perhapstomorrow | The bell has been raised from its watery grave...

"Don't even try to tell me you're going to just sit here and leave," Rook replies with a rasping laugh that lacks all amusement. "Don't lie to me."

The smile and laugh is gone as the mage stares at Ulysse, his glare hard and furious.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Ulysse answers calmly, unflinching in face of that fury. There's no denying how Rook is making him wary and tense, but he's spent all his life (that he can remember) hiding his nerves behind his cool facade.

"But I'm not about to let you go charging after them and getting yourself killed, or worse. I've dealt with slavers before. I'll take care of it, tonight," he adds, bracing himself in case Rook does explode, now.

Rook's brows arch up. Incredulous.

"You aren't going to let me?" he asks. "Since when did you get to decide for me what I'll do and what I don't?"

It comes out a lot harsher than he wanted. It comes out vicious and angry. He's not angry at Ulysse but Rook isn't exactly good at directing his emotions at their rightful targets, is he?

"And how would you feel like if I'd tell you that I'm going to take care of it, that you should walk away?" he asks with something akin amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth. It's not amusement, it's... something nasty and below Ulysse but Rook isn't discriminating who he hammers right now. As long as someone gets it.

"Let's try this again," he says in a low, low rumble that sounds a lot softer than it is. "We can take care of it tonight, without you trying to take it on by yourself."

Ulysse's face remains stony and still, even if his eyes might be a bit flat after that vicious response. "With the way you're carrying on at present? I don't trust you to keep your head when it matters, Rook. I aim for subtlety, not explosions that will set the entire crew on us in one fell swoop."

"Still, you make it sound like you have a right to choose what I'm about to do," Rook points out. He hates that. He hates it with passion. People thinking they have the right to make claims for his life. Perhaps it is one of those scars that was left on him that just doesn't show on the outside until something like this happens.

"We'll talk about it. But you're not cutting me out."

There's a tiny crack to that calm veneer in the form of slightly flaring nostrils as Ulysse takes a long, deep breath. This is probably why he's always gone after his targets alone, in the past. That and he doesn't do well knowing a friend or ally is potentially going to be in danger because of him.

Crossing his arms, he stares at Rook, not backing down, but then reminding the mage:

"There will be slaves on that ship. The majority of the crew will be at the bars and brothels, tonight."

Which means they could kill two birds with one stone. But, given how Rook had been so adamant against splitting up even in town to get back to the ship faster...

"I can run a distraction with the crew while they're out. Pick off a few of their stragglers while they're relieving themselves in the bushes, even."

It takes quite a bit to get under Ulysse's skin but Rook feels like he might have just managed that. Unfortunately he's not in the mood to enjoy it. They're like two waves moving against each other, breaking and breaking again, never quite relenting.

"What do you mean with distraction?" he asks cautiously. "I want those slaves out of there and I want to burn that ship down to smithereens but I'll settle with cutting some throats and getting at least the children out." The bahamoth of a ship is giant. Will they have time to save them all? He doubts it.

"I mean, I can get the guards off the ship," he answers just a bit tersely. "And give you an opening to free the slaves. If they wanted to, they could take the ship themselves to get somewhere safe. It's probably stocked up enough to last them the journey to another island."

He doesn't say how he'd get the guards away. Rook doesn't need to know how Ulysse lures his prey.

"And I can take care of the crew in town, afterwards."

"You're being ridiculous," Rook practically snarls between his teeth. "You can lure the guards away, I'll free the slaves and then we can take care of the rest."

He's loving the blood thirstiness of Ulysse but man is he stubborn about throwing himself at the wolves while trying to keep Rook from doing the same.

"Aye, you idiot, just wait for me and we'll do it together."

"And if they have mage hunters?" Ulysse shoots back, voice growing a bit sharper.

"I have dealt with those before," Rook hisses between his teeth. "And I still think you shouldn't dare that without a plan. Whatever you are, mage is the closest I can think of."

"They've yet to sense me!"

God, this man is infuriating.

Ulysse actually needs to close his eyes to gather himself, counting to ten and breathing right through those seconds.

"Taking you in there is too risky," he continues as he opens his eyes, considerably calmer and more controlled once more. "If they sense you coming, there won't be any chance left for dealing with them quietly."

Rook doesn't wait for him to gather himself. He steps right in there in Ulysse's personal space, bows in until his face is all in there, close to Ulysse's, staring into his eyes with narrowing glare.

"I sensed you," he practically growls. "All I needed was to see you." All he needed was to see this man from across the tavern to know something was up with him and the closer he got, the further Rook was hooked on it.

"You can use me as bait," he says, his hands reaching up to grab onto Ulysse's shirtfront and yank at him. "I promise you, they will want me. An experienced sea mage, they could charge double for me."

"You're special, no one else has ever noticed me like you did," Ulysse insists, frowning sharply as he's dragged into Rook's space. His arms uncross because he doesn't want them caught between the two of them, one of his hands grabbing Rook's wrist. "It's too dangerous to risk you. What if they decide you're too valuable to even barter for, and just try to take you by force? I can't fight all of them off in one sitting, and being so outnumbered, they might actually manage to collar and gag you at the same time."

And there's something so very... wrong about that mental image. Of Rook in chains, an enchanted mask covering his mouth and nose, subduing the fierce mage into some sort of object to barter with-

His hand tightens around Rook's wrist with barely noticed anxiety.

"I don't know where you got this sense that I am helpless," Rook says and there's something a little softer, perhaps a little more patient in this statement, even if his brows furrow with confusion and frustration.

"I've ripped apart chains they've put me in already. I wouldn't worry about--"

He stops, his hand on Ulysse's shirtfront dragging lower down to grab at the man's belt, yanking him unceremoniously close until there's barely any air between them. He tilts his head as if he's going to kiss Ulysse but doesn't. Their mouths are only a breath away from each other, though.

"There are other mages on the ship," he says quietly. "I'm the last one you need to worry about."

The air rushes out of Ulysse's lungs as he's pulled in, much like he's being dragged under the waves and drowned. The increasing anger turns to confusion and... Yes, the worry's still there. It's still there and there's something else that he can't name and it clenches tight in his chest, making it hard to inhale again, or maybe that's just from the pale blue of Rook's eye hypnotizing him, like a snake charming a mouse before it strikes.

"... You're the only one I'm worried about," he confesses, frowning sharply at his own whispered admission.

Then he lightly shakes his head, their noses bumping lightly with the movement, and then he looks between Rook's lips and eyes again, the confusion and anger now warring with a different heat. His hand tightens again around Rook's hand at their sides and it's a wonder he hasn't accidentally broken it, at this point.

"Ask me," he urges-pleads, voice so soft it's barely audible.

Maybe he is special. Rook hasn't even considered that there's a possibility of that. That maybe the fact that he sensed Ulysse doesn't mean that everyone will. That whispered confession makes something land hard in his stomach, his breath harsh and raw as it rushes out.

He lets out a sound at the mere nose-bump, it breaks out of his throat as a growl. His gaze intense and still on Ulysse's eyes, following them.

They don't have time for this, and yet he can't pull away. He won't put an end to it. He already knows it.

The pleading in Ulysse's voice is what makes him lean in even further, hushing the other man. "Shh," he starts, almost like comforting him. "Kiss me," he whispers, and this time it's not a demand or a command, it's a request, quiet and almost sweet.

The words have barely left Rook's mouth before Ulysse is closing the scant distance with a helpless little noise, empty hand shooting up to grip the back of the mage's neck to pull him in. There's clear desperation in the kiss, demanding and still with that touch of fury at the situation, but it's not rough. It's surprisingly sweet, teeth drawn over Rook's lips in aching tenderness that has no place in their strange, strange relationship.

It's terrifying and Ulysse can honestly say he's never been so full of fear before, not even when he'd been lost at sea, clinging to a broken plank of wood without even his memories to comfort him. This man right here, this infuriating, confounding and erratic mage with his catlike ways and raspy voice, with all his scars and knowing, sly eyes, has shaken Ulysse right down to his core, and he can't imagine letting Rook go, now.

Somehow the thought of breaking the kiss and stepping back, of letting go is even worse. It makes him tremble and change the angle of his face, deepening the kiss with a low gasp, fingers tangled deep in Rook's hair, pressed tight to his nape.

It's that little sound that he makes that breaks something inside Rook. It's not that Ulysse is any less irritating or frustrating but there's something more that just doesn't care about those things. He sounds like he's lost at the sea and absolutely everything in Rook feels like he needs to hold him and protect him.

His infuriating calm and his stubborn will, now matched with this creature that burrows into his arms and Rook hasn't felt this lost in his own head ever before. He's been ready to throw away everything in order to stand his ground, to make sure he's never tied down again. And this...

This changes everything.

It's a marvel how Ulysse still manages to be elegant even in desperation but that's how Rook has learned to see him. His golden skin and little tingling trinkets that chime beside Rooks ears as he reaches to bury his fingers in Rook's mess of a hair. They kiss like it's the only way to breathe, deep and slow, tongues sliding together. Rook's hands find purchase on Ulysse's narrow waist, then slide behind him, his arms wrap tight as he pulls the man close to him, holding him with splayed fingers flat against Ulysse's back, arms reaching as far as they can and his tight hold pulling Ulysse up to his toes.

Practically being crushed to Rook's front, feeling the man's arms tight around him, somehow only makes it both better and worse. Ulysse feels a faint shudder go through his body. He feels that cold dread being washed away by gentle(?) heat each stroke of their lips and tongues generate.

Ulysse's arms shift, both hands now at Rook's head. A sword and rope calloused palm cups the wind-beaten cheek, feeling the rasp of thick stubble against it, careful fingers conforming to the shape of Rook's long face. He's drowning in the mage... or is it the other way around?

Breaking the kiss, even for a moment, feels like torture, but Ulysse does it. His eyes remain closed as he swallows and breathes a bit harder than he'd think necessary. How long have they been here, tangled in each other?

"You've enchanted me," he gently accuses, voice hoarse and breathy and wounded and awed. Then, fingers press into Rook's nape again and he murmurs against those lips, "Ask me again."

Rook is against the idea of closing his eyes. Like he would face the ocean eyes wide open, he would face this as well, the deep pull that Ulysse seems to have in store for him. He's gifted with the sight of the man's dark lashes flutter against his cheeks and if Ulysse would just dare to crack his eyes open, he would see an expression that rarely graces the mage's features, open, aching, yearning even.

But he doesn't and Rook might have been thankful for it if he had been a little more self-aware. But he's swept away by the moment, by the way those rough hands feel against his weather beaten skin, how two rough ones can touch each other so softly.

His lips quirk up at the accusation, then more so with the request. (Or was that a demand? Somehow it doesn't bother him either way.) There is familiarity and intimacy in this moment that he's never experienced before and it both ruins him and charms him, building an addiction that's hardly going to wane with the ebb and flow of time.

His hands push up towards Ulysse's neck, pushing the man's arms up as he goes, forcing them to wrap around his shoulders more firmly. Rook's fingers find the nape of Ulysse's neck and entangle with his hair, hold on tight. "kiss me," he whispers without any remorse about giving into the demand. But he doesn't wait for Ulysse to close the gap between them but goes for it himself, his mouth first just brushing against Ulysse's in a breathy, light touch, then coming back for more, intelligible words murmured against those lips before claiming them with heat.

The kiss is met with more of that sweeping eagerness and desperation, barely held back from just mauling Rook's mouth. It's the wrong time and the wrong place to get so swept up like this, but Ulysse can't even entertain the idea of stopping and pushing Rook away. There's too much uncertainty and danger outside this little cabin, lurking onboard that oppressive brig anchored too close for comfort.

He could lose hours like this. He wants to lose all sense of time, caught in Rook's arms and lips and tongue like a fish in a net, writhing but unable to escape as they press tight together. The longer they carry on, more of that fear, that anxiety seems to be worn away, stripping Ulysse down to his naked core full of yearning and want and that strange, aching twist of his chest.

He actually does wonder if Rook has somehow enchanted him.

Maybe Grey was right to be so wary of mages. But Ulysse can't regret it, not when this feeling right here is better than anything he can remember experiencing, that for as much as it leaves him shaken, he can't imagine giving it up for anything.

The kiss gradually peters off and he's resting his brow to Rook's, eyes staying closed. His lips feel swollen, slick, his tongue clumsy and thick as he catches his breath. Calloused fingers gentle their grip in Rook's hair and rub gentle circles over his nape, over scarred and unscarred skin alike, silently mapping him out as Ulysse attempts to cobble together some semblance of himself in the devastating aftermath of the kiss.

Given any other time, any other place, they would have been tearing each others' clothes off by now. Rook is certain of it. (Or is he?) There's no time for that now, no room for sex to compete this. And yet, it doesn't feel incomplete, which is a new one for Rook as well.

When Ulysse finally breaks away, Rook's fingers loosen in his hair, letting him tilt his chin down. There's a warm, soft kiss pressed to his brow, then his forehead as the mage tugs his head under his chin.

The mere idea of letting this beautiful, infuriating man go trip a bunch of slavers makes him reel, makes him want to punch something. Surely, there isn't a single person who could resist the allure of those midnight eyes and the wit behind the small, ever-quick smile that flashes across Ulysse's lips often enough. Even if he isn't a mage, Rook is quite certain the slavers wouldn't mind making an exception for him.

"I don't want you to go alone," he finally murmurs. He doesn't say he needs Ulysse to come back, but it's what he means.

Ulysse's eyes open at last, lashes brushing against Rook's throat. He takes a quiet, deep inhale, eyes closing for a second as he relishes in the scent of the mage, before coming up with a response.

"I won't be," he assures Rook smoothly, comforting without realising, his hands giving a warm squeeze to the mage's nape. How does he even begin to explain that he's never alone, whether he likes it or not? "But you won't listen to me, regardless, no?"

For a moment it sounds like Ulysse actually gave in with Rook joining him on his revenge plot. But after further consideration, Rook has to admit he probably would guess otherwise.

He steps back enough to be able to cup Ulysse's jaw within his hands and tilt the man's face up. "I want to be there with you," he murmurs quietly. "Stop being stubborn. We'll do this together."

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