gasp, fingers digging into Silver’s hair as pleasure wracks through Flint. And then the rush of heat against his tongue. Silver stills, swallowing instinctively. It's more than he expected. Thicker. Salt and something faintly bitter. He almost pulls back on instinct. Not from disgust, but surprise. But he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps Flint in his mouth, swallows it all. This is him, Silver thinks wildly. In my mouth.
He swallows again, slower now, more deliberate. A choked noise escapes Flint, half-moan, half-plea. His hand clenches in Silver’s hair once more before letting go.
Silver pulls off slowly, licking the head once more before sitting back and licking his lips. He... feels good. Content. Especially when he looks at Flint, who is breathing hard, flushed to the chest, pupils still blown wide. It’s a private kind of satisfaction, knowing he’s the reason Flint looks like this, and the mere thought of anyone else seeing him stripped bare like that sits wrong in his gut.
As Silver crawls up the bed, Flint’s gaze follows, slow and heavy-lidded. One of his hands twitches faintly on the sheets, like it wants to reach for Silver but can’t quite muster the strength yet. He slips into place at Flint’s side, letting his gaze rest on him for a moment longer before leaning in. The kiss he presses to Flint’s shoulder is almost tender. “You with me, darling?” he murmurs.
Flint swallows. Blinks. “Yeah.” His voice is hoarse.
Silver slides his fingers down again, resting his hand on Flint’s belly. “How was it?” he asks with a grin, emboldened only by how undone Flint looks.
A low laugh escapes Flint. “You’re fishing for compliments now?” His smile softens as he reaches up, brushing his fingers across Silver’s cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Good. Better than good. You…” he huffs out a breath, “…you just ruined me in the best way. Thank you.”
Silver hums. “I enjoyed it as well.” He’d gone into it curious, determined to please, but somewhere along the way it had shifted into something that felt… maybe even a little addictive.
Flint’s smile broadens. “You truly never cease to surprise me.”
Now, it's Silver's turn to laugh. “Certainly not always in a positive way, when I think back on certain situations over the past year.”
Flint raises his right eyebrow and stays silent, and only he can manage this. That such silence can be so telling. Then he pulls Silver into a deep kiss. He doesn't seem to mind where his mouth has been before and Silver stores that away for later.
“Touch me,” he gasps against Flint's lips a moment later as his need steadily grows.
Flint’s hand slides between them, wrapping around Silver’s aching cock, already leaking. The first stroke pulls a shiver out of him. The second has him pressing his forehead to Flint’s, panting. It doesn’t take long before he comes undone quickly, moaning into Flint’s mouth.
They don’t part completely afterward. Their limbs tangle lazily, and Flint’s hand never leaves Silver’s skin. His fingertips trace the slope of Silver’s hip, then up across his ribs. Down his side. Across the line of his shoulder blade, then back again.
"Why does it feel so damn good with you every time?" Silver murmurs, still on a high. He's not sure he even wanted to ask that question out loud.
Flint gives an amused huff and eyes him. His expression becomes more serious when he realises Silver didn't mean it as a joke. "I mean, it's always better when you..." He interrupts himself. Studies Silver’s face like he’s trying to decide whether to go on.
"When?" Silver asks, without the faintest idea of what Flint is talking about.
Flint clears his throat. "Maybe you've just had the wrong partners so far."
Silver smirks. "So, you're saying you know more about fucking than most whores? Though I’ll grant you, no one’s ever been half so skilled at sucking cock as you."
Flint rolls his eyes, and Silver sees a new blush spread across his cheeks. "That's not what I meant. It's… it's not just about the physical stuff.”
Silver tilts his head. “What else, then? Either two people match or they don't.” Even before they started fucking, they had gotten quite close. He knows Flint's mind so well, has in a way incorporated it into his own. And Flint probably knows him better than anyone else, too. Now that he thinks about it, it seems no wonder that Flint and he are also physically compatible and that's why it's so good.
But Flint’s gone quiet, averting his gaze. He’s looking down at his hand resting on the sheet between them, fidgeting slightly. Silver watches him. He... looks somewhat self-conscious and Silver feels like he's missing something important right now.
“Maybe it feels that way to you because it’s still new,” Flint finally says. “Exciting. Different.” A pause. “You truly never thought about doing something like that? With a man, I mean.” His voice carries more wonder than disbelief.
Silver stills because that’s not something he’s ever really picked apart before. He sifts through memory, but nothing stands out. If it had been there, he would have noticed, right? Wouldn’t it have itched at him until he scratched it?
“I don't think so,” he says after a moment of pondering. He rolls onto his back, eyes tracing the warped lines of the ceiling. “Why do you ask?”
“No specific reason. I was just curious. You're very... open-minded. That's all. I would argue that most men wouldn't want to try what it's like to suck a cock.”
Silver shrugs. “Well. Like I said, I don’t think so. Maybe? I can't recall any particular moment. That just now... I wanted you to feel good, so I thought I'd give it a try.”
Flint hums. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he says quietly. “Even when I tried. Especially when I tried.”
Silver’s gaze flicks back to him.
“I hated myself for it,” Flint continues. “For wanting it. For not being able to make it stop. I didn’t act on it. Not for a long time. I thought if I worked hard enough, it would go away.”
Silver watches him, the way his mouth tightens on the words, and wonders how many years of his life Flint’s spent locked in that kind of fight with himself.
Flint huffs a bitter laugh. “It didn’t, obviously. I got good at pretending. Mimicked what I was supposed to want and saw with others. Mimicked the way they talked about women. Hated myself even more for that and just started keeping my distance from everyone. The others thought me odd. Well, not just because of that, I guess. But it certainly didn't help.”
Pretending. Silver knows the shape of that game. How it wears you thin, makes you careful about what you let show, how you build yourself out of mannerisms and tones that don’t belong to you just to keep questions away. It’s something they’ve never spoken aloud, but maybe always recognised in each other.
“Have you gone and made them think you set yourself above them in wit? Folk don’t take kindly to that, you know," Silver teases him. It is a blessing and a curse that Flint tends to be very blunt.
“It’s hardly my fault if their pride is so delicate. I won’t feign stupidity for their comfort,” Flint says indignantly.
"You could. Sometimes. It has its advantages."
Flint frowns. Silver lets his face shift, his eyes going wide and guileless. "I haven’t the faintest notion how to roast a pig, Captain. Might you teach me? I certainly don't ask this to make you feel superior and think me a simpleton." His voice is pitched particularly soft.
Flint’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe I let myself be taken in by that performance the first time,” he mutters. “I truly believed you to be foolish and therefore dangerous for a long while.”
“And now?” Silver asks with a grin.
“Now I know you're clever and dangerous. Which is a far more treacherous combination.” It doesn't seem as if that worries him.
“How old were you? I mean, when you were with a man for the first time?” Silver asks to get back to the actual conversation. He wonders.
“A boy. We were both sixteen.” Flint smiles faintly. “It was another navy cadet. It was stupid. Reckless. We didn’t even like each other much. But we kept finding reasons to be alone. Late drills. Extra training. I think we were both just… starving.”
Silver tries to picture him at sixteen - leaner maybe, but still with that same set to his jaw, the beginnings of the steel in his voice. It’s strange, because he doesn’t actually know how old Flint is now. Silver has never bothered to count the years between them, but he realises that back then he himself would’ve been a child - while that version of Flint was already in a uniform. And he… a boy too small, too quick-mouthed for his own good, too easy to leave behind. Unwanted more often than not, and well aware of it.
Flint - James - had been surrounded by many people, but obviously just as lonely. Holding himself apart not because he was pushed out, but because he couldn’t risk letting anyone too close.
But the distance between them wasn’t just years. Back then, they were moving in different worlds entirely, on courses that would never cross, making an earlier meeting impossible. Even if they’d crossed paths, they probably wouldn’t have known what to do with each other. And yet, here they are now. As if every crooked turn led them into this bed. It’s the kind of thing people might call fate, if they were inclined to believe in such nonsense.
“What was it like?” Silver asks to get away from his own thoughts.
Flint’s smile fades a little. “Clumsy. We fumbled through it because we didn't know what we were doing. But it still felt… right. In a way nothing else had. We both knew we were doing something wrong and felt ashamed afterwards. But that didn't stop us from doing it again. It never came out, but in the end, he was transferred to another ship.”
“Are you still ashamed of it? Of what we just did. Of yourself?”
Flint’s jaw twitches once, twice, then stills and Silver begins to dread his answer.
“No,” Flint says at last, voice firm. Silver relaxes. “I was. For a long time. But Thomas… he saw through that. Through me. He didn’t want me despite the shame. He made it so there was no shame.” His lips twitch. “And Miranda… she made sure I didn’t forget it. Even after he was gone.”
Flint reaches for his waist and gently rubs a little circle into Silver's skin with his thumb. “So, no. I’m not ashamed of what I want. Of us.”
“Good,” Silver says. “Because I'd hate it. Being something you wanted and loathed in the same breath.”
“You are not,” Flint says without hesitation. He studies Silver thoughtfully. “What about you? Do you feel ashamed about anything we did?"
Silver huffs. What? "We just established that I enjoyed sucking your cock, so..."
“One doesn’t exclude the other,” Flint says softly. “Believe me.”
He shakes his head. “I'm not ashamed. If I took other people's opinions to heart, I would not have gotten far in life." He has done things in the past that he wasn't particularly proud of, but he was never ashamed of them. Not when it came to survival. Of course, he is no complete stranger to shame. The feeling had presented itself shortly after the loss of his leg. But that is something completely different.
"We're not doing anything wrong,” he says. “I mean... of all the things we're involved in, this is probably the least reprehensible.”
“True.” Flint smiles, slow and sweet.
He gets that tender look in his eyes that makes Silver feel all restless. It makes his chest go warm and his skin feel too tight, and so he presses in close, tucks himself against Flint’s side. It’s comfortable there. And, conveniently, it spares him from having to meet that gaze again. Maybe it’s cowardice. Maybe it’s self-preservation. Either way, he doesn’t want to risk holding Flint’s eyes and inviting that look to become words.
Because promises, no matter how sincere, don’t hold in this world. He knows that.
The way Flint wraps his arm around him and the gentle movement of fingertips tracing idle patterns across his back is its own kind of promise. But it’s silent and powerless and therefore it can’t be broken.