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

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."

It's hard not to soften a bit at that, silencing Ulysse's protests for the moment as he stares at Rook's face.

"... You won't like what you see," he comments softly. "Will you be able to contain yourself if you something that might anger you?"

The kisses they shared have taken the edge off of Rook's anger, and he's much calmer now, strangely more clear headed too. He shakes his head a little, his forehead pressed against Ulysse's and rubbing against his gently.

"Aye, I've seen so much shit I don't like and it hasn't driven me to act like an idiot before," he says quietly while his thumbs brush over Ulysse's cheeks.

Those light touches will be the death of him, along with Rook's voice.

The thumbs stroking over his cheeks make his lashes flutter and Ulysse finds himself sighing softly.

"Very well."

He nods slightly, nose lightly pressed to one side of Rook's, lips almost touching. His hands slip around to cup Rook's cheeks, thumbs rasping over the man's stubble, and he sighs again, tilting his head to brush a soft kiss to one side of Rook's lips. A dangerous move, admittedly, given how it's been so easy to get drawn into each other through their kisses.

That soft kiss is not enough for Rook, definitely. Now that they've managed to clear away the conflict between them he wants to do nothing more than lift Ulysse off his feet and carry him to the table and fuck him until he makes those soft sounds of pleasure again.

But they have things to do.

So, instead he contents himself with one last head-spinning kiss, claiming the man's lips with a low groan, his hands sliding down to grab Ulysse by his waist to pull him flush against his own chest. Between deep, breathless kisses he mutters: "We need to go. Figure out how many there are and how to, you know--" That's clearly enough of information and more importantly, he needs to kiss that soft, flush mouth again. To see if he can make it any more redder by sucking on Ulysse's lips.

Ulysse doesn't even attempt to answer, too busy being kissed and sighing quietly into them at the sensation. The slender body leans in, pressing against Rook eagerly, his hands remaining at the mage's cheeks, shivering each time his lips are sucked at.

Rook's not wrong. There's plenty to plan out for the night, to scout out the slavers, find where in town they're most likely to spend the night. Ulysse needs to see if his kohl and rouge are still good to use to doll himself up, air out those snug, soft breeches that accentuate his round ass...

But in spite of all that needs doing, Ulysse finds himself more focused on chasing after Rook's lips to prolong the kisses for as long as possible.

Apparently neither of them is very good at breaking away from the kisses that are more than a little heady and addicting. Rook lets himself go for a while, playing a game of which part of Ulysse's mouth makes him shiver the most when it's nipped and sucked at.

Finally he wrenches his mouth away and grins wolfishly against Ulysse's ear. "We'll do this quickly," he says, it's more of a question. They'll make haste about it and then have time to ruin each other properly at before the sun comes up.

"I want to be inside you tonight," he rasps out in a whisper.

A faint quiver goes through Ulysse's frame and his eyes briefly close at that comment, breath catching sharply at the thought. That quick little smile flashes across his lips and he shakes his head, giving Rook an amused (if heated) look.

"Then you'd better be especially careful so things go smoothly, no?"

Laughing, rook leans in to press his mouth to the sensitive spot under Ulysse's ear while his hands sneak down to the man's arse, pulling him up while he squeezes it.

"Same goes for you, princess."

There's delight and thrill in the fact that Ulysse is just as eager as he is to get that moment later...

With a little huff of amusement, Ulysse shakes his head, smiling despite how he feels himself shiver from that deliberate kiss behind his ear.

"I suppose we'll need to get a room at the inn. Or stay on the beach."

Otherwise the crew might complain at the noise, unless they go into the cargo-hold for their fucking.

"An actual bed wouldn't sound that bad," Rook comments lightly, already imagining all the things they can do in that bed.

He pulls back then, reaching up to finger one of the golden baubles in Ulysse's hair as he looks at the man with half lidded eyes, heat simmering in his one good eye.

"Shall we get to it then?"

"I suppose we should..."

And it's a fair amount of ground to cover. They have to track down their crew to warn them and make sure Midnight and Marco are both out of harm's way, and then to watch the slavers as they conduct their business in the little town.

Once the sun begins to set, they see the slavers head towards the local taverns, leaving only a couple of men to guard the brig at the dockside. The fishers and sailors have cleared off for the evening themselves, not wanting to linger around the unsavory strangers longer than they have to.

Ulysse excuses himself to their ship for short while, going through his things and taking the time by candle light to line his eyes with kohl and adding a hint of rouge to his lips, deliberately biting and sucking on them to make them swell. His clothes are traded for finer, sleeker pieces that leave little to the imagination, a gold-beaded belt and dark red sash around his waist accentuating how slim his hips are, draping over the contours of his hips and ass. Delicate jewelry adorns his throat and wrists, his hair undone artfully to frame his face.

Hopefully it's dark enough that Rook won't notice how much like a painted whore Ulysse has made himself to be when he returns to the deck, because he's honestly not sure the man would find it attractive or plain ridiculous. It's worked in the past to make slavers lower their guard, though.

Rook spends the time Ulysse paints himself up by sitting at the deck of their ship and watching the guards come and go on the brig. His hair that has a few wooden beads here and there is braided from the sides to keep it from dropping to his face. It's pinned up with a bone of a fish, a loose knot at the back of his head. He still wears the bracers Ulysse gave him and it's likely he's never going to take them off unless the other man demands the gift be returned. They fit well over the rolled sleeves of his blue shirt. Over his sash he has tied a leather belt, wide enough to cover most of his midriff, fitted to his form and rocking a few hardy metal rings that he's going to use to hook a few tools in. He's going to enter the brig through water and climb. That way he can free the slaves before the guards on the docks will notice him.

When he meets Ulysse on the docks, he pauses. There's no one but them and Noel standing guard at the end of the dock, and the moon and the lights of the shore are quite enough to give Rook a good look at that painted face and those clothes that he's never seen on Ulysse before.

At first one of the corners of his mouth twists up, then the flash of a smile is gone when he remembers where Ulysse is going like that.

His hand reaches up, grabbing Ulysse's belt and drags the man close. "I can see what you were thinking," he says, voice low and dangerous. "I do not like it."

Ulysse gives him a beady little stare, letting himself be pulled in. The expression is only emphasized with the kohl lining his eyes, making them seem larger and more angular, demanding whoever looks at Ulysse's face be drawn into them whether they like it or not. Then he's just responding quietly, "I did warn you. You said you could and would control yourself."

Rook's jaw tightens as he stares at Ulysse. He had promised this. And while he generally isn't against breaking his promises, somehow it seems like a good idea to keep every last one to Ulysse. In Rook's mind he is like the ocean, not exactly forgiving when he's not pleased.

He fingers the thin fabric of Ulysse's shirt and then lets him go with a growl that is both angry and frustrated.

"There's only one guard at the dock," he says sharply while clipping on his tools onto his belt. "Keep him occupied." Then he slips off the blanks and right into the water, as quietly as a ghost and disappears completely into the darkness as he dives.

Watching the ripples fade from the waters for a moment, Ulysse calmly smooths his shirt down from where Rook had grabbed him and then heads for his target.

It doesn't take long to flirt his way into the pirate's good graces. While not all of them are interested in men, months of being at sea without a single pretty face in sight can make some desperate enough to be swayed by just the right makeup, the right hair, the right clothes. Once Ulysse has the man's interest, the pirate's convinced to take the dolled up man back to the schooner where a couple more of the pirates are on duty.

Along the way, the pirate calls out to his mates, getting the attention of the two that had been onboard the brig to get them to climb down the ropes connecting the schooner to its side.

Rook calls upon a little bit of magic as he swims, making his breath last until the brig. He doesn't want to go all the way and change his ability to breathe under water. It would require some adjustments to be made once he's breathing air again. Once he's at the ship, he grabs a hooked tool from his belt and starts climbing. He takes some time to do a little bit of research on the way, pressing his ear to the hull of the ship and leading an echo from the water into it. It gives him an idea what's inside and how it's situated. Usually these ships aren't completely magic resistant, they enchant the chains and the guards, but that requires constant magical upkeep and they get lazy when there's no push back.

When he gets to the deck, it's suspiciously empty. He directs an annoyed look down at the docks and doesn't see Ulysse anywhere. The dickweed has taken matters into his own hands. This more than annoys Rook because anything could happen before he gets there and he really doesn't like where that anything could lead. It's not so much the fact that he doesn't like Ulysse touched by others - which he doesn't - but it's also the fact that he doesn't want the man hurt. And hurt he will even if he went into that bullshit willingly.

He moves fast then, diving under the deck and going straight for the slaves. He doesn't even think about anything else but locates them at the below in the cargo hold and finds the man who stands up first. This will be the person who leads their own rebellion. He talks with the man for a few moments, making sure he's not going to abandon the rest when Rook leaves him at it, all the while breaking the bond on his strains. It's a slow work because he can't use magic, he'll have to do it by hand. But he brought tools for it. They can't quite pride open the chains around their wrists and ankles, but they manage to yank up the chain that links them to each other. They're still unable to cast magic and that's a problem. So, when they have the whole group moving to save themselves, prying up the chains, Rook focuses on the man he named as a leader the moment he stood up. He has to muddle through some magic that will break the bond on the man's shackles. It takes time and concentration that he doesn't have.

Damnit Ulysse.

But they will need someone who can steer them out of the storms once they leave the harbour. And later to learn how to break the bonds of the rest of their shackles. Rook has to put his mind to it twice before he manages to crack the spell open. He doubts the mage hunter who cast the spell will notice one of their work going asunder but he warns the slaved mages to keep this at minimum for the rest of the night because he doesn't want to warn these assholes ahead of time what's coming. He tells the man to keep their work silent for now, go and get the ship ready, he says. But don't raise the sails yet. An hour, he says, that should be enough. By then he and Ulysse have taken care of the guards and dismantled the schooner.

Once that's done, then he's running, feeding juuust a little bit of magic through the bracers on his wrists to locate Ulysse. Down along the robes, silently on the deck of the schooner, finding a nasty looking hooked knife on both hands and onward...

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