In his uniform, Midshipman Kennedy was a vision of English manhood, but out of it he was a proper Apollo. He was not shy either, unlike Hornblower; no, he stalked over to the washbasin quite comfortable in nothing but his skin.

Reclining against the pillows of their unmade bed, Edward Pellew surveyed his golden prize, breathing loudly with impatience. Kennedy may not be shy, but he was damned good at dawdling, leaning over the basin and scrubbing water on his face like a woman trying wash her paint away. Dear God, the boy had just woken from a nap, not appeared on stage.

“I think you’re clean enough, Mr. Kennedy.” Pellew kept a tight rein on his frustration. Their little romp last night should have sated him well into next year, but he found himself wanting his impertinent mid again, though if he let his eagerness show the lad was like to bait him for as long as he could.

Too late, Kennedy seemed to sense his need. “I might be,” he conceded in his most innocent tone, mopping at his face and hair with a white towel, “but I fancy studying for my examination now. I think it’s time, after a year at sea.”

Pellew scowled. Damn him. He wished Kennedy were more like Hornblower, full of “yes sir,” “no sir,” and proper obedience. “You’re not to pass your examination,” he growled, aware that he did not mean it; Kennedy often made him contrary just for the sake of it.

The younger man snorted, setting down the towel and turning round. Water glistened on his broad chest; despite himself, Pellew licked his lips appreciatively at the sight. “In that case,” Kennedy was saying, “I submit to your leisure.” A predatory light glittered in his blue eyes; he crawled onto the bed on all fours, sliding up his body like a little compact lion. By God, Kennedy was damnably fine.

“I daresay you will submit,” Pellew muttered, seizing the mid’s hips and holding him straddled over his own through the blankets.

Cocking his head to a haughty angle, Kennedy smirked down at him. “I’m not so sure of that,” he said. “We had a horse named Edward once. Turn over, Edward, so that I may ride you round the bailey!”

Appalled, Pellew slapped the boy’s firm backside. “Rascal,” he accused, trying to conceal a smile, and then added, “damn your impudence” for good measure.

Kennedy appeared pleased with himself, the smirk widening. “Damn my impudence,” he mimicked. “Yes, I suppose that’s fair. But when you start putting on the years, I’ll be damning your impotence.”

Damn him! Pellew’s blood heated. Why did the boy continually succeed at getting the better of him? He supposed Kennedy thought being the son of an earl granted him some immunity. Well, it did not. He ought to put the boy on continuous watch for that one.

“I’m not so decrepit yet, Mr. Kennedy!” Pellew grabbed the mid’s shoulders and tumbled him onto his back, rolling on top of him.

The contact seemed to sober the little devil. The insolent expression softened into something angelic against the pillow, golden hair a halo around him. Kennedy lay quiet, and then after a moment said,

“Tell me of your engagement with the Charlemagne.”

Invigorated by the memory, Pellew grinned down at the boy. “First, I dismasted her,” he said, pinning Kennedy’s arms to either side, so that he could not move. “Then I laid along side her, almost on top of her.” He eased his weight down on Kennedy’s chest, over his rapidly beating heart.

“And then what?” Kennedy’s breath was growing ragged, his eyes bright.

“Then,” Pellew pressed himself between the younger man’s thighs, “I boarded her.”

A slow smile spread over Kennedy’s face.

Little Games by MissKittie

“Mr. Kennedy,” Pellew growled as Archie affixed his wrist to the low bedpost with Pellew’s own newly removed stocking, “this is a gross compromise of your captain’s dignity.”

Archie could only grin at the image Sir Edward presented, prone and naked on the sumptuous bed with one hand bound and the other resting at his side. Indignation hardened his features, making him the very image of the defiant captive. With his flashing dark eyes, Archie thought Pellew rather fetching that way.

“That must be why I find it so appealing,” Archie shrugged. “Now hold still.”

He reached for the other stocking, peeled off in a rather unseemly tousle, out of a rather uncaptainly hunger for flesh on flesh, and male flesh at that. How Archie had won the upper hand in order to initiate this game he still did not know, but supposed it was not important now. Pellew was his captive and Archie was free to do as he would.

So he took Pellew’s strong hand and wrapped the white length of the stocking around it, raising it up to the corresponding bedpost as Pellew continued to grumble.

“I cannot believe you would seek to . . . . Not both hands, you little upstart!”

Chuckling this time, Archie patted the older man’s chest. “It wouldn’t be any fun elsewise,” he replied, almost patronizing. Then he climbed onto Pellew’s hips, staring down at his bound form. Pellew was no martyr on the cross, yet he was enticing nonetheless, his body strong and his eyes dark and deep. Archie liked dark eyes.

But more than that, Pellew was aroused, his ready prick pressing against Archie’s arse while his eyes, even in their defiance, openly devoured Archie’s body. Archie never thought having another man look at him that way would make him anything but sick, yet with Pellew he did not mind. Pellew would not hurt him and was usually indulgent, not to mention the fact that Pellew could have simply taken him by force had he wanted and there was little Archie could have done about it. It was still strange, having a choice in what happened between them.

Pellew did not know all that, of course – you could not tell your captain, whose respect you craved, that a fellow midshipman had violated you – he was too preoccupied balking that someone had dared tie him up. His dark brows furrowed and he ground out, “You –“

Archie flashed his most devious smile. “You are saying everything but ‘no’, sir,” he interjected. “Yet if you utter another word I’ll be forced to gag you, Edward dear.” He continued to smile, amused and delighted that Pellew let him play like this, and then reached up, placed his hands just beneath the cloth binding the older man’s wrists. Teasingly, he traced the pads of his thumbs down the tender insides of Pellew’s outstretched arms, all the way down to his chest, where he diligently caressed Pellew’s vulnerable nipples to hard peaks.

The captain arched up against him, breathing harder with the pleasure, but then his features twisted all over again, remembering that he was supposed to resist. “I’ll have your hide for this!” he vowed through clenched teeth.

That drew a laugh from Archie. “All in good time.” He wriggled down tauntingly against Pellew’s helpless prick, breathing faster as well. But Archie had a promise of his own to keep. “And I did warn you,” he reminded.

Before Pellew could understand what he meant, Archie snatched up the captain’s stock from the little pile at the foot of the bed. Pellew blinked when he saw it and swore when Archie tied it over his mouth, but in the end there was little he could do save glare at Archie above the black cloth. Archie chuckled again; that stare, so withering from the quarterdeck, lost a great deal of its impact clouded with lust.

And it was high time that lust was satisfied, for both of them. Archie climbed off Pellew’s body and thought for a moment on what to do now that he had his captain trussed up and helpless. He supposed Pellew deserved a reward for being such a good sport, and so Archie stretched out, starting a hand down Pellew’s chest, caressing in lazy circles down toward his prick.

Pellew groaned through the gag when Archie took him in hand, and then actually shook when Archie leaned forward, sliding his lips over that hard, salty shaft. Archie laughed then around the thick flesh filling his mouth – this was just another way to take Pellew captive, another way to keep him at his mercy. He sucked at him, licked playfully at him, and stroked with his fingers, but only for a little while; he was prepared to please, but not to let any man spill his seed in his mouth.

When his jaw grew tired, Archie sat up, reaching for the vial of oil beside the bed. Pellew’s eyes were closed in pleasure and that was just as well; it still took some nerve to do this. Archie poured a small amount of oil onto his palm, coating Pellew’s flesh and then climbing on top of him, taking the man into his body.

It did not hurt, and Archie did not feel degraded in this position. In fact, when Pellew opened his eyes wide, tossing his head on the pillow in the onslaught of ecstasy, Archie rather felt that he was the one doing the taking. He watched the captain’s arms strain in their bounds, feeling his body buck up against him, into him, the image and the sensations flooding Archie with heat until he felt molten inside.

He did not know which of them spilled over first, but soon they were both shuddering, and when that stopped Archie found himself sprawled upon Pellew’s chest, smearing his own seed between them. But not until the fog of orgasm lifted did he remember to untie and ungag the good captain, who fell against the pillows gasping heavily.

“You like that too well, Mr. Kennedy,” Pellew accused once he caught his breath, settling an arm around Archie’s bare shoulders.

“Like what?” Archie retorted. Being taken? Just because he let Pellew do it did not mean that he liked it. He was not a catamite by nature, whatever the entire ship said.

Patient with his indignation, Pellew patted his back. “Power, Mr. Kennedy. You have an uncanny penchant for it. I can only wonder the reason.”

Archie stilled, wary of where this was leading. “Well, don’t try too hard,” he attempted to brush off the matter. It worked; Pellew fell silent – he never asked questions - letting Archie curl against his body and enjoy the afterglow of his little game in peace.