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Silver could endure pain. He wasn’t brave. He just knew — had always known — that crying out only made it worse. The way to take a beating, to end it as quickly as possible and incur the least damage, was to relax. So he went limp as the big, haggard man who’d taken him captive struck him across the face, then kicked him viciously in the stomach and ribs. A particularly bad blow to his head sent his vision swimming. He floated atop a sea of pain, and remembered the last time he had been truly beaten. Flint had been watching him then, in the galley of the warship as he provoked the men with his addresses. The abuse had been easier to bear, knowing someone saw it served his purposes. He had won them over, in the end.He would win this man over too. He had figured it out, learned the secret of his identity, and only had to survive this last part. He imagined sea green eyes on him now, Flint’s approval if he could have seen. He drifted, making only a halfhearted effort to stay conscious. It would be better to rest a while.Then he was being spattered by warm rain. That wasn’t right. There were no clouds in the sky, and anyway, rain didn’t smell of copper. Slowly, Silver raised his eyes. His captor’s head had been wrenched back, a fountain of blood spewing from his throat. Silver scrambled instinctively away, trying to avoid the revolting spray but the shackles on his wrists prevented him. Each pulse grew smaller, weaker with the man’s dying heart. No sooner had it occurred to Silver to wonder who was holding the body than it was cast aside. Flint was revealed behind it, wreathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, an avenging angel too bright to look upon. It must be a dream, a blessed trick of a mind about to die. Somehow, Silver wasn’t surprised the captain would be the last thing he saw. Flint closed the few paces between them and dropped to his knees, eyes full of panic. That was all wrong, this couldn’t be real, because Flint never looked scared. He reached out to touch Silver’s face, and his hand was warm and solid. “You came for me,” Silver whispered, and his vision went dark. ***Silver awoke to the prickling sensation of blood returning to his arms, unable to tell if seconds or hours had passed. Flint was still kneeling before him, holding one of Silver's hands between both of his own, chafing warmth back into it. It seemed far away, like it belonged to someone else.He looked up, and had only an instant to register red-rimmed eyes staring back at him. Then he was in Flint's arms, clinging to him, face buried against his neck. Flint stroked his hair, his back, holding him in a tight, desperate embrace. It worsened the pain in Silver’s side, and yet, for the first time since he’d been dragged from the sea, he felt he could breathe. Safe. Silver's cheek pressed against Flint's neck, lips a fraction of an inch from brushing the exposed skin where it joined his shoulder. Flint’s chest rose and fell against his own, his body hot and trembling and so fucking human. They held each other almost like lovers. Silver went very still. Maybe if he just didn’t think about it, Flint wouldn’t notice, and this could continue. Too late. Flint stiffened almost imperceptibly, and pulled back. “Can you stand?” he asked, gruff and practical, though his eyes still swam with emotion. Silver had no idea, and without a crutch or the boot he would be completely reliant on Flint regardless. If it had been anyone else, he would have refused categorically. But he wanted to be away from this fucking beach. And, if he was honest with himself, he wanted an excuse for Flint to touch him again. He nodded.Standing, Flint clasped Silver’s forearm and pulled him upright. He almost collapsed again with the searing pain that shot through his ribs, clinging to Flint’s shoulder for balance, plastered against his side. No pride between us. Silver had meant it. It was Flint who had helped him relearn how to move, who was now teaching him how to fight. He’d trusted Flint entirely with the miseries of his physical state, ever since awakening to this life and realizing he’d have to trust someone. Still, his heart beat faster with Flint’s arm around him. He cast about for a distraction. “Where are we going?” “Inland,” was all Flint said, as they staggered off together across the beach. Within moments they were both panting hard enough to make further speech impossible. The sand was deep and powder-soft, making every hopping step a struggle. By the time they had gone a hundred yards Silver was barely managing to stay upright, pain stabbing through his side, the world spinning drunkenly around him. Flint was there to catch him when he stumbled, taking his weight when his vision blurred and his eyes drifted closed. But it happened again, and then every few steps.“Fuck, your leg,” Flint muttered, low and suddenly panicked again, staring at Silver’s stump. He hadn’t realized they’d paused.Silver wanted to laugh. The offending limb was no more of a problem than usual. He couldn’t even feel it for once. Except that it seemed oddly wet, his trousers sticking to the outside of his thigh. He watched drops of dark liquid splash to the sand where his left foot should have been. His thoughts ran slow as cold molasses, strange spots dancing in his vision, and there was a ringing in his ears. He was jolted back to reality by Flint's voice. “Silver? Silver, come on, stay with me.” Flint patted his cheek, too gentle to do much good, “Never should have tried to move you,” he muttered. “Just a little further, we just need to get off the beach. You’re going to be all right, you hear me?” Flint’s voice cracked on the words, full of desperation. “You did not fucking survive all this to die now.” Who said anything about dying? Silver tried to say that he was fine. He just wanted to rest. To sleep for a little while. He couldn't make the words come out. His heart jolted with fear that Flint might be right, lending him enough strength to focus his eyes and give a small nod. They struggled over the remaining distance, Silver fading in and out of a bright haze, Flint half carrying him. Then the light changed, growing cooler with the air, and he was deposited onto soft ground, his back propped against a mossy boulder. Water trickled beside them, and the sound brought raging thirst. Silver tried to croak out a request, but Flint was already kneeling by the shallow stream, bringing a cupped hand to his mouth. As much water spilled down his beard and neck as made it between his lips, but it was pure and sweet, and he gave a weak groan of satisfaction. “That’s good,” Flint murmured, scooping up another handful. “A little more. I need to see your leg now.” Flint could do whatever he wanted, so long as there was water and Silver didn’t have to stand again. Everything seemed very far away. “Do you understand me? We can’t wait for the doctor.” Silver wished the captain would stop sounding so scared. He quirked his cracked lips and made a weak gesture with one hand, unable to muster more than a whisper. “Feel free. ’M’afraid I might not be much help.” Relief suffused Flint’s features. He had never before touched the stump of Silver’s leg, but did so now without hesitation, cutting away blood soaked fabric to reveal a deep, jagged gash midway up the thigh. It was caked with blood and sand, and still seeping slow, vivid red. Silver tried to remember how he’d gotten it. A barrage of half images flooded him, the sensation of being knocked about by debris as he fought to surface and was dragged down, salt filling his nose and throat, choking him. He forced a slow, deep breath and concentrated on what Flint was doing instead. Only what was happening now, only this was real. Flint had stripped to the waist, and was cutting his shirt methodically into pieces. He dipped what had recently been a sleeve into the water and set about cleaning the open wound, working as gently as he could, but not sacrificing thoroughness in order to avoid pain. Rinsing it again and again with clean water. Howell would have approved. Finally Flint staunched the bleeding with a folded piece of cloth, and wrapped improvised bandages tight around it. Still, he didn’t seem satisfied. Lines of worry etched deep between his eyes and around his mouth as he examined Silver, checking him over for other injuries with deft, proprietary hands. Silver was alert enough now to have protested, but he allowed it, fascinated and half stunned. Flint held more water to his lips, cupping a hand to his face. The gesture was so intimate that he had the absurd urge to flick his tongue out against the palm, just to see what would happen. Green eyes locked on his. He looked quickly away, afraid Flint would somehow sense his thoughts. The hand dropped from his mouth. “Probably didn’t think you’d get stuck doing this again,” he rasped, in an attempt to reestablish some normalcy. Flint opened his mouth, then closed it. Started again. “Silver, I—”“That’s why I didn’t mind, you know,” Silver continued over him, not quite sure where he was headed but certain that he needed to keep talking. “When it was you. Everyone else wanted to act like it was a fucking honor, but…” Silver laughed weakly. “You didn’t have a choice, did you? The great Captain Flint, forced to tend to me in your own cabin in order to maintain your crew's good graces.” “I didn’t see it that way,” Flint replied softly, refusing to match Silver’s flippant tone.Silver sighed, then winced when his ribs ached in protest. “I know. I think I knew it then, too. It's funny, the games you play with yourself. The things you have to believe, to get through something like that.”Flint gave him a long, searching look. “And what is it you believe now?” Although Silver had started this, he felt suddenly trapped, words freezing in his throat at the raw, vulnerable expression on Flint’s face. Did he have to be so goddamn sincere about everything?Flint looked away, letting the question drop. “The others are at the fallback position. Everyone who survived.” Fallback position. Such pain in the words, it took Silver a moment to understand. The house Flint had kept with Miranda Barlow, now a war camp. He dreaded learning how many casualties they had suffered.“Madi’s there,” Flint said, inscrutable.Relief flooded Silver, accompanied by fear and a stab of guilt that he had not asked after her already. “She’s all right?” “Yes,” Flint started to rise, once more practical. “It isn’t far, maybe an hour on foot. I’ll go and return with the doctor, and men to bring you back.” It took Silver a moment to understand that Flint meant to leave. Panic welled up cold inside him. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and he would be alone here when night fell, trapped on the forest floor like a bird with a broken wing. That was how he’d been caught on the beach, making a pathetic attempt to crawl away in the dark, hunted— His hand shot out to grab Flint’s wrist, holding him in place. “Wait.” Flint froze, staring. The tendons of his wrist flexed ever so slightly under Silver’s fingertips. Silver let go, self-conscious. “I can make it back. Just– just give me some time.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve—”“Listen to me.” Flint fell silent at the commanding tone. That in itself was a reassurance Silver badly needed, after having been powerless for so long. Flint would listen to him, if he could manage to make any kind of sense. He drew a steadying breath, trying to muster a better argument than irrational terror. “We have just suffered a significant setback,” he started, focusing on strategy. “Another king being carried back injured is not an image we can afford right now. The man who held me prisoner, he had a camp. Food, supplies. Think about it. All I need is a few hours to regain my strength, then we can make a triumphant return in the morning.” That sounded good. Reasonable. He’d have to try his damned best to make it true, if Flint agreed, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Flint gave him a long, considering look. “Very well.” Silver sagged with relief. He was tired, that was all. So very fucking tired. He leaned his head back against the cool surface of the boulder, and let his eyes fall closed. ***The heavy tread of boots jolted Silver back to consciousness all at once, his chest heaving, mind racing after words he could say to stave off another round of blows. It took several long, panicked seconds before he understood that he was no longer restrained. His eyes fixed on Flint’s familiar form and he relaxed, terror fading like he’d awoken from a nightmare. If Flint noticed, he did not comment. He dropped a large bundle of tied sailcloth next to Silver then sank into a crouch beside him and raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Do you know who that man was?” “We made our introductions shortly before you arrived, yes.” Silver shuddered at the memory of the beating he’d taken after revealing that he’d worked out Hands’s identity.“Know what he wanted with you?” “Wanted to sell me to the British.” Silver shot the captain a grin, reopening a cut on his lower lip. “I was doing my best to delay that outcome, on the off chance there might be a daring rescue. Lucky for me you can’t resist heroics.” A shadow passed over Flint’s face. Instead of answering he rose and started pacing the small clearing, seeming to assess its strengths and weaknesses as a defensible position. “We can’t risk a fire,” he said. “There are still British patrols searching for survivors; you were lucky not to have been found already.” Silver felt foolish all over again for insisting they stay. It was madness for the two most recognizable leaders of the pirate resistance to spend the night camped alone on the beach. Why had Flint agreed? He should say that he had reconsidered, and of course Flint should go back at once. Instead, he untied the bundle of supplies. He hadn’t eaten in well over a day, and his stomach cramped immediately at the sight of food — albeit only hard biscuits and strips of questionable dried meat. He resisted the urge to set upon it right away. It wasn’t that he thought Flint would care, exactly. But the habit of concealing desperation was deeply ingrained, and he had control over very little else at the moment. He sorted through the rest of the scavenged goods first, grateful to find a dagger and a pair of pistols, along with rum and a lantern. At the bottom there was a pair of trousers that had once been part of a British uniform. “Robbing corpses for me?” Silver raised an eyebrow. “Why Captain, you shouldn't have,” he teased, covering a pang of unease at the consideration. He was inordinately grateful not to have to return to the men with his leg exposed. Flint looked away, busying himself with checking over their weapons, like he was a bit embarrassed too. “Hardly the first time.”Silver thought longingly of the ease with which he’d pulled on the clothes of the dead Spanish sailor, taking his whole, healthy body for granted. A queasy lump of self-pity settled in his gut. Now he couldn’t even stand unaided, let alone change his trousers with any dignity. Now they called him a king, but it didn’t fucking matter, because he was always only a minor misfortune away from this. At least only Flint was here to witness it. He couldn’t have tolerated anyone else — not even Madi, who he was determined should never have to serve as his caretaker. Flint already knew him at his most wretched, and had never looked at him with pity. Heat crept up his cheeks as half delirious memory resolved, and his mind caught on the image of just how Flint had looked at him today, the feel of fervent, possessive touch. He’d been sure Flint didn’t think of him that way. He’d wondered, of course, when he’d learned of the captain’s history. Anyone would have. But Flint had always seemed to consider Silver’s body in much the same way he did his own: either a problem to be solved, or a weapon to be honed. Functional. It was part of why Silver trusted him.Still… Curiosity piqued, Silver considered their interactions; the moments that had lasted a beat too long and Flint’s voice, rich and laden with implication. And what is it you believe now? The night was sure to involve a certain amount of awkward proximity anyway. Maybe it would be more bearable if he could convince himself that Flint saw it as more than an obligation. “Captain?” he asked, like a thought was just occurring to him, a bit shy. “Is there any place close by where it would be easy to wash?” He grimaced, looking down at his ruined clothing. “Now that I’m no longer on death’s doorstep, I’m noticing there’s rather a lot of blood on me.”Flint just nodded. He helped Silver up without any more contact than necessary, expression perfectly neutral.Silver followed his lead, hopping along beside him with a hand on his shoulder. That single point of contact took on outsized significance in his mind, the play of muscles under his hand filling his consciousness. He adjusted his grip too often, nervous the whole time that he was being too obvious, though he couldn’t have said about what. Thankfully they didn’t have far to go. Flint led them to a spot just beyond their makeshift camp, where a flat stone protruded into the shallow stream. He clasped Silver’s arm and lowered him to sit, then told him gruffly to wait. He returned a minute later and set trousers, a bucket and clean rags within easy reach. “Keep the bandage dry,” was all he said before retreating. Silver sighed. The whole thing had probably been in his head. It was just a foolish way to distract himself, reading something more flattering into Flint’s natural concern for a friend, but as soon as the moment of crisis passed, his careful reserve had snapped back into place. On the other hand… Was that reserve not telling in itself, after such free physicality earlier? Flint was being cautious, that much was clear, and no one went out of their way to avoid the appearance of wanting something they didn’t in fact want. Silver toyed with the idea. He would need to undress fully anyway, to have a hope of getting all the sand off of him, and this place was not hidden. Would Flint be tempted to look? A shiver coursed along his nerves, as if there truly were eyes on him. The fragile fantasy was spoiled when he peeled off his stiff, stinking clothes, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the spatters of dried blood. How could he imagine anyone would be interested in him, when he smelled like that? But even as he thought it, some dark, animal instinct inside him whispered that Flint wouldn’t care. Flint would fuck straight off the battlefield, covered in blood and filth, and revel in it. Savage, debauched images flashed unbidden to Silver’s mind, and his newly exposed cock twitched with interest. It fucking hurt. The abrupt, unexpected pain made Silver suck a breath in through his teeth, brought harshly back to reality by the reminder that Israel fucking Hands had kicked him between the legs. Fucking bastard. As soon as he remembered, his balls started to ache too. His ribs protested every time he stretched or bent, and his leg throbbed. So did his eye, which had swollen partially shut. Now that he took stock, just about goddamn everything hurt; to top it all off his empty stomach ached, and thirst still clawed at his throat.That, at least, he could do something about. He drank his fill of the cool, fresh water, and enough to stave off hunger a while longer as well, then splashed some over his face. It ran down in bright red rivulets over his hands and wrists. His stomach turned. He could feel blood clinging in his hair and beard now, how much of it there was; the smell clogged his nose, and bile rose in his throat. At the same time, a dark, secret part of him preened at the memory of Flint slaughtering a man just for having hurt him, and his traitorous cock throbbed again. Arousal vied with pain and visceral disgust in a confusing rush of sensation that left him dizzy, unable to catch his breath, skin hot and feverish.Impulsively, he maneuvered himself off the edge of the rock and into the water, ignoring Flint’s admonition about the bandage. The stream was no more than a foot deep, flowing briskly over a bed of smooth rocks. Its chill provided an instant, welcome point of focus that drew a groan from his throat as it intensified and then eased the aching of his abused flesh. The water was pure and predictable, blessedly gentle after the ocean’s violence. He braced himself and laid back into it, running his fingers through drifting curls to dislodge blood and sand. There was no danger here, Silver told himself, forcing a slow, deep breath; he allowed the water to close over his face. Raised his head and inhaled again, just to prove to his skittish body that he could. Then again. Eventually, his heart stopped its pounding. He washed away the remnants of his ordeal, the water lapping steadily at bare skin. As he became aware of his surroundings again, it reminded him of his nakedness on full display. If Flint were so inclined, he would certainly have had something to see now. Perhaps the thought should have made Silver feel abashed, but if anything he positioned himself more brazenly. It was good to imagine that his broken, rebellious body could provoke desire, even like this. And why should it not? He knew how Madi would look at him, were she here. Was it so impossible that Flint might too? He dragged a cloth down his chest, over muscles sculpted by training, and imagined the captain’s eyes following its path.Silver had always possessed a certain streak of vanity. The amputation had nearly snuffed it out, but he was too adept at reading people to miss the looks he still received, as often fascination as horror. Aside from its one glaring flaw, his was a form that any man would have been proud to display. And so, when he’d learned of Thomas Hamilton, among his first small, petty thoughts had been, Why not me? It was greedy, to covet Flint’s attention. Silver didn’t even bed men. Not really, not the way Flint apparently had. Only how most people did — sometimes at sea, if he was particularly bored, or there was something to be gained by the act. But his partnership with the captain was far too complicated to bring that into it. So it was for the best that Flint had always seemed beyond such desires, giving every appearance of indifference. Every appearance, until today. Until that embrace on the beach, irreconcilable with the rest.Silver slid back up onto the rock to dry in the last rays of the setting sun, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he replayed scenes from their partnership with new eyes. A theory started to take hold, and his pulse quickened at the idea of testing it. His old clothes were far too disgusting to put back on, so he rinsed them in the stream and laid them out to dry, remaining bare-chested. He wasn’t being coy; it wasn’t his fault there was blood on everything. They fought like this all the time, and it held no significance. Still, by the time Silver pulled on the dead redcoat’s trousers he was half hard again, the echoes of pain now almost pleasant as he buttoned his cock away. He knew how he looked, curls hanging loose and Madi’s necklace at his throat, half naked in the twilight. It was only a game, he reminded himself, tying off the empty left trouser leg. A game that would lead nowhere, that he played with himself only to make this specific moment more bearable. Indeed, the twinge of humiliation when he called out to Flint to come help him stand was quickly overshadowed by his focus on the captain’s reaction as he approached.Flint’s performance was subtle, almost perfect. Like most lies, in the end perfection was what gave it away. His gaze swept over Silver's body once, cataloging, and then did not wander. His quiet nod and offer of a hand were precisely ordinary, though the circumstances and Silver’s appearance were anything but. Silver almost laughed aloud at how obvious it was, now that he knew how to look. Where previously he had not seen past the absence of lust, now he detected an unmistakable tightening of control; Flint ensuring his behavior was so scrupulously correct that it would never arouse suspicion. So that Silver could never, ever think he was making advances. Filled with the unique satisfaction of solving puzzle, Silver hadn’t realized he’d been staring too long. Abruptly, he found himself facing the consequences of having been correct. Flint’s expression remained unchanged. Silver swallowed hard and took his outstretched hand, rather pleased to have left himself with no other choice. Then he was upright, swaying into Flint’s space. He didn’t exaggerate his unsteadiness, exactly, but he also didn’t try as hard as he otherwise might have to fight it. Instead he caught himself with an arm around Flint’s neck, half collapsing against him, and their whole sides pressed together in a blazing line of heat. He’d forgotten Flint was shirtless too, under his jacket, until the warmth radiating from his skin provoked a wave of dizzy longing. It felt so right, being pressed up against him like this, close enough to kiss. Almost inevitable. His gaze darted to Flint’s lips, lingering, then nervously up to his eyes.He found them fixed on him, sharp and curious as a jungle cat’s. Shit. Silver cursed his utter lack of subtlety. He fancied himself skilled at these games, but now he was blundering and awkward, literally throwing himself into the captain’s arms at the first opportunity. Maybe he could show some strategic symptoms of delirium, and mitigate the damage a bit. Maybe it would even be true. Before he could step back, Flint’s arm encircled his waist. It was a slow, deliberate movement, green eyes never wavering while fingers curled around the sensitive skin just below bruised ribs. Silver’s lips parted, and he couldn’t suppress a small, tremulous gasp. Everything went still, for a heartbeat that lasted a lifetime. Silver understood, with a primal recognition deep in his aching core, the extent to which he was at the captain’s mercy. Flint could simply throw him to the ground and fuck him. He would deserve it, for his foolishness. He felt an urge to bear his neck. Flint raised an eyebrow, and glanced pointedly downward. Blushing furiously, Silver followed his gaze. The bulge of his hardening cock was visible, but not extremely so from this angle. More prominent was a wide, dark patch on his thigh, spreading to Flint’s where they were pressed together: the wet bandage soaking through the fabric. “Would it have been so difficult to simply listen for once?” Flint asked, in a tone of mild chastisement so familiar it made him feel he ought to have a sword in his hand. “Yes,” Silver replied simply, not quite able to form thoughts. Not sure if he was grateful or disappointed that Flint was opting to let the moment pass. It was the right choice, the wise choice. But, as they turned back toward camp together, neither of them pulled away. And that was another choice, a tacit mutual decision that such contact was permissible, so long as the lingering current of excitement between them remained unacknowledged. Which it would. Silver had his answer, to soothe his pride and rebalance power a bit between them. He would quit while he was ahead, for once. Still, the bunch and pull of Flint’s muscles, his smell of musk and sea and heat, the easy way they fell into a rhythm, it was all unreasonably distracting. Now that Silver had given himself permission to think about it, he could too easily imagine moving in pursuit of pleasure instead. A familiar compulsion urged him to push, just because he could.He clung to the frayed remnants of his sanity, and detached himself from Flint’s side as soon as he could, balancing with a hand on the boulder he’d laid against earlier and blinking to clear his head.Flint had been occupied in his absence. Their supplies were organized neatly, with the food, water and rum set out on the large square of sailcloth, spread like a blanket over the floor of the clearing. At least it would provide some barrier between them and the various tropical plants and insects when they slept. When they slept here, together. “Well this is cozy,” Silver said dryly, playing off a thrill of anticipation. It would be nothing; he had to let this go now. Flint lit a lantern against the deepening twilight, and sat to one side of the cloth. “Here, you should eat,” he said, gesturing for Silver to join him. Though Silver could have sat on his own, he accepted Flint’s offer of a hand, unable to resist one more small touch. But the captain’s grip was practical, and he let go quickly. Which was for the best.Flint uncorked the rum, and Silver took a biscuit. It was stale and flavorless, with a crust of salt that made him suspect it, too, had washed up on shore at some point. It crumbled when he bit into it, leaving his mouth dry and, like everything in this place, fucking sandy. He almost made a thoughtless comment about the quality of the food, before remembering that only his own stubbornness had prevented them from being well on the way to a decent meal by now. He held out his hand for the rum and took a large, grateful swallow. “So, what happened yesterday?” Silver asked, guilt pricking at his conscience for distracting himself with whatever the fuck this was with Flint, while his men had just suffered a painful defeat. “What went wrong?”“Billy’s message was intercepted.” A quick flash of anger tightened Flint’s jaw, and Silver wondered if he’d already killed whoever was responsible. “The Revenge escaped intact, but the rest of our fleet is out of commission. Now we are… negotiating the details of a land-based strategy.” “The fuck does that mean?” Flint rolled his eyes and took a long pull of rum. “It means your presence was missed.” He gave a summary of events while they ate, passing the bottle back and forth. Silver tried to absorb everything Flint was telling him, making a series of mental adjustments. The food, bad as it was, did steady him, but the rum was quickly undoing any gains toward mental clarity. Neither reacted when their fingers inevitably brushed, though as their movements grew relaxed with the drink it happened more often than usual. “So the plan is to take the Underhill estate tomorrow?” Silver asked. Flint nodded. “At sundown.” “But you’re here.” Silver cocked his head, squinting in sudden consternation. Flint never left preparations for battle to others. “You going to tell me how the fuck that came to be? Did someone trace the letter back to Hands?” Flint looked blankly at him. “Letter?” “Hands made me write a letter. That I was alive, threats of reprisals for hangings. Sent it with a black spot. I imagine he thought I would be worth more as a menace, rather than a half-drowned prisoner. Did you not know about this?” “No.” Flint shook his head. “Fucking Israel Hands, after all these years. The letter works to our advantage, anyway.”“You know, if you’d taken a moment before jumping to murder as the solution, maybe he could have been useful for us,” Silver suggested, annoyed anew at Flint, his tongue loose enough to let it show a bit. “No,” Flint replied flatly.“Why?” Silver asked, taken aback. Flint could usually be counted on to be coldly pragmatic about his pirate allies.“Why the fuck do you think?” The drink was audible in Flint’s voice, which was unusual these days, and his lip curled with an uncharacteristic edge of derision. Silver let it drop. “So how did you know to look for me?” “I didn’t.” Flint stared down at the bottle in his hands for a long time. When he spoke again it was hoarse and strange, and Silver realized he was holding back tears. “I just had to check. If there was even the smallest chance… If you were here… I couldn’t leave you here.” Silver remembered his first desperate scramble away from the dark ocean, where the current had eventually carried him. The sickening feel of crawling over corpses. This was where the bay spat out its detritus, hadn’t Hands said as much? “You were looking for a body.”“I couldn’t…” Flint looked up, his face a mask of utter anguish familiar from the weeks following Miranda’s death. “After Charles Town. I just had to be sure.”“Well, I’m alive,” Silver said with a bit more finality than he intended. The depth of Flint’s emotions gave rise to the vague, resentful shame of being unable to match them. Here Flint was, ready to bare his soul, and what had Silver been doing? Playing games about desire, at best juvenile and at worst downright cruel. “Better to think about what comes next,” he said, hoping to move on. But Flint was in a mood now, his melancholy made intractable by the rum. “I couldn’t even go after you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I wanted to.”“Don’t do that.” Silver grabbed the bottle from his hands, irritated, not nearly drunk enough to indulge that conversation. Not when he was certain that Flint would make the same decision again, if he deemed it necessary. “I know why you couldn’t.” Flint stared bleakly into the night. “You know, I’ve spent weeks trying to picture what it would be like,” Silver said, casting about for a safer topic of conversation. “After our assault on Nassau. I thought I had come up with everything. But not once did this scenario occur to me.” Flint gave him a long, slow look. “And what scenario is that, exactly?” Silver shrugged. “Spending the night drinking with you out by the wrecks, while everything happens somewhere else.” He pulled his right knee up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, chilled without a shirt. “It doesn’t feel real.” “No,” Flint said softly. “It doesn’t.” Quiet deepened between them, the sounds of running water and distant waves growing to fill the night air. Flint seemed resolved to brood. Exhausted, Silver might have drifted off had it not been for the many complaints of his body. He was stiff and sore, bruises settling in dark over his ribs; his leg throbbed in a way that was at least novel, but already becoming tiresome. Everything in his groin still ached, with no distinction between injury and frustrated arousal, exacerbated by a tightness in his bladder he’d been trying to ignore for a while. He would need to stand eventually. His confused, overwrought body responded to the prospect of asking for Flint’s help again with distinct interest, and suddenly he feared it would come off as another crass flirtation. How would he keep his composure, with Flint’s hands on him while—“You think we would have made it, in Florida?” Silver asked more or less at random, desperate to distract himself from the image he had conjured. “To St. Augustine,” he clarified in response to Flint’s confused look. “If we’d left.” “No.” Silver rolled his eyes. “Come on, have some faith,” he cajoled, determined to coax Flint into a lighter mood. “We’re rather resourceful, between the two of us.” Flint snorted. “Well, fair.” Silver grinned. “I’m resourceful. But you’re very good at killing things, so I suppose it would have been worth having you along.” That won a bemused laugh. “You expecting me to believe you wouldn’t have sold me to the first interested party in order to save your own skin?” “Only as a last resort!” Silver retorted, mock defensive, though he wouldn’t have, not ever. He had already been too fascinated with Flint even then, though the fascination was so thoroughly tied to lust for gold he had still been able to overlook it. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he said, humor fading. They lapsed back into silence, but it was more comfortable now, something between them resettled. This was the right moment to ask for assistance, but Silver couldn’t bring himself to put an end to this strange, peaceful pocket of time just yet. He shifted to try to make himself more comfortable and drifted in a waking dream instead, imagining coming to know Flint like this, just the two of them trying to survive the beach and jungle without the constant weight of command. Would things have been less complicated between them? Flint had — fuck, Flint had still been in the habit of shoving him against things back then. Silver wondered, looking back, why he had discounted the obvious explanation. He would have seen it immediately if they’d been alone, he was sure. Could have waited until the inevitable next time there was a knife at his throat; he would have looked up with wide eyes and bit his lip, shifted his hips as if by accident… Arousal shivered through him, but it was quickly overshadowed by an unwelcome pang of urgency in his lower belly. He dropped his forehead miserably onto his folded knee, letting his hair fall around his face. He could have fucking cried for how much he missed being whole and pretty, easily seductive without requiring any care at all. This had been among the worst parts of those first few days of recovery, asking to go like a child. He wasn’t supposed to be that anymore, the pathetic creature Flint had nursed back to health in his cabin. But soon tightness mounted to low, pulsating pain, all of the water he’d drunk at the stream demanding to be released. No amount of self pity would change the fact that he was going to have to ask, so he might as well do it now. Still, the words didn’t emerge. He told himself he was being stupid. Flint didn’t care, had never seemed the slightest bit disgusted, and anyway no one could spend his life on ships and be so delicate. It was only another safe, necessary reason to touch, exactly the sort of excuse he would have made up if he had in fact been orchestrating a seduction, rather than truly and embarrassingly desperate.And if a bit of him was still excited, eager to see how Flint would respond, he couldn’t help that either. This wasn’t part of any scheme, he had no choice. “Captain?” He finally forced out, barely above a whisper. “Hm?” Flint hummed in response, like his mind had been drifting far away. “Could— could you help me stand?” Silver squeezed his thighs together, grateful for the darkness. Muttered, “I… uh. That was a lot of rum, just need—” “Oh.” Flint’s voice came out a little thick. ’Course.” He knelt beside Silver and ducked back under his arm without hesitation, pulling them both smoothly up to stand. Silver staggered and hissed, knee almost buckling. The quick change in position redoubled his discomfort, and he’d been so focused on needing to piss that he’d forgotten the agony of standing up with cracked ribs. Once again he clung pathetically to Flint’s shoulder, curling in on himself against the different pains assailing him, trying not to shove a hand between his legs like a child. Flint held him steady, impassive while he regained his composure, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Silver was too thankful to care if it was an act — whatever was happening between them, right now he needed Flint’s particular brand of steadiness. He gritted his teeth, and nodded, and they set off into the darkness. Each jostling step was a torment Silver could barely endure, and he was glad when they paused only a few paces outside the circle of lantern light. Flint could easily have led him a little further to the edge of the clearing, let him lean on a tree and turned his back. Silver fumbled with his buttons, grateful not to have to wait another moment. Grateful for the pretense that there was no choice. Or maybe that there was one; it was all turned around in his head, but even in his sorry state he saw the permission to do this in such proximity to Flint was significant. He was too close to relief to care, trying not to look frantic as the unfamiliar buttons proved an impossible struggle. Flint stepped smoothly behind him, close but not touching, and took hold of his waist to steady him, freeing both his hands. Silver hurriedly unfastened his trousers and yanked out his cock, aiming it at the ground, but the flow he’d barely been able to contain a moment before would not start. This was too much, too tense, trying to master his body with Flint crowded right up behind him and he couldn’t —“Just relax,” Flint murmured, right behind his ear. “Go on.” Silver’s mind went reeling in several directions at once, utter humiliation fighting preoccupation with Flint’s fucking tone, which was pure sex, it had to be intentional, and what the fuck was he supposed to do now? Shockingly, his body obeyed of its own accord. A short spurt pattered to the ground, barely audible over his own panting breaths. It was followed by another, longer, and the first sweet taste of relief. Fatigued muscles let go at last, a hot stream bursting out of him so forcefully it would have been mortifying, if he had cared for anything but how fucking good it felt. A low groan he hadn’t known to guard against escaped his lips, and Flint’s hands tightened fractionally on his waist. At last the bliss of relief abated, making space for the shameful, heady pleasure of forced intimacy. It went on and on, far too long and Silver could do nothing but stand with his prick in hand and Flint’s ragged breath ruffling the hair at the side of his neck. Silver’s shaft thickened in his palm, stream subsiding to a trickle as it hardened. At least his body’s response was obscured from Flint’s view. He was secretly disappointed. Then they were standing still in deafening silence, and Silver couldn’t have said how long ago he finished but now he was fully hard, gripping his erection and biting his lower lip. He could feel tension coming off Flint in waves, but maybe that was just the heat of his skin. It would be so easy to lean back against the captain’s solid chest and touch himself just a little. Would Flint maintain the illusion this was normal? He could almost hear the quiet instruction repeated into his ear — Go on. His cock lept and he lost his nerve, quickly shoving it back into his trousers, muttering his thanks. He was going mad. There were a million reasons not to cross that line, when had he become so fucking reckless? By the time they finished hobbling back to their makeshift camp, The last traces of exhilaration had drained into a wretched, wrung out feeling, and Silver was glad to sit again. He huddled shivering in the small pool of lantern light, while Flint walked wordlessly off into the dark — presumably to relieve himself discreetly like a normal fucking person, Silver thought bitterly. He drank some of the little remaining rum, hoping it would warm him, but was still shaking too noticeably when Flint returned and sat nearby. “Really shouldn’t be so cold,” Silver said, annoyed at his body for all of its small betrayals. The evening was uncommonly cool for these islands, but it would have been downright balmy anywhere in England, and in truth he knew temperature had only a little to do with his state. Now that immediate discomfort had been eased, he had hit some kind of wall in prolonged exhaustion after which, apparently, he started shaking as miserably as a fucking dog. “It’s like that, after you come near drowning,” Flint said quietly. “Like the ocean gets inside your bones, doesn’t want to let go. It passes.”Silver remembered pulling him to the surface, off the coast of Florida. How easy it had been, because Flint wasn’t fighting. Drowning men usually fought. Silver had fought. The chaos of it flashed through his mind, the choking, roiling water, Muldoon’s dead face and how powerless he had been. He shook even harder. “I fucking hate the ocean.” Flint’s chuckle was dark enough to show he knew Silver wasn’t joking. He shrugged off his jacket. “Take this, at least.”“No need, thank you,” Silver replied automatically. He felt a stab of longing, imagining sleeping warm and surrounded by Flint’s scent rather than exposed on the ground, but it would be ridiculous. He couldn’t take the captain’s clothing, that would just leave Flint… Oh. Entirely bare chested, which he now was, having made no move to put the jacket back on. Flint caught him looking, and a faint smirk played around his lips. Silver’s heart beat faster. The pale glow of freckled skin in the lantern light felt like a challenge. It made his fingers itch, the way they sometimes did when he fought the urge to steal something that was better left alone. Self restraint did not, usually, win out. And fuck it, he wanted to steal Flint. Wanted to take some piece of him, something that mattered and could never be given back. Flint had taken his entire life, it was only fair that Silver have this. They both plainly wanted it. This silent escalation of tension had progressed so far, surely the damage had already been done. Surely they could at least enjoy it. An idea occurred to Silver.It would be utterly ridiculous to suggest. Absurd. Playing the fool in a way he usually didn’t even attempt with Flint anymore. He spoke before his impulsive courage could fade “We could– could uh…” Silver gestured at the jacket, and shot Flint what he hoped was a disarming smile. “We could share it? You know, like a blanket?” Flint squinted at him hard. “You’re serious?” Silver couldn’t tell if it was a reprimand for being too overt in this game, or if Flint just couldn’t believe he would be so bold. Now that he had committed, though, he had to see it through. Quickly, before Flint did something stupid like trying to address the situation directly. “I just want to get warm and go to sleep,” Silver said, playing up the shivering a bit. “That seems like the most efficient way.” It was a swindler’s trick, prompting Flint to pretend this was normal. People would go along with a great deal, simply to avoid being the one to acknowledge a situation was strange, especially if it was in their interest. “Of course.” Flint’s voice came out choked, all wrong, and Silver knew he had won. Terror fought with elation inside him, combining with the chill to make his trembling conveniently authentic. They didn’t say anything else. The silence was thick and heavy, but Silver didn’t trust himself to break it even with a joke or meaningless comment, afraid the moment would slip through his fingers. Instead he lay on the sailcloth, curled slightly onto his side as Flint put out the lantern, leaving them in darkness. Flint settled cautiously behind him, once again close without touching, and tried to position the jacket. There were a few awkward moments of adjustment as he discovered the obvious: that it was not large enough, and would leave one or the other of them mostly uncovered. Silver let him struggle long enough to prove there was no other choice, and then shifted back so that their upper bodies were pressed flush. Flint settled the jacket over them both, ending with his arm draped over Silver’s side, not quite holding him but having nowhere else to go. Silver’s first impression was of how shockingly comfortable it was. He had been so busy performing coldness that he’d all but forgotten he actually was cold, but the soft swell of Flint’s belly and chest conformed to his back, enveloping him in warmth. The sturdy cloth held the heat close, cocooning him in it, and he let out a sigh of satisfaction that was only part feigned. Flint’s chest rose and fell rhythmically as the distant waves, his breaths so slow and steady they must have required great concentration. Silver’s own heart raced, excitement thrumming through his body, but he lay perfectly still, waiting. Keeping up the charade that sleep was a possible outcome here. Sweet minutes of anticipation drew out like the tension before battle, long enough that Silver started to doubt himself. Could Flint possibly be disciplined enough to deny the final step, even now? Nothing, still, had crossed an irreversible line, and Silver was resolved not to make the next move. He tried silently to count to one hundred, because anything could be gotten through in small increments. He kept getting distracted by the ache in his constrained cock, made all the worse because he absolutely could not adjust himself. He would not move. He would not.When Flint broke it was a tiny movement; just an abortive twitch of his arm, like he was trying to get closer without Silver noticing. As if any movement now could be less than earth shattering.It was enough. Silver arched and hummed sleepily, catching Flint’s hand and dragging it up his torso like he wasn’t quite aware of what he was doing, until their tangled fingers came to rest over his breast. And all at once Flint was holding him, tight and desperate, clinging to him like he was something precious. Silver melted into it, suffused by an overwhelming sense of relief. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but this was what he’d needed to get back to since the first moments of their reunion, the only thing that could convince his body he was safe. Flint was the one shaking now, his face buried in Silver’s hair, and Silver never wanted it to end. That immediately gave rise to a new kind of terror, a glimpse of the vast, consuming thing between them meant to be hidden under the guise of mere desire. There was no world in which he could need Flint to hold him, not with the part he must play. It was greedy, so stupidly greedy to crave that tenderness from Flint when he already had it from Madi, much more than he deserved. In a flash he saw himself plainly, through the layers of his own artifice: pathetic, like a dog starved of affection, risking everything simply because he could not endure a night alone in his misery. The outside world pressed in around him and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand another second inside his own head. His fingers tightened over Flint’s and pulled their joined hands between his legs. He rocked forward into Flint’s palm, back to rub against his answering hardness, ending their protracted game in a single stroke because suddenly that seemed the safer option. For a terrifying moment Flint remained frozen, still as a statue. Then he made a muffled, desperate noise, tightened his grip and pushed his hips forward and all at once the night’s tension broke into a flurry of uncoordinated motion. There was no art to it, only a frantic need to get closer, instinctive, glorious stroking and rutting that was everything at once and nothing like enough. Silver couldn’t have stopped for anything in the world. Flint, of course, had more discipline. He growled low in his throat and rolled atop Silver, a thick thigh wedged between his legs and a hand tangled in his hair, pinning him in one smooth movement. Silver settled, responding yet again to whatever sorcery granted the captain mastery over his body. He hadn’t been sure what he would get from Flint, if it came to this. Part of him had worried — and, perhaps, just a tiny bit had hoped — that Flint would want to fuck all open and sentimental, the way he probably had with Lord and Lady Hamilton. But he was not entitled to that side of Flint, and he did not receive it. No. This was an extension of their training, the fulfillment of a promise made a hundred times over during combat, though until now Silver had been blind to it. Lips found his in a searing kiss, and Flint kissed like he fought: relentless but controlled, demanding Silver’s full attention and perfectly attuned to his responses. Silver met him eagerly, licking into his mouth and sucking lightly at his bottom lip until it was impossible to tell who was leading the intricate dance. He held Flint close with a hand to the nape of his neck, stroking the soft velvet stubble of hair that was every bit as satisfying to touch as he’d imagined. He ran hands over Flint's broad back, down to cup his ass, urging him closer; their bodies moved together with the slide of their tongues, Silver arching rhythmically up against Flint’s thigh and moaning at the delicious pressure. Pain still throbbed along with arousal in his balls, radiating up inside him, making everything feel so much he almost couldn’t take it. “More?” Flint asked, low and hoarse against his lips. “Yes,” Silver panted, and pushed his hands between them to unfasten the placket of Flint’s trousers. He deepened the kiss, compelled to stay as close as possible but when the rigid length of Flint’s cock sprang free they broke apart gasping. It was hot and decadently silky in Silver’s palm, which had grown calloused since he’d last done this to anyone else. He slid the delicate sheath of skin experimentally up and down. Flint dropped his head, pressing their brows together, uttering harsh, wounded little noises into the small space between their lips. His pleasure was intoxicating, every sound, every shudder a secret revealed to Silver alone, making him feel more powerful than command ever had. He quickened his pace and Flint tensed beautifully in response, prick throbbing, obviously close already. Fingers caught Silver’s wrist. He made a noise of protest at the arrested motion and swiped his thumb over the head of Flint’s cock, unwilling to stop touching him. It jerked and pulsed needily, fluid leaking from the slit. Flint growled and bit Silver’s lip, hard, moving his hand firmly to the buttons of his own trousers. Silver hurriedly worked open the fabric, so aroused and sensitive that even that small pressure drew a whimper. Flint’s fingertips supplanted his own as soon as his cock was exposed, exploring with almost reverent gentleness, like he was trying to memorize every inch. Silver wanted to ask if he’d thought about it, wanted to make him admit how long he’d wanted this, but he bit back the words. Nothing was safe, even the most common lover’s talk too likely to result in confessions that could not be unheard come morning. Braced over him, Flint brought their lengths together, taking them both in hand. The sensation was so sharp it was difficult to endure, skin catching without anything to ease the way, and Silver hissed and whined even as he arched into the grip. Immediately the pressure lessened. Before Silver could object Flint moved down his body, and his cock was engulfed in wet, yielding heat.“Jesus Christ,” Silver swore, convulsing hard enough that pain shot through his ribs, while pleasure just as strong raced up his spine. “You… Shit, oh fuck, you’re—” His voice broke off into a moan as Flint swallowed the entire shaft, the muscles of his throat rippling around it, setting off cascading waves of ecstasy. If it had gone on a second longer, Silver might have spilled down his throat. But Flint pulled back just as abruptly, spitting in his palm to slick himself as well, realigning their bodies as if that had been nothing more than a functional interlude. Silver, left bereft and whimpering, already hated him a little for it. How could he be expected to live the rest of his days knowing what it felt like to have Flint’s mouth on him? But then his cock was gliding indulgently against Flint’s, gloriously intimate as their lips found each other again and there was no space for anything else. Flint was still braced on his forearms, pressing down just enough to provide the perfect amount of stimulation, strong and steady as Silver rocked his hips up against him like the shore under crashing waves. Soon he was moaning with such abandon that kissing became impossible. Flint mouthed along his neck instead, sucking at delicate skin. “Fuck,” Silver half sobbed, no longer able to restrain himself, pleasure starting to surge and gather as he moved with increasing desperation. “Captain, so good.” “Yes, that’s it.” Flint breathed encouragement against his skin, whispered it into his ear, in exactly that fucking tone, and again Silver had the strange premonition of resentment, knowing he would hear it in every future piece of praise Flint offered. “Perfect like this, keep going, show me what you need.” Silver chased the feeling, trying to get there now that permission had been granted, sliding his hand back between them so he could thrust up into it for more friction. It still hurt, but he didn’t care. “Please,” he panted, sweat beading on his chest as he strained toward the edge of climax. He wanted to obey, wanted Flint to know how much he loved this, but his body had gone through hell, and he’d been drinking and this was all new and as soon as he tried to coax forth pleasure it eluded him. “Close, fuck… Feels incredible, just… More.” “Let me,” Flint rasped. Silver didn’t hear it as a request at first, just more of the captain’s intoxicating voice in his ear as he focused on trying to come. But Flint cupped his face and kissed him, demanding his attention. “Let me?” he asked again, imploring. “Yes, please,” Silver gasped, reaching a point of frustration where he didn’t care what he was agreeing to. “Fucking need— oh–” Again Flint slid down his body, and he cried out, no more prepared for the wet suction the second time. Flint wasted no time taking him deep, following the twitching of his hips and establishing a steady rhythm that gave him exactly what he needed. “Yes, there,” he choked out, back on the edge of release in no time. He groaned as a hand cupped his tender balls, massaging gently in time with Flint’s mouth, pleasure building until orgasm was not just attainable but unstoppable. The first quivers started deep inside him and all at once he was overcome by the fact that this was Flint, Flint was letting him, wanted him to— “Please, oh god fuck you're gonna make me come, so fucking good yes…” Flint took him deep a final time and the pleasure crested, all consuming, indistinguishable from pain as it tore through him. His vision flashed white as he spent himself in hot pulses down Flint’s throat, and he didn’t realize he was crying out but his voice was hoarse, breaking into sobs as the last spasms wracked him. One hand had found Flint’s head and was clutching him close, so that his lips were wrapped around the root of Silver’s cock, nose pressed hard into the curls at the base. Silver pulled it away, suddenly afraid he’d hurt him. But Flint backed off only enough to suck him through the aftershocks, and moaned as the last drops spilled onto his tongue. Even when it was over he didn’t move, cheek pillowed against Silver’s thigh, still panting and nuzzling his softening flesh. There was a soft, quick sound of skin on skin that didn’t make sense anymore. Then it did, because Flint’s hand was between his own legs. Silver’s spent cock gave an almost violent twitch of arousal. “Oh fuck, wait, c’mere,” he pleaded, voice weak and shaky. He should make it good, should use his mouth too, but his limbs were jelly and he just needed Flint close to him. Flint obeyed, shifting atop him once more. Even in the dark it was clear how ruined he was, trembling and damp with sweat, chest heaving. Silver caught his mouth, still all wet and swollen, drawing him down into messy, open mouthed kisses. He wrapped a hand around Flint’s shaft, barely even needing to touch it before it pulsed wildly, painting his chest and belly in hot ropes of spend while Flint stiffened above him, utterly silent under the onslaught of pleasure. “Fuck,” Silver panted, dazed, as Flint rolled off to the side, struggling to catch his breath. Slowly his mind started to clear, the haze of orgasm fading along with the arousal and intoxication that had preceded it. The enormity of what they had done — what he had done, it had all been him, hadn’t it? — started to sink in. “Oh, fuck.” It wasn’t a bad development, Silver didn’t think. Not exactly. The feeling swelling in his chest wasn’t panic, or regret. It was too overwhelming for that. The world was simply different now. So profoundly different that things like panic and regret didn’t matter. It was the same feeling he’d had when the ship he was on had been taken by pirates, and he had become John Silver. The same feeling he’d had when he woke up missing a leg. Flint kept dividing his life into moments that would forever be before and after, and how the fuck had he deluded himself into imagining this would be different? Beside him, he heard Flint adjust his clothing, then sigh. “Silver. We need to talk about this.” Silver almost laughed, because he had known from the tone of Flint’s goddamn sigh exactly what was coming. It made him feel strangely fond. In a certain way, he’d never known anyone as well. “Are you sure we can’t just go to sleep?” he asked without much hope. Flint was right, they did need to talk, and although the prospect terrified him, it was only going to be harder in the morning. “In a moment, I promise,” Flint said. “I… I hope this was what you needed. And I don’t regret it.” Something in his voice made Silver’s heart sink, though he had no idea what he was hoping to hear. The feeling only increased as Flint continued, stammering and clearly uncomfortable. “I know I’m not good at this. Talking to you. There are things I should have said a long time ago, but now I… I just don’t want there to be any misunderstanding, and…” Silver couldn’t stand it. “Fuck’s sake, just say what you have to say,” he interrupted, nervousness making him unintentionally cruel. He would have apologized, but Flint spoke first. “She loves you too.” It was like falling from a great height, and having a bucket of cold water thrown in his face all at once. They had never spoken directly about the fact that he had started sharing Madi’s bed, let alone anything deeper. Silver opened his mouth, then closed it again. “When we thought you were gone… I told you, it became evident we were in need of a king,” Flint said. “But it was equally evident that she is our queen. It was not I who held our people together. I understand what you see in her, what the two of you share.” The emotion in Flint’s voice made Silver’s chest ache. He was probably thinking about Thomas Hamilton, and his own lost love. “I’m glad for you,” Flint continued. “As I said, I cannot regret what happened tonight. But your connection with her is too important for me to jeopardize it.” Silver fought back a wave of disappointment. Flint was right. Of course he was right, and their cause was his priority. Again Silver reproached himself for endangering them with his bottomless greed, when he was in possession of everything Flint had lost. He did love Madi. But that was different. Flint shouldn’t even be talking about it like that. Suddenly Silver saw the way forward. They had just lost perspective for a moment, that was all. It was because of Flint, and his troublesome, catching habit of making so goddamn much of everything. “Of course, Captain,” he said. “And I do appreciate your blessing, truly. But I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Pardon?” Flint asked, not catching on right away. “The way I see it,” Silver said, putting a bit of mischief in his voice, “Is that I asked you to help me get warm. You did an excellent job. Nothing more to be said about it. Do you disagree?”“...No,” Flint said eventually. “I suppose I don’t.” “Good,” Silver said. “Then come back here. That was comfortable, and I’m tired.” Several beats passed, Flint’s indecision palpable. Come on, Silver urged silently, as close to prayer as he ever came. It’s easy, it’s what you want. It doesn’t have to be real. There had been no problem, before they had acknowledged what was happening. He just needed to make a return to that state of denial seem possible. And, miracle of miracles, it worked. Flint made a skeptical noise, like he wanted to make it clear he wasn’t taken in. That was all right; he didn’t need to be. He curled around Silver nonetheless, and it wasn’t the sort of lie that was meant to be believed, only agreed upon. Silver settled back into his arms, trying to feel triumphant. Whatever had possessed him immediately after, that sweeping sense of possibility, he was fortunate that Flint had been better able to keep his wits about him. This was the best possible outcome, and more than Silver deserved. It would have to be enough.