Captain Tom Quotes

A glorious place, a glorious age, I tell you! A very Neon renaissance - And the myths that actually touched you at that time - not Hercules, Orpheus, Ulysses and Aeneas - but Superman, Captain Marvel, and Batman.

You got to tell me the brave captain Why are the wicked so strong? How do the angels get to sleep When the devil leaves the porch light on?

You got to tell me the brave captain Why are the wicked so strong? How do the angels get to sleep When the devil leaves the porch light on?” —Tom Waits

You got to tell me brave captain, why are the wicked so strong, how do the angels get to sleep, when the devil leaves the porchlight on.

Yes, fine. Savvy,” she muttered. “Aw lovey, yer a fine-lookin’ woman, it’s not that,” Tom said apologetically. “All jokin’ aside, if it ain’t the captain, or it ain’t Jon…” He shrugged again. “There just ain’t anyone else.

Oh Captain, My Captain!

The first mate slid, almost bonelessly, down the wall. Baltsaros shoved his softening cock almost angrily back into his pants; he felt strangely unsatisfied and frustrated. Tom looked up at the captain with wet, red eyes as Baltsaros undid the belt that was looped around him. What was it about Jon that had him so wound up?

These Outwallers that killed Hector - the Sossag - they were serving a Power of the Wild called Thorn. Aye?" "Naming calls. But yes." The captain drank. "So I call him and he comes and I gut him," Tom said. "So?

You got to tell me the brave captain Why are the wicked so strong? How do the angels get to sleep When the devil leaves the porch light on? —Tom Waits

Hank Stamper was, quite intentionally, Captain Marvel. Once known as … Übermensch. The current fantasy …

So, we never even knew that they were here, but the militia captain with our team did, and he kind of blurted it out. His exact words were, ‘My God, the Politburo’s in there!

So it is with us all, we're not so one-or-the-other. The one who puts on the clothes in the morning is the working majority, but at night-perhaps in the moment before unconsciousness- we meet our sleeper- the priest is visited by the doubter, the Marxist sees the civilizing force of the bourgeoisie, the captain of the industry admits the justice of common ownership.

One evening I came home and there on the couch I found my husband, Tom, with a freshly fledged crow sitting calmly in his lap. They were busy watching Star Trek: The Next Generation; since Captain Jean-Luc Picard was in the middle of an absorbing monologue, they hardly registered my arrival, but finally they both glanced my way, Tom looking a bit sheepish, the crow nibbling bits from a can of gourmet cat food. I thought of something Bernd Heinrich wrote, inspired by his raven studies, "Living with another creature, you naturally feel closer to it the more activities that can be shared, especially important activities like watching TV.

say something, but his mouth flapped open and shut without a sound except for the exhalation of his last lungful of air. He tried to gulp air down like a landed fish, and this did not work. Then his eyes went up to Ramius, wide in shock—there was no pain, and no emotion but surprise. The captain laid him gently on the tile deck. Ramius saw the face flash with recognition, then darken. He reached down to take Putin’s pulse. It was nearly two minutes before the heart stopped completely. When Ramius was sure that his political officer was dead, he took the teapot from the table and poured two cups’ worth on the deck, careful to drip some on the man’s shoes. Next he lifted the body to the wardroom table and threw open the

Jon had seen the lie immediately for what it was: diplomacy. He had a feeling that, given the chance, Tom would hold him close every night. Instead, the first mate chose to distance himself so as not to interfere with the captain’s affection for Jon. A sacrifice.

in which the captain, with great learning, proved to Mr Allworthy, that the word charity in Scripture nowhere means beneficence or generosity.

You are never satisfied, Comrade Captain. I suppose it is men like you who force progress upon us all.

Ramius kicked Putin’s feet out from under him just as he was stepping away from the table. Putin fell backwards while Ramius sprang to his feet and grasped the political officer’s head in his strong fisherman’s hands. The captain drove his neck downward to the sharp, metal-edged corner of the wardroom table. It struck the point. In the same instant Ramius pushed down on the man’s chest. An unnecessary gesture—with the sickening crackle of bones Ivan Putin’s neck broke, his spine severed at the level of the second cervical vertebra, a perfect hangman’s fracture.

Tom Donilon walked in to brief me on a developing situation involving an issue I’d never been asked about during the campaign. “Pirates?” “Pirates, Mr. President,” Jones said. “Off the coast of Somalia. They boarded a cargo ship captained by an American and appear to be holding the crew hostage.

It looks like you’ll be dying in Hellfire after all, Captain!” Slaughter shouted. “Just like your family in that Georgia shack did. Ha! Oh yes, I heard their screams inside! It was music to my ears!” Tom shouted back across the flames. “Whether you die by my hands today or not, you’ll be the one in Hell, with your twin Lucifer, you MURDERING BASTARD!

With the lessons learned from the Mike SSN disaster in the North Sea off Norway, the Typhoon’s captain decided to remain where he was to await rescue. Mack knew the Russian captain had lost his cool; he was now in the South China Sea, where no Russian ships could come to his rescue. What’s more, Cheyenne had finally picked up the last Akula, whose captain had elected to pull off to be able to fight another day and which had managed to distance itself from the fray. Cheyenne was there as the Typhoon reached the surface. The Russian submarine had been severely damaged, but Mack ordered four more torpedoes into the defenseless Typhoon. There was seldom mercy in wartime, and Cheyenne’s and Mack’s orders were clear. If he had allowed the Typhoon to survive, its crew would have cut the missile hatches open with blow torches and completed their launch against Taiwan. The result of the additional four torpedoes exploding beneath the Typhoon caused major seawater system flooding. The ensuing scene was similar to the devastation experienced by the Yankee class SSBN southeast of the Bermudas years before. Only this time there was no capability to protect and remove the crew. Life rafts were put over the side, only to be attacked by the South China Sea shark population, so the crew watched helplessly from the huge, flat missile-tube deck. The oversized submarine started settling slowly deeper, the water level rising to within meters of the missile- tube deck, with the crew topside. The captain—the admiral-to-be-had already sent a message to his North Fleet Headquarters concerning the impending demise of his capital ship and the lack of help from his Akula escorts by name, two of which had been sunk. He had not been given any means to communicate with the Chinese, so he resorted to calling home. After that he went topside to be with his men, sat down, and held hands in a circle as their submarine slid beneath the surface of the sea, sailors to the end, for eternity.

Ryan was complex—he was big-hearted and caring but also resolute and direct. He once e-mailed me an audio clip of a television news interview he gave after a group of Navy SEALs rescued the captain of the Maersk Alabama tanker ship. Pirates had taken the ship and the captain hostage off the coast of Somalia, Africa. The story was later made into the film Captain Phillips, starring Tom Hanks. A team of Navy SEAL snipers shot and killed all but one of the hostage takers, who had placed themselves and their hostage in a desperate situation. Ryan told the TV reporter, “Despite what your momma told you, violence does solve problems.”1 I understood exactly what Ryan meant—there was no diplomatic or political solution to the crisis, and allowing pirates to take American vessels and crews hostage would set a bad precedent in other parts of the globe. Weeks before, in fact, the pirates had killed other hostages. Ryan’s statement was in no way meant to be bravado; he was merely conveying the fact that many times violence brings about a successful conclusion to a hostage crisis. The SEALs spoke the only language that the Somali pirates understood: violence. Apparently, the SEALs’ response acted as a deterrent, since the Somali pirates have consequently stayed clear of US flagged vessels. Chris Kyle later turned Ryan’s statement into a patch he wore on his hat.

Yes, they are extremely fucking sexy if you must know,” he said, scarcely believing the words coming out of his mouth. It was simply the truth; somehow the markings enhanced the muscular young man’s beauty in a way that made Jon feel hot inside. “But… What do they mean? Do you know?” he asked. Tom looked down at himself and shrugged. “The lot of it could be pure fancy, love. But… the man who did it, he told me that this here”—Tom put his fingers over Jon’s—“is a map of the Devil’s Isles and beyond. Somethin’ about lost knowledge.” Jon’s breath caught in his throat and he looked at Tom, alarmed. “Gods, Tom. Now you won’t believe me when I tell you what we’re planning,” he said in a hush. Tom was quiet for a long time after Jon told him of their plans and of the captain’s intention to ask him to be first mate again. Jon rested against Tom’s wide shoulder, waiting for the big man to say something. When Tom finally spoke, it was a rumble against Jon’s ear. “If ye don’t mind, love, I’d like a day to think about it before I give ye my answer. Can ye grant me that, lad?” asked Tom, his rough hand coming up to rest against Jon’s bare chest. Jon nodded his head and closed his eyes.

My mother worked as a saleslady at the well-known Five Corner bakery in Journal Square during the day. Her orders were that I do at least one page of homework for every one of my subjects before she came home. It didn’t matter what my teachers would assign, those were her rules and I didn’t dare to violate them! However, I usually allowed others to make the rules and then decide whether I would follow them. Turning on our small Bakelite radio, I would ignore my mother’s rules and listen to my favorite adventure shows. “Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy, Superman, who could leap tall buildings in a single bound, and Tom Mix were my favorite daily half-hour radio programs during the week. Tom Mix was forever solving some mystery that I could help him with, since I had a decoder badge that cost only 10 cents, along with a box top from a Ralston Purina’s “Wheat Chex” cereal box. Since it tasted like straw, wanting to get a decoder badge was the only way I would eat this blah cereal for breakfast. The radio shows were way too exciting, and my homework always took second place. When my mother finally came home and saw that I had not done my work, she would get quite upset and make me do twice as much, seated at the kitchen table where she could keep her eye on me. Being under her direct supervision wasn’t much fun, but I would sit there until she was satisfied that I had finished my assignments. My mother showed no mercy! If my father found out about my being lax, there would be hell to pay! For whatever reason, I never seemed to learn…. Oh, woe is me, woe is me…. I was in trouble again… No, I was still in trouble!

KIuft (1985a, b) describes eight year old Tom, who could "space out," but remain aware of partially dissociated alter personalities. One, Marvin, was based on the character Captain Kirk of the TV series "Star Trek," and on the TV series character "Hulk." Marvin also represented Tom's father. Another alter personality was derived from Mr. Spock, who was also identified with his mother. Two female alter personalities had names taken from 'The Flintstones." The use of fantasy is clearly apparent despite the fantasized characters being identifications with real characters in the child's life. Tom gives us a glimpse of the transition of his fantasies becoming dissociated mental structures.

There were very few things to do in Toms River, New Jersey, however it was the closest thing resembling civilization near the school. When I wasn’t being restricted to the campus, for one infraction or another, that’s where I would go. Toms River was two and a half miles west of the school. Making the round trip was a five-mile walk, but it was worth it, just to get away. To get there I walked down Prospect Avenue, and then cut corners to Bayside Avenue. In the winter, the frozen snow and ice made the walk cold and miserable. There was always a wind blowing off the river, but I would trudge on relentlessly. The wet slush soaked through my shoes, ruining a shine I had worked on for hours. My feet became wet and frozen, but I pressed on regardless. Eventually I would reach Route 166, which was narrow and only had two lanes; still it was the only north-south highway along the coast at the time. I then crossed the concrete bridge that had a year engraved on it, indicating that it was built as a WPA project during the Great Depression. On the west side of the road was the Toms River Diner. It was classic in appearance and was a warm haven, where I could thaw out. Thelma, the waitress, was always friendly and one of the sexiest women I ever knew. She laughed at my silliness, knew just how much cleavage to show, and moved and turned like a fashion model. There was always “Country Music” playing, especially that of Hank Williams who was Thelma’s favorite. Hey, Good Lookin’, Your Cheatin’ Heart, and I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry were all songs he had written and that she sang along with. Thelma knew that I could not keep my eyes off of her, and she enjoyed playing the part, letting me look far down the unbuttoned section of her waitress uniform, while pouring me another cup of coffee. The way she looked over her shoulder, throwing aside her hair while asking what else I wanted, would send shivers down my back and feelings into my loins that set me on fire. Just this alone was worth the five-mile round trip. During warmer weather, the walk was more pleasant, but the constant wind off the Atlantic Ocean and the river, never let up.

What can you tell me about this ship?” “She’s one hundred fifteen feet in length, with a beam of twenty-eight, and a depth of sixteen—” “I meant, more generally, what can you tell me about the ship?” “We were a whaler, came sailing around Cape Horn, where we put in at Paita in Peru. The captain received an urgent letter from the American consulate there, enjoining him to pick up passengers and cargo at Panama and bring them to San Francisco. We sold off or unloaded all our stores right there, and converted the ship as well as we might en route to Panama. Once we got here, the captain decided to run the ship aground at high tide. . . .” Again, not exactly what I need to know. “Maybe it would just be better to take us on a tour.” “I can do that,” he says. “Olive! Andrew!” calls out Becky. “Gather around. We’re going to take a tour of the ship.” Our group, which had been wandering and inspecting independently, converges at the center of the deck. Melancthon points to the front of the ship. “That’s the foaksul . . .” “Pardon me, the what?” asks Tom. “Could you spell that please?” “F-O-R-E-C-A-S-T-L-E.” “Ah,” says Tom, as if this makes perfect sense. “Forecastle?” I ask. “That’s what I said!” Melancthon points in the other direction. “And that’s the quarter deck, and there in the rear, that’s the poop deck.” Olive turns to her mother. “Ma, did he just say poop deck?” “I’m certain you misheard,” Becky says. “It’s from la poupe, the French word for the stern of the ship,” Henry explains. “Which, in turn, is derived from the Latin word puppis.” “La poop, la poop, la poop,” Andrew says. His mother turns scarlet. This is all going terribly off track. “Maybe I can just tell you what I want, and you can tell me if it can be done, and, if so, how fast you can do it.” “Yes, ma’am,” Melancthon says.

We believed Harriet had been collected in 1835 by Charles Darwin himself. She was brought to Australia from England in 1841 by Captain Wickham aboard the HMS Beagle. Actually, three giant Galapagos tortoises had been donated to the Brisbane Botanic Gardens, after Darwin realized they did not flourish in England, where he had originally taken them in 1835. How could we determine whether Harriet was one of the Darwin Three? Scott Thomson found a giant tortoise in the collection of the Queensland Museum that had been mislabeled an Aldabran tortoise. Carved on the carapace was the animal’s name. “Tom,” and “1929.” We now had potentially found two of the three Darwin tortoises. Harriet and Tom had been seen together in living memory. The third tortoise was never found and was presumed buried somewhere in the botanic gardens. Harriet lived on. Steve and I became very excited at this news. Our studies and research into Harriet’s history continued for years, and it was amazing to learn what a special resident we had at the zoo. Despite her impressive background, Harriet remained attractively modest. She had a sweet personality like a little dog. She loved hibiscus flowers, and certain veggies were her favorites. Steve carried on a practice that his parents had implemented: Whatever you feed animals should be good enough for you to eat. Thus Harriet got the most beautiful mustard greens, kale, eggplant, zucchinis, and even roses. In return, Harriet gave zoo visitors a rare chance to watch her keepers cuddle and scratch one of the grandest creatures on earth. She was the oldest living chelonian and the only living creature to have met Charles Darwin and traveled aboard the Beagle. And she gave us all something else, too--a lesson in how to live a long life. Don’t worry too much. Take it easy. Stop and munch the flowers. It was a lesson Steve noted and understood but could never quite take to heart. He was a meteor. Harriet was more of a mountain. In this world, we need both.

Sundays when they could come, my mother would bring a piece of cake and some cookies from the bakery. Of course, the cookies and the cake were past their prime, but that was just the way I liked them. I really don’t know how happy my parents were to see me since most of the time they were there; they would talk to my teachers in conference, and then tell me all the things I had supposedly done wrong. Sadly, I would always wind up with a lecture on how bad I had been and what was expected of me. It was something I had grown to expect, but more importantly, I was grateful for the cake and pastries. I have no idea why, but they also brought me cans of condensed milk. I can only guess that they believed that the thick syrupy milk, super saturated with sweet, sweet, sugar, would give me the energy I needed to think better. After one such visit, I made the mistake of leaving my cake unattended. It didn’t take long before it grew legs and ran off. I couldn’t believe that one of my schoolmates would steal my cake, not at a Naval Honor School! Nevertheless, not being able to determine who the villains were, I hatched a plan to catch the culprits the next time around. Some months later when my parents returned to check on my progress, my mother brought me a beautiful double-layer chocolate cake. This time I was ready, having bought all the Ex-Lax the pharmacy in Toms River had on hand. Using a hot plate, I heated the Ex-Lax until it liquefied, and then poured the sticky brown substance all over the cake in a most decorative way. With that, I placed the cake on my desk and invitingly left the door open to my dorm room. I wasn’t away long before this cake also grew legs, and, lo and behold, it also disappeared. The expected happened, and somewhat later I found the culprits in the boys’ bathroom, having a miserable time of it. Laughingly, I identified them as the culprits, but didn’t turn them in. It was enough that I caught them with their pants down!

would soon become known as the Black Legion. The new Black Legion was also known by the name of its commander—the Légion de Saint-Georges. Saint-Georges had lived high in the last years of the Ancien Régime but had, like all noblemen of color, experienced the increasing racism of those years. In his midforties when the Bastille fell, he volunteered for the National Guard the following year; he was made a captain in 1791. Hearing about the new legions, Saint-Georges leapt at the chance to command a legion of mixed-race and free black men, and to get Alex Dumas into the formation.

And now that mulch of dead imaginings beneath the feet of Temperance ladies, union-affiliated Vaudevillians and maimed men home from Europe has contaminated the groundwater of the upstart country's nightmares. Immigrants in their illimitable difference come to seem a separate species, taciturn and fish-eyed as though risen from the ocean waves that bore them in their transport, monstrous in their self-contained communities with bitter scents and indecipherable ululations, names, unsettlingly unpronounceable ensconced at isolated farms where beaten track is naught save idle rumour stagnant families nurse grievance, dreadful secrets and deformity in solitude; pools of declined humanity entirely unconnected to society by any tributary where ancestral prejudice or misconception may become the plaint of generations. Fabled and forbidden works of Arab alchemy are handed down across years cruel and volatile, trafficked between austere and colonial homes by charitable fellowships with ancient affectations or conveyed by fevered sea-captains, fugitive Huguenots or elderly hysterics formally accused of witchcraft. Young America, a sapling power grown suddenly so tall upon its diet of nickelodeons and motorcars, has sunk unwitting roots into an underworld of grotesque notions and archaic creeds, their feaful pull discernible below the weed-cracked sidewalk. Buried and forgotten, ominous philosophies await their day with hideous patience. Well! I think that's pretty darned good for a first attempt. A little over-wrought, perhaps, and I'm not sure about the style - I can't decide if its too modern of it's too old fashioned, but perhaps that's a good sign. Of course, I guess I'll have to introduce a plot and characters at some point, but I'll wrestle with that minor nuisance when I get to it. Perhaps I could contrive to have some hobo, maybe literally a hoe-boy or travelling itinerant farm labourer who's wandering from place to place around New England in the search for work; somebody who might reasonably become involved with all the various characters I'm hoping to investigate. Being a labourer, while it would lend a feasibility to any action or exertion that I wanted in the story, wouldn't mean that my protagonist was lacking in intelligence of education: this is often economically a far from certain country for a lot of people, and there's plenty of smart fellows - maybe even an aspiring writer like myself - who've found themselves leaving their homes and families to mooch around from farm to farm in hope of some hay-baling or fruit-picking that's unlikely to materialise. Perhaps a character like that, a rugged man who is sufficiently well read to justifiably allow me a few literary flourishes (and I can't help thinking that I'll probably end up casting some imagined variant of Tom Malone) would be the kind of of sympathetic hero and the kind of voice I'm looking for. Meanwhile I yawned a moment or two back, and while I'm not yet quite exhausted to the point where I can guarantee a deep and dreamless sleep, perhaps another six or seven vague ideas for stories might just do the soporific job.

The humble hero and a national treasure, who invites us to keep walking next to him, never leaving anyone behind.

I am the threat,” Burke replied. “Touch Tom again, speak a soft word in his ear, so much as look at him in a way I find overly familiar…and I will rip out your goddamn throat.” Hartington gave him a measured look. “You know I am a decorated naval captain, right? Scratch that…you know I am the son and brother of a duke…” Burke wasn’t intimidated. “What you are is a bastard, Hart. Same as me. The rules are different for us. We’re not really part of their society. The only way we survive is by staking our claims and holding to them with everything we have. So, bastard to bastard, hear me when I tell you that Tom Renley is mine. And in a fight to keep him, I have absolutely nothing to lose.

My preferred mode of travel to and from the island is the fast ferry. From April through December, both the Steamship Authority and Hy-Line Cruises operate ferries throughout the day. The trip takes an hour, and round trip costs around eighty dollars. Weather often affects travel to and from the island. If the wind is blowing twenty-five miles an hour or stronger, the ferries may cancel (each trip is at the discretion of the captain). If there is fog (which there often is in June and early July), planes are grounded. (Fun fact: Tom Nevers Field was used by the U.S. military in World War II to practice taking off and landing in the fog.) Once on Nantucket, you can either rent a Jeep (Nantucket Windmill Auto Rental, Nantucket Island Rent a Car) or rent a bike (Young’s Bicycle Shop, Nantucket Bike

promoted to captain and given command of a company

Whatever it is that you and Tom are keeping from me… it has to do with how much I mean to you,” he said, shifting so that Baltsaros’s hand had space to slip between fabric and flesh. He let out an exhale that ended on a chuckle when the captain’s chilled fingers closed over the head of his cock. “Fuck, that’s cold. I can’t wait for warmer weather,” laughed Jon. Leaning

Turning to the white-haired fisherman, the captain raised his stark brow. “Polas, what do Tom’s tattoos mean to you?

Listen to me, Jon,” said the captain, lifting Jon’s palm to his lips. “It’s ok. I won’t have you and Tom acting like you’re sneaking around behind my back. We’ve gone over this; I can deal with this fascination you have for Tom. I have been fair to you, have I not?” Baltsaros’s dark-brown eyes searched Jon’s, and the younger man pressed his lips together and nodded. “Tom’s fond of you, and he’ll keep you safe when I’m not able to—What is it?” The captain furrowed his brow at Jon.

I don’t want to hear the word ‘love’ from your lips regarding Tom, but I fear that’s the direction this conversation is going,” sighed Baltsaros with a bitter smile. “You are my redemption, Jon. You are my soul. You are the hope that I never knew I needed. If that means that I have to share your heart…” The captain’s shoulder came up in a small shrug. “So be it. Just don’t leave my side, promise me that.

I think you’re going to find that the captain’s going to surprise the ever-loving hells out of us in days to come, Tom. And not necessarily in a bad way.

Indeed, Tom. Your mother has been a boon to me in the past. Jon’s suggestion is sound,” agreed the captain, setting down his spoon. He passed his plate to Jon, his eyes clear again. Baltsaros’s mercurial moods were disconcerting, but at least he seemed happy enough to defer to Jon’s judgment until he had recovered.

Come,” he said with a smile that faltered into a grimace of pleasure as Baltsaros’s cock thrust deep again. “You can’t hurt me, lovey.” Jon nodded weakly. Dizzy and excited, and a touch nervous, he found a place for his legs, straddling the captain, and leaned forwards over Tom. The first mate’s legs hooked over Jon’s hips as he stroked the head of his cock over the captain’s thrusting length and then eased in slowly when the man paused. He pushed hard, and Tom’s eyes closed once more. It was tight, almost too much. When Tom let out a pained breath, Jon stopped, but the first mate just chuckled a shaky laugh. “Don’t ye dare stop, Jon. Don’t ye stop…” Tom groaned and let his head fall back over Baltsaros’s shoulder. Jon’s fervour took over. He plunged his cock into Tom’s heat, sliding tight against the captain’s length. It was glorious, and he found himself teetering on the edge of climax quickly. He paused, eyes closed and so sensitive that he was almost in pain. For a moment Jon just held back, waited, and relished the feeling of the captain’s cock sliding against his before resuming. However, it wasn’t long before he couldn’t stop himself from spilling over, the swell of pleasure breaking out into molten waves of intensity that tore the voice from his throat and left him breathless and weak. When the liquid pulses that rocked him slowed, then stopped, he leaned his head against Tom’s furry chest and eased out slowly, wincing as he did so.

Baltsaros had frozen in reaction to seeing Tom beaten and bloody on the stone floor, Jon had seen nothing but pain and fury through the cracks in the captain’s mask. It was then that Jon had jumped in, afraid that if he let Baltsaros speak, more blood would end up pooling on the cold ground. The captain was fiercely protective of his first mate… But was it love? It certainly seemed like it. No, Jon. I don’t.

Thank you, Tom. Truly. I owe you my life,” said the captain. He reached for the first mate’s hand and realized, as he did so, that though he often held or touched Jon’s hands out of simple affection, he had never really done so with Tom. The brawny young man looked away, and Baltsaros thought he detected a flush in his face. Curious, Baltsaros turned Tom’s hand over in his. The back of the first mate’s hand was covered in a smattering of small scars—old burns and wounds acquired from his life of servitude and from working aboard the old pirate ship. His knuckles were crisscrossed with raised, white lines where the skin had split and healed over and over from his penchant of using his fists to get his point across. Even now they were red, and on the first two there were fresh scabs. The third knuckle had a squashed look to it, and Baltsaros remembered when the first mate had broken it in a fight the first year he was aboard. They were hands that he knew almost as well as his own. He rubbed his thumb softly over the scarred skin before lifting Tom’s hand to his mouth. He kissed Tom’s battered knuckles gently, one by one, before turning the man’s hand over in his to press his lips to the deeply lined palm. When he looked up, Tom was staring at him, a glimmer of wetness in his eyes. The sight made Baltsaros hurt. “I’m sorry, Tom,” he whispered. “You’ve put up with too much.

Jon closed his eyes tight; Tom’s mouth was suddenly wetter, more slick, the captain’s cum spread back over his own cock… and he fell headlong into his own orgasm, every liquid pulse forcing a helpless sound from his throat. Shaking, Jon pressed breathless kisses to Baltsaros’s neck when his groin stopped throbbing out its exquisite release. Tom’s soft licks were nearly too much for his spent cock, and he let out a shuddering sigh. Blindly, he reached out for the first mate and was rewarded with a soft nuzzle against his palm.

The captain is otherwise occupied with the first mate. I’ll tell him you were looking for him,” replied Jon, crossing his arms over his chest. At that moment, an unmistakable groan of pleasure could be heard from the quarters beneath them, and Jon clenched his jaw. Oren’s blond eyebrows lifted, and his cheeks took on a subtle blush. Blue eyes flicking to the planks beneath their feet, Oren pressed his lips together and glanced again at Jon. “I… will wait. Below, as you say,” said the young man softly. Jon nodded, and watched Oren descend the stairs; he didn’t like the way that the young man’s breathing had quickened at the sound of Baltsaros and Tom at play.

He opened his eyes and saw that Baltsaros was staring intently at them, unmoving. What was the captain feeling about all of this? Tom’s hands had snaked down to the front of Jon’s pants, and all thought left his head as he felt the buttons come loose. After a moment, Tom dropped to his knees in front of Jon; he then gently, almost reverently, peeled Jon’s pants down, looking up at him with naked hunger as he did so. “Good boy,” said Baltsaros. The captain’s eyes were dark and unreadable, but the hand curled over the front of his pants betrayed the desire he was feeling. Jon’s breath heaved in his chest, and he stepped out of his boots as Tom tugged at them. He was now stark naked in front of Tom who remained on his knees, gazing up at him. Jon could see the bigger man’s pulse jumping in the veins at his neck, but he frowned in confusion when Tom made no other move. He realized with a start that Tom was waiting for Baltsaros’s next command. Jon reached out and touched the top of Tom’s head, running his fingers softly through the short, sandy-blond strands. “Do you want him to suck your cock?” asked Baltsaros, almost conversationally. The question made Jon feel like he had just stepped off a cliff. He gulped and closed his eyes, nodding quickly. “Tom, please use that talented mouth on Jon. However, let’s not let him peak too soon, shall we?” said Baltsaros.

You know what I would really like to see? I want to watch you fuck him.” Jon closed his eyes and gave himself over to Baltsaros’s hands for a moment. Tom had come forward again and licked softly at the cock in Baltsaros’s grasp. “You’re really ok with this?” Jon asked softly. “Yes,” said Baltsaros. Jon thought he could hear some hesitation in the captain’s response, but it didn’t worry him. The realization that this was not about competing with Tom and Baltsaros’s relationship was beginning to hit him. Something to think about later, he thought.

The woman’s struggles grew weaker and finally stopped. Her blood was joined by that of a second sacrifice’s as he was strapped to another reclining stretcher and hastily cut. “…to bless the weddin’ of the son and daughter of…” The blood oozed down the open gutters that ran down the sides of the temple. Jon watched in horrified silence as a third and then a fourth were strapped and cut, the previous sacrifices pushed aside to tumble down the far side of the pyramid. He couldn’t look away. “…to bless the—” “Stop it, Tom. Enough. I’ve heard enough. Oh gods, I’ve heard enough,” choked Jon. He put out a hand to steady himself against the first mate. There was a low gurgling sound, and suddenly, from the small holes that nestled between the paving stones of the square, founts of blood erupted high into the air, falling down warm and sticky on the crowd. In the middle of it stood the captain, his face a mask of serenity as the blood rained down upon him.

Jon could see the first mate move eagerly up against the captain, wanting more. However, Baltsaros kept his eyes on Jon and just smiled. A moment later, Tom let out a pathetic little sound. “Fuck, Da. Please. Please, Da. Fuck me,” gasped Tom. Jon’s heart leaped with the first mate’s shameless words. Baltsaros slapped Tom’s ass before sliding his length back into him a few times. Jon saw that Tom’s cock swung heavy and hard between his legs, but he knew that the first mate wouldn’t touch it unless the captain gave him leave. “Tell me what you want, Tom,” purred Baltsaros with another wicked smile. He pulled himself out to slide his length up along the furrow of the first mate’s ass again. Tom’s lids lifted slowly and his forehead creased. With his eyes on Jon, he began to speak as Baltsaros waited. “I want ye to fuck me, Da. I wanna feel yer thick cock fuckin’ me deep,” Tom gasped. “I want ye to drive yer cock into my ass, Da. Please, Da. I want yer cock… please, Da.” The words made Jon’s groin ache, and his ass throbbed over the phallus lodged inside him. However, when Jon squirmed slightly in discomfort, he noticed that while the wooden cock was held inside him by one rope, the rope around his ankle pulled it out a little. He experimented by moving his hips forward and was rewarded with a shallow plunge. He gasped at the feeling. “More, Tom,” he whispered. “Say more…

Since you’re so goddamn thick that you had to come interrupt the captain and me, I think you owe me something in return, don’t you think?” purred Jon. “You need a lesson in manners, Tom, and I think you’ll take your punishment in the form of my cock in your ass.

When Jon finally, impatiently, took his place between Tom’s legs, he felt like a wanton beast. His hands closed exactly over the tattoos that curled over Tom’s hips, like they were guides. He groaned and slid his whole length smoothly in one motion inside Tom. Under him, Tom moaned and shuddered, pushing back on Jon. Unlike the last time he shared a lover with Baltsaros, this body was the right one beneath him. When he turned to look at the captain, Jon saw that the man’s eyes were half-lidded with lust, his top lip curled on one side in a wicked sneer of desire as he stroked himself while watching Jon and Tom. Bolstered by the captain’s reaction, Jon started thrusting hard into Tom, his breath heaving and groaning out of him from the glorious sensation of the man’s slick muscles enveloping and sliding over his cock. Tom met every plunge with a low moan, one hand frantically twisting the coverlet in his fist while the other worked his own hard shaft beneath him. The sound of Jon’s pelvis slamming hard against Tom’s muscular ass competed with the bestial sounds coming from the two men’s throats.

older man brought up a hand to start stroking Jon’s side, gliding his fingers up over the hard muscles of Tom’s arm and back down again to Jon’s hip. Now that their passions were slaked, the room felt cool, and Jon was glad for Tom’s constant heat. He nuzzled up under the big man’s jaw. I missed you, he wanted to say, among other things, but he didn’t want to push his luck with the captain here. Sex was one thing, emotions were another, and Jon was curious to see how things would settle in the end. He couldn’t tell if it was the effects of the drug or the mind-blowing sex, but he thought he could sense strands pulling the three of them together. It was as if their talents, strengths, desires, and weaknesses were woven into a three-sided tapestry.

Now, the other problem is this: where we are going, it is illegal for a man to lie with another,” he said slowly, looking between Tom and Jon. “Punishable by death.” Tom lifted his head and let out a short laugh with no humour. Next to him, Jon just gaped at the captain with horror plain on his face. Baltsaros lifted his hand. “When Polas assumed you were my son, Tom, I told him the truth, and he was, I’m sorry to say, absolutely horrified. However, he admitted that different cultures had the right to different customs. I may have exaggerated somewhat when I told him that in our lands it was normal for men to lie together, but it was necessary for him not to see our arrangement as an aberration,” explained Baltsaros, running his finger along the edge of his cup. At the time he had felt nothing but a shocked sort of curiosity at the discovery that they were in a realm of strict moral values that made his uncle Romas’ faith look like a bunch of idol-worshiping whoremongers. Jon’s strained voice broke the silence. “Why do we have to go to this city at all?” Baltsaros lifted his eyes. “The city is rich… There’s gold inlaid in the very streets themselves. Perhaps we can set up trade once I figure out how to counteract the effects of the spores,” he replied with a smile. “Polas speaks of other wonders. They have harnessed lightning… I want to see this with my own eyes.” It was nearly the whole truth. The captain thought that Jon and Tom needn’t concern themselves with his primary motivation: the deep fascination with a city that was governed by gods who demanded constant human sacrifice. In Baltsaros’s esteem, the streets were coloured by something far richer than mere gold.

There he spotted a letter written in the spiky alphabet of the northerners. He snatched it up and ran back to the bed, shaking Tom from his slumber. Tom rubbed his face blearily, blinking around him in confusion with eyes tinged in red before he scowled in annoyance. “What?” he rumbled. Jon shoved the letter into his hand. “The captain is down at the ship, getting her ready to leave tomorrow,” he said, his heart skipping in his chest. “Does this have anything to do with it?” After swiping at his face again, Tom focused on the letter. A deep crease formed in his forehead, and when he looked back up at him, Jon saw deep concern. “Aye, lad,” said Tom quietly. “Seems we’re headed north. Far north.

Your mother gave it to me to give to you. She apologizes for not being able to see us off today but offered no excuse.” Brow creased, Tom turned the package over and pulled apart the twine holding it together. Inside was a piece of folded paper, and his mother’s perfume drifted off of it, giving Tom an unexpected pang. It was made worse when, on unfolding the paper, something dropped in his lap. Astounded, Tom picked it up and looked at it. Though carefully mended in a few places and obviously washed and ironed, it was the royal-blue silk handkerchief that he had stolen from his mother as a child. For a moment, he couldn’t swallow for the thick lump in his throat. “What is that?” asked Baltsaros, curious. Tom crushed the handkerchief in his palm and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Nothin’ important,” he lied. That Abetha had kept and clearly cherished the little square of silk… He blinked a few times and was glad when the captain went back to filling the chest. He flattened the note against his knee and read it.

Jon… Tom, this is Sister Iezabel,” said Baltsaros, saving Jon from doing anything else that might make him seem completely inept. “Sister Iezabel, Jon and Tom are my”—there was the slightest hesitation before the captain finished with a smile—“life mates.

When Tom’s lips and tongue reclaimed him, Jon felt the heat and hardness of the captain’s cock against his own. With a moan, he pulled away from the kiss and saw that Tom held both shafts tight in one hand; the first mate licked and sucked at their cockheads, working his lips over both with a soft moan.

Despite the light tone Baltsaros was using, Jon could hear that the captain was breathing heavily, and it sharpened his arousal. When Tom’s hot mouth slid over the sensitive head of his cock, Jon let out a full-throated moan. He was so turned on that he didn’t think he would last very long. His cock slid slowly down the back of Tom’s tongue, impossibly far, the muscles of the kneeling man’s throat enveloping him as his lips tightened to reverse the thrust. With a gasp, he pushed on the back of Tom’s head, wanting to feel the long, smooth plunge again once more before he had to pull away, lest he climax. When he heard the creak of the bed, he opened his eyes and saw that Baltsaros was coming towards him. There was a familiar smell in the air, and when the captain pressed his mouth to his, Jon breathed in a lungful of the drug char. Tom had stopped moving, realizing how far Jon had already come in his pleasure. As the drug started swirling through his veins, Baltsaros nodded, and Tom resumed gorging himself on Jon’s cock. Baltsaros and Tom. Tom and Baltsaros. They worked effortlessly as a team, even in this. The drug would work to offset Jon’s climax while enhancing his pleasure; this time, however, Jon didn’t feel as dazed as the first time, and he was glad for it. Experimentally, he pushed on the back of Tom’s head when his cock was in the bigger man’s throat and held him there. Tom obediently stayed put, unable to breathe and shuddering slightly as Jon rocked his hips minutely to feel the head of his cock sliding down the back of the bigger man’s throat. He threw his head back and Baltsaros put his arms around him, pinching his nipples and slowly kissing the side of his neck. When Jon finally released Tom, the other man collapsed back on the carpet, coughing and wiping his mouth; however, there was a smile on the big man’s face, and his eyes were wide with desire as he came back up onto his knees. “You weren’t kidding,” Jon said to Baltsaros, amazed at Tom’s eagerness. The captain chuckled and slid his hands down to Jon’s stiff, wet cock to stroke him. “I don’t ‘kid’ about much, my love,” said the captain in his ear. “You know what I would really like to see? I want to watch you fuck him.

Earlier, he’d sent Tom away when Polas launched into his stilted explanation of the first mate’s tattoos. As soon as the old man described them as slave tattoos, Baltsaros had been glad he had dismissed the first mate. Now he was unkindly forcing Tom to adopt the role that he swore he would never be in again. He frowned at Tom. “Polas said that the only way we could pass within the city walls without drawing attention is with a slave. I’m sorry, Tom, but you’re going to have to come to terms with this. It’s just an act… It’s not like you’re going to have to bow and scrape to me, and I will do everything in my power to keep you from facing any abuse.” Tom grunted against his forearm and raised his sea-green eyes to Baltsaros’s. “Fine,” he muttered, his jaw tight and brows creased. Though surly, Tom’s answer would have to do. The captain nodded, and then let out a short sigh.

At this moment, the only thing I care about is that I don’t lose you,” said the captain quietly. “If love is strength, then let’s have no more talk of leaving. I need your strength more than ever.” His dark eyes were wide with emotion when they lifted to meet Tom’s. “Both of yours.

Tomcat,” he said. “Help Jon out of his clothing.” Jon’s heart hit a new peak rate as he watched Tom turn around and look at him intently. He was absolutely gorgeous, and terribly intimidating; the tattoos on his bronze skin outlined and enhanced Tom’s musculature, making him seem even more brawny than he was, while his green-blue eyes recalled the warm waters of the tropics. Though Tom was staring at him with open desire, there was also the hint of how completely astounded and still somewhat skeptical of the situation he was. Jon wanted to recapture those stolen moments during the storm, but with the captain present, how were they supposed to… “Tom?” repeated Baltsaros from the bed. Tom stepped forward as if pushed, and he grinned despite the tension in the room. Ducking his head, he reached for the front of Jon’s grey shirt and undid the laces holding the neck closed. When he saw the terrible scar on Jon’s chest, Tom’s eyes flicked up to his in concern; Jon just shook his head and smiled grimly. Later. Tom’s brows came down, and he suddenly leaned forward to capture Jon’s mouth with his own, urgent and protective. The bigger man’s hands came around him as he savaged Jon’s lips and yanked his shirt free of his pants; Tom released him only long enough to pull it over his head before pressing himself hard against Jon again. Jon was flooded with relief. He had not been wrong about Tom’s feelings for him.

When Jon saw the pain in Tom’s eyes, he believed his words. Tom had also wanted to distance himself from Jon and the captain so as to remove temptation that would earn him some more stripes. (Are you still afraid of the whip, Tom? asked Jon. Aye, love. Now and always, answered the big man.) Tom had taken up work at the Jewel doing maintenance and repairs and had recently been promoted to warehouse manager, a position that Tom thought suited him well. (Well… mostly liftin’ boxes and yellin’ at folks, answered Tom truthfully to Jon’s question. Same as on board, really.) Tom had given strict instructions to everyone he knew not to let Baltsaros know of his whereabouts.

Some of the old-timers reached out to pat Tom’s shoulder as he made his way down the deck while the newer shipmates just peered curiously at the tattooed sailor that was built like an ox. However, when Tom started bellowing, everyone jumped quickly to obey. “All right ye lot o’ bleedin’ twats, move yer asses. Shore up that fuckin’ clutter and tighten those lines, ye bilge rat. Aye! I’ll drown ye meself if ye don’t heed, boy…” Jon grinned, listening to the first mate yell out orders in his nonstop, rolling mainland accent that was thickly peppered with cursing and laughter. He looked out over the calm water and took a deep breath. Jon knew there would be trying times in the coming months, both from inside the ship and from without, but at this precise moment in time, he felt he could face anything. Jon picked up the bag that Tom had dumped unceremoniously beside him and trotted to the captain’s quarters to throw it inside. With a glance up at the tall, dark man above him on the quarterdeck, Jon smiled. There was nowhere he would rather be.

Don’t… I want you looking at me,” he said softly, kissing the older man’s bottom lip. Baltsaros opened his eyes, and when Jon reached down to begin stroking the captain’s cock, the hoarse groan that burst from him sounded raw. Baltsaros kept his eyes on Jon’s, desire and devotion giving him an almost pained expression as he breathed heavily in time to Tom’s thrusts. Behind Baltsaros, the first mate’s grunts began to be punctuated by broken, sobbing sighs, and Jon voiced a soft moan of his own. “Don’t hold back.” In response, Tom let out a growl, a deep, desperate thing that sounded like it was torn from his chest, and Baltsaros bucked hard against Jon as the first mate came inside him. Jon waited until Tom had stilled, panting loudly, before he pushed him away from the captain. “Fuck…” panted Tom. Jon shifted lower on the mattress and quickly took Baltsaros’s cock nearly to the root into his mouth. It was only a matter of seconds before he swallowed down the captain’s salty-bitter cum with Baltsaros’s fingers twisting almost cruelly in his hair as he cried out in pleasure.

He pressed his face against the captain’s neck and sobbed out his mounting passion; another stroke… yet another. Closer. He would soon spill. Baltsaros wrapped his arms around Jon’s shoulders, one hand tight against the back of his neck, holding him firmly as he growled deep in his chest. Jon felt the captain’s heart race against his chest, his fingers clutching at him almost painfully. With a gasp Baltsaros’s body trembled, and Tom let out a small sound.

Tom just scowled, but he’d been bound so often by the man that tying him up in return felt absolutely foreign. It was making his fingers clumsy. It was also making him bloody horny; by the time Tom had finished tying up Baltsaros’s arms, his pulse was thrumming in his ears, and he felt hot and tense. When he glanced up, he saw that Baltsaros looked subtly amused. There was something else in his gaze too: lust. Then, when Baltsaros let out a small noise and shifted slightly, closing his eyes, Tom looked over in surprise and saw that Jon had lifted up the bound man’s shirt and was stroking down the line of his pelvis with his fingertips, teasing at the waistband of his pants. Trust Jon to grasp the mood of the captain before he did.

When Harris hauled on the line and found resistance, he let out a little whoop. Quickly, the others followed suit and began the task of hauling the two ships together. Grinning wide, Tom jogged up with the captain’s long scimitar in his belt. “Let’s go get us some navy scum, boys!

Suddenly the mattress sank on either side of Jon’s knees, and he felt the captain grab his hips and slow him. With a grunt of surprise, Jon stopped moving and gasped with shock as he felt the captain’s fingers, slick with oil, slide into him. Almost dizzy with lust, Jon realized what Baltsaros aimed to do. As he stroked deep inside him, the captain pressed and rubbed against the spot within him that triggered the waves of intensity that sent shocks through his body, enhancing all his sensations. Whimpering when Baltsaros’s fingers left him, Jon moved forward when the captain brought Tom’s legs up, almost losing his balance. Low down over Tom’s chest, Jon saw that the muscular rogue was smiling up at him. “Breathe, Jon,” said Tom, and Jon almost burst out laughing.

Baltsaros pulled out of Jon with a groan and crawled to Tom, his dark hand pumping the thick cock in its grasp, the purple head of it swelling with every hard stroke. In a daze, Jon watched as a clear drop fell from its tip onto Tom’s collarbone a second before the captain growled low in his chest, sending jets of pearly white cum over Tom’s chest and stomach. Jon felt Tom’s ass clench over his cock, and the man beneath him arched his back up suddenly, letting out a hard yell and sending hot jets of his own seed to mingle with Baltsaros’s. Jon collapsed onto Tom, heedless of the mess, completely spent. His thighs were shaking and his heart felt like it was going to crash through his ribs. After a moment, Tom wrapped his arms around Jon, turning them onto their sides facing each other, and Baltsaros stretched out behind Jon.

Jon was the first to cry out; having been brought to the edge so many times already, he was nearly feverish with his mounting pleasure when Baltsaros quickened his pace. He pulled his mouth away from Tom with a sob as he came hard. The pleasure crashed through him, making his body pulse in a hot, sweet wave that wrung mindless gasps and moans from him. Pressing his forehead against the man beneath him as he rocked his pelvis, Jon whimpered as the first mate’s lips and tongue milked his cock, and Baltsaros’s thrusts stroked the throbbing, sensitive spot inside him. Eyes closed, he panted against Tom’s hip for a few seconds, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he tried to catch his breath. When he was able to lift his head, Jon took Tom into his mouth again, and the first mate released him with a gasp. Tom’s fingers tightened around his waist as Jon forced his jaw wide around the first mate’s cock, taking in as much as he could before working at a fast rhythm. It seemed like only a few moments before Tom went rigid beneath him, a strangled cry heralding the yolky, bitter cum that pulsed hot over Jon’s tongue. Jon groaned around the cock in his mouth, swallowing down quickly as Baltsaros began to pound into him, his sharp growl loud over Tom’s panting as the captain shuddered with climax.

A new language for you to learn?” The last was said with a soft chuckle, and Jon wrinkled his nose at the captain. “You’re funny,” he muttered. “You do realize now every time I think of the word ‘cat’, an image of Tom’s mouth around my cock is going to come to mind.

He let out a slow breath through his nose and tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. Jon had spent time alone with Tom before—many times, in fact, since the reconciliation between the captain and his first mate. Just… never overnight. But that wasn’t what was fuelling his anxiety. Yes, it is.

Tom opened his mouth and took the fish obediently. After he had swallowed, and without prompting, he licked Baltsaros’s fingers clean. So many possibilities that they hadn’t yet explored in this capacity. The captain let out a sharp cry and nearly dropped the plate. “Da? Bloody hells, Da? What’s the matter?” asked Tom. His hands steadied Baltsaros, fear making deep pools of his pupils as he stared at him helplessly. Baltsaros began to laugh. He curled one hand around the tender mound in his groin, the one that had begun to harden at the touch of Tom’s warm tongue against the whorls of his fingertips. The pain had startled him more than anything, and the sheer relief made him laugh even harder. Tom watched him in total confusion as the captain laughed himself to tears in front of him.

Jon looked between Tom and Baltsaros. Captain? Him? “Listen, love: if ye can pretend to be an emperor and a god, ye sure as hells can pretend to be a lowly boat captain,” said Tom with a chuckle. “Lowly?” smirked the captain, a spark of his old self in the curl of his lips. Jon shook his head. “I don’t know. Captain Jon doesn’t sound very impressive,” he laughed. The idea had merit though. He could see himself shouldering part of the responsibility with Baltsaros’s counselling and Tom’s fists. Not quite a figurehead… and it would be temporary. “Aye, but Captain Jon, The Black Brigand is a great fuckin’ pirate name,” grinned Tom, squeezing his shoulder. Jon blinked. “All right, but let’s make it simple. I had a great-great-uncle or something who was a pirate; did I ever tell you that? Captain Black. If I’m going to follow in his footsteps, I might as well take his name, aye, matey?” he said with a jaunty tilt of an imaginary hat.

The grandson has to go, he thought. His mind’s eye painted him a picture of the white-haired youth with his unblemished golden skin, and long, lithe muscles. Oren’s bright blue eyes seemed to follow Baltsaros everywhere, and it was beginning to make him feel restive. He was fully aware that bedding the boy was a fool’s wish, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the fisherman’s grandson would come to him willingly. Baltsaros scrubbed at the grease on his shoulder with a sigh and wondered how long Oren had known he preferred the company of men and whether he had attempted anything on his own despite the terribly restrictive society he was part of. The boy would probably be a virgin. Jon had been a virgin, and it had been a heady thing to experience. With the cloth pressed to his eyes, Baltsaros stood still for a moment, remembering that strange day at the Jewel when Jon had forced a promise of fidelity out of him. That promise had changed, of course, to include Tom, but the captain knew he couldn’t kid himself into thinking that an indiscretion with the beautiful stranger would go well with either of the young men. Besides, there was the respect for Polas to think of.

Tom grinned wide. “Aye… love,” said Tom. “Ye know, the difference between ye both is ye do have a heart. Ye might make my cock hard, but ye soften this.” Tom tapped two rough fingers against the spot over his heart. Jon had to laugh. “Gods, Tom… That was almost poetic,” he said, stroking his hand down Tom’s chest and tugging playfully at the big man’s chest hair. “Listen… The captain can beat the fuck out of you, and when you’re done, you can come to me, and I will kiss you better,” said Jon. Tom’s lips parted in response, and he stared at Jon with eyes suddenly darkened by desire and turbulent emotion. Tom’s arms tightened around Jon again, and when he licked his lips, his breathing had a shaky quality to it. “Gods, love,” was all the big man said, and Jon had to laugh. “You’d like that?” he asked, realizing the strange mastery over the powerful creature that held him. “Aye,” responded Tom, his voice barely a whisper. Jon’s heart beat double. They kissed again, only coming up for air when Jon had to beg off to relieve his bladder. When he came back and Tom lifted his arm again, Jon frowned, noticing something he hadn’t before.

He lifted his eyes to the captain’s. “This,” he said in a low voice, gesturing to the temple behind them, “it means something to you, doesn’t it?” Baltsaros frowned and tilted his head. For a moment Jon thought the captain was going to evade the question or lie. “Yes… and no,” replied Baltsaros slowly. “I know nothing of their gods.” “What of your gods?” asked Jon. “Do they demand blood as well?” The captain laughed. “I have no gods, Jon. God is a word men use to hide the truth of their desires,” the older man said, turning to watch Tom climb out of the river. “I have no such need. What is a god to you? A rule maker? A judge? A parent? Behind every god there is the very mortal hand of man, trust me.” “Then why, Baltsaros? Why do I feel like what just happened resonates very deeply with you?” whispered Jon. “It does, lad,” said Tom, his eyes locked on Baltsaros. “And yer goin’ to tell him every last bit, Da, so help me. But this ain’t the place for it, aye? Let’s get gone. We need a place to eat and bed down so we can get lookin’ again tomorrow mornin’.” Tom’s irritation and disappointment were obvious; Jon saw the first mate’s jaw muscles twitch under his dark-blond stubble as he stared hard at the captain. Baltsaros nodded and squeezed the water from the braid hanging over his shoulder as Jon stepped back into his boots, retying Tom’s belt around his hips. Though the hot sun was quickly drying their clothes, Jon was cold; the thought of a warm meal hurried his strides. It also took his mind off the taste of blood in his mouth.

Baltsaros’s arm quickly came around Jon’s waist, and he was hauled up and pushed forwards onto hands and knees and entered again so that he could be fucked slowly from behind. Groaning softly, Jon fell thankfully into the shallow rhythm that the captain liked to use on him to make him cum from within. Tom sat back a moment just watching the two with an amused look on his face as his rough hand squeezed and pulled at his own cock. Then, with an impish grin, the muscular first mate pushed under Jon headfirst to continue using his mouth while Baltsaros’s thick cock thrust into the dark-haired young man. Jon let out a deep moan; it was a feverish, exquisite feeling, and he let himself ride on the wave of it, panting and moving his hips wantonly as both men worked at him. When he lowered himself to his elbows to rest against Tom’s hard stomach, he felt the first mate’s cock touch his lips. With a pulse of desire, he quickly opened his mouth and sucked softly at the head of it, working along the flared edge of the glans and dipping the tip of his tongue into the salty slit while Tom’s hand stroked the shaft, his hard fist bumping up against Jon’s wet lips. Beneath him, Tom let out a low moan and shifted his head back so that Jon’s cock slid more easily between his lips. A moment later, the first mate’s big hands came up to hold Jon’s waist as the three of them moved slowly together.

Lungs heaving, Jon lay still for only a moment before he pulled out of Baltsaros. Hand on the captain’s shoulder, he roughly turned him onto his back. Jon’s eyes were dark as he leaned over him. “It’s Tom’s turn now,” he said quietly, his breathing ragged. Baltsaros frowned, wondering if he had misheard. “Jon?” said Tom. He sounded more confused than aroused. “It’s ok, Tom,” said Jon, gaze locked on Baltsaros. There was power there. A challenge… and yet, affection. “He’ll submit because I want him to and because he loves you. And… He loves me.” He stroked the side of Baltsaros’s face, lips barely moving as he spoke in a hush. “Baltsaros, I want to watch Tom take you.

Eventually, there was a small grunt of assent from Tom, and he curled his warm body behind Baltsaros’s. With a gentle hand, he carefully manoeuvred Baltsaros into a suitable position so he could penetrate him. Though he couldn’t see Tom, the captain could tell how apprehensive he was. The captain had to laugh. “I’m not made of glass,” he said, opening his eyes. Jon’s cheek dimpled in the briefest of smiles. Tom mumbled something against his skin; though he didn’t catch what it was, it sounded like either a prayer or a curse. Or, he thought with a smile, it could be both. However, his levity was broken a moment later when Tom’s cockhead pushed hard against his opening and began to slide tight into his body.

He blinked as the blindfold was removed, and Baltsaros lifted Jon back up onto his knees with a smile. His large hand closed over Jon’s stiff cock, and he leaned forward to brush his lips to Jon’s in a brief kiss before gesturing to Tom. Jon watched as the first mate quickly rid himself of his pants and positioned himself on the floor where Baltsaros pointed, broadside to Jon. The muscles in Tom’s wide shoulders rippled as he supported himself on fists and knees and waited. The captain took his place behind Tom, cock in hand, and rubbed it into the furrow of the first mate’s ass. Jon watched the shiny, purplish head peep out above Tom’s ass as it slid between his cheeks, and he was held rapt and aroused by the sight. The captain narrowed his eyes at Jon, and the corner of his lip curled up in an amused smirk. With one hand, Baltsaros pushed between Tom’s shoulders, and the big man obediently let himself down onto his elbows. Tom looked up at Jon, the excitement and desire yawning dark in his pupils before he closed his eyes. “Knocking things over on purpose is a crude way of getting me to do what you want. You can’t just act out to force my hand. You have to learn to speak your thoughts and desires, my love,” murmured the captain. “As your punishment, you get to watch me fuck Tom. Maybe it will teach you a thing or two. How do you like that?” Jon pinched his brows together and shook his head. This isn’t at all what he had expected. How was he supposed to do anything while he was tied up? However, the disappointment did nothing to slow his pulse as he watched Baltsaros oil his cock slowly and plunge it deep into the first mate with a soft grunt. Tom’s lips parted with a low moan, and Jon felt his cock tense and bob up in response. Baltsaros fucked Tom with a few quick thrusts, and then he stopped.

Jon sighed and climbed a crate, loosening his belt so that he could relieve himself over the gunwale. The hammock… As Tom had stood that day with the awl, making holes for the thick metal hooks that would hold the colourful hammock in place, he had explained that he sometimes felt crowded in the bed with Baltsaros and Jon and just liked the option of sleeping alone. Jon had seen the lie immediately for what it was: diplomacy. He had a feeling that, given the chance, Tom would hold him close every night. Instead, the first mate chose to distance himself so as not to interfere with the captain’s affection for Jon. A sacrifice.

We need an interim captain until you’re well again,” he said to Baltsaros. He watched anger and resignation battle for dominance in the captain’s eyes. “You know that’s a fact.” “What? You don’t want a madman at the helm?” grinned Baltsaros, instantly full of good humour again. “Yes. You’re right, Jon. Tom, you will replace me—

Then Tom tensed suddenly against Jon, breathing a gasp into the kiss. Curious, Jon slid his hand down Tom’s hard stomach, past his cock and sensitive sack, to discover that the captain had slid two fingers into the first mate. Baltsaros let out a slow breath when he felt Jon’s tentative touch, and leaned over Tom’s shoulder to press his lips to Jon’s cheek. Jon broke the kiss to share breath with Baltsaros for a moment. Smiling against his lips, he slid his own finger next to the captain’s and into Tom. The first mate trembled between them as they fucked him using their fingers, opening him up, their hands slick with oil. Soon Tom’s normally gruff voice broke on a whimper as he begged.

Jon’s heart pounded, and his cock throbbed in his hand as he watched Tom straddle Baltsaros and then lay back against the man’s chest, bracing himself on his heels. The captain cushioned the big man’s weight with one hand, moving to push his thick cockhead against Tom’s puckered opening with the other. Jon licked his lips, an involuntary moan expelled with a hitched breath at the sight of Baltsaros’s cock stretching Tom open and sliding deep into him. Tom let out a shallow grunt and closed his big fist over his own length. Jon watched hungrily as the captain fucked the first mate slowly for a few thrusts.

Tom let out a grunt of surprise a moment later when Jon moved over to begin working his mouth over Tom’s cock. The first mate buried his shaking hands in Jon’s dark curls as Jon gagged trying to take all of Tom in. Jon swallowed and tried again, keenly wanting to reward Tom. He relaxed his throat, shifted his position, and lapped at the head of Tom’s cock before sliding it back into his throat. With Baltsaros thrusting into him from below and Jon gorging himself on his cock, Tom soon started breathing through clenched teeth with a low, rumbling moan that Jon knew meant he was close. Jon curled his fingers around the base of Tom’s cock and tightened his lips, spit running down the sides of the big man’s shaft and over Jon’s fingers. Suddenly Baltsaros let out a low growl, fucking Tom faster with his arms tight around the first mate’s chest, the muscles taut and twitching as his body rocked beneath him, caught in the feverish, frantic surge of orgasm. Then, with a strangled cry, Tom finally let himself cum, his bitter seed gushing over Jon’s tongue as his body shuddered and hands clutched at him before falling limp to his sides. Jon almost laughed with giddiness. With a grin he came forward to press kisses to Tom’s sweat-slick skin when the captain rolled the first mate gently to his side and began murmuring soft praises. “Good boy.

Do I want this? Tom quested forward to kiss him again, and Baltsaros let the first mate’s soft lips take his, passionate and slow. Jon shuddered behind him, his cock stroking over Baltsaros’s pucker again, a little teasing push, then away, so slippery that the captain thought Jon must have slicked his cock with oil while he lay kissing Tom. Another pass of Jon’s cockhead caused Baltsaros to push back, losing himself in the first mate’s embrace, their mouths locked and tongues seeking. Yes, he did want this. If Jon needed to use him to reclaim the sense of control he had lost, so be it.

Jon finally stopped his slow tease, and he forced his cock into Baltsaros, slow and hard until his hips were flush against the captain. When Baltsaros tensed and gave a small, pained grunt as Jon opened him up, Tom drew back, his eyes wide. His hand slid down from where it rested on Baltsaros’s side to his hips. Understanding dawned on his face as he realized exactly what was happening. With a raw-sounding moan, he shifted close enough that their cocks touched and pulled the captain’s leg up onto his thigh. Baltsaros’s pulse soared, and he felt a surge of lust from the naked desire in Tom’s eyes as the first mate held onto him while Jon fucked him slowly from behind. Jon’s teeth closed on skin again—there was no doubt in the captain’s mind that he would be marked and sore, but it made him groan in encouragement. With panted grunts, Jon fucked into him faster, more frantic, and Tom and Jon’s hands clawed lines of pain over his skin as he was savaged by the first mate’s fevered kiss. Then Jon let out a strangled cry and buried his face into the back of the captain’s neck as his thrusts went erratic, a few deep plunges followed by a series of shallow strokes that sent a sweet pulse into Baltsaros’s core.

He bowed his head, mind numb. “Anything,” he whispered, kissing the clammy hand he clutched. “I will give up anything.” He closed his eyes tight against the raw hopelessness he felt. “I will give up anything for you.” Prayers to gods he didn’t believe in. He let a long, slow exhale and pressed his face to Jon’s shoulder. At Baltsaros’s touch, Jon jerked on the bed. He took in a strangled gasp of air and coughed a few times before letting out a hoarse moan. Astounded, Baltsaros quickly grabbed the cloth in the bowl of water by the bed, pressing it to Jon’s lips to get moisture to his mouth. “Balt… saros,” wheezed Jon. “Baltsaros.” “Don’t speak, Jon,” said the captain, brow furrowed. His mind reeled. Hope. A second chance. He would redouble the medication. He would cure Jon. “Devil’s Isles…” whispered the younger man, his eyelids fluttering open though his eyes roamed from side to side as if he still dreamed. “Your… heart!” Jon’s hand scrabbled over the captain’s arm, his touch insistent. “Baltsaros, Tom and I found your heart! I know where it is. We have to go. Promise me…

There are new rules to follow… harsh rules, from what I understand.” The captain rounded the table and reached out to stroke Jon’s dark curls back. “Patience, Jon. All right?” Jon almost flinched at the touch, unable to forget the sly smile that had spread over Oren’s elfin face. Instead he forced himself to close his eyes and lean into the captain’s hand like he normally would. As if I didn’t know what you were up to, he thought bitterly. The previous day had been spent watching Oren as the young man made his way around the ship. Twice, the tall fisherman had approached the captain, both times his body language that of a fawning sycophant as he hung on Baltsaros’s every word. It was enough to make a man sick. When the captain had quickly sent the boy away with a few harsh words, Jon had been childishly pleased; perhaps he had been imagining things. However, as Oren made his way belowdecks, Jon had raised his eyes and seen the captain’s gaze following the willowy youth. When Baltsaros noticed Jon watching him, the older man’s face had gone still, wiped of expression, before the captain had turned and walked away. Jon opened his eyes and pulled away from Baltsaros’s hand. “Why are they still here?” he asked, looking up at the captain. He didn’t want to say the boy’s name. Baltsaros narrowed his eyes at Jon, and he felt sure that his suspicions were grounded in something; it galled him that the first mate was once again covering for the captain. They deserve each other, Jon thought, looking over at Tom. The big man’s brow was furrowed in concern, his sea-green eyes on Jon’s. “I asked Polas to join the crew this morning,” replied Baltsaros, dropping his hand. “He’s mulling it over and will give me his answer before long. Migri and Oren are staying on until they can find a replacement boat or some other suitable accommodation.” With a tilt of his head, he lifted his hand again, this time to Jon’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I want both of them off my ship,” he said softly. The words did nothing to appease Jon. They only showed that Baltsaros was aware that he had concerns, but Jon nodded anyway and bent his lips into a smile. The captain, satisfied with his response, smiled back and leaned in to kiss him quickly.

For the moment, Baltsaros’s last suggestion was ricocheting through his mind. As if reading his thoughts, the captain released Jon and went to Tom. “Up,” he said, and Tom lurched to his feet. Baltsaros’s hands stroked down the sculpted muscles of Tom’s chest, lingering at the small silver ring in his nipple. The captain’s brows went up as he tugged at it lightly, obviously pleased with the addition. Sliding his fingers over Tom’s taut stomach, he eased his fingers under the waistband of the first mate’s green pants and tugged forward. Baltsaros kissed Tom roughly as he undid the front of his pants and pushed them down when they were loose enough. Jon watched as Baltsaros grabbed Tom hard by the throat and pushed his gracefully curved lips against the big man’s jaw, just beside his ear. “On your stomach on the bed,” hissed Baltsaros loud enough that Jon could hear. Tom’s cock bobbed in response to the words; its thick length was already a hard curve pointing up toward his stomach. Jon watched in fascination as the muscular young man obediently lay down on his chest on the bed and closed his eyes. Baltsaros knelt beside him and slid two pillows under Tom’s hips and then spat into his hand. Roughly pushing Tom’s legs apart, he smeared the saliva over his puckered opening; Jon watched in a hot daze as Baltsaros slid two fingers inside Tom, readying him, and he realized he was breathing hard from the sight.

You’re going to wear a groove in the boards and make Calum throw you overboard if you don’t stop your pacing, Jon,” said Baltsaros, looking down at Jon. Jon laughed, but he felt completely frantic with worry. Tom had said that he would come give them their answer early this morning, but it was now noon, and there was no sign of him. “It’s not like we have to leave immediately, Jon,” said the captain. “If Tom’s not ready today, maybe he’ll be ready tomorrow. He can be extremely proud, like his mother. I did him wrong, Jon… And an afternoon spent playing on bedsheets won’t make it all better. We can afford to wait a day or two.” Jon nodded. He hoped it was the case. He’d already made two trips back to the mainland to see if he could find Tom on his own, with no avail. They could also put off the trip for this season if Tom was unwilling to join them. Jon was sure he could convince— “Bloody fuckin’ hells, Da! What in gods have ye done to my fuckin’ boat?” Jon started and looked over his shoulder. The ocean-eyed, burly youth swung himself up over the edge of the raised gunwale like nothing was amiss and landed on silent feet on the deck next to Jon. After dropping his bag with a thump and ruffling Jon’s hair affectionately as he passed by him, Tom swaggered to the stairs of the quarterdeck and looked up, feet splayed and hands on his hips. The captain, his relief and amusement obvious for a mere second, brought his stark brows down in a fierce scowl. “Your boat?” the captain repeated loudly. “She’ll be yours over my dead body.” Baltsaros allowed himself a small smile, and Tom grinned wide. “Whip these boys into shape, if you remember how,” said Baltsaros as he lifted his head to look over the gathering crowd. “First mate on deck!” shouted the captain.

Yes, patience,” he agreed when he pulled away from Jon. The captain’s hand closed tight over Jon’s forearm, his stark face going still and cold as he stared up at him. “Don’t go to him,” said Baltsaros slowly. “Don’t seek out Tom by yourself.” Jon straightened and blinked at the captain, disconcerted by the older man’s words. They were spoken as a command, the tone unmistakable.

Tom Broderick spent seventeen weeks in basic training for the infantry in Mineral Wells, Texas, before heading to Fort Benning, Georgia, to become a member of the 82nd Airborne. When he finished his training, a captain offered him an instructor’s job and the rank of sergeant. Again Broderick refused the safer alternative, saying he wanted to stay with his outfit and go overseas. Broderick

The best movies leave audiences feeling glad to be alive, human, and reaching out to one another.”—ROBERT WISE, AFI LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD ACCEPTANCE SPEECH

fifty years later, part of the film’s continued appeal lies in the fact that the mere mention of the title conjures up audience members’ memories of watching the film for the first time. It’s not just the film itself that is remembered, but the remembrance of watching it as a child.

As the wildly favorable word of mouth spread, however, the box office receipts began to soar. First, fans of musicals came. Then the ever-growing cadre of Julie Andrews devotees. Finally, those longing for a happy ending—anywhere—began to turn out in droves. At which point the oddest thing of all happened: all these fans of the movie returned to see it again. And then once more. And then once again—until the phenomenon eventually resulted in a record-setting first release run of over four and a half years.

Stay a pace behind me, stop fidgeting, and stop looking around you like you want to start a fight. You were a slave long enough, start acting like one,” said Baltsaros in a low, harsh whisper. Tom clenched his jaw and looked down, nodding. “Aye, Da,” he murmured. Even at the best of times, Tom had made a lousy slave… but the captain was right; he was behaving foolishly. There was gold to be had here and maybe something even more valuable. He had to get a hold of himself. After all, it was just a bit of play-acting.

Above him, the woman let out a sharp sound of disgust. Tom closed his eyes and ignored her, the edges of his mind blurring as his awareness narrowed down to the movement of his tongue and lips. Baltsaros’s long fingers slid down around his nape and squeezed, exerting a painful pressure. Tom obeyed without pause, relaxing his throat and rationing his breath until his lips reached the base of Baltsaros’s cock. Tom’s shaft throbbed, wrapped tight in his hard fist as he pulled back and slid the captain’s thick cock back down the cradle of his tongue. Right here and now, his mouth’s sole purpose was for fucking… for pleasing Baltsaros. The thought made him ache; a warm drop slid from the head of his cock down over his knuckles.