Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
"James, come on." "No." "James, really. It can't be that bad." "I look ridiculous." The gruff voice floated up from behind a Chinese dressing screen that was placed in one corner of the ship's cabin. "I highly doubt it." George took a crisp bite out of his apple, leaning leisurely, and rather nakedly, back in the arm chair he had taken for his own since he had returned to Neverland to be with Hook. "If anyone can pull it off, it is you." "George, do shut up. I've changed my mind. I'm taking it off." "Not that I'm complaining about the prospect of you taking your clothes off, but I really would like to see you in it. Just this once. It has been so very long since I've seen a woman-" "You shouldn't want for a woman!" "Please?" Something was grumbled, probably an obscenity knowing James. He had spent so much time among baser pirates that some habits had rubbed off on him. George used to blush at the filthy things his lover would whisper to him while he was being whipped, but James had pointed out very early on that being tied up, ball-gagged and whipped wasn't exactly proper behaviour for an English gentleman either. George had shut up. Until the leather had struck his stinging-red buttocks hard one more time and he had screamed as he spurted come onto the wall in front of him. Ahh, the good old days when they were still getting reacquainted with each other. "James, please." He almost choked on his bite of apple when one black leather, high-heeled ladies boot was thrust out the side of the screen, sheer black stockings pulled up over a very manly knee. "Ohh... very good. And the rest?" "Do not give me orders!" "Sorry," George sobered slightly, not wanting to anger James. His arsehole was still sore from the last time, two days ago. He picked up the glass of cider from the armchair table - they made it themselves, from the apples of the forest - and took a very deep drink. Settling back in the chair, George waited, watching avidly. Slowly, the rest of the leg emerged. Oh my. Mid thigh, the lacy band around the top of the stocking was attached to black suspenders, leaving columns of white skin dabbled with dark hair visible. George licked his lips. "If you laugh," said James's leg, or at least it seemed to, since that was the only part of him George could see. "I will try not to." He heard James growl warningly, like a beast. "I'm merely joking," he added. After a moment's pause, Captain James Hook stepped from behind the screen, dressed in a silky white chemise that rode so high up his legs that his cock and balls were partially on show. The fabric seemed to cling to his muscular, solid form as if it were milky water spilling over him, outlining his best assets, which was pretty much all of him. George sighed, eyeing the one strap that had fallen down over James's broad shoulder and was now a white band around his bicep. His cock gave a twitch of approval; he never thought he'd miss the sight of women's clothing, of soft material, the light colour of the chemise speaking of innocence, the cut of it speaking of sin. He released his half eaten apple and let it roll to the floor. He could hardly believe he had managed to talk James into this in the first place. Then again, since they had done all manner of things over the last eight full moons, James really shouldn't have reason to be coy. Plus, George had made sure that James drank as much cider as possible at dinner that night, refilling the pirate's glass subtly every time it shrank to half-full, trying not raise suspicion. And now he was really reaping the benefits. James was far more agreeable under the influence of alcohol, his usual countenance watered down, almost playful. And he looked magnificent! The pirate's eyes shone violet in the cabin light, the lines of his face softened by the warm glow. George couldn't hold himself back a moment longer - he had to touch him. Rising from the chair he went to James, but stopped inches away, basking in the heat radiating from James's body, through that almost-see-through pale satin. Ohhh... "You're not laughing," James said quietly, almost with wonder. "Of course I'm not," George replied softly, reaching out as if about to touch a dangerous animal, slowly, hesitantly. James caught his hand before he could reach his goal and held his bare arm up. To George's surprise, James moved closer, pushing himself up against George's naked body - ahhh - so he could feel the ghostly slide of that material all over him, bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin, arousal throbbing at the very core of his being. "Goodness," George muttered, breathing deeply. "Goodness, indeed," James said with a half-hearted smirk. "Are you satisfied now?" "Almost," George said absently, barely comprehending his own words. All he could think about, all he could feel, was the hard press of James, the softest caress of the silky frock, the nudge of a growing erection against his thigh. He was fully hard already, cock straining up desperate from the myriad of sensations: James's breath on his shoulder, James's good hand wrapped firmly around his, the dress, the heat, the scent of man and alcohol and sea air playing with his senses. "Oh, I believe there's one accessory I have forgotten," James hissed, leaning close to George's ear. "How careless of me. One moment." He moved away. "What's that?" George asked, intrigued as James disappeared behind the screen once again. Oh. He felt himself thrum with want as James came out holding a leather strap. He allowed it to hang over his fingers, swinging it this way and that. George almost moaned, almost touched himself at the sight. The stockings made a very faint swish as James crossed the room again, the fabric rubbing together as he moved, whispering seductively. "I'm going to take this off now," James said. "And then I'm going to teach you a lesson for whining at me all blasted day and night until I put on this ridiculous outfit." George bit his lip and nodded, trembling. James pulled the frock up and over his head with a grace he would kill George for mentioning out loud. He was naked underneath, and almost completely hard. George decided not to ask if it was due to the dress. The boots came off quickly, and then the stockings, slipping down James's legs to form a black pool around his ankles. He discarded them entirely, his hair hanging low over his shoulders as he bent down. When he straightened up, however, he did not throw the chemise aside. Rather, he held it out to George. "Put it on." George stared at him. "I would like to see what all the fuss is about." George blinked, then took the dress. Being around the same height and build, it wasn't too tight, though it was easily as short on him as it had been on James. It was so smooth, so soft, and as he let it fall over his shoulders it felt like he had been wrapped in warm mist. He sighed as it fell down around his chest, catching on his hips briefly before settling on him. James watched, one dark eyebrow raised. "Huh," he said, as George stood in front of him and turned a fraction to show off the garment. "Well it does nothing for me..." George started to hitch it back up. "But," James continued, and George froze. "Leave it on." George let his hands drop to his sides, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. James cleared his throat and brushed his sweaty brow with his arm. "Kneel over your chair." He didn't need to be told twice. Both anticipation and fear were running rampant around his body as George complied, settling onto the chair and rising up on his knees with his arse pushed out, resting his arms on the straight chair back, and his head on his arms. The next thing he felt was the leather strap, being trailed gently down his arched spine. He squirmed a little, getting more comfortable, and spread his knees out on the cushioned seat as far at they would go. The strap slipped down between the crease of his buttocks, pushing the satin in at the same time so it stuck there, outlining his crack obscenely, then dipped lower, stroking along George's balls from behind. He moaned, pushing his hips backwards for more. James obliged, working the leather back and forth between George's legs, toying with his inner thighs and sensitive skin of his ball sack until he was whimpering and his prick was damp with want. "Jas, please," George moaned. "Please." James laughed softly, removing the strap, and then George felt a sudden hard lick across the backs of his legs. He whimpered, wanting more. James struck again, scuffing the leather over the curve of George's arse this time, then again, harder. And again, a double hit, the strap gracing his arse, flicking up into the air with a very quiet snap and then back across him. "Ahh!" "Perfect," James muttered. George would have agreed, but he was spiralling so fast into bliss he couldn't form the words, only nodded desperately against his folded arms. Another lick, soft, another, and George was panting now, humping thin air, the only stimulation he could gain in that position coming from the silk of the chemise as it dusted lightly across his cock like a promising breath with every movement he made. The strikes gradually grew harsher, James muttering foul words mixed with encouragement as his arm worked to bring George pleasure and pain and ohsomuchfeeling; George drowned in it happily. Soon he was crying out hoarsely, beyond asking for more. He wasn't even sure he wanted more. All he knew was that he wanted James, and he'd take anything James saw fit to give, and he'd love it, the freedom of being tormented and wanting it, of not having to feel inhibited, of not having to be George Darling, husband, father, banker. Here he was George, man of sensation and experience and passion and sex and lust and, in the secret corners of his psyche - love. True, raw love, unlike most feel in their short lives. The danger was still there, of course; the thrill of it, to the point where he ached for James when they weren't touching, or kissing, or fucking, but it ran deeper because even years apart hadn't dulled the perfect wounds of their past. Abruptly the whipping ceased, and George was pulled back to the present. He gasped, tears spilling down his face. "James..." he croaked. Possibly he had been screaming - he couldn't recall. "Do you want to know what you look like, George?" James rasped as he embedded his iron hook into the chair next to George's face, his other hand stroking the material of the dress gently, soothing the burning skin of George's arse and thighs. "You look like a cheap seaside whore who has had one too many a pirate." George snorted a half-laugh, half-sob, still gliding on the outskirts of intense, painful pleasure. "You're still too much of a pirate for me," he whispered. "Ah, but you'll learn," James said, chuckling. He dropped a kiss against George's shoulder. "We're a good match." And even though George sometimes wondered, truth be told, he couldn't disagree. They worked. He didn't fully understand why or how, but they did. "Are you ready for me, I wonder?" James mused, brushing a finger against George's arsehole. He worked it inside and allowed George's body a moment to relax, then began to prepare him, no longer needing lubrication; they had gone so many times without, and George found it to be more pleasurable that way. And as James hitched the dress up around George's hips and positioned himself, his cock inching in slowly, George closed his eyes, groaned, and allowed himself to fall again, knowing without a doubt that he had made the right choice by staying in Neverland with James Hook. ~Fin~ |
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