Dark Waters Rising

Haunted

The sweltering hot rays of the midday sun glistened against Valentine's bare skin as he worked. He used a large stone to hammer some decent sized branches deep into the sand to mark the tides. Wesley wasn't entirely certain why the pirate was so adamant on knowing how far low and high tide reached on the shore, but he watched the man slave away nonetheless.

Wesley was sitting in the shade of a palm tree, lazily drinking a goblet of warm wine as he watched the pirate's muscles ripple and flex with each strike. His body was something to ogle at and Wesley couldn't deny that if he tried. The way shadows and light played on his skin was quite mesmerizing. Every time he moved, the contours of his abdomen, pectorals, biceps, shoulder blades, and spine became all the more apparent. Sweat gleamed against his skin, but it only offered highlights that brought out his eye catching build even more. As Wesley observed him, he noticed the indications of faint scars riddling the man's bare torso, but they only seemed to emphasize his beauty. 

Wesley wasn't afraid to admit that the man was beautiful because to him, it was simply a fact. In all his life, he had never come across another man—or woman for that matter—that held the same physical allure as the pirate did. He would never let the words leave his lips, since Valentine was hardly in need of an ego boost, but they echoed in his mind every time his eyes swept over the man. 

Wesley supposed it made sense that Valentine was a siren. Nothing that was human could even begin to compare to his appearance. In fact, if Valentine had said he was a god instead of a siren, Wesley probably would've believed him. 

He was beautiful, but still a monster in every sense of the word.

As the faces of his crew flashed in his mind, Wesley's heart clenched painfully and he forced himself to look away from their killer. He licked his chapped lips as he turned his gaze instead to the tide. The repetitive movement of the water was soothing, familiar, and with each diminishing wave, was lulling him closer to sleep. 

Or perhaps that was the wine.

Either way, Wesley let his head fall back against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. The poor sleep from the previous night was begging him to replace it now. He was perfectly content to slip into a peaceful nap, but unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to. 

His eyes opened when he heard Valentine trudging back towards him, breathing heavily and wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. 

"Why is it so bloody hot out?" he complained, plopping down beside Wesley. They were not touching, but Valentine's arm was close enough to Wesley that he could feel the body heat radiating off of him in waves. 

The pirate made short work of stealing the goblet from the merchant's fingers and downing the rest of the liquid within it. 

Wesley didn't have the heart to protest. 

"At least its not raining," he countered. Valentine nodded in agreement, peering up at the nearly cloudless sky. They had yet to build a shelter, though Valentine had plans to use the jolly boat as cover should it start storming unexpectedly. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, though, since the boat itself was bloody heavy and would not be easy to maneuver. 

"I could help build a shelter," Wesley reminded the pirate, "if you give me a knife."

Valentine ignored the merchant. Instead, he placed the empty goblet in the sand between them and stretched out his leg. His breeches were rolled up to his knees, but they still featured a tear and blood stains over his thigh. Using his fingers, Valentine gingerly pulled open the tear, careful not to the damage the material further, and viewed his injury. It was little more than a scab now, which was a relief, though it still ached a bit when he put too much strain on the leg.