Barbados Harbor - Past Lives
Jul. 5th, 2011 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: BA/Face/Murdock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: More pirates! Somebody asked me for a threesome fic, so...here we are!
After John Smith leaves to meet Commodore Morrison in Barbados, Templeton turns to his two other lovers for comfort...
“Would you come away from there, Templeton?”
“I do not like this, Baracus, I truly do not...”
“Nothing to be done. He gone.”
Murdock hung back, lounging by the cabin stairs, watching his two lovers on the main deck. Templeton was gripping the railing tightly, leaning forward, rocking a little in his boots. His waistcoat was undone, his blouse rolled up to his elbows, his hair uncombed and tangled. Baracus was there, one hand on his slumped shoulders, his own vest open over his bare, smooth chest, unadorned but for a few gold chains.
He’d been standing there, Templeton had, since the captain had left on one of their little landing skiffs, since the small boat came back with just the two crew members who’d rowed it over, John away in the city. Templeton had thrown a fit, complete with a thrown dish or two, over breakfast that morning. John had left him without a word, without the same kiss he’d given to Baracus or Murdock himself.
The evening smelled warm, of rotting things, the smell of the the night lights of Barbados, so many lights, rolling up the hill into the jungle beyond. Murdock didn’t care for it, didn’t care for cities. They were like prison, the cities were. Bigger, but the same thing. Walls of stone and iron, built to keep men in, built to keep men trapped. He hated it. He hated his captain going in to one, to meet with Morrison, the man who’d presided over the captain’s court martial, so many years ago. The man who’d had him flogged and imprisoned and thrown out of the Royal Navy. Murdock had heard those stories, his first year with John, stories of pain and of blood and darkness. Why his captain should choose to listen to such a man as Morrison again was beyond Murdock.
But he trusted John Smith with his life. If the captain said it was best for him to go, and go alone, then that was the course of action they would set. But Templeton, sweet Templeton, had taken a slightly different view of the situation.
By hell, John, you will not leave here without one of us! Take Baracus, at the very least, or O’Malley! Somebody, anybody!
The Commodore’s note specified that I was to meet with him alone, Templeton, and all else to remain on the ship. Those are my orders to you now. No vanguard, do you understand?
I have no wish to find you floating belly-up in the harbor tomorrow, John! Which is where you shall be!
The Commodore will keep his word to me, Templeton. You must trust me, lad. We sailed together as young men, I know him intimately, he will not betray his word to me...
How intimately, John?
Leave it, Templeton...
Is that what this is about, a visit to an old lover, forsaking us for a goddamned pardon and return to your old master...
You will mind your place, boy!
And that was when the plate had been thrown and John had stormed out to the landing craft, leaving Templeton behind to collapse into his own dread, the black mood he’d been in all day. Murdock wished he could go back to that moment and fix it somehow, or go forward to discover what will happen, and reassure Templeton that all would be fine. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tried, that was a skill that still escaped Murdock. So he had to settle for watching Baracus attempt to comfort their lover now, while the rest of the crew turned in for the night.
“He gonna be fine, Templeton,” the big negro was saying, rubbing the younger man’s shoulder. “He gonna come back wif’ that pardon and we gonna be all legal-like...”
The first mate finally sighed and pushed away from the balcony railing, body arching back, graceful as always. “He is infuriated with me, Baracus. I accused him of terrible things.”
Baracus clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling a little, and started leading him away, past the few crewmen, scuttling about like sand crabs on the deck, doing this and that. “He might leave you, Templeton, but he ain’t gonna leave me or HM. So don’t worry, he be back...”
Murdock held his arms out as his lovers climbed the stairs, up to their captain’s snug cabin, but Templeton just sighed and walked past, pushing through the doors. Baracus shot the bosun a concerned look, and hurried after the blonde.
Following closely, Murdock watched as Templeton sank down on the edge of their bunk, fingers digging into the smooth linen sheets, head in his hands. He walked over to Baracus, nudging him slightly with his body, and then knelt down between the first mate’s spread thighs.
“John will be back, Templeton,” the bosun murmured, stroking up the taught fabric of the other man’s breeches. “He will not leave you.”
Blue eyes smiled down at him, and Murdock thought of the way the ocean looked, after a storm had passed, ruined and weary. “What about this Russell Morrison, Henry? What if he chooses to take John captive or execute him on the spot? I could not live with myself, knowing the captain went to his death, believing I hated him.”
Murdock had a sudden flash then, as if Templeton’s worries were spilling into him, bright paintings on fresh canvas, the sight of John bleeding in some dirty alley, devoured by that city and its imprisoned men, soul fled, never to return to them...
He whimpered, low in his throat, and Baracus was behind him, lifting him up, the bare expanse of his broad chest hardly the comfort right then that it usually was. “Stop, fool,” he grunted at Templeton as Murdock curled up into him, wanting to feel those arms strong around him, keeping out the badness. “You upsettin’ him.”
“I am sorry,” Templeton murmured after s moment, reaching out to take one of the bosun’s hands in his own. “I am sorry, my friend, but I do fear for him, I do...”
Murdock tried to push the black thoughts away, back into the swirling maelstrom of his mind, and blinked, looking over at him in the flickering lamplight of the cabin. Templeton was smiling a little, hand bracing himself up in the soft pallet beneath him, tanned skin show beneath the neck of his shirt. As otherworldly as some nymph or merman come ashore, he often thought him, just as beautiful. But John was his rock, even more so than for himself or Baracus, and Murdock knew he could hold nothing against him for as lost as he seemed without the captain present.
“Tis fine,” he murmured back, looking at their hands as they twined together, fingers playing against the veins along the back of Templeton’s palm. “I worry for him, too.”
“He be back in the morning,” Baracus said encouragingly, holding Murdock close, kissing his neck. “We all gonna see him again.”
“I hope so, my friend,” Templeton said softly, head hung. “I pray for it to be so...”
Murdock reached over and nudged his chin up. Those blue eyes met his again, and he smiled back. “See? The captain will return, Templeton,” he said, running a hand through the soft hairs at the back of his lover’s neck. “Tomorrow, we will all be together again.”
“Henry,” Templeton whispered, voice rough. “Henry...”
It was always the same with his friend. Their blonde nymph craved the tangible, the pleasures of the flesh, the feel of another body against his own, cock and hands and feet and lips. So he leaned in, twisting out of Baracus’s grasp into Templeton’s, lips brushing gently, tasting guilt and fear and need. Only one of those could he remove, Murdock knew, and so he kissed him hard, wishing only to feel the aftermath of the storm was away.
Templeton resisted him at first, that guilt over his own actions or his fear for John holding him back, but Murdock persisted, pressing in harder, further, lifting a knee up onto the bunk, hand on his lover’s chest. And at that, at that first touch, Templeton sighed and rolled down, letting Murdock move over him, laying a trembling hand on the bosun’s hip as the kiss deepened. For a few long moments, there was nothing else in the world but that, the two of them, Templeton’s warm mouth against his own, tongue and teeth and the slow slide of hands, calloused from the hilt of cutlass and knife. But there was no ugliness in Templeton’s arms. Murdock knew that. No blood, no violence. Only love, only that innate grace that held and comforted him, comfort flowing between them, like a tide carrying them both out to sea...
Baracus groaned behind them, and both Templeton and Murdock broke apart at the same time, the first mate falling back fully into the sheets. “There you are, darlin’,” the dark haired pirate murmured happily, and turned, holding a hand out to their lover behind him. “He needs us, Baracus,” he told the negro, beckoning him closer. “He needs us tonight, to keep him here and out of that prison ashore, wandering for John.”
“Mmm, Henry, yes,” Templeton murmured, writhing a little beneath him. “Here with you both, you and Baracus. Both of you at once, I need you both tonight...”
Murdock moaned happily. Oh yes, oh yes, that, one of the captain's favorite things to watch, one of Templeton's favorite things to do for him...
“Crazy fools,” Baracus grunted, but shrugged his brightly striped vest from his shoulders, undid the drawstring of his loose trousers, baring himself. His dark skin gleamed beautifully in the warm glow of the cabin’s lamps and his heavy cock, almost as long as John’s, began to stir from its nest of dark, wiry hair. “You both crazy.”
Murdock smiled as the big man padded barefoot over to them, leaing in, hand on the edge of the recess of the bunk, smiling a little at them both. One big, dark hand stroked up the bosun’s curving spine, and Templeton reached out, letting the back of his fingers run down Baracus’ belly, curving around the top of that thickening shaft.
“Both of you,” he repeated softly, wrapping his skilled hand around that shaft, causing the big negro to gasp in pleasure. “Baracus...”
A growl, feral and low, ripped from their lover’s throat, and Murdock smiled wider. He loved that sound, had loved it from the very first time he’d heard it, when Baracus first pushed him against a wall, dark eyes silently asking for permission even as he ripped his trousers down. Rough and gentle, confident and considerate, at the same time, the very definition of the man. “Take him, love,” Murdock whispered to him, sliding a hand around his waist as he rolled aside. “Look how much he needs you...”
Baracus knelt up on the bed, straddling the first mate’s thighs, thanking Murdock with those expressive eyes of his as he took charge of the situation. Although both Templeton and Murdock outranked him in the hierarchy of the ship’s crew, in the bedroom, he was second only to John, and the bosun felt a small charge of heat run through him, pooling in his gut, hardening his own manhood, as their lover assumed his rightful command of their evening.
“You need us, Templeton? You need us tonight?” He slid the heels of his hands up Templeton’s chest, under his blouse, stripping the garment from that tanned, sleek body. “You need us to remind you?”
Murdock whined a little, watching that erotic display, and dark eyes turned on him. “Strip down, crazy,” Baracus ordered, “while Ima make Templeton forget everything but us...”
Smiling, the bosun slowly removed his own clothing, vest and blouse and knife and belt and trousers and sea boots, the heavy leather dropping to the polished floor. He flexed bare toes and, smiling, dropped down next to them. He laid hands along Templeton’s calves, flexing as Baracus took control of their lover’s mouth, devouring him in one of those dominant kisses of his.
The bosun loved the buttery soft feel of Templeton’s knee-high boots. He kept them gleaming, Templeton did, in perfect repair, no matter how much blood they waded through. Their blonde nymph could be a vain thing, he could, Murdock knew, but the boots drove John to distraction, like those gold nipple rings did for Baracus, like the taste of his seed, flavored delicious by the dried fruit Templeton ate so much of, did for Murdock. He was a considerate creature, their Templeton, always wanting to please them, always willing to do anything to make them happy, but tonight, Murdock told himself happily, tonight was for him.
It had to be perfect.
He pulled those boots slowly away, and Baracus slid up Templeton’s body, still kissing him so, so utterly, allowing Murdock the room to unbutton their lover’s breeches. Listening to the groans and whimpers above him, the sounds of submission, of dominance, Murdock was almost too distracted to remain on task. But then Templeton’s cut cock, reddened, hungry, sprang up and Murdock remembered he was to pull the fawn-colored fabric away. He did that as quick as he could, kneeling naked on the cabin floor, his own shaft stiffening to steel at the sight of Templeton’s need. Dropping the last of the clothing between them all away, he half-stood and, leaning in, took the plump head of his lover’s cock fully into his mouth.
Templeton arched up against Baracus, clean off the bed, moaning at the kiss fell apart, as Murdock suckled on his manhood, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking out against the slit, just as he knew the first mate loved it. Baracus moved away, pushing Templeton further back into the bunk, all the way in, and Murdock followed as carefully as he could, crawling back up on the sheets, keeping that rock-hard cock in his mouth the whole way.
He could feel Baracus’ eyes on them, watching as Templeton’s hands tangled up in Murdock’s short, dark hair, holding him in, as Murdock pushed in further, taking him in deeper, both of them moaning into it, pleasure mingling together, echoing off the wooden walls of their shared cabin. He was only going to get a little while, Murdock knew, and wasn’t surprised when he felt the touch at the hollow of his neck, the growled “off ‘im, fool, it his turn now.”
Murdock smiled and fell back into the bunk, back to smooth wood, and patted his thigh, letting it fall open to the side, feeling his hard shaft twinge just a bit, urgent, begging.
“Up, Templeton,” Baracus urged, smacking their lover lightly on a muscular buttock. “Up to Henry now...”
Templeton pushed over on an elbow, blue eyes nearly black with arousal, betraying his need, and he crawled around, right between the bosun’s legs. He did not go straight where he was supposed to, Murdock noticed with a small pang of disappointment, no. He laid his cheek, rough with two days’ stubble, on Murdock’s thigh, breathing deep.
“Up!” Baracus said a little louder, one dark hand pushing that fine ass up into the air, up to the perfect angle.
Murdock stroked his friend’s hair, smiling down at him as his eyes slid shut. “Wait a moment, Baracus, he...”
But Templeton roused himself, shaking his head, and licked a hot strip up the underside of the bosun’s iron flesh, twirling it around the tip before pulling away to look over his shoulder. “Yes, Baracus,” he murmured obediantly, not quite the tone he gave to John but close, and straightened, smiling at Murdock. “Thank you,” he whispered, quieter now, and took him fully into his mouth.
Now it was Murdock’s turn to be lost in the wet warmth of another man’s mouth, the sensations tingling through his blood, exciting him further. He dug his hands into Templeton’s mussed golden locks, holding him close, working his fingers along the tense lines of his scalp as he began to rise into it. Templeton had made an effort, ever since joinging the crew two years ago, to learn every facet of their seafaring life intimately and fully. He had paid no less attention to the art of seduction, of making love, of giving satisfaction so fully and utterly. John had willing taught him everything he knew, and Murdock had contributed everything he could, but their blonde nymph had aptitude of his own, beyond what any lesson could bestow. He was exceedingly gifted, and Murdock’s lips parted, gasping, his climax approaching, that trip up to the clouds and the rain...
Baracus leaned over Templeton’s flexing spine to kiss him then. So much different from Templeton himself, Baracus, offering no quarter, demanding everything that could be given, taking over completely. Between the mouth above and the mouth below, then, Murdock was unmoored, afloat in the pleasure of it all, climax coming, whining in the back of his throat, louder and louder, the pressure threatening to spill...
“You cannot come yet,” BA growled as he pulled away, sitting back over his heels, reaching towards that little shelf in the alcove where Templeton kept a full stock of oils and salves, whatever they might be in the mood for on any given evening, and that night he settled for something thicker, slippery and sweet. “Neither one of you..."
The first mate moaned and pulled off Murdock’s cock with a sweet pop, taking him and hand and squeezed, holding his back from the edge of the world.
“I hear you, my friend,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek back against Murdock’s leg as he had before. His cock was drooling into the sheets, desperate.
The bosun wanted to reach down, return the pleasure, but he knew better than to touch Templeton’s manhood - when they played like this, it was John’s purview alone to touch him there. Even when they played, just the three of them, or even one on one, it was always the captain’s to take him in hand. This night, Murdock knew, if he came, it would be on Baracus’ cock.
And judging from the flush on the first mate’s face as one slicked and ready finger slid up between his buttocks, Templeton was more than fine with that idea.
Murdock watched his lovers adoringly, taking in every detail. The ecstatic look on Templeton’s face as that digit slid into him, Baracus’ concentration breaking a little into breathy pants, hand moving with just the right amount of force. When a second was added, and how the first mate began thrust back, breathing harder, moaning again, different, better, louder and louder.
It was beautiful, Murdock thought to himself, as it was always, something rich and deep about it, as it always was. Although, as far as the bosun was aware, the two had never talked about it together, both had confessed to him on different occassions to have love for the other, back when Templeton had been a secretary and Baracus a slave at Fort Royal. Such things were forbidden in what Templeton condescendingly called decent society and Baracus called an evil institution. But that love was apparent, marvelously so, every time they touched, kissed, fucked, and no less so tonight.
At length, Baracus withdrew his fingers and placed a kiss to Templeton’s tailbone as he moved over him, lining up but not pushing in yet. “Take him back in,” the negro rumbled against their lover’s skin, brushing a hand up that tanned chest, palm coming to rest against one of Templeton’s pecs, rolling lightly against that gold ring there. “Right now, Peck.”
Templeton groaned and threw a heated, hungry look up at Murdock, winking, and he thrust back against the solid bulk of dark flesh wrapped around him. “As you wish,” he murmured, dropping into those beautiful, deep registers only ever used in bed.
And Murdock gasped as that talented mouth closed back down around him. “Ooh, Temp...” he half-groaned, half-sighed, letting his hands fall to bunch back in that salt-slicked hair. That pressure in his belly was begging for release, a release Templeton licks and sucks would soon provide for him, he knew. “Yes, yes, darling, oohh...”
Their first mate moaned in response, sending a wave of vibration into Murdock through his cock, and everything, everything was threatening to unwind, spill out at that...
“Don’ come yet, fool,” Baracus grunted at him, brow furrowed, sweat started out on his dark skin, making it gleam in the flickering candlelight, hips swaying just a bit. “Wait...”
Murdock bit his lip and nodded, letting his head fall back against the smooth wall behind him, and so he felt, rather than saw, the moment that Baracus sheathed himself in Templeton’s beautiful body.
Templeton moaned around his hardened, weeping flesh again, driven forward into him by the force of Baracus’ very first thrust. Murdock gasped and flattened against the wall, sensation claiming him. Waves of glorious, white pleasure crashed through his body as a rhythm was set, Templeton falling forward, taking him in fully, thrusting back onto Baracus, Murdock’s cock sliding almost fully out of his mouth.
He was moaning around that length in his mouth, stroking every inch of skin he could manage, twisting his tongue about, doing everything he could to make it good for his lovers.
Anything.
As he always, always did.
All Murdock could do was hold on. Hold on, with Baracus in charge, hold on while Baracus set the pace for them all...
He felt himself flying, like some kind of sea bird, up through the eye of those swirling storm clouds, up to the cool, pure blue sky above. His climax so, so close, too close, coming, coming no matter what he did...
“B-Baracus,” he moaned, seeking permission, getting it from those dark eyes that flicked up from Templeton’s flushed back, crinkling just a bit.
That was it, and the bosun’s hands jammed down on Templeton’s head, holding him in, howling as he felt his balls explode, pure white, sending him flying past the blue, past the clouds, past everything, past anything, anything but this, them, his lovers, together. It was only dimly that he felt Templeton swallowing deeply or Baracus’ hips pistoning so furiously, only from a great distance, far up in the sky, that he heard Templeton cry out and Baracus roar. Falling back to earth from that height, drawn by the noises, Murdock saw the big negro’s head thrown back, big hands jammed Templeton fully back onto him as the first mate fell across the bosun’s own thigh, spilling into the sheets below as tiny jerks in dark muscle belied Baracus’ own climax. The big man groaned, and dropped to Templeton’s back, rolling them both onto their sides, still joined, and Murdock landed again, finding himself panting, blissed out, with his sweet, blonde nymph’s head laying in his lap.
Baracus appeared to be senseless, and Templeton hardly less so. They were both breathing hard, breathing together, streaked in sweat, recovering. Mudock eased his way down next to them, pressing chest to chest with his best friend, fingertips softly exploring the younger man’s side, up and down, up and down, until blue eyes blinked, and met his.
“Henry,” he sighed, calm again, the storm clouds passed, and Murdock kissed him softly on the tip of his nose. Their hands met in the damp, hot space between them, and Templeton snuggled his forehead into Murdock’s shoulder. “I love you, Henry. I love you both to my dying breath...”
“Hush, fool,” Baracus grunted behind him, embarrassment and pride mixing, shining in his voice. He pulled out slowly, drawing a little whine of disappointment from Templeton. “He gonna think there something wrong, you start talkin’ ‘bout death.”
Murdock smiled, and kissed Templeton again. “You will not have to stop loving us when we die, Templeton. I will love you after. I wil love you forever and ever...”
The first mate smiled tiredly, happily, at him, and then grimaced a little, clutching at his belly. “HM, could you...”
Automatically swinging himself out of the way, clearing a path to the chamber pot for their lover, the bosun felt himself drawn against Baracus’ huge chest. He took a deep breath of the man’s skin, musky and warm from their exertions, a scent he never tired of, one of comfort and peace. “That good for you, baby?” the big black asked softly. “You enjoy that?”
Murdock nodded slowly, and held a hand out to Templeton, who was coming back with an easy grin and a large, wet scrap of cloth. “I can do that...”
“Let me.” The cool cloth touched the bosun’s chest, and Templeton ran a finger up the rim of Murdock’s ear, jingling the rings there as that delicious wetness ran across his chest. “It is the least I can do for the men I love.”
Baracus squeezed Murdock’s hand, and the bosun laid back, letting Templeton wipe the sweat and residual seed away from him, and then Baracus, the two men sharing another long, leisurely kiss as the blonde fondled the negro’s softened manhood, cleaning it with extra care. When he was done, he slid from the bunk again, padding over to drop the cloth back in the wash basin on the other side of the cabin, blowing out the lamps as he returned. Moving the sheets around them, Murdock had a cool, dry cocoon for their lover to slide into.
He slipped in gratefully, exhaustion stamped on his handsome features, and stretched gracefully, fitting in between them, resuming his former position; chest to chest with Murdock, slotted up again BA. Normally, it would be Baracus behind him, John holding Templeton, but as much as the bosun missed that big, dark presence tonight, their lover needed it more.
“He has to be safe,” the first mate whispered into the crook of Murdock’s neck. “He has to be safe, or I shall die myself...”
They both reacted at once, Murdock and Baracus, the former dipping to kiss Templeton, the latter leaning in to whisper in his ear, “he fine, Templeton, he fine, everything fine, he be back on the morrow...”
“I know, Baracus, I know.”
They didn’t speak again, not that night, soothed into sleep by the slight roll of their ship, by the warmth of each other’s arms, by soft words. Templeton was the first to go, limp and pliant against Murdock’s chest, and he kissed him, one last time, before closing his own eyes, before dreaming of smooth seas and a fair, racing wind, John Smith at the helm, and all the world to rights.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: More pirates! Somebody asked me for a threesome fic, so...here we are!
After John Smith leaves to meet Commodore Morrison in Barbados, Templeton turns to his two other lovers for comfort...
“Would you come away from there, Templeton?”
“I do not like this, Baracus, I truly do not...”
“Nothing to be done. He gone.”
Murdock hung back, lounging by the cabin stairs, watching his two lovers on the main deck. Templeton was gripping the railing tightly, leaning forward, rocking a little in his boots. His waistcoat was undone, his blouse rolled up to his elbows, his hair uncombed and tangled. Baracus was there, one hand on his slumped shoulders, his own vest open over his bare, smooth chest, unadorned but for a few gold chains.
He’d been standing there, Templeton had, since the captain had left on one of their little landing skiffs, since the small boat came back with just the two crew members who’d rowed it over, John away in the city. Templeton had thrown a fit, complete with a thrown dish or two, over breakfast that morning. John had left him without a word, without the same kiss he’d given to Baracus or Murdock himself.
The evening smelled warm, of rotting things, the smell of the the night lights of Barbados, so many lights, rolling up the hill into the jungle beyond. Murdock didn’t care for it, didn’t care for cities. They were like prison, the cities were. Bigger, but the same thing. Walls of stone and iron, built to keep men in, built to keep men trapped. He hated it. He hated his captain going in to one, to meet with Morrison, the man who’d presided over the captain’s court martial, so many years ago. The man who’d had him flogged and imprisoned and thrown out of the Royal Navy. Murdock had heard those stories, his first year with John, stories of pain and of blood and darkness. Why his captain should choose to listen to such a man as Morrison again was beyond Murdock.
But he trusted John Smith with his life. If the captain said it was best for him to go, and go alone, then that was the course of action they would set. But Templeton, sweet Templeton, had taken a slightly different view of the situation.
By hell, John, you will not leave here without one of us! Take Baracus, at the very least, or O’Malley! Somebody, anybody!
The Commodore’s note specified that I was to meet with him alone, Templeton, and all else to remain on the ship. Those are my orders to you now. No vanguard, do you understand?
I have no wish to find you floating belly-up in the harbor tomorrow, John! Which is where you shall be!
The Commodore will keep his word to me, Templeton. You must trust me, lad. We sailed together as young men, I know him intimately, he will not betray his word to me...
How intimately, John?
Leave it, Templeton...
Is that what this is about, a visit to an old lover, forsaking us for a goddamned pardon and return to your old master...
You will mind your place, boy!
And that was when the plate had been thrown and John had stormed out to the landing craft, leaving Templeton behind to collapse into his own dread, the black mood he’d been in all day. Murdock wished he could go back to that moment and fix it somehow, or go forward to discover what will happen, and reassure Templeton that all would be fine. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tried, that was a skill that still escaped Murdock. So he had to settle for watching Baracus attempt to comfort their lover now, while the rest of the crew turned in for the night.
“He gonna be fine, Templeton,” the big negro was saying, rubbing the younger man’s shoulder. “He gonna come back wif’ that pardon and we gonna be all legal-like...”
The first mate finally sighed and pushed away from the balcony railing, body arching back, graceful as always. “He is infuriated with me, Baracus. I accused him of terrible things.”
Baracus clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling a little, and started leading him away, past the few crewmen, scuttling about like sand crabs on the deck, doing this and that. “He might leave you, Templeton, but he ain’t gonna leave me or HM. So don’t worry, he be back...”
Murdock held his arms out as his lovers climbed the stairs, up to their captain’s snug cabin, but Templeton just sighed and walked past, pushing through the doors. Baracus shot the bosun a concerned look, and hurried after the blonde.
Following closely, Murdock watched as Templeton sank down on the edge of their bunk, fingers digging into the smooth linen sheets, head in his hands. He walked over to Baracus, nudging him slightly with his body, and then knelt down between the first mate’s spread thighs.
“John will be back, Templeton,” the bosun murmured, stroking up the taught fabric of the other man’s breeches. “He will not leave you.”
Blue eyes smiled down at him, and Murdock thought of the way the ocean looked, after a storm had passed, ruined and weary. “What about this Russell Morrison, Henry? What if he chooses to take John captive or execute him on the spot? I could not live with myself, knowing the captain went to his death, believing I hated him.”
Murdock had a sudden flash then, as if Templeton’s worries were spilling into him, bright paintings on fresh canvas, the sight of John bleeding in some dirty alley, devoured by that city and its imprisoned men, soul fled, never to return to them...
He whimpered, low in his throat, and Baracus was behind him, lifting him up, the bare expanse of his broad chest hardly the comfort right then that it usually was. “Stop, fool,” he grunted at Templeton as Murdock curled up into him, wanting to feel those arms strong around him, keeping out the badness. “You upsettin’ him.”
“I am sorry,” Templeton murmured after s moment, reaching out to take one of the bosun’s hands in his own. “I am sorry, my friend, but I do fear for him, I do...”
Murdock tried to push the black thoughts away, back into the swirling maelstrom of his mind, and blinked, looking over at him in the flickering lamplight of the cabin. Templeton was smiling a little, hand bracing himself up in the soft pallet beneath him, tanned skin show beneath the neck of his shirt. As otherworldly as some nymph or merman come ashore, he often thought him, just as beautiful. But John was his rock, even more so than for himself or Baracus, and Murdock knew he could hold nothing against him for as lost as he seemed without the captain present.
“Tis fine,” he murmured back, looking at their hands as they twined together, fingers playing against the veins along the back of Templeton’s palm. “I worry for him, too.”
“He be back in the morning,” Baracus said encouragingly, holding Murdock close, kissing his neck. “We all gonna see him again.”
“I hope so, my friend,” Templeton said softly, head hung. “I pray for it to be so...”
Murdock reached over and nudged his chin up. Those blue eyes met his again, and he smiled back. “See? The captain will return, Templeton,” he said, running a hand through the soft hairs at the back of his lover’s neck. “Tomorrow, we will all be together again.”
“Henry,” Templeton whispered, voice rough. “Henry...”
It was always the same with his friend. Their blonde nymph craved the tangible, the pleasures of the flesh, the feel of another body against his own, cock and hands and feet and lips. So he leaned in, twisting out of Baracus’s grasp into Templeton’s, lips brushing gently, tasting guilt and fear and need. Only one of those could he remove, Murdock knew, and so he kissed him hard, wishing only to feel the aftermath of the storm was away.
Templeton resisted him at first, that guilt over his own actions or his fear for John holding him back, but Murdock persisted, pressing in harder, further, lifting a knee up onto the bunk, hand on his lover’s chest. And at that, at that first touch, Templeton sighed and rolled down, letting Murdock move over him, laying a trembling hand on the bosun’s hip as the kiss deepened. For a few long moments, there was nothing else in the world but that, the two of them, Templeton’s warm mouth against his own, tongue and teeth and the slow slide of hands, calloused from the hilt of cutlass and knife. But there was no ugliness in Templeton’s arms. Murdock knew that. No blood, no violence. Only love, only that innate grace that held and comforted him, comfort flowing between them, like a tide carrying them both out to sea...
Baracus groaned behind them, and both Templeton and Murdock broke apart at the same time, the first mate falling back fully into the sheets. “There you are, darlin’,” the dark haired pirate murmured happily, and turned, holding a hand out to their lover behind him. “He needs us, Baracus,” he told the negro, beckoning him closer. “He needs us tonight, to keep him here and out of that prison ashore, wandering for John.”
“Mmm, Henry, yes,” Templeton murmured, writhing a little beneath him. “Here with you both, you and Baracus. Both of you at once, I need you both tonight...”
Murdock moaned happily. Oh yes, oh yes, that, one of the captain's favorite things to watch, one of Templeton's favorite things to do for him...
“Crazy fools,” Baracus grunted, but shrugged his brightly striped vest from his shoulders, undid the drawstring of his loose trousers, baring himself. His dark skin gleamed beautifully in the warm glow of the cabin’s lamps and his heavy cock, almost as long as John’s, began to stir from its nest of dark, wiry hair. “You both crazy.”
Murdock smiled as the big man padded barefoot over to them, leaing in, hand on the edge of the recess of the bunk, smiling a little at them both. One big, dark hand stroked up the bosun’s curving spine, and Templeton reached out, letting the back of his fingers run down Baracus’ belly, curving around the top of that thickening shaft.
“Both of you,” he repeated softly, wrapping his skilled hand around that shaft, causing the big negro to gasp in pleasure. “Baracus...”
A growl, feral and low, ripped from their lover’s throat, and Murdock smiled wider. He loved that sound, had loved it from the very first time he’d heard it, when Baracus first pushed him against a wall, dark eyes silently asking for permission even as he ripped his trousers down. Rough and gentle, confident and considerate, at the same time, the very definition of the man. “Take him, love,” Murdock whispered to him, sliding a hand around his waist as he rolled aside. “Look how much he needs you...”
Baracus knelt up on the bed, straddling the first mate’s thighs, thanking Murdock with those expressive eyes of his as he took charge of the situation. Although both Templeton and Murdock outranked him in the hierarchy of the ship’s crew, in the bedroom, he was second only to John, and the bosun felt a small charge of heat run through him, pooling in his gut, hardening his own manhood, as their lover assumed his rightful command of their evening.
“You need us, Templeton? You need us tonight?” He slid the heels of his hands up Templeton’s chest, under his blouse, stripping the garment from that tanned, sleek body. “You need us to remind you?”
Murdock whined a little, watching that erotic display, and dark eyes turned on him. “Strip down, crazy,” Baracus ordered, “while Ima make Templeton forget everything but us...”
Smiling, the bosun slowly removed his own clothing, vest and blouse and knife and belt and trousers and sea boots, the heavy leather dropping to the polished floor. He flexed bare toes and, smiling, dropped down next to them. He laid hands along Templeton’s calves, flexing as Baracus took control of their lover’s mouth, devouring him in one of those dominant kisses of his.
The bosun loved the buttery soft feel of Templeton’s knee-high boots. He kept them gleaming, Templeton did, in perfect repair, no matter how much blood they waded through. Their blonde nymph could be a vain thing, he could, Murdock knew, but the boots drove John to distraction, like those gold nipple rings did for Baracus, like the taste of his seed, flavored delicious by the dried fruit Templeton ate so much of, did for Murdock. He was a considerate creature, their Templeton, always wanting to please them, always willing to do anything to make them happy, but tonight, Murdock told himself happily, tonight was for him.
It had to be perfect.
He pulled those boots slowly away, and Baracus slid up Templeton’s body, still kissing him so, so utterly, allowing Murdock the room to unbutton their lover’s breeches. Listening to the groans and whimpers above him, the sounds of submission, of dominance, Murdock was almost too distracted to remain on task. But then Templeton’s cut cock, reddened, hungry, sprang up and Murdock remembered he was to pull the fawn-colored fabric away. He did that as quick as he could, kneeling naked on the cabin floor, his own shaft stiffening to steel at the sight of Templeton’s need. Dropping the last of the clothing between them all away, he half-stood and, leaning in, took the plump head of his lover’s cock fully into his mouth.
Templeton arched up against Baracus, clean off the bed, moaning at the kiss fell apart, as Murdock suckled on his manhood, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking out against the slit, just as he knew the first mate loved it. Baracus moved away, pushing Templeton further back into the bunk, all the way in, and Murdock followed as carefully as he could, crawling back up on the sheets, keeping that rock-hard cock in his mouth the whole way.
He could feel Baracus’ eyes on them, watching as Templeton’s hands tangled up in Murdock’s short, dark hair, holding him in, as Murdock pushed in further, taking him in deeper, both of them moaning into it, pleasure mingling together, echoing off the wooden walls of their shared cabin. He was only going to get a little while, Murdock knew, and wasn’t surprised when he felt the touch at the hollow of his neck, the growled “off ‘im, fool, it his turn now.”
Murdock smiled and fell back into the bunk, back to smooth wood, and patted his thigh, letting it fall open to the side, feeling his hard shaft twinge just a bit, urgent, begging.
“Up, Templeton,” Baracus urged, smacking their lover lightly on a muscular buttock. “Up to Henry now...”
Templeton pushed over on an elbow, blue eyes nearly black with arousal, betraying his need, and he crawled around, right between the bosun’s legs. He did not go straight where he was supposed to, Murdock noticed with a small pang of disappointment, no. He laid his cheek, rough with two days’ stubble, on Murdock’s thigh, breathing deep.
“Up!” Baracus said a little louder, one dark hand pushing that fine ass up into the air, up to the perfect angle.
Murdock stroked his friend’s hair, smiling down at him as his eyes slid shut. “Wait a moment, Baracus, he...”
But Templeton roused himself, shaking his head, and licked a hot strip up the underside of the bosun’s iron flesh, twirling it around the tip before pulling away to look over his shoulder. “Yes, Baracus,” he murmured obediantly, not quite the tone he gave to John but close, and straightened, smiling at Murdock. “Thank you,” he whispered, quieter now, and took him fully into his mouth.
Now it was Murdock’s turn to be lost in the wet warmth of another man’s mouth, the sensations tingling through his blood, exciting him further. He dug his hands into Templeton’s mussed golden locks, holding him close, working his fingers along the tense lines of his scalp as he began to rise into it. Templeton had made an effort, ever since joinging the crew two years ago, to learn every facet of their seafaring life intimately and fully. He had paid no less attention to the art of seduction, of making love, of giving satisfaction so fully and utterly. John had willing taught him everything he knew, and Murdock had contributed everything he could, but their blonde nymph had aptitude of his own, beyond what any lesson could bestow. He was exceedingly gifted, and Murdock’s lips parted, gasping, his climax approaching, that trip up to the clouds and the rain...
Baracus leaned over Templeton’s flexing spine to kiss him then. So much different from Templeton himself, Baracus, offering no quarter, demanding everything that could be given, taking over completely. Between the mouth above and the mouth below, then, Murdock was unmoored, afloat in the pleasure of it all, climax coming, whining in the back of his throat, louder and louder, the pressure threatening to spill...
“You cannot come yet,” BA growled as he pulled away, sitting back over his heels, reaching towards that little shelf in the alcove where Templeton kept a full stock of oils and salves, whatever they might be in the mood for on any given evening, and that night he settled for something thicker, slippery and sweet. “Neither one of you..."
The first mate moaned and pulled off Murdock’s cock with a sweet pop, taking him and hand and squeezed, holding his back from the edge of the world.
“I hear you, my friend,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek back against Murdock’s leg as he had before. His cock was drooling into the sheets, desperate.
The bosun wanted to reach down, return the pleasure, but he knew better than to touch Templeton’s manhood - when they played like this, it was John’s purview alone to touch him there. Even when they played, just the three of them, or even one on one, it was always the captain’s to take him in hand. This night, Murdock knew, if he came, it would be on Baracus’ cock.
And judging from the flush on the first mate’s face as one slicked and ready finger slid up between his buttocks, Templeton was more than fine with that idea.
Murdock watched his lovers adoringly, taking in every detail. The ecstatic look on Templeton’s face as that digit slid into him, Baracus’ concentration breaking a little into breathy pants, hand moving with just the right amount of force. When a second was added, and how the first mate began thrust back, breathing harder, moaning again, different, better, louder and louder.
It was beautiful, Murdock thought to himself, as it was always, something rich and deep about it, as it always was. Although, as far as the bosun was aware, the two had never talked about it together, both had confessed to him on different occassions to have love for the other, back when Templeton had been a secretary and Baracus a slave at Fort Royal. Such things were forbidden in what Templeton condescendingly called decent society and Baracus called an evil institution. But that love was apparent, marvelously so, every time they touched, kissed, fucked, and no less so tonight.
At length, Baracus withdrew his fingers and placed a kiss to Templeton’s tailbone as he moved over him, lining up but not pushing in yet. “Take him back in,” the negro rumbled against their lover’s skin, brushing a hand up that tanned chest, palm coming to rest against one of Templeton’s pecs, rolling lightly against that gold ring there. “Right now, Peck.”
Templeton groaned and threw a heated, hungry look up at Murdock, winking, and he thrust back against the solid bulk of dark flesh wrapped around him. “As you wish,” he murmured, dropping into those beautiful, deep registers only ever used in bed.
And Murdock gasped as that talented mouth closed back down around him. “Ooh, Temp...” he half-groaned, half-sighed, letting his hands fall to bunch back in that salt-slicked hair. That pressure in his belly was begging for release, a release Templeton licks and sucks would soon provide for him, he knew. “Yes, yes, darling, oohh...”
Their first mate moaned in response, sending a wave of vibration into Murdock through his cock, and everything, everything was threatening to unwind, spill out at that...
“Don’ come yet, fool,” Baracus grunted at him, brow furrowed, sweat started out on his dark skin, making it gleam in the flickering candlelight, hips swaying just a bit. “Wait...”
Murdock bit his lip and nodded, letting his head fall back against the smooth wall behind him, and so he felt, rather than saw, the moment that Baracus sheathed himself in Templeton’s beautiful body.
Templeton moaned around his hardened, weeping flesh again, driven forward into him by the force of Baracus’ very first thrust. Murdock gasped and flattened against the wall, sensation claiming him. Waves of glorious, white pleasure crashed through his body as a rhythm was set, Templeton falling forward, taking him in fully, thrusting back onto Baracus, Murdock’s cock sliding almost fully out of his mouth.
He was moaning around that length in his mouth, stroking every inch of skin he could manage, twisting his tongue about, doing everything he could to make it good for his lovers.
Anything.
As he always, always did.
All Murdock could do was hold on. Hold on, with Baracus in charge, hold on while Baracus set the pace for them all...
He felt himself flying, like some kind of sea bird, up through the eye of those swirling storm clouds, up to the cool, pure blue sky above. His climax so, so close, too close, coming, coming no matter what he did...
“B-Baracus,” he moaned, seeking permission, getting it from those dark eyes that flicked up from Templeton’s flushed back, crinkling just a bit.
That was it, and the bosun’s hands jammed down on Templeton’s head, holding him in, howling as he felt his balls explode, pure white, sending him flying past the blue, past the clouds, past everything, past anything, anything but this, them, his lovers, together. It was only dimly that he felt Templeton swallowing deeply or Baracus’ hips pistoning so furiously, only from a great distance, far up in the sky, that he heard Templeton cry out and Baracus roar. Falling back to earth from that height, drawn by the noises, Murdock saw the big negro’s head thrown back, big hands jammed Templeton fully back onto him as the first mate fell across the bosun’s own thigh, spilling into the sheets below as tiny jerks in dark muscle belied Baracus’ own climax. The big man groaned, and dropped to Templeton’s back, rolling them both onto their sides, still joined, and Murdock landed again, finding himself panting, blissed out, with his sweet, blonde nymph’s head laying in his lap.
Baracus appeared to be senseless, and Templeton hardly less so. They were both breathing hard, breathing together, streaked in sweat, recovering. Mudock eased his way down next to them, pressing chest to chest with his best friend, fingertips softly exploring the younger man’s side, up and down, up and down, until blue eyes blinked, and met his.
“Henry,” he sighed, calm again, the storm clouds passed, and Murdock kissed him softly on the tip of his nose. Their hands met in the damp, hot space between them, and Templeton snuggled his forehead into Murdock’s shoulder. “I love you, Henry. I love you both to my dying breath...”
“Hush, fool,” Baracus grunted behind him, embarrassment and pride mixing, shining in his voice. He pulled out slowly, drawing a little whine of disappointment from Templeton. “He gonna think there something wrong, you start talkin’ ‘bout death.”
Murdock smiled, and kissed Templeton again. “You will not have to stop loving us when we die, Templeton. I will love you after. I wil love you forever and ever...”
The first mate smiled tiredly, happily, at him, and then grimaced a little, clutching at his belly. “HM, could you...”
Automatically swinging himself out of the way, clearing a path to the chamber pot for their lover, the bosun felt himself drawn against Baracus’ huge chest. He took a deep breath of the man’s skin, musky and warm from their exertions, a scent he never tired of, one of comfort and peace. “That good for you, baby?” the big black asked softly. “You enjoy that?”
Murdock nodded slowly, and held a hand out to Templeton, who was coming back with an easy grin and a large, wet scrap of cloth. “I can do that...”
“Let me.” The cool cloth touched the bosun’s chest, and Templeton ran a finger up the rim of Murdock’s ear, jingling the rings there as that delicious wetness ran across his chest. “It is the least I can do for the men I love.”
Baracus squeezed Murdock’s hand, and the bosun laid back, letting Templeton wipe the sweat and residual seed away from him, and then Baracus, the two men sharing another long, leisurely kiss as the blonde fondled the negro’s softened manhood, cleaning it with extra care. When he was done, he slid from the bunk again, padding over to drop the cloth back in the wash basin on the other side of the cabin, blowing out the lamps as he returned. Moving the sheets around them, Murdock had a cool, dry cocoon for their lover to slide into.
He slipped in gratefully, exhaustion stamped on his handsome features, and stretched gracefully, fitting in between them, resuming his former position; chest to chest with Murdock, slotted up again BA. Normally, it would be Baracus behind him, John holding Templeton, but as much as the bosun missed that big, dark presence tonight, their lover needed it more.
“He has to be safe,” the first mate whispered into the crook of Murdock’s neck. “He has to be safe, or I shall die myself...”
They both reacted at once, Murdock and Baracus, the former dipping to kiss Templeton, the latter leaning in to whisper in his ear, “he fine, Templeton, he fine, everything fine, he be back on the morrow...”
“I know, Baracus, I know.”
They didn’t speak again, not that night, soothed into sleep by the slight roll of their ship, by the warmth of each other’s arms, by soft words. Templeton was the first to go, limp and pliant against Murdock’s chest, and he kissed him, one last time, before closing his own eyes, before dreaming of smooth seas and a fair, racing wind, John Smith at the helm, and all the world to rights.
