Private Tales Over the Wine Dark Sea

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran made a face as she smeared some blood on his chin, the Nazrani could hardly be accused of being gentle. At least the kiss was softer but he jumped a little as her hands slipped under his shirt, rubbing over his body. His hands tried to catch hers but she was too nimble and her body warm against his.

"My ship isn't far" he said, his breath hot on her ear. "Nicer than here".

 

[Gal]

“Smuggler das got a ship nicer ‘n da streets o’ Cerak?” Gal grinned, teeth tainted red, but began tugging him along anyway. “Dat’ll be da day.”

The smaller ships weren’t docked too far out, swaying on a lazy breeze and a lazier tide, lines creaking in the mild midnight breeze. The glow of a lantern bobbed up and down the deck of the caravel as the sole watchman slowly made his rounds.

“Tell ‘im ta’ leave, Mistah Elmahir. We’ll ne be sleepin’ tanight anywa’.”

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran might have been drink and drug addled but he was still motivated enough to defend his ship. "You've been aboard Lucia!" he protested, but he didn't quibble when she began to haul him along towards the docks. He'd be a lot happier in his own cabin than some Cerak alleyway.

She gave him the courtesy of ordering the watchman off, not taking charge of his ship. He was still the captain. He tried not to giggle at her comment, "Cabin's down 'ere" he said needlessly, she already knew it from bow to stern. Lucia was smaller than Southern Wind and the space for crew and officers even less.

His own cabin was the largest, which wasn't saying a lot on the caravel. No lock for the door but there was for his sea chest which held what few valuables he had aboard.

 

[Gal]

“Esatto, Mistah Elmahir. Da wretched ol’ tub… an’ a bed... das all yours.”

Gal shoved him down onto the sheets with a flick of the wrist. “Now sit. ‘Ave a smoke.” She handed him the pipe again, herbs still atinder. “An’ watch.”

And then her hands were dancing, and her silks came apart like the petals of a Ainë lily.

 

[Ferran el Machir]

Ferran went sprawling from the firm shove, bouncing a little on the straw mattress. The Nazrani shoved the pipe in his hands with little ceremony and ordered him to keep his eyes on her. The smuggler obeyed, half wary of the penalties if he didn't. He wasn't disappointed when she pulled her silks apart, fighting the urge to just gawk.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmured, more to himself than to her. He managed a grin, focusing his eyes on hers.