A Stolen Shirt — The Pirate King & Neia (Mature) (Patreon)

The stars are out and beautiful.

They stretch as far as his black eyes can see, their pale light painting the water in a thousand white dots. They seem to surf on the waves, moving up and down with the massive bulk of the ocean. Sky and Earth collided.

The breeze is faint but it’s enough to cool his heated skin. His long, black hair falls freely down his back and sways in the breeze's gentle caress. It blows on the sweat coating his body, drying it and sending little shivers down his spine.

The Pirate King stands naked on the very edge of his ship's bow, with a wooden pipe between his teeth and his only thumb twirling a silver ring. His chest fills with the ocean's air, salt and crispiness, and the ever-present tinge of danger.

His eyes point forward.

His mind, however, is pulled back.

To his cabin, where his treasure finds some rest. His lips curve in a smirk around the pipe's stem as roguish pride swells on his bare chest. Oh, you've fallen asleep the minute he was done with you. He saved the image to his memory for years to come: you stretched on his bed, naked and flushed and drenched, with hazy eyes and lopsided smiles and looking completely served.

He never knows, with the life he's chosen, when and if he'll get the pleasure of experiencing you like this again. So, the Pirate stores it to memory, every little detail, ready to serve as a company on future countless, lonesome nights.

He takes a large drag of the pipe, crisp air replaced by the heavy, balmy burn of tobacco, and lets the smoke out through his nose. It curls around his eyes and coils over the edges of his smile. There are few things as important to a man in his line of work as the value of his word. His reputation. The Pirate has always made sure that his past lovers were left satisfied – for the good of his name, if nothing else. But you? He takes another drag, and now he blows the smoke through his lips in a lazy draft.

You, he ensures to take to the moon and back. However many times you desire. He makes you—

Soft footfalls behind his back.

The Pirate spins, hands flying to where his axes should have been, but his stance immediately slackens when his eyes fall upon a welcomed visage.

You stand under the light of the stars, hand rubbing a bleary eye, hair in disarray, and wearing his frilly shirt. It's two sizes too big for you. It goes past the middle of your thighs, and hangs precariously from one of your shoulders, leaving the collarbone on display. The left sleeve is rolled back, while the other completely swallows your hand, and as you stand there, suddenly looking smaller than he has ever seen you before, something rises in his chest.

Something the Pirate refuses to name. Something almost as dangerous as the breeze blowing from the ocean.

He offers you a hand instead. "Come here, peach," he invites you, watching your eyes linger on his bare body, watching the flush it brings to your cheeks. He squares his shoulders and makes sure you can see all of him. His smirk splits to a full canine-showing grin as you take a few tentative steps forward. "We have to do something about these stars."

You pause, looking up. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice dragging and tongue heavy. Sleep has its claws on you still, but the Pirate vows to wake you fast.

"They're competing with you for what draws my eyes."

You blink, and he watches as your brows slowly pull in a frown, and the Pirate chuckles when you look at him with an air of almost disgust. "That was..." You shake your head, but even so, there is a small smile on your lips. "That was terrible."

He grabs your wrist and tugs you closer and for all your declarations, you melt against his chest. His arm circles around your back, hand clutching your hip almost possessively. "I never tried to kill a star before, but there's a first time for everything."

You lift a hand to his face and pinch his chin between your fingers. "If anyone could, it'd be you," you say before you lean forward to brush your lips over his. He kisses you gently. It's rare when you feed into his ego, but whenever you do, he revels in it. He supposes you're still mellowed from before.

When you part, you give a pointed look at his body. "I can't understand your plight, though," you say, hand taunting him on his lower stomach. Your nails play with the dark trail of hairs that lead to his crotch, and a heat starts to build on his lower stomach. Oh, careful now…“You made sure my eyes aren't drawn to anything but you."

He shrugs, keeping it casual. "What would you have me do? Someone stole my shirt."

You smile and lift that dangerous hand to rest it on his chest instead. Part of him is disappointed, while the other part can’t complain about having you so close. "It's not theft if you plan to return it."

"You can keep it," he says, eyes back on the horizon. "You wear it better than I ever could."

"It was just the first thing I could find," you admit, following his gaze.

The Pirate kisses your temple. "Well, then, let us make sure it is always the very first thing you can find," he whispers and watches your smile soften. There's a bruise growing on your throat where his teeth had sunk.

He wants to give you a matching one on the other side.

But instead, he falls silent and watches the sea for a moment. You're slackened in his arms, and your smell mixes the tobacco and the salt. The Pirate takes another long drag off his pipe and leans in, blowing the smoke near the shell of your ear.

"Now tell me, peach," he drawls, fingers squeezing your hipbone. "You're not wearing anything underneath, are you?"

He feels you shiver, and he sees then, what he wanted. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, and your hand curls on his chest, squeezing his pec between your fingers. There it is. "Only one way to find out," you drawl, tilting your chin up to hold his gaze, and he'll be damned, but there's a challenge shining in your eyes.

He's never backed from one before and he's not about to start now. "Oh, peach," he says, the hand on your hipbone slipping past the oversized shirt to meet your skin beneath. You're slightly cold, so he makes sure to drag his palm flushed up your thigh, palming the soft giving flesh until it finds that sweet spot at the apex of your legs.

It's not cold there, nor is it dry. The Pirate smirks when his fingers find no underwear. "There's my answer," he says, and he knows he sounds smug, but you don't seem to care. Your hands latch onto his biceps, nails digging in, and you struggle to keep your eyes open as he brushes his knuckles teasingly over your lower lips. "What would you have me do now, hm?"

You open your mouth, but he sinks his index finger into you, and all that comes out is a long moan instead. His other hand cups the back of your neck so that he can push your face closer to his. "Hm? Answer me," he demands, adding another finger. He starts to drive them in and out of you, rhythm slow and dragging, as his hand guides your hips to rock against his palm.

You bite your lip again, but then your eyes narrow, and your hands come to grab his hair. You pull him, smashing your lips together in a hungry kiss full of teeth and tongue, and the Pirate doesn't know what happened to his pipe, but it could have fallen into the waves for all he cares. You kiss him as he adds another finger, and then you throw your head back and moan your pleasure to the night when the Pirate's thumb finds your pearl of nerves. A real treasure. "Take me" you gasp, trembling in his arms. "I want you to take me."

He stops moving his hand, dark eyes turning completely black. And then, the Pirate spins you roughly and pins you against the railing of his ship. "Gladly," he gruffs, nose in your hair, chest pressing your back, hands lifting his shirt off your thighs and angling your hips. “Spirits, gladly,” he mumbles as, with a demanding thrust, the Pirates buries himself to the hilt.

Your heat is mind-blowing. As is your shout, the sound like the wind blowing on his ears, and the way your walls suck him in. Outside of his pipe, and the occasional scotch, he's never been a man of many vices, but the Pirate is sure he's been hooked on another one. He'll never get tired of this. Spirits aid him, but he's addicted now.

"Ah!" you let out, head falling on his shoulder. His arms box you in as he slides completely out before rocking forward. The stars are out, and they are beautiful, but they don't compete for the Pirate's eyes any longer. He bites your neck, giving you a matching bruise, feels you shake, and holds you even tighter.

The ship sways, and so do you both. There's no moon shining in the sky, but he'll try to take you there.

However many times you desire.

- - -

You wake up with a startle.

Shooting up in your bedroll, your tear your eyes open as your heart hammers like war drums against your ribs. You heard something. Slowly, you throw the thin blanket back and wait for your eyes to adjust to the gloom.

The night is deep, and outside of the faint, pale light of a distant moon, nothing else illuminates the earth. The campfire is out, its flames long extinguished, and the surrounding woods are like looming shadows stretching to the equally dark sky. You shiver without meaning to.

It's not cold, but the bedroll beside yours is empty, and as you turn your head left and right, you don't see her anywhere. "... Neia?" you whisper, getting up to your knees. You wait, but nothing. Silence. "Lord's nails."

Did she leave you in the middle of her shift? It was her time to keep watch and yet you find yourself here: completely alone and vulnerable. You'd be angry if you weren't so alert. Your ears strain, trying to hear whatever woke you again, but outside of a distant cricket, you hear nothing.

"Damned it," you gruff and blindly reach for your shirt. Slipping it on, you barely take notice of how oddly large it fits as you rise to your feet. You grab your spear and take a cautious step forward. Your bare feet scrunch soft, mildly wet earth. It rained the day before, making the grass greener and worms and critters come out of their hiding places. The clearing you found in the forest was beautiful in the daylight — full of flowers and logs, and the perfect spot to lay your bedrolls.

But now, it all seems threatening. You swallow in dry and tighten your grip on the spear. Your eyes pierce through the shadows between the trees. You heard something. You know it. Your mark flares, warning you, burning your palm, and you don't discard it. "Who's there?" you ask aloud, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. You're being watched.

Where the hell is Neia? Is she alright?

"Who the fuck is—"

A hand grabs your shoulder.

Your heart leaps, but your body acts of its own accord. Spinning quickly, you strike with your spear, teeth curling in a snarl, but it goes wide when the hand pulls your arm roughly. "Ugh!" you growl as another hand circles your neck. Your attacker pulls you into them, trying to cage you in, but you'll be damned if you let them.

Fighting their hold, you slam your elbow into their side. They grunt, and you take advantage to kick their shin. Their grip around your neck slackens, so you duck out—

The hand squeezes your wrist, twisting it until you’re forced to let go of your spear. Fear strikes you when it falls near your feet, and at the same time, the other hand crosses over your chest, and you find yourself completely immobile. The attacker, whoever it is, is taller and physically stronger, and as you trash in their hold, a cold certainty dawns on you.

You're beaten. "Let go!" you snarl, but while you try to keep your voice steady, you hear the hint of desperation. Your eyes look wildly about, searching for Neia. Should you yell? They may just slice your throat, but if Neia can hear you, she'll come to your—

"Settle down, sweetling." A voice speaks into your ear. It sounds like sand grazing on rocks, rough but smooth, and you'd know it anywhere. You'd know that bloody nickname anywhere too. "If I wanted to snap your neck, I'd done it already."

Your mouth hangs open. "Neia?"

A chin presses against your face, the pointy end digging into your cheek. "Waiting for someone else?" Neia growls in that same baritone, torturous tone. You can't see her, but you feel her scar grazing your skin. "Did I interrupt a meeting, sweetling?"

Surprise and relief wear off and now all you're left with is anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" you demand, pulling angrily on your arm. But to your increasing outrage, Neia doesn't let go. If anything, the specter holds you tighter, bringing you flush against her. "Neia, let go."

"... No."

You see red. "Neia, I swear by your miserable God, I'll—"

"I got a few questions for you," she interrupts, moving her chin until you feel her sharp lips graze the shell of your ear. And you don't want to, but a shiver climbs down your spine at the contact. "I won't let you go until you answer them."

"I'm the one who should be asking questions," you bite back, pointedly ignoring the annoying twist in your stomach. Neia looms over you, her chest on your back, her arms holding you still, and you hate the heat that builds on your core. Get it together. "Why did you leave your post? And why on earth…" You fight against her again, more out of pride than anything else, because you know she won't budge.

And she doesn't. "Are you holding me?"

Neia chuckles. The sound buries into your spine. "I heard a noise," she says. "So, I went to investigate. Turns out it was an owl, holding in its claws its tiny prey. I came back and..."

Neia pauses, and now you feel the points of her canines on your ear. You bite the inside of your cheek. "I saw a thief in our campsite."

You hadn't realized you had closed your eyes, but you snap them open at that. "What?"

Neia's hand shifts. It was holding your side, but now it moves down your ribs and settles in the curve of your waist. She scrunches up your shirt as she does it, and you feel the chill of the night come to bite at your thighs as it lifts. "You're wearing my sleeping shirt, sweetling," Neia informs you, nose digging into your temple and teeth...

By the Gods. Her teeth bite softly on your earlobe. "I decided to do like the owl and catch my prey, then."

She lets go of your wrist to join her other hand on the opposite side of your waist. And while the left gathers more fabric, lifting it slowly off you, her right hand slips beneath to sprawl over your side. Her touch is warm, harsh, and always electric. "You got something to say for yourself?"

You're breathing hard. "I... I didn't mean to take it. I thought it was mine."

Neia hums. "That's a pathetic lie."

You're actually offended. "It's true," you say, turning your chin to try and catch her gaze. She's still digging her nose into your hair, but when Neia feels you move, she lifts her head and looks down at you.

Her white hair soaks in the moonlight, her yellow eyes shine like two flames, and whatever words are on your tongue immediately die. She has such a wild, brutal beauty. It catches you off-guard, sometimes.

"I don't believe you," Neia says, but you're only half listening because her palm cups your breast. You swallow a whine, feeling her gently start to knead it. Neia holds it as if she's trying to guess its weight, her thumb sweeping over your nipple.

It makes your legs weak, but you have no fear of falling because she has you firmly in her grip. "I want it back."

Her other hand meets your left breast, and you feel yourself being lifted to the sky. "Uh?" you ask.

Neia rumbles in her version of a chuckle. "I said, I want my shirt back," she repeats, and then Neia opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into your neck. You do whine then, incapable of holding it back. She quickly sweeps her tongue over the spot to ease the sting and then starts to leave open-mouthed kisses down your throat.

Neia gets to your collarbone and bites down again, the pain mixing with the pleasure shooting from your breasts. The sensations go cracking own your spine in an overwhelming wave. "I – you can have it," you mumble, half of you not making sense of the words.

Neia pauses, and you feel her lips smile against your skin. "Is that so? You allow me to have it, do you?"

You know she's taunting you, but you don't care. Her hands feel divine, and you suddenly want to kiss her. "Yes."

Neia straightens up to her full height and spins you to face her. You put your hands on her chest for leverage, completely covered by the breastplate, and look up at her. She's watching you, not unlike a hawk. Or an owl. Neia holds your shirt — her shirt — in both hands and, with a sharp tug, she tears it off you.

You're left standing in your undergarments. And you can't help but shiver, but once again, it's not because of any chill. It's because of Neia, and the way her eyes drink you in. She looks you up and down, her face unreadable, her scar standing stark... and then, Neia lifts her chin, and holds your gaze once more.

"Fuckin' pretty," she mutters before she reaches for you.

Her hands lock beneath your knees, hosting you up, and you jump willingly and cross your ankles behind her back. Neia's long hair is perfect for you to plunge your hands into as you rise and finally, finally, kiss her. Her tongue drives past your lips, conquering your mouth. Neia carries you in her arms, walking blindly to your joined bedrolls as she does her best to empty all the air from your lungs.

Your mind swirls, and every inch of your skin is set afire, and you can do no more than hold on. You hold onto her hair and her shoulders and dig your heels into her ass. You hold on for dear life as she sets you down, and covers your body with hers, and then you hold onto her weight as lights explode behind your eyelids.

You never do find the shirt in the morning. But Neia doesn't seem to mind it.