Thomas had only wanted to pick up his coat. The temperatures had dropped severely since the small fleet had reached the southern latitudes and it seemed like he was constantly cold and damp.
Although it was the middle of the day he had made himself discreet. After three days of a constant storm that had kept Drake busy on the deck, the Captain General had announced that he would take a couple of hours to rest in his cabin. The last thing Thomas wanted was to disturb him and find himself on the receiving end of Drake's foul mood once more.
He opened the door of the cabin and tiptoed inside – barely – before freezing, caught unaware by the scene that played under his eyes.
Standing in the middle of the room, dressed only in an open shirt, heedless of the cold, the Captain General was masturbating.
Despite the semi-darkness of the harsh winter day, Thomas saw him clearly, a sturdy silhouette, strong legs parted for balance, broad shoulders, one hand gripping the edge of the table while the other – a strong capable hand with a blistered, cracked palm - was moving up and down Francis' cock in a languid sensuous rhythm. No haste, no frenzy yet. Thomas had seen Francis naked many times, way back in Ireland, but this... He wanted to look away but his eyes were drawn to Francis' hand wrapped around his cock, moving faster with every stroke, and harder, while the Captain's knees buckled with the strain. Rough hand on sensitive skin... He could almost feel it himself and had to bite his lips not to moan aloud.
In spite of the rain crashing outside and the wind whistling all around, the only sound to Thomas' ears was Francis' harsh breathing that seemed to fill the room like thunder, and his own heart pounding in his ears. He started when Francis threw his head back and growled like a wounded animal, his hand stilling, his body spasming with pleasure. His orgasm seemed to last for much longer than what Thomas thought possible. Francis wiped his hand on his shirt and ran his fingers across his sweat-damp hair, sighing loudly.
Then he turned his head and saw Thomas.
The wind had abated. The ocean was a dark blue and the sky was now rid of any clouds. Dolphins had been following the ship since the early morning and Thomas was leaning over the ship’s rail, watching them.
“Are you avoiding me, Master Dougthie?” the voice said from behind, starting him.
Thomas straightened up and turned to face his questioner. “You did not seem to seek my company lately.”
Francis took a step closer, his shrewd eyes not leaving Thomas’ face. “You were awfully quick to leave, the other day.”
The open allusion to the scene Thomas had witnessed two days sooner made him blush. “It was very intimate, Francis,” he said, wanting to sound sensible. “I felt embarrassed to have intruded; you did not need me.”
Francis was standing very close, his gaze unwavering, trapping Thomas between his bulk and the rail. Without a blink, he said, “What if I had?”
Thomas looked back, trying to shake himself out of the state of dizziness every new meeting with Francis brought since he had seen him in the cabin... He could not manage an answer and just stood there, his hands gripping the hard polished wood.
“We should take this conversation somewhere more private, Master Doughtie,” Francis said in an even tone.
Thomas followed numbly. In the cabin he stood, uncertain but ready for the fight to come. Uncomfortable with having Francis so close staring at him, silent, intent, assessing. Thomas remembered Francis looking at him like this in Ireland after they had met. So long ago. He had been different then, almost shy; now at sea he reigned.
Francis said, “Take off your clothes.”
Thomas did not budge, did not obey what was clearly an order.
“Or I’ll take them off you.”
It was like being caught in a hurricane, Thomas thought, the kind they had seen when sailing along the coasts of Africa, unpredictable, devastating, unstoppable and merciless. In spite of his superior skills in fighting, he was thrown down on the bed, rolled over, pulled and pushed off his clothes until he was naked enough to Francis’ tastes, only the shirt covering too little, and his skin shivering with the cold.
“You could have anyone onboard,” Thomas said, defiant.
“I don’t care for anyone. You are the most handsome thing I can have here. And the cleanest.”
“What if I refuse?”
Francis rested his palm on Thomas’ chest, pushing the open shirt out of his way, sliding his hand down over Thomas’ warm skin until he reached his cock – the hand was as warm and rough just like Thomas had thought it would be, and it felt so good that he had to close his eyes and bite his lips hard. The fingers wrapped around his erect member, making him moan and Francis said without irony, his voice quiet, “I think you will not refuse. It would be too much hypocrisy from your part to tell me no when you obviously want it so much.”
The hand sneaked lower, cupping Thomas’ balls, strong fingers parting the cheeks of his ass.
“It is a sin. You are the one preaching virtue…” Thomas said while the fingers pushed inside slowly, like fire inside him, and withdrew.
“At sea,” Francis said, “I am the one who decides what is sin or not.”
When the fingers returned they were slick with something – they went further in, deeper and brought an unexpected and thrilling jolt of pleasure. Thomas moaned aloud, keeping his eyes closed, his legs trembling. I do not want to see him, he thought. What I do not see does not exist.
“Now,” Francis said in a breathe, “I am going to take you. It will be much better than my own hand. And you will like it.”