![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Shields Broken
Fandom: Disney (Treasure Planet)
Pairing: Silver/Jim
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2587
Notes: Exhibitionism. Masturbation. Underage. Voyeurism. For a prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
disney_kink, and 100_men, prompt "want".
Summary: The bulk of Silver, the heat and the overwheming presence, Jim can't get it out of his mind.
Fuck, he hates himself for this. Crouched down on his knees behind crates and barrels in the ship’s hold, arm braced against the planks and forehead pressed to the back of his hand. Eyes tightly closed, other hand fumbling between his legs, and Jim knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows.
It’s rare for anybody to come down here at this time of night, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. He could be caught, so so easily, and wouldn’t the crew just love to have another reason to mock and sneer and make him feel like an unwelcome child?
And more than that, he shouldn’t be allowing himself this. After everything that happened such a short time before, after Mr Arrow was lost to them, after he screwed up and cost a man his life, he shouldn’t be allowing himself anything that makes him happy.
Not that this is making him happy, his cock hard in his hand more out of frustration and built-up hormones than any real pleasure in the moment. If anything, this is making him feel more hollow, more empty, and Jim chokes back a noise that feels too much like a dry sob.
He’s been trying so hard not to just break, and if this is the thing that sends him falling over the edge into despair he’s going to hate himself more than he thought possible.
He tries to pull his mind away from the present. Tries to focus on being back on Montressor, on memories of the girls he knew there. First kisses, over-the-clothes groping, the smell of perfume barely masking the scent of grime that always filled the planet’s air. Stroking himself slowly, fist loose and damp with spit, and he’s turned-on enough that he can’t stop now, can’t wind down, but he’s nowhere near getting off.
And no matter how much he tries to focus on happier times, no matter what fantasy he tries to conjure, the Legacy keeps creeping back into his mind. He can’t quite escape the creek of wooden boards, the rustle of the solar sails, and the phantom smell of the simmering stove in the galley.
Silver. He can’t escape Silver.
The soothing sound of the man’s off-kilter humming, the hiss of gears turning, the scent of warm skin and spices, it’s too easy to get lost in. Too easy to imagine the warmth of Silver’s body, the way he touches Jim so casually, brushing past him a little too close or a steady hand settling on his shoulder.
Jim bites his lip, tries to push the thoughts away, but already the hand beneath his breeches is moving a little faster, squeezing a little tighter.
Silver is so huge compared to Jim, compared to most men he’s met. Tall and wide and with so much presence he seems to take up the whole room.
In the fear and confusion of the collapsing star drawing their ship to its potential doom, Jim had clung to the mast, and then Silver’s bulk had been all around him, shielding him, surrounding him. The memory of it is so sharp, so fresh, and Jim tries to push it away. It’s twisted, wrong to focus on that when he knows what came after, when he knows at that very moment Mr Arrow could have been falling and it’s all Jim’s fault the man is gone.
He tries so hard to banish the thought, but he can still feel it, Silver’s weight pressing down on him, and there’s a whimper caught in Jim’s throat. He’s stroking himself steadily now, cock leaking enough to make it easier, to make it better. Getting closer, balls tightening and a knot of feeling low in his stomach, and he swears he can almost hear the sound of Silver’s breath against his ear, can almost hear the man’s voice.
“Jim, lad?”
Jim’s so caught up in the slide of his fingers around his cock that it takes a moment to register that the voice is real.
He panics, flailing backwards, landing in a heap across the wooden floor. Heels scuffing as he awkwardly hauls himself up, legs wobbly beneath him, half-tripping so his shoulders hit the wall behind him. Making enough clatter to draw Silver straight to him, and he’s desperately trying to yank his clothes back into order when the large shadow falls over him.
“Jimbo, what’re you -” Silver goes very still, cyborg eye whirring as it darts across Jim’s body.
Jim tries awkwardly to cover himself, but he knows it’s too late, there’s no hiding what he’s been doing. One hand clutching the waistband of his undone breeches, the other holding his shirt bunched down in an attempt to hide his aching erection.
“Sorry, lad, didn’t realise you were needing privacy.”
Silver’s voice is quiet. Not judgemental, not angry or disgusted, and he turns away without another glance. As if that’s simply the end of it, no need to discuss or even acknowledge the moment further, just another way he’s happy to make things easier for Jim where he can.
Taking care of Jim, always taking care of him, in a way no man ever really has.
“Wait!” Jim doesn’t know where the word comes from, bubbling up from his chest before he can stop it. Silver pauses, not looking back but with his head inclined, and Jim has no idea what he’s doing but he doesn’t want Silver to go.
He doesn’t want to be alone again.
“Please, just -” His voice sounds hoarse and helpless, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking. He’s still holding his shirt stretched down to cover his lap, the collar gaping over his chest, and he knows he’s flushed and sweating and his hair is a dishevelled mess. He has nothing to offer Silver, doesn’t know why the man even tolerates his presence half the time, and Jim feels lost and young and, in that moment, like he has nothing to lose. “You don’t have to -”
The words die on his lips, hesitant and unsure, and Jim wants to curl into a ball and hates that even through this humiliation he’s still hard.
Silver doesn’t move for a long moment, and when he finally does it’s achingly slow. Turning to Jim, not looking him in the eye until his huge body is looming over him, and the hold is dark enough that Jim can’t make out the expression on Silver’s face.
“Just so we’re clear, lad,” he murmurs, and Jim feels himself shiver at something in his tone. Silver takes a step forward, his eye flashing red in the dim light, and Jim feels himself unconsciously press back against the wall. “You’re asking me to stay?”
Jim can’t find the words, can only nod silently, feeling his cock twitch beneath his shirt from the prickle of warning that slides along his spine.
Silver exhales slowly. “Don’t worry, Jim,” he says, and he’s so close now, and Jim feels small and trapped and like all the blood in his body is rushing between his legs. “I’ll keep watch, won’t let you be disturbed.”
Jim swallows thickly, thinking maybe Silver’s misunderstood what Jim’s asking. Not that Jim himself really understands what he’s asking, beyond knowing that Silver’s closeness is making his head spin, his cock leak. But Silver’s good eye is looking at him with a hunger that Jim’s never seen before, and he realises Silver knows exactly what Jim wants from him.
He nods again, because it’s the only thing he trusts himself to do, and Silver’s watching him, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking, when Jim slips his hand under his stretched-out shirt and begins to stroke.
It’s instantly so much better than before, so much sharper, so much more real. Nerves sparking and skittering with pleasure, and Jim can’t keep his gaze up, but he knows Silver’s still watching him. Hand sliding, wetter now, moisture beading at the tip of his cock and gathering on Jim’s fingers.
So much better, yet not enough, because Jim’s hands feel so small for this. Nothing like Silver’s hand, big and thick and meaty, and Jim feels a whine build in his throat that he refuses to give voice to. He lets go of the waistband of his breeches, wraps his other hand around himself, and two hands makes his eyes squeeze shut, head thudding back against the wall.
“Fffuck.” Hissed out between his teeth, and he can feel the fabric of his breeches slipping down, gathering at his knees, but he’s beyond caring. It’s like letting go of all the stress that’s been buried inside him for so damn long, letting himself be nothing but lust and want. Because Silver’s watching out for him, watching him come undone, and he’ll be there for Jim when it’s over.
He hears the whir of Silver’s leg moving, and opens his eyes just in time to see that mechanical hand reaching for him, and Jim whimpers, cock pulsing under his hands.
“Can’t see you like that, lad,” Silver husks, and his metal fingers wrap around the hem of Jim’s shirt, lift it from where it’s covering the movement of his hands. Raising it to Jim’s chin, and his eyes feel like they’re staring right down into Jim’s soul. “Open,” Silver commands simply, and Jim’s lips part as if Silver has total control of his body. Silver pushes the fabric’s edge between Jim’s teeth, and he bites down instinctively, holding the fabric up, holding himself on display.
Shit, he can taste himself, the faintest hint of salt and musk where he leaked against the cloth, and Jim groans and closes his eyes again, hands speeding up.
Silver’s cyborg hand doesn’t retreat, instead pressing against the wall above Jim’s shoulder. His other hand rises as well, palm settling against the wood on the other side of Jim’s head, and he’s this huge, hulking presence bearing down on Jim. Overwhelming him, same way he had when he’d held Jim pinned to the mast before, and Jim can hear himself making these messed up noises, weak little mewls and growls, and he can’t stop.
He’s fucking his own hands in earnest now, feet braced on the floor and shoulders braced against the wall, thrusting up into the tight channel of his fingers. Moving desperately enough that he’s bumping his fists and the head of his cock against Silver’s belly, but instead of moving away, Silver just presses closer.
Heat and pressure, all that immovable weight, and Jim groans loudly behind the bunched fabric in his mouth, too loudly, but he doesn’t care, can’t remember why he should. Silver’s all around him, pressing him into the wall, and Jim can’t rock his hips properly like this, but that just pushes his need higher. Trapped and having to work harder for each slide of his hand, sweat at his temples, Silver’s scent all around him.
Close, so close now, and when he opens his eyes, looks up into Silver’s face, the expression he sees there is too much. Silver’s looking down like he wants to wreck Jim, wants to devour him, a promise and a threat all at once, and Jim’s keening, fists working over himself, pumping and squeezing as he comes between them, release painting his chest and Silver’s shirt, cock pulsing in his hands.
He’s trembling, teeth still clenched tight around the fabric of his shirt, and Silver’s still staring down at him, mouth a grim line. Breathing hard through his nose, looking at Jim like he wants to tear him apart, maul him, touch him, fuck him, and Jim shivers for the aftershocks of pleasure, for the images Silver’s expression conjures in his mind.
There’s the scrape of metal against wood as Silver’s cyborg fingers claw a slow path down the wall beside Jim’s head, and Jim’s bracing himself, not knowing what will come next, not knowing how to cope with how much he wants it, how much he wants everything Silver can give to him.
But then Silver’s stepping back with a sigh. “Reckon you were needing that, eh, lad?” he asks, and his voice is softer, closer to the jovial tone Jim recognises from their time in the galley.
It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water, and Jim flinches, the reality of what just happened crashing down on him.
He just.
He just jerked off.
In front of Silver.
Humiliation stings at his cheeks and eyes and he ducks down, hurriedly yanking his breeches up his legs to cover himself.
God, there are wet patches on Silver’s shirt, and Jim feels like a useless, foolish idiot. He can’t understand how he could be stupid enough to think this was a good idea, to think that Silver might want him back even a fraction as much as Jim wants him, and his relationship with Silver is apparently going to be just another thing he’s messed up in the long string of disasters that is his life.
And then Silver’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, metal unyielding as it grips him, and he forces himself to look up and meet Silver’s gaze, no matter how much he wants to hide from it.
Silver’s staring at him levelly. “Don’t be misunderstanding me, Jimbo,” he rumbles, voice quiet and sincere. “I was needing that just as much as you were.”
Jim goes still, eyes searching for the trace of a lie or pity, but there’s none to be found. His breath leaves him in a sigh that sounds like embarrassed laughter, because Silver must have been able to see the way Jim automatically second-guessed himself, the way his first instinct is always to assume his attention is unwanted.
“It’s been a long night,” Silver nods, as if he gets what Jim’s thinking instinctively, and he claps the cyborg hand down on Jim’s shoulder twice before pulling away with one final squeeze. “You should be getting to bed or you’ll be useless in the morning.”
And Jim doesn’t want to go to bed, he wants to talk about this, wants Silver’s hand to stay on him, but he’s not going to argue anymore. Silver’s right, it has been a long day, too long, and Jim can feel how irrational and erratic his own emotions are. He needs sleep, and he can figure this out, whatever this new thing is that’s passed between them, in the morning.
He’s on the steps back to the deck when he pauses, because there’s one question that’s going to nag at him if it goes unasked. He turns his head, and Silver’s watching him in silence. “Are you sure you don’t want -?” He waves his hand vaguely in the air between them, not sure how to voice what he’s offering but knowing Silver will understand.
Silver smiles to himself, shaking his head slowly, and then the smile grows darker, dirtier, and Jim hears himself swallow thickly. “Don’t worry, lad. We’ll just say that you … owe me a favour.”
Jim feels a twinge of pleasure between his legs, far too soon to be comfortable, and he nods tightly and hurries up the stairs. He already knows he won’t sleep, not really. Instead he’ll be lying in his bunk for hours, the feeling of Silver’s weight pressing down on him like a ghost against his skin. His mind swimming with all the ways he could repay Silver, all the ways he could touch, cock once again hard within his breeches and his lip caught between his teeth.
Fandom: Disney (Treasure Planet)
Pairing: Silver/Jim
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2587
Notes: Exhibitionism. Masturbation. Underage. Voyeurism. For a prompt at
disney_kink, and 100_men, prompt "want".Summary: The bulk of Silver, the heat and the overwheming presence, Jim can't get it out of his mind.
Fuck, he hates himself for this. Crouched down on his knees behind crates and barrels in the ship’s hold, arm braced against the planks and forehead pressed to the back of his hand. Eyes tightly closed, other hand fumbling between his legs, and Jim knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows.
It’s rare for anybody to come down here at this time of night, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. He could be caught, so so easily, and wouldn’t the crew just love to have another reason to mock and sneer and make him feel like an unwelcome child?
And more than that, he shouldn’t be allowing himself this. After everything that happened such a short time before, after Mr Arrow was lost to them, after he screwed up and cost a man his life, he shouldn’t be allowing himself anything that makes him happy.
Not that this is making him happy, his cock hard in his hand more out of frustration and built-up hormones than any real pleasure in the moment. If anything, this is making him feel more hollow, more empty, and Jim chokes back a noise that feels too much like a dry sob.
He’s been trying so hard not to just break, and if this is the thing that sends him falling over the edge into despair he’s going to hate himself more than he thought possible.
He tries to pull his mind away from the present. Tries to focus on being back on Montressor, on memories of the girls he knew there. First kisses, over-the-clothes groping, the smell of perfume barely masking the scent of grime that always filled the planet’s air. Stroking himself slowly, fist loose and damp with spit, and he’s turned-on enough that he can’t stop now, can’t wind down, but he’s nowhere near getting off.
And no matter how much he tries to focus on happier times, no matter what fantasy he tries to conjure, the Legacy keeps creeping back into his mind. He can’t quite escape the creek of wooden boards, the rustle of the solar sails, and the phantom smell of the simmering stove in the galley.
Silver. He can’t escape Silver.
The soothing sound of the man’s off-kilter humming, the hiss of gears turning, the scent of warm skin and spices, it’s too easy to get lost in. Too easy to imagine the warmth of Silver’s body, the way he touches Jim so casually, brushing past him a little too close or a steady hand settling on his shoulder.
Jim bites his lip, tries to push the thoughts away, but already the hand beneath his breeches is moving a little faster, squeezing a little tighter.
Silver is so huge compared to Jim, compared to most men he’s met. Tall and wide and with so much presence he seems to take up the whole room.
In the fear and confusion of the collapsing star drawing their ship to its potential doom, Jim had clung to the mast, and then Silver’s bulk had been all around him, shielding him, surrounding him. The memory of it is so sharp, so fresh, and Jim tries to push it away. It’s twisted, wrong to focus on that when he knows what came after, when he knows at that very moment Mr Arrow could have been falling and it’s all Jim’s fault the man is gone.
He tries so hard to banish the thought, but he can still feel it, Silver’s weight pressing down on him, and there’s a whimper caught in Jim’s throat. He’s stroking himself steadily now, cock leaking enough to make it easier, to make it better. Getting closer, balls tightening and a knot of feeling low in his stomach, and he swears he can almost hear the sound of Silver’s breath against his ear, can almost hear the man’s voice.
“Jim, lad?”
Jim’s so caught up in the slide of his fingers around his cock that it takes a moment to register that the voice is real.
He panics, flailing backwards, landing in a heap across the wooden floor. Heels scuffing as he awkwardly hauls himself up, legs wobbly beneath him, half-tripping so his shoulders hit the wall behind him. Making enough clatter to draw Silver straight to him, and he’s desperately trying to yank his clothes back into order when the large shadow falls over him.
“Jimbo, what’re you -” Silver goes very still, cyborg eye whirring as it darts across Jim’s body.
Jim tries awkwardly to cover himself, but he knows it’s too late, there’s no hiding what he’s been doing. One hand clutching the waistband of his undone breeches, the other holding his shirt bunched down in an attempt to hide his aching erection.
“Sorry, lad, didn’t realise you were needing privacy.”
Silver’s voice is quiet. Not judgemental, not angry or disgusted, and he turns away without another glance. As if that’s simply the end of it, no need to discuss or even acknowledge the moment further, just another way he’s happy to make things easier for Jim where he can.
Taking care of Jim, always taking care of him, in a way no man ever really has.
“Wait!” Jim doesn’t know where the word comes from, bubbling up from his chest before he can stop it. Silver pauses, not looking back but with his head inclined, and Jim has no idea what he’s doing but he doesn’t want Silver to go.
He doesn’t want to be alone again.
“Please, just -” His voice sounds hoarse and helpless, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking. He’s still holding his shirt stretched down to cover his lap, the collar gaping over his chest, and he knows he’s flushed and sweating and his hair is a dishevelled mess. He has nothing to offer Silver, doesn’t know why the man even tolerates his presence half the time, and Jim feels lost and young and, in that moment, like he has nothing to lose. “You don’t have to -”
The words die on his lips, hesitant and unsure, and Jim wants to curl into a ball and hates that even through this humiliation he’s still hard.
Silver doesn’t move for a long moment, and when he finally does it’s achingly slow. Turning to Jim, not looking him in the eye until his huge body is looming over him, and the hold is dark enough that Jim can’t make out the expression on Silver’s face.
“Just so we’re clear, lad,” he murmurs, and Jim feels himself shiver at something in his tone. Silver takes a step forward, his eye flashing red in the dim light, and Jim feels himself unconsciously press back against the wall. “You’re asking me to stay?”
Jim can’t find the words, can only nod silently, feeling his cock twitch beneath his shirt from the prickle of warning that slides along his spine.
Silver exhales slowly. “Don’t worry, Jim,” he says, and he’s so close now, and Jim feels small and trapped and like all the blood in his body is rushing between his legs. “I’ll keep watch, won’t let you be disturbed.”
Jim swallows thickly, thinking maybe Silver’s misunderstood what Jim’s asking. Not that Jim himself really understands what he’s asking, beyond knowing that Silver’s closeness is making his head spin, his cock leak. But Silver’s good eye is looking at him with a hunger that Jim’s never seen before, and he realises Silver knows exactly what Jim wants from him.
He nods again, because it’s the only thing he trusts himself to do, and Silver’s watching him, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking, when Jim slips his hand under his stretched-out shirt and begins to stroke.
It’s instantly so much better than before, so much sharper, so much more real. Nerves sparking and skittering with pleasure, and Jim can’t keep his gaze up, but he knows Silver’s still watching him. Hand sliding, wetter now, moisture beading at the tip of his cock and gathering on Jim’s fingers.
So much better, yet not enough, because Jim’s hands feel so small for this. Nothing like Silver’s hand, big and thick and meaty, and Jim feels a whine build in his throat that he refuses to give voice to. He lets go of the waistband of his breeches, wraps his other hand around himself, and two hands makes his eyes squeeze shut, head thudding back against the wall.
“Fffuck.” Hissed out between his teeth, and he can feel the fabric of his breeches slipping down, gathering at his knees, but he’s beyond caring. It’s like letting go of all the stress that’s been buried inside him for so damn long, letting himself be nothing but lust and want. Because Silver’s watching out for him, watching him come undone, and he’ll be there for Jim when it’s over.
He hears the whir of Silver’s leg moving, and opens his eyes just in time to see that mechanical hand reaching for him, and Jim whimpers, cock pulsing under his hands.
“Can’t see you like that, lad,” Silver husks, and his metal fingers wrap around the hem of Jim’s shirt, lift it from where it’s covering the movement of his hands. Raising it to Jim’s chin, and his eyes feel like they’re staring right down into Jim’s soul. “Open,” Silver commands simply, and Jim’s lips part as if Silver has total control of his body. Silver pushes the fabric’s edge between Jim’s teeth, and he bites down instinctively, holding the fabric up, holding himself on display.
Shit, he can taste himself, the faintest hint of salt and musk where he leaked against the cloth, and Jim groans and closes his eyes again, hands speeding up.
Silver’s cyborg hand doesn’t retreat, instead pressing against the wall above Jim’s shoulder. His other hand rises as well, palm settling against the wood on the other side of Jim’s head, and he’s this huge, hulking presence bearing down on Jim. Overwhelming him, same way he had when he’d held Jim pinned to the mast before, and Jim can hear himself making these messed up noises, weak little mewls and growls, and he can’t stop.
He’s fucking his own hands in earnest now, feet braced on the floor and shoulders braced against the wall, thrusting up into the tight channel of his fingers. Moving desperately enough that he’s bumping his fists and the head of his cock against Silver’s belly, but instead of moving away, Silver just presses closer.
Heat and pressure, all that immovable weight, and Jim groans loudly behind the bunched fabric in his mouth, too loudly, but he doesn’t care, can’t remember why he should. Silver’s all around him, pressing him into the wall, and Jim can’t rock his hips properly like this, but that just pushes his need higher. Trapped and having to work harder for each slide of his hand, sweat at his temples, Silver’s scent all around him.
Close, so close now, and when he opens his eyes, looks up into Silver’s face, the expression he sees there is too much. Silver’s looking down like he wants to wreck Jim, wants to devour him, a promise and a threat all at once, and Jim’s keening, fists working over himself, pumping and squeezing as he comes between them, release painting his chest and Silver’s shirt, cock pulsing in his hands.
He’s trembling, teeth still clenched tight around the fabric of his shirt, and Silver’s still staring down at him, mouth a grim line. Breathing hard through his nose, looking at Jim like he wants to tear him apart, maul him, touch him, fuck him, and Jim shivers for the aftershocks of pleasure, for the images Silver’s expression conjures in his mind.
There’s the scrape of metal against wood as Silver’s cyborg fingers claw a slow path down the wall beside Jim’s head, and Jim’s bracing himself, not knowing what will come next, not knowing how to cope with how much he wants it, how much he wants everything Silver can give to him.
But then Silver’s stepping back with a sigh. “Reckon you were needing that, eh, lad?” he asks, and his voice is softer, closer to the jovial tone Jim recognises from their time in the galley.
It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water, and Jim flinches, the reality of what just happened crashing down on him.
He just.
He just jerked off.
In front of Silver.
Humiliation stings at his cheeks and eyes and he ducks down, hurriedly yanking his breeches up his legs to cover himself.
God, there are wet patches on Silver’s shirt, and Jim feels like a useless, foolish idiot. He can’t understand how he could be stupid enough to think this was a good idea, to think that Silver might want him back even a fraction as much as Jim wants him, and his relationship with Silver is apparently going to be just another thing he’s messed up in the long string of disasters that is his life.
And then Silver’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, metal unyielding as it grips him, and he forces himself to look up and meet Silver’s gaze, no matter how much he wants to hide from it.
Silver’s staring at him levelly. “Don’t be misunderstanding me, Jimbo,” he rumbles, voice quiet and sincere. “I was needing that just as much as you were.”
Jim goes still, eyes searching for the trace of a lie or pity, but there’s none to be found. His breath leaves him in a sigh that sounds like embarrassed laughter, because Silver must have been able to see the way Jim automatically second-guessed himself, the way his first instinct is always to assume his attention is unwanted.
“It’s been a long night,” Silver nods, as if he gets what Jim’s thinking instinctively, and he claps the cyborg hand down on Jim’s shoulder twice before pulling away with one final squeeze. “You should be getting to bed or you’ll be useless in the morning.”
And Jim doesn’t want to go to bed, he wants to talk about this, wants Silver’s hand to stay on him, but he’s not going to argue anymore. Silver’s right, it has been a long day, too long, and Jim can feel how irrational and erratic his own emotions are. He needs sleep, and he can figure this out, whatever this new thing is that’s passed between them, in the morning.
He’s on the steps back to the deck when he pauses, because there’s one question that’s going to nag at him if it goes unasked. He turns his head, and Silver’s watching him in silence. “Are you sure you don’t want -?” He waves his hand vaguely in the air between them, not sure how to voice what he’s offering but knowing Silver will understand.
Silver smiles to himself, shaking his head slowly, and then the smile grows darker, dirtier, and Jim hears himself swallow thickly. “Don’t worry, lad. We’ll just say that you … owe me a favour.”
Jim feels a twinge of pleasure between his legs, far too soon to be comfortable, and he nods tightly and hurries up the stairs. He already knows he won’t sleep, not really. Instead he’ll be lying in his bunk for hours, the feeling of Silver’s weight pressing down on him like a ghost against his skin. His mind swimming with all the ways he could repay Silver, all the ways he could touch, cock once again hard within his breeches and his lip caught between his teeth.
