Dark Waters Rising

Dance

"Eat," Valentine commanded, slamming a meal of hardtack and gruel down on the table in front of where Wesley slept, startling him awake.

It took Wesley a few moments to realize the events of the night before had not been a dream. Now that the sun had risen and he could see his captor in more than just firelight, it was hard to deny the truth. He was a prisoner now, and he had yet to find out what exactly that meant.

"Did you poison it?" He asked tiredly, rubbing at the stiffness in his neck from sleeping in a chair.

"Poison is a woman's weapon," he said simply, taking a seat at his desk and preparing to add an entry to his captain's log. He was undoubtedly cataloging the cargo he had stolen from Wesley's ship so he knew how much he had to sell once they arrived at the next port.

Wesley was still groggy from sleep, so the disinterested answer from the pirate was good enough for him to start eating. Without any more complaints, he chewed at the stale biscuit and brought the bowl to his lips to slurp down the porridge-like substance. He wasn't certain when he'd receive his next meal, so he didn't let any of it go to waste, despite the bland flavor.

When the last drop disappeared, Wesley placed the bowl back down onto the table and eyed the pirate captain curiously.

His hair was black like the darkest depths of the water beneath them. It went roughly to his shoulders, and was kept out of his face by a midnight blue ribbon at the nape of his neck. His skin was lightly sun-kissed, but could be considered fair when compared to most men who spent their days laboring aboard ships. He wore a durable but worn leather tailcoat that had faded from its original color. It appeared to be a sandy sort of gray, though it retained undertones of the original deep brown in its creases. His boots were a darker leather and his shirt, tucked into black trousers, sported a pompous blue-gray hue. Beside him on his desk laid a black tricorne hat.

Finishing up with his log, the pirate captain turned to face his prisoner. Strands of his dark hair were starting to come undone from the ribbon and hung loosely around his face as he eyed the man with his cold lilac irises. He had his fingers, wrought with all types of rings and jewels, perched like a steeple against his lips as he seemed to contemplate something.

"Why am I here?" Wesley asked once the silence became too unbearable. He already had an idea, but he wanted to know his fate for certain.

"I haven't decided," the pirate answered, dropping his hands to his lap as he continued to study the man.

"I don't believe that," Wesley said, his eyes narrowing in accusation. "You don't seem like a man that does anything without thinking it through."

"You're right," he sighed, standing up. Wesley was thankful for the table that divided them as the pirate placed his palms flat down on its surface and fixed him with his intense gaze. "I was trying to spare your feelings, but if you insist on being so nosy, I might as well tell you."

Wesley looked up at the man, nervousness blooming in his stomach as the pirate hopped over the table and dropped down in front of where he sat in one smooth motion.

"You're here to please me, Wesley Roberts," he said, getting closer. In a panic, Wesley scrambled out of his chair, ducked under the man's arms, and put as much distance as he safely could between them.

"What do you mean by that?" Wesley asked, his concern evident in his voice. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it out loud. Just for the off chance that it wasn't what he feared.

Valentine moved fast, pinning Wesley against the wall so he couldn't create any more distance between them. He leaned in and whispered in the man's ear. "I'll have you in my bed before the fortnight is ended."

Wesley's face went pale. Dread weighed heavily in his stomach at the confirmation. It was no secret that men who spent months or even years at sea often took other men to bed to satisfy their needs. There was an egregious lack of women on the open ocean, so it made sense. Wesley had been hoping, praying even that it would not be the reason Valentine had struck a deal for him. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered. Wesley thought he had been prepared to do anything to save his crew, but this... he couldn't do this.

"No. I refuse. I will not partake in the Devil's tango with... with..."

"A man?" Valentine supplied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. "Are you afraid, Mr. Roberts?"

"N-no." His voice betrayed him. "I- I just..."

The pirate's mouth tugged into an amused smile as he watched the man struggle. His eyes swept greedily over Wesley's features, lingering on his lips. 

Oh, how he wanted a taste.

"Fret not, darling," he pulled away slightly, but Wesley could still feel his warm breath fan across his skin as he spoke. "I may be a pirate, but I personally find the dance much more appealing when both parties are willing. I will have you begging for me before then."

"I doubt that." Wesley finally remembered how to speak.

Valentine chuckled, lightly tracing his fingers under the man's jaw. "We will have to see, won't we?"

And then he left the room.

Wesley released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and dragged his hands anxiously across his face. Then, frantically, he began to search the room for a weapon. There was no way in hell he would sit idly and let that man do as he pleased to him. He would rather die. Preferably having killed the vile pirate first.

He wrenched open each drawer of the desk, sifting through the contents before moving onto the next. Frustratingly, all he found was paper, ink bottles, and an assortment of quills.

He tried to pull open the largest drawer only to discover it was locked. There was no key in sight.

Wesley moved over to the bed. He lifted the pillows and searched under the mattress but again found nothing.

Spotting a chest at the foot of the bed, Wesley moved to it only to discover it too was locked.

He cursed himself for his luck. There was nothing in the room he could use as a suitable weapon. The pirate captain must have kept all of his weapons either on his person or under lock and key.

Dismayed, Wesley returned to the plush chair he had spent the night in and sank down into it. There was little he could do now but think up a plan and wait for an opportunity.

---+------+---

A/N

Tell me about a cool new hobby or project you've picked up recently! 

I've been making a miniature Queen Anne style Victorian house out of cardboard, hot glue, and toothpicks! I painted it a deep purple with a black roof and white accents. 

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!

More on Tuesday!
-Mora Montgomery