Chapter Text
Flint dreamt of cannon fire, and awoke with a start at the same time he heard a loud boom outside and a heavy weight pressed down on his back. He panicked for a moment, gripping a sword that wasn’t there, ready to roll over and strike, when a tattooed hand encircled his wrist, pinning him to the bed. A voice above him said, “Good morning, darling.”
The panic left him immediately, and was replaced with irritation. Silver still held him by the wrist and seemed to have no intention of letting up. Flint managed to turn his head on the pillow to the other side to glare. “What are you still doing in bed?” he asked. “What’s the hour?”
Their room held a queer light, neither day nor night. A greyish haze colored the air and for a moment Flint thought he was dreaming still, until he heard another thunderous crash outside.
“It’s your regular hour,” said Silver. Flint could feel the leg that was half gone slip between his thighs. “But I knew you’d still go out into the grove even in this weather and catch your death or get struck by lightning, and then I’d have to take care of the children all by myself.”
Last month three of the feral cats had given birth within days of each other. Silver had nearly killed at least half of the kittens because they liked to use his crutch as a scratching post and never noticed them at his foot. He had to give them all a different name every day because he kept forgetting what he called them.
“I have to work,” Flint said into his pillow.
Silver scoffed. “You can go a day without picking bloody oranges. We can skip a trade.”
“You have to work.”
“That’s later,” he said, but eased his grip on Flint’s wrist. “The rain will’ve stopped by then. Probably. ”
Without ceremony, Silver flattened himself alongside Flint’s back, huffing into his neck like a rabid dog. It made all the hair on Flint’s body stand on end. He felt Silver’s fingers trail down his side.
“I never would have thought I’d find a long white nightshirt so appealing,” Silver murmured, slipping his hand under the hem and cupping Flint’s ass. “Such easy access, all soft and warm. Like fondling a sweet maiden beneath her petticoat.”
Flint’s hips started to rise of their own volition as Silver massaged his ass cheek, scratching lightly, hard squeezing one moment and then tender, soothing caresses the next. Flint was already half-hard when Silver took his ear into his mouth, and he gripped his pillow with both hands, groaning loudly.
So loud he almost missed the piercing yell at the side of the bed. Flint froze, as did the hand on his ass. Flint turned to see big green eyes in a black face staring solemnly at them in the dim room. Then the cat meowed again, a horrible, drawn-out scream. It knew better than to get on the bed, but it didn’t know when to quit begging for food.
Flint sighed. “Get off me, Silver.”
Silver sighed as well, sliding off him. “You’re right. Mustn’t in front of the kids. Damn you, Bones.”
Not long after he’d arrived, Silver had named the older cats after old Walrus crew members, which were the only named he remembered. Except this cat Bones, with his wide eyes and his mouth that never knew went to close, seemed to Flint to resemble another old member of his crew.
Flint rolled to his side and peered at Silver. The room was slightly brighter now, and he could better make out Silver’s long hair looking damp with sweat and curling down over his bare shoulders, and the stained breeches that hung low on his waist, giving Flint blessed views of the expanse of him, the old scars, the muddied tattoos, the collection of wiry hair on his belly.
He’d shifted to prop himself up on the headboard so Flint had to look up at him. Flint had been using the headboard to practice his woodwork, attempting to carve flowers and vines into the smooth oak, and he’d done a good enough job. They looked like flowers anyway, albeit a bit jagged and sharp. But then one morning while he’d been out in the grove Silver had taken his knife and finished it, except instead of flowers he’d etched a crudely drawn naked mermaid in the center, although the tail looked more like a massive lobster claw. He’d told Flint, when he’d proudly showed it off, that he’d never before carved anything in his life.
“I’ve decided to name all the children either Solomon or Little, so I’ll remember it.”
“That’s smart,” said Flint.
Silver held in one hand his knife, which he had procured from - somewhere. He also held an orange. He started cutting it into sections. “I brought you breakfast,” he said. “Hey, when’s your birthday?”
Flint blinked. “The fifteenth of March. Why?”
“The ides of March.” Silver said. “Seriously? Have you ever strained yourself from being so predictable? Does that make me Brutus or Cassius?”
Flint brushed Silver’s rib. “Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,” he said. “He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.”
“Okay, enough flattery,” said Silver. “I’ve killed you once already and I’ve found I haven’t the taste for it.” Then he frowned. “March was two months ago. You didn’t say anything.”
Flint shrugged. He’d only remembered himself halfway through the day and was then too embarrassed to say anything. They’d spent the day like usual, picking oranges and sitting in the taberna. Silver had coincidentally cooked a pig exactly the way Flint liked it. Then that evening Silver had been walking across the porch when one of the cats had randomly struck out, digging his claw so deep into Silver’s skin Flint had to bandage it while Silver moaned about losing the other leg. Flint had eaten him out afterwards to distract him. He’d had worst birthdays.
“I do have to get to work,” Flint said instead.
“Look what one of the boys in town showed me,” said Silver. He shoved a sliver of orange in his mouth until his lips covered it. His face was puckered for a second before he grinned, mouth full of peel.
Flint stared at him, saying nothing. Outside the rain splattered hard on the roof, on the leaves of his trees. The moments between each thunderclap shortened. The storm was right overhead, which meant it probably would stop by the time Silver had to leave for work.
Silver pulled it out with a loud sucking sound, and all that came out was the rind. He swallowed the meat of the orange and then used the knife to pick the pulp caught between his teeth.
“Why do I love you again?” Flint asked without thinking.
Silver didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. He busied himself with breaking up the orange into even smaller wedges, his cheeks pink. He didn’t give Flint any orange.
“I thought you were bringing me breakfast,” Flint said.
“I did,” Silver said, pointing to his crotch with his knife.
“That’s what I had for dinner last night,” said Flint, rolling his eyes. “Perhaps I want a little variety.”
“Then you should grow something besides fucking oranges.”
But Silver held out a slice of orange without any rind. Flint reached for it but Silver pulled it back. Flint dropped his hand with a sigh and let Silver slip the wedge into his mouth, his thumb dragging unnecessarily on Flint’s bottom lip. Flint shivered. It continued to rain. Silver went back and forth, eating a piece of orange and feeding another piece to Flint.
Flint had little to be proud of in his lifetime, but it was a damn fine orange.
When they’d finished it, Silver dumped the peel and his knife on the floor, rolled towards Flint, and stuck his sticky fingers into his mouth. Flint sucked the tang off every whorl in his hardened skin, but then he pulled back as Silver shifted closer.
“I really need to start working,” he said.
Silver raised an eyebrow just as a particularly loud thunder boomed overhead.
“Sure,” said Silver, leaning back against the headboard. “I’ll just do what I always do when you’re out.” He unlaced his trousers.
Silver only joined him in the grove when he was working closer to the house. The further back Flint went to pick, the less likely it was Silver would make the effort to walk it. Flint had assumed Silver just stayed behind and read, or dozed in the chair, or bothered the cats.
He didn’t know why he didn’t think Silver jerked off in his bed. In retrospect, of all the scenarios that was definitely the more likely.
Flint watched Silver’s hand slowly moving on his cock. He was only half-hard, pulling the foreskin back over the head to reveal the shining head. He used his other hand to gather the precome gathering at the slit and brought it back to Flint’s mouth. The taste of Silver mixed with the tartness of the fruit faded too quickly, and then it was just the salt of his skin lingering on his tongue.
Silver waited until his hand was completely wet before pulling away from Flint’s mouth, used the spit to slick up his cock. He planted his foot on the bed and angled his hips towards Flint, giving him a clear view. His hips thrusts were shallow, in pace with the slide of his hand.
“I like to lie here when you’re out in the grove, thinking about how hot you get when you work,” Silver said breathlessly. “Covered in sweat, stretching your body to reach the tallest limbs, your muscles moving. Sometimes I do this face down, rutting into your sheets, my ass in the air, so I can smell you better.”
“Fuck.” Flint didn’t know where to look - his wet, pink cock or his wet, pink lips, the vein twitching in his belly and in his arm, the flex of his inner thigh or his neck. He didn’t touch himself, but he felt the front of his nightshirt dampen where his own cock was leaking at the sight.
“I think about all that skin, oh,” said Silver, his other hand curling into the sheet. “The way you blush all the way down. Lift your gown, beautiful, let me see you, please.”
Flint’s cheeks were hot as he clumsily tugged his shirt up to his armpits without sitting up. It had taken many years at sea before the sun could completely mask the way his skin blotched when his blood was pumping, and though he still spent part of his days outdoors, it wasn’t enough to stop the paleness from fading back into his complexion. And with that brought the freckles, and the flush.
“Oh, darling.” Silver’s hand sped up, watching him. He swayed forward slightly, mouth open, like he wanted to kiss Flint’s chest. “So fucking pretty. Fuck, I usually have to imagine this but here you are, all spread out just for me, so red and hard and waiting for me. Are you dripping for me?”
“Silver,” Flint moaned, still gripping the edge of his shirt. “Please.”
Silver swore, rolled up onto his free arm. They still weren’t touching but now Silver was almost hovering over him, his wrist pumping furiously a couple more times before he spilled out all over Flint, hot ropes of come covering his cock and exposed stomach. But Flint was watching Silver’s face over him, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth opened in a drawn-out whine.
Silver’s eyes opened just a crack as he moved his hips forwards, running his spent cock once along Flint’s rigid length.
“Please,” Flint said again, seconds from rubbing himself off on Silver’s thigh. “Fuck, Silver, please.”
Silver wordlessly slid down the bed, his trousers still bunched around his thighs. He tongued at his own come on Flint’s stomach, making Flint jump forward with a wild groan. He trailed downward, pressing open kisses into his skin and nuzzling the tangle of hair around his cock. He licked all over Flint’s skin, cleaning him, before swallowing him down.
Flint pumped his hips shallowly into Silver’s mouth, cupping the back of his head and holding his hair back so he could still see his face. He watched the impression of his cock through Silver’s cheek, the way his eyes bore into Flint’s, somehow both glazed in lust and focused entirely on him. Silver’s tongue pulsed along the vein, rippling like waves, and Flint tried to tell him he was close, he did, but he choked on the words as Silver pulled back, wrapped his lips around the head and sucked. Flint came with a shout, crazed, his brain still tripping on the name so it was just a static stream of Sssssss.
Silver held Flint in his mouth for a moment, suckling gently, until Flint moaned weakly, his hips twitching, and then he let him go. He shimmied back up the bed, collapsing next to Flint with a heavy breath.
“And that,” Silver said, “is how I spend my mornings.”
Flint threw an elbow over his eyes, and groaned in time with another roll of thunder outside. He couldn’t catch his breath. His mind was still mostly gray fog, a haze that made him question for real whether he was, in fact, actually dreaming. He normally got at least a few minutes by himself in the morning to prepare to deal with Silver. He said, “I barely got any breakfast.”
He heard Silver sigh. “Still a tyrant.” Flint felt him shift, and he removed his arm to watch him. Silver never failed to fascinate, the way he shuffled his trousers back over his slim waist without standing, the way he ran his hand through his long hair, which was beginning to match his name at the temple. He mesmerized Flint the way a flame mesmerizes.
“When’s your birthday?” Flint asked.
Silver stopped reaching for his crutch and looking at Flint over his shoulder. He shrugged. “Summer, sometime. Not too sure. One year I picked a day in June, and then every year since I made it the day after the previous year. I thought that would make me live forever, though I can’t quite remember the logic behind it now.”
Flint touched Silver’s back, just over the old knife wound. “We met in the summertime,” he said.
The smile he gave Flint was dark and heated, but then it disappeared when Flint sat up in bed. “No, you lie back. I’ll grab us some food.”
Flint frowned. “I’m covered in sweat, spunk, and orange juice. I need a wash.”
“I left some clothes in a bucket when I went outside,” Silver said. He gave Flint a rushed, toothy kiss that mostly missed his mouth and then push on Flint’s shoulder. “I’ll go get them, stay.”
Silver smiled at him easily as he grabbed his crutch and he made his way to the door. Flint immediately went on guard.
“Why do you want me to stay here?” His eyes darted from Silver to the closed door. “Why did you go outside earlier?”
“No reason.” Silver’s smile wasn’t nearly as distracting enough to mask the loud crash that resounded in the front room.
“Silver. Did you bring some of the cats inside out of the rain?”
“Of course not.”
An even louder crash was heard, followed by the sound of several books falling, animal hisses and spits, and tiny feet thudding on the stone floor.
“Did you bring all of the cats inside out of the rain?”
“Well I wasn’t going to just pick some of them to stay dry,” Silver said, opening the door. “I’m not a monster. I mean, not anymore.”
The storm sounded like it was starting to move, so without the thunder overhead, the closed door, or Silver panting in his ear, the sound of over two fucking dozen cats meowing, hissing, and destroying his home was perfectly audible.
“It’s probably just Joji and Logan scraping again,” Silver called as he darted out the room faster than any man on one leg should have been able to move. “Tea?”
“Coffee!” Flint shouted back. “You fucking bastard!”
He fell back on the bed with an angry sigh, and stared up at the ceiling. He tried to block out the noise of the dirty, flea-ridden beasts invading his home and the idiotic man he loved trying to reason with them.
The bed shifted, and he saw Bones the cat had joined him on the bed. For once it had nothing to say, but stared at Flint with that wide expression before settling in beside him. The cat folded its arms beneath its chest, closed its eyes, and began to purr.
After a moment, Flint scratched under its chin.