Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dead Men Tell No Tales	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2870 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1-Dead Men Tell No Tales
- 1
A/N: I needed a break from werewolfy things and this fic has been sitting in my brain for ages. Not canon compliant in the least, way way way way way way AU. Way OOC, I had a little too much fun screwing with their personalities in this fic. I've never written a historical or piratey story in any capacity before, so comments and concrit would be greatly appreciated! (Especially where the Piratey dialogue is concerned. I fiddled with it an insane amount to keep it from getting too campy)

Special thanks to ErtheChilde for letting me pester you with 868721353 History questions <3 and to Linda for being willing to beta, even though you don't normally do HP Fandom. Love you guys. Any historical inaccuracies in the final draft are entirely my own.
Dead Men Tell No Tales

June 1749, British West Indies, Cayman Islands

The warm Caribbean breeze clung to Draco's skin uncomfortably, and the briny smell of the sea pulled at his heart as it called to him.

From his lavish balcony that overlooked the island, he could see the mountainous descent to the villagers' homes and businesses. A mixture of the native people of the island and the English settlers dotted the roads and shoreline. Vessels of all sizes cluttered the docks, and the shrill cry of the seabirds accosting the sailors for their catches of the day filled the air.

The dusky blue waistcoat over a white shirt and breeches Draco wore did not breathe nearly as much as the tailor had promised him they would, and he found himself mopping his brow for the umpteenth time that morning. A warm breeze lifted his hair, the white-blond strands obscured his vision for a moment before he had the good sense to brush them away.

“Draco,” the low, melodious voice of Lucius Malfoy filled the silence, and Draco turned to see the older man join him on the balcony. His black cane clicked sharply against the polished stone as he approached, stopping at his side to gaze over his dominion, while Draco looked on, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Father,” Draco nodded his head, the word bitter on his tongue. Even after twelve years in the man's keeping, he felt no less like the son Lucius wished him to be.

“You seem quiet this morning, do you have something on your mind?” A hand came down upon Draco's shoulder, and he flinched from the touch, casting Lucius a wounded, defiant glare.

“I don't know,” he answered once he'd recovered, casting his gaze towards the horizon. “I feel...strange.” Delving into his rarely used innate senses, he felt the breeze crawl across the skin and left him with a deep cold that settled over his heart, which had nothing to do with the temperature. “Something is coming.”

“What is coming?” The faint quiver in his father's tone gave Draco a deep sense of satisfaction. He rather enjoyed making his adoptive father nervous, for once his nonhuman abilities coming in quite handy, despite his general inability to defend himself against his keeper.

“I don't know,” Draco shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed upon the calm waters, “change.”

On that unsettling note Lucius took his leave quickly and quietly, casting a brief look at Draco over his shoulder before disappearing into the house. Draco turned back to the sight of the sea, his elbows and forearms resting upon the balcony's rail while he watched the gentle rush of the tide come in. It was true something was coming, he could practically taste it. Draco only hoped that his deep feeling of foreboding was wrong.

~*~

Draco went to bed that night wondering if he had misinterpreted the signs. The sensation of doom had followed him around throughout the day like a bad odour, and his worry only mounted as the sun sank into the west, blackening the water and casting the forest in dark shadow. The low flame of the oil lamp on his nightstand sputtered, and cast a flickering orange light across the cream of his bedroom walls. He pulled the blankets up to his neck and focused on the soft rush of the waves breaking on the shore, and convinced himself that his worries were unfounded as the soft sounds of the island lulled him to sleep.

Cannon fire.

Draco sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide. The gentle calm he had gone to sleep with had been entirely shattered, and the terrified cries of the island's inhabitants replaced it. Draco jumped from his bed and threw a dressing gown over his bedclothes, and slid into a pair of boots that were more geared towards running for his life than slippers. Keeping low, he pressed himself against his bedroom wall, and peered out his window.

The sky was alight with fire, the dark silhouette of an enormous vessel was moored offshore, and the brief flares of the cannons laying waste to the island was the only light it gave off. Black smoke billowed from the shambles of the village's buildings, and the streets were clogged with people trying to escape.

Even if Draco had not seen the tattered shadow of the Jolly Roger waving from the top of the main mast, he knew at once who these invaders must be.

Pirates.

Draco's chest heaved, his panic lodging his heart in his throat, and he clawed at the wall, uncertain what to do. Lucius Malfoy's political power was no longer a protective shield, but a beacon for these vile corsairs. He sunk momentarily to his knees, struggling to think clearly through his panic.

Amidst the cannonfire, a grating, cruel laughter could be heard interspersed with cries of the villagers. Unable to control his fear enough to remain where he was, Draco bolted into the hall, and at once he nearly ran right into one of the Royal Navy officers. The man caught Draco's wrist at once, his eyes wide with a fear that matched his own. “Master Draco!” He cried, “what are you still doing here? Your father is waiting for you in the West Wing, go to him quickly! You will be safe there!” The order did not immediately register, Draco's focus drawn by the trickle of blood that had streaked the man's jaw. “Go!” He pushed Draco hard, and he staggered several feet before coming to himself, and ran down the hallway just as he heard the doors splinter as they were blown apart from the outside.

Draco's legs burned as he ran, his heart pounding out a vicious rhythm in his chest, a frightened cry escaping him as he chanced a backward glance. The pirates were bearing down upon him, their dark laughter, their amusement at his fear chilled him to the bone. His breath hitched as he ran faster, ignoring the way his legs cramped in protest. He skidded around the corner and through a set of double-doors, pausing just long enough to grab a long candlestick from the mantle above the fireplace. He slammed the doors shut behind him and threaded the brass through the handles to buy him a little extra time. He took off just as the doors bowed, and a muffled curse of one of the brigands sounded from the other side.

Through two more passageways and three sets of doors, and Draco found his father in a disused servant's quarters. Lucius's cheeks were faintly flushed, but overall he looked as unruffled as he ever did. He was fully dressed and his blond hair had been pulled back at the base of his neck with thin black cord. Draco gasped sharply, his eyes falling to the older man's hands, which were not empty, but held a wad of what looked like mottled, pale grey leather. He made a mad grab for it, but Lucius seemed to sense his movements and jerked it out of his reach. “No, no, no Draco. Quickly now, get dressed—we don't have much time.” Glaring at him, he sullenly turned to the wardrobe, and drew out some garments, throwing a black waistcoat on over a white shirt, black breeches and white stockings, before pulling back on his boots he'd run in.

He was in the midst of throwing on a coat over his clothes when the door burst open. The wood around the lock had splintered as though it had been shot with a pistol, and Draco stumbled back with a fearful cry. Five people flooded into the small room; at first Draco thought they were all men, but he realized with a shock that standing behind the supposed leader was a young woman, her brown hair tucked under a rear-admiral's hat and covered with so much dirt, blood, and grime that he could hardly differentiate her from the men around her.

“Well, well, well,” growled the leader, his cutlass pointed at Lucius, who appeared as calm as ever, though Draco could sense the way he stilled when the sword pointed at him. Draco took a small step back, but at once three cocked pistols pointed at him, and he froze. “What do have we here lads? Be this the Governor and his whelp?” He stepped forward, fearsome green eyes flashing in the near-dark, illuminated only by the flickering of the village in flames.

The young man was slender but well-muscled, several inches shorter than Draco, with a large hat perched atop his inky black hair. His mouth was stretched in a wide, toothy grin, and Draco could pick out three gold teeth amidst the mossy, leering grin. Though he appeared to be roughly Draco's age, he could not help but note how the others looked upon him with equal parts respect and fear. Despite his youth, it was clear that this man was not someone to be trifled with.

“My,” purred the pirate, his tone softening slightly as he stepped forward. He completely ignored Lucius as he threaded his grime-covered fingers in the front of Draco's shirt and dragged him forward, ignoring his terrified squeak as he struggled futilely against the man's superior strength. “Aren't you a pretty thing. What's your name, pet?” Draco didn't immediately answer, but lurched himself out of the man's grasp, and staggered back to his father. The pirates laughed, while the man that had grabbed him continued to watch him with a nasty smile, leaving Draco feeling deeply unsettled.

“His name is Draco, Draco Malfoy,” Lucius said quickly, for the first time his voice carrying a tremor that gave away his fear.

“Father!” Draco hissed, taking a tentative step back as the young pirate tore his eyes from him and refocused on Lucius.

“He is my adoptive son,” Lucius continued in a rushed tone, “but if it will persuade you to spare my life, you may take him.” Draco's eyes bulged, he skittering back several steps in his shock at what he was hearing.

“And why would I want some landlubber on me ship, no matter how pretty he might be?” The pirate cocked a brow at Lucius. Draco gritted his teeth and watched with wide, fearful eyes as his father fumbled with the garment in his hands.

“Father, please, don't do this!” Draco's panicked hiss fell on deaf ears, his heart beating so fast and hard it felt as though it may burst from his chest.

“He is a selkie,” Lucius said smoothly, holding up Draco's skin as proof. “I took him into my care when he was eight, twelve years past.”

“Is he now?” The young man's eyes turned back to Draco, the emerald stare alight with greed. Draco felt what little colour that was left in his cheeks leave them. “That does change things. Weasley, take him.” A tall, gangling ginger that had been at the leader's back reached for Draco and grabbed him roughly, and Draco yelped in pain as his arms were forcibly pinned at his back by the pirate.

“Father, you can't do this! Are you really that much of a coward that you would trade your own son for your life?” He struggled against the strong grip, but it did nothing but make the pirate tighten his hold, while he laughed at Draco's pitiful attempts at escape. The youthful pirate leader chuckled as he took Draco's skin from his father, and he watched with wide, fearful eyes as the pirate passed it to the girl he'd noticed earlier. She smirked and tucked it under her arm.

“Do you know who I be, Governor?” His voice had dropped to a low purr as he stepped forward, resting the very tip of his blade against Lucius's chin, forcing him to tilt his head up.

“Captain Potter,” he growled, though he did not dare move. “Of The Damned Trinity, the most vicious pirate vessel in the Spanish Main.”

“Ah, so you have heard of me,” he grinned, showing off a few more of his glimmering gold teeth. “Then you must know how I feel about absent fathers, or betrayers, as the case may be.” The man—Potter—gave Lucius mere moments for the words to register, before lifting his sword, and with a mighty swing cleanly beheaded him, his bloodied, immaculately dressed body buckling and tumbling to the ground while his head rolled away, eyes and mouth frozen forever in open-mouthed shock.

“Take them all!” the captain roared, brandishing his bloodied sword above his head, “leave none alive!” An enthused cheer met the captain's words, and the ginger began to drag Draco away, ignoring his screams as he struggled to get back to the body of his human keeper.

“No! Father! Father!” He screamed, his voice cracking as he struggled violently against the man, but he was too strong for Draco, and he was unable to break his grip. He slumped forward, tears flooding his eyes as thick rope was wound around his wrists and ankles. The man hoisted Draco on his shoulder as though he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, and he was carried back to the ship.

The ship—The Damned Trinity—he remembered his father calling it, was a large and forbidding vessel, painted in shades of grey and black that made it blend in quite well to the surroundings of a night on the Caribbean Sea. The figurehead was an intricate carving of Medusa in place of the usual mermaid depictions, and the dark sails flapped ominously in the light wind. Draco had been dumped in a rowboat and brought back to the ship, where he had been once more lifted on the ginger man's shoulder and carried aboard.

Draco squirmed experimentally, but the hold on him was tightened, and he knew that even if he'd managed to get out of the man's grip, it wasn't as though he'd get very far. He stared down miserably at the dark wood of the deck as he was carried across it, fidgeting minutely as his panic faded into the background of his mind, and the utter hopelessness of the situation settled into his mind.

A breath escaped him as a grunt as he was thrown to the floor of a cabin, and based on the lavish adornments, Draco assumed it was the Captain's quarters. He struggled up into a sitting position, and was able to shoot the redhead a scathing glare before he chuckled, grinning at him and showing Draco a mess of rotted teeth, before he slammed the heavy wooden door and a lock scraped into place.

The sounds of the pirates laying waste to his home permeated the stillness of the cabin. Even so far offshore, Draco could still hear the petrified screams of the villagers intermingled with the explosions of the cannons. On shaking limbs, Draco rolled onto his knees and wiggled across the floor of the cabin and to the window that faced the island.

There was something of a cushioned ledge along the side of the cabin, with one of the windows directly above it. On wobbly limbs, Draco managed to manoeuvre himself up, and peered out at the remains of what had been his home for so many years.

Draco felt anguished tears sting his eyes, and a pitiful whimper lodged itself in his throat. The docks had all been destroyed, leaving nothing behind but splintered planks of wood floating along the beach. The village itself was little more than a smoking ruin. Plumes of black smoke rose from the devastation, and along the shore and dotted along the pathways leading into the village Draco could pick out the small, still forms of murdered men, women, and children.

All those people...Draco felt as though his throat had closed, and he wondered bitterly why the captain felt compelled to take him, instead of kill him. He looked at me like I was some kind of rare treasure... Draco could recall the look, the greed behind those eyes, and a shudder coursed through him. He had known that selkies, like mermaids, were deeply coveted by humans that lived close to the ocean. His origins had been a closely guarded secret, ever since his father had stolen his and his mother's skin in his youth. Taken by Lucius Malfoy, along with his mother, he had gained a beautiful wife, and an heir to the Malfoy name.

The memories of his mother caused another wave of anguish to run through him, and he was silently grateful that she had not lived to see her husband betray her only son. Despite the extraordinary circumstances, over the years he had grown to care for his adoptive father, and the name he had inherited. Now before his eyes, everything he had ever known was gone and all he had left were the clothes he wore, his father's last gift to him.

Draco shivered, his tears dripping from his chin and disappearing into the dark fabric of his breeches. He wondered in an absent sort of way what was going to happen to him. The obvious, given how he had been regarded by the captain was too ghastly to think about. He swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, clenched his eyes shut, and attempted to block out the loud blasts of the cannons and the shrill cries of the villagers.

~*~

Draco was uncertain when he had fallen asleep, so overwhelmed was he with all that had happened. He woke with the uncomfortable feeling of his dried tears upon his cheeks; his shoulders and knees ached from the unnatural positions they had been bent into. For a moment, Draco wondered if the bone-deep ache was what woke him, but as the haze of fatigue wore off, he was acutely aware of someone standing over him. A hand with grimy, unkempt fingernails was tracing the stitching of his breeches, trailing the digit slowly up his thigh.

A strangled yelp escaped past Draco's dry, cracked lips before he could stop it, and he lurched backward in an effort to escape the unwanted contact. His efforts were met with an amused laugh from his captor as he watched Draco's futile attempt, as there wasn't really anywhere he could go; he was trapped. “Are you afraid, pet?” He reached out and stroked Draco's cheek, the putrid scent coming off the man making Draco's stomach roil as he flinched away from the contact.

“Yes,” Draco hissed, while he stared up into the jewel-bright eyes. He found no use in attempting to conceal his fright behind a mask of bravado; something told him that this man would see right through it. The captain grinned, showing Draco again that mismatched smile of grey and gold teeth.

“Good.”

“Where is my skin?” Draco tried for a steady tone of voice as a dirty, almost serrated nail scraped his cheek. Paired with it was the nauseating odours of blood, body odour, and God knows what else, and it was making him feel rather ill.

“Now, why would I tell you that? I know what you selkies do when you find your skin; it's back to the ocean, and we never see you again. You be a prize I never expected to find so far from your native waters, and I'm not about to let you escape that easily.” He laughed again, continuing to map the skin of Draco's face and throat with his dirty fingertips. Draco grimaced and clenched his eyes shut, struggling to will himself away the unwanted contact. His obvious terror seemed to excite the pirate as a low, throaty chuckle escaped him. A callused thumb brushed across Draco's lower lip, and a noise of disgust escaped him before he had the good sense to quell it. Draco jerked backward, his eyes flying open as he glared up at the man.

“You're disgusting,” Draco growled, his eyes narrowed at the pirate.

The captain did not verbally answer, but offered Draco an amused grin as he slowly withdrew his hand and reached for his belt to draw out a short knife. It was barely six inches in length, but it looked wickedly sharp, with a black handle inlaid with intricate designs of woven gold and silver. The man stepped forward and Draco tensed, but he did no more than slice cleanly through his bonds.

The ropes fell to the ground and Draco felt strangely weakened, feeling as though if he had tried to stand his legs would not have supported his weight. He shifted his arms to his front and massaged his reddened wrists. He looked back up at the captain, his eyes drawn beyond his leering emerald gaze to a point just shy of his hairline. A jagged scar marred the tanned flesh, like quartz embedded in dark stone.

Distracted by the strange scar, he was unprepared when he felt a grimy hand come into contact with his cheek again. Draco's breath hitched in a gasp, and he recoiled from the touch. “Like that, pet?” Draco knew he was referring to the scar, but before he could respond, the captain elaborated.

“The previous captain tried to best me, forgetting that I weren't his first mate for nothing. My ship used to be called Flight of Death. Bit pretentious, don't you think?” He grinned, “I knew I couldn't take him all by me onesie, so I enlisted the help of two others, and we took the ship and crew. We made him governor of a wee little island, and he used the only shot in his pistol on me, but as you can see, he weren't successful.” The captain laughed, as though he had told the world's funniest joke, his mouth stretched into a wide smile.

While the captain told the tale of the origin of his scar, he continued to lightly touch Draco, trailing is fingers across the faint lines and contours of his cheek and jaw. He appeared ignorant to the look of disgust his captive wore, as he struggled to pull himself away from the contact, but at the same time, Draco was afraid to move from his perch. “Now you can see my pet, it ain't a wise decision to cross me.” He leaned in close, his putrid breath ghosting across Draco's cheek and filling his nostrils, making him gag, “this be your only warning.”

Captain Potter straightened up, reached down and wrapped a strong hand around Draco's lithe wrist, hoisting him to his feet in one fluid motion. “You'll be warming my bed tonight, pet,” the captain purred, ignoring the way Draco froze at his words. “But if you find that unsavoury to your delicate nature, I'd be more than happy to arrange sleeping arrangements for you down below—with me crew.”

With the threat hanging over him, Draco nodded stiffly and stumbled after the young captain while he tried to get his panic under control. He was led through a side door, and Draco found himself face to face with an enormous bed, layered with deep red silks and fine furs. Round windows above the bed showed a view of blue and nothing else as far as the eye could see. While such a view might speak of potential to a mariner, Draco thought it looked terribly lonely.

Draco jumped when sudden hands groped at the buttons of his waistcoat, startling him from his thoughts as he staggered backward, a number of brass buttons snapping off the garment in the process. He looked up at the captain who had not moved, save to cross his arms across his chest and watch him with a mixed look of amusement and annoyance. Draco could feel the warmth of a flush in his cheeks, and with trembling hands he shrugged out of his coat, waistcoat, boots, breeches, and stockings. He folded them carefully and laid them in a neat pile on a gilded chair that faced an equally as ornate wooden desk. Draco stepped towards the menacing bed in only his shirt and underclothes with stiff, wooden movements.

A cold laugh followed his handful of steps towards the bed, the blankets turning up as he came to its edge. Draco looked up, the captain stripped to the waist and already occupying the left side, his hand resting upon the upturned coverlet while he waited for his captive to join him. With shaking limbs, Draco slid under the warm blankets, laying back upon the bare edge of the bed, as far as he could manage from the pirate.

Draco had barely laid down when a powerful arm shot out and coiled around his waist, dragging him backward to crash into a well-defined chest. The sudden movement had startled a yelp from Draco, and his fingers clawed at the blankets in an effort to escape the pirate's grasp. The strong arm hardened around his waist, holding Draco tightly against him and keeping him from going anywhere. Draco bowed his head forward, shivering as a depression descended; a terrible weight of hopelessness resting upon his mind. He had no one left that cared enough to come for him, and Draco had been left at the mercy of a famously vicious pirate captain. He hadn't the faintest idea how he would get out of this mess alive, and that thought alone utterly petrified him.

The cool air of the cabin brushed Draco's throat and shoulder as the thin fabric of his shirt was pushed to one side. He tensed as an unfamiliar mouth pressed against his flesh, the tongue laving across the exposed skin while the captain pulled him closer, moulding Draco to the line of his body.

“You taste of the sea,” the low, approving purr of his voice caused Draco to shudder, a frightened whimper caught in his throat. The hand not holding him in place slid down the side of his ribcage, down his waist, and stopped at his hip. Draco worried his bottom lip, laying stock still while he tried to ignore the distinctive hardness that pressed into his left buttock. Draco felt tears spring to his eyes again, and he cursed his own weakness as he tried to blink them away. The tongue at his throat retreated, teeth and lips replacing it while the captain groaned against his skin.

“Please,” Draco breathed, no longer caring how much his voice shook as he addressed the scoundrel that held him. “P-please don't,” a soft sob escaped him and he reached forward, clawing feebly at the bedsheets, though he knew escape was futile.

Captain Potter shifted, moving far too quickly for Draco to register what was happening before it was too late. He pinned Draco's wrists one-handed above his head, and his knees rested on either side of his hips. Draco's breath caught, the vibrant green eyes staring down at him intently, a hunger there that intensified his terror of the man, the pirate's lip curled enough that he could catch a glint of gold from the flickering candles at the bedside. He braced one hand on the bed a scant few inches to the right of Draco's chest, the opposite hand still holding his wrists in place. With a rather nasty grin, the pirate gyrated his hips, grinding down into Draco's flaccid member.

Draco hissed, his back arching, his mind conflicted between the delightful friction the simple motion had caused, and the nauseating fear that still consumed him. Tears streaked his cheeks, and he pulled feebly upon his restrained wrists, but the motion only caused the captain's hold upon him to tighten. He perched himself lightly upon Draco's groin, and reached up to brush a tear track from his cheek. “You cry so prettily,” he purred, and Draco turned his head sharply to the side, feeling his face flare with the warmth of shame.

The pirate chuckled, clearly amused with Draco's reaction, the hand at his cheek moving to firmly grab his jaw, forcing his gaze back to his captor. Draco looked up, struggling to avoid the crystalline emerald gaze, and found his eyes drawn again by the scar upon his forehead. The skin was torn into the tracery of a lightning bolt, but he realized that he had not before noticed how the hair nearest to it grew out not black, but silver. The dark, wavy locks were no longer held back by a tie at his neck, and now fell down to frame his face. Had it not been for how unkempt he was, the captain would be rather lovely to look at.

The moment the thought had crossed Draco's mind he felt another wave of shame overwhelm him. He looked away as best he could, with his jaw still being held fast. His hips ground down into Draco's again, and he gasped, squirming more violently in an attempt to escape. It was as effective as his first few tries, succeeding only in the captain holding onto him more tightly. Draco gritted his teeth against the pain, certain that come morning they would be black and blue. “Squirm all you want, pet,” he purred, leaning in to brush his lips over Draco's protesting ones, “you're not going anywhere.”

Draco blinked his eyes, trying to shut down his emotions behind a blank mask. The pirate rutted against him more insistently, and it became too much for Draco to handle. More frightened tears trickled down his cheeks, and Captain Potter moaned, “oh yes,” he breathed, “cry for me, my pet.” He used his free hand to tear open Draco's shirt, exposing an expanse of fair skin, and descended upon him. Draco whimpered, the captain's teeth scraping across his chest, closely followed by the gentle flick of his tongue, soothing the inflamed flesh.

He trailed painful love bites across Draco's chest, glancing up periodically to look into his captive's tear-filled eyes. Each time he would moan, seemingly completely taken by Draco's terror. With rough, insistent hands, he yanked down Draco's undergarments as well as his own, he wailing in fright and pain as those scraggly nails caught his flesh, blood beading along the scratches left in their wake.

Draco had completely lost his head, pulling desperately at his wrists, throwing his head from side to side, while the pirate descended upon him once more, completely unconcerned with the lack of consent of his partner. His hardened member, slick with precome slid against Draco's own flaccid cock, while he leaned up and forced his putrid tongue into the blond's mouth.

It did not take long before the captain groaned into his mouth, his back curved, and his body stiffened. He sputtered his seed over Draco's groin and lower stomach with a cry of ecstasy, before the pirate's full weight fell on top of him, chasing the breath from his lungs. He slowly rolled to the side, and dragged Draco against him, pressing his chest into his captive's back. “Good boy,” he murmured, pulling the blankets up over his shivering form, holding him tight as he fell asleep.

~*~

Draco woke up alone the following morning.

He felt sick; dirty. Draco could still feel the dried semen clinging to his flesh, and the memories of all that had happened the previous night elicited a small sob from his barely-parted lips. Draco would have liked to stay hidden in the folds of the bed and not move, but he worried that the captain may interpret that course of action as some sort of grotesque invitation.

He dragged himself from the bed and into the cold morning air, shivering as he located a shallow bowl of water and a rough sponge, and he made quick work of washing himself before he pulled on the same clothes he had been kidnapped in.

Fully dressed, Draco had no idea what to do with himself. He was reluctant to leave the room for fear of running into the captain again, but he was also keen to search the ship for his skin. If he was to escape this place, he needed to find it. In twelve years in Lucius's keeping he had been unsuccessful at that very thing, but Draco hoped that perhaps these pirates were less adept at hiding things than his late father was.

Outside, he could hear the cries of seabirds and the occasional shout of one of the crew, the beautiful clear blue sky and the lavish room he found himself in was almost enough to make Draco forget where he was. He stepped cautiously over to the door that led to the rest of the captain's quarters, pressing his fingers lightly against the highly polished wood. He jumped back at once with a sharp gasp of surprise when the door swung open, revealing a portly, middle-aged woman with a shock of red hair. She carried a tray of fresh fruit and cooked grain on a roughly hewn wooden tray.

To his wide-eyed shock, the woman smiled and stepped further inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. “Good morning,” she said, her voice warm and motherly, and Draco found himself reminded of his own late mother, despite the large contrast in their physical appearance. “I thought you might be hungry, the captain has a habit of forgetting that his kept boys need to be fed.” She chortled softly, while Draco blanched at her words. The implication made him feel even less like a person, and more like someone's pet bird. He felt slightly sick, and he turned away from the proffered food.

“I'm not hungry,” he muttered, looking towards the window he'd gazed out of the night before. The woman did not leave however, and instead stepped further inside, setting the tray down upon a nearby desk. The smell of the food made his stomach roil, and he shivered as he tried to block it out.

“It's not so bad, you know,” the woman said gently, and at her words Draco spun round to stare at her incredulously.

“Not so bad? I watched your captain murder my father in cold blood, then he kidnapped me and—” he cut himself off with an angry hiss. “I want to go home, but then I remember I don't have a home to go back to. Your captain saw to that.”

“This be your home now, pet,” Draco jumped, his gaze whipping around to the door. Captain Potter stood in doorway, his arms crossed and shoulder braced against the wood frame. “I suggest you get used to it. Molly, get out.” The older woman hastened to obey as the captain stepped inside, and the door snapped shut on her retreating figure.

He pushed off the wall, his boot heels clicking ominously against the wood as he approached. Draco backed up at once, but the knee-jerk reaction succeeded only in enabling the captain to pin him against the wall.

One hand slammed into the wall next to Draco's head, making him jump. The other threaded through his hair, dragging him forward and into a demanding kiss. Draco whined, his hands lifting to claw at the raw cotton of the shirt the captain wore, but he did not have the strength to push away his assailant.

Draco felt the familiar lump in his throat and burning behind his eyes. He swallowed thickly, hating how easily this man could evoke such fear and sorrow from him. He shifted, pushing against the hard chest beneath his fingers, but the hand twined in his hair tightened, and the pirate forced his tongue into Draco's protesting mouth. Another shiver coursed through him, and a single tear escaped from beneath his closed eyelid and trickled down his cheek.

The physical evidence of the fear the captain had instilled in him elicited a groan from the man, and he moved his free hand from the wall to tightly grip Draco's shoulder, just shy of being painful. “Have you ever sucked cock, pet?” He growled the words hoarsely, scant centimetres from Draco's swollen lips. Draco bit his lip and shook his head mutely; his shining eyes were wide and fearful. The captain's mouth twisted into a nasty smirk, and slowly he began to apply pressure to Draco's shoulder.

Draco's arms fell to his sides, his hands curling into fists as he braced himself against the growing weight upon his shoulder. The pirate appeared amused by his defiance, while Draco glared resolutely back. His legs quivered slightly under the strain—he was significantly stronger than Draco was—but he refused to bow to this man's whims readily.

His stubbornness was not enough to deter the captain, and with a sharp gasp of shock his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, hard. Wincing, he pulled himself onto his knees, but his attempt to stand up was impeded by a pair of hands holding him firmly in place. A sizable bulge strained against the trousers the captain wore, and Draco felt as though he might be sick.

“What are you waiting for, pet? Go to it.” He jerked his hips minutely, and Draco flinched as though he'd been struck. He attempted again to stand despite the hands upon his shoulders, but he was still pinned in place. Draco swallowed again in an effort to steady himself, and reached out with trembling hands for the ties upon the captain's trousers. Draco kept his eyes forward, painfully aware of his captor's eyes burning into him, while his shaking fingers worked the ties open.

The engorged member burst free of its bindings, bringing with it a heady, musky smell that filled Draco with fresh fear. He chanced a glance upward, pleas for mercy perched on the tip of his tongue, but no sound came out. His left hand slid from Draco's shoulder and twined in his hair, gently urging him forward, while he jerked his hips forward at the same time.

Draco pressed his lip into a thin line and turned his head sharply to the side, grimacing as a line of precome painted his lower lip. The sharp movement caused the pirate to tug painfully at his hair, growling his disapproval. His opposite hand moved to brush against Draco's cheek, the other yanking at the blond's hair sharply to get him back in position. The hand at his cheek moved to cradle his chin, then immediately pinched either side of his jaw with his middle finger and thumb, forcing his mouth open.

The thick, weeping cock was thrust into his mouth before Draco could stop it, and a muffled cry escaped him as it pressed against the back of his throat, making him gag. Captain Potter groaned, and a blissful sigh escaped him as he drew back partially before thrusting back in, the tip of his cock hitting the back of Draco's throat with bruising force. “Your mouth can do more than whine, it would seem,” he murmured, more to himself than to Draco, his head tilted back and eyes closed while he thrust sharply inwards once more.

For several agonizing minutes Draco's mouth was fucked without mercy, while tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. The captain's release came, the only warning being the thrusts becoming more erratic, though he did not bother to warn Draco, who choked and sputtered as the bitter liquid flooded his mouth and throat.

The captain retracted his softening member, and Draco bowed forward, his hands pressed flat against the floor as he coughed wetly, his face tinged pink. He attempted to breathe shallowly, but that only succeeded in forcing another cough from him, he gagging on the acrid taste that clung to his tongue.
Draco had only seconds to try and recover from the ordeal, before fingers laced through his hair and dragged him painfully to his feet. The searing pain in his scalp caused him to hiss in pain, the vocalization cut short then the pirate covered his mouth with his own, his tongue invading his mouth to taste himself on Draco's tongue.

Teeth nipped at his lower lip as the man pulled back, a throaty chuckle escaping him in response to Draco's feeble, frightened whimper. “Good boy,” he purred, finally releasing him and allowing him to collapse to the ground. He turned, a slight spring in his step as he strode across the room and stepped outside, the door snapping shut sharply behind him.

Draco pulled himself up, his breath coming out as a strained wheeze, his hacking cough refusing to abate as he dragged himself into a corner of the room and brought his knees up to his chest. He buried his face in his legs, his form trembling with his silent, wracking sobs.

~*~

Draco was roused from his fitful sleep by loud voices just outside the chamber doors. “Cap'n, the crew just be wantin' ter see the selkie, we don' wan' ter play with him!” A sharp sound of flesh colliding with flesh, and someone fell to the ground with a sharp grunt. Draco cringed at the sound, moved to swallow and gasped in pain as his badly bruised throat protested the action.

“The selkie be mine, mate. I gave up my share to you dogs, and I got the creature. I be knowing exactly what'll happen if ye see my prize, and I won't have him pawed at by you lot; he's mine.”

“But Cap'n—!” Another grunt, and Draco winced when he heard the person arguing with the captain hit the floor again.

“One more word and I'll see ye walk the plank. Get out, replace Thomas in the crow's nest. Ye be on watch tonight.” There was a sharp scuffling, a muffled salutation, and Draco heard the outer door snap shut sharply.

Staying stock-still in his corner of the floor, he drew up his knees more tightly to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as the chamber door burst open. The captain looked furious, and it did not take much of a stretch of the imagination to figure out where he was planning on directing his rage.

He strode forward and his rough, callused hand gripped Draco's abused throat, dragging him to his feet. Draco hissed in pain, but he did not struggle, his mind still on the casual way he had hurt his shipmate mere moments before. Draco chanced a look at him, his vibrant green eyes blazing with possessive desire, and he gave Draco a sharp shove, causing him to tumble backward onto the overlarge bed with a gasp of surprise.

At once, Draco scurried backward, but the pirate was too quick for him, and he was pinned down easily. With a familiar chuckle that made Draco's blood run cold, he climbed up and straddled the blond, his arse perched lightly on top of Draco's groin.

He sat, and Draco braced himself for force and for pain, but it didn't come. He regarded Draco silently, his head cocked to the side, while Draco stared back, his silver-grey gaze wide with fright. The captain reached forward, and rested a hand lightly upon Draco's shoulder. He flinched, but the touch did not become forceful. He lifted his arse a scant few inches off of Draco, and leaned forward to brush a feather-light kiss across his lips.

The abrupt change in attitude was making Draco dizzy. He looked up into the captain's eyes, feeling entirely confused, but he had no idea how to vocalize his confusion, or if he even should. “Captain, I—” Draco began, his hoarse voice shaking slightly, but he was silenced almost at once by another unnervingly gentle kiss.

“When we are alone, you are free to call me Harry if you wish, pet.” He reached forward to stroke Draco's cheek, but he lurched away from the contact as best he could, given that he was still being pinned to the bed. This feigned tenderness was more alarming to Draco than any of the violence he'd been privy to thus far.

“Not—” Draco wheezed the word, struggling to focus with his tormentor bearing down upon him. “—Not your pet.” Harry's gaze darkened, and Draco winced as his fingernails bit into his shoulder. He shivered, looking away from the angry eyes, and felt bile rise in his throat when he felt teeth at his throat and the pirate's erection pressing into his thigh. No, Draco thought in a panic, struggling to get a handle on his trembling limbs, not again...

“Me first mate suggested I be gentle with you,” he sneered the word, as though the concept of doing anything without force or violence was ludicrous. “I'll have you either way, it's your choice whether you come out the other side bruised and bloody...or not.” His hot breath tickled across the side of his throat, Draco's stomach knotting with fear at the dreamy, longing tone he took on when he spoke of potentially hurting him. Draco had never known anyone to be so consumed with bloodlust, and it terrified him.

Harry reached down, the heel of his hand kneading into Draco's limp cock. A feeble cry escaped his destroyed throat, and he lifted his arm to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. The ministrations upon his cock made no difference, his fright was too intense, and the pirate let out a soft growl of frustration.
Trying a different tack, he gently pried Draco's face from its hiding place, and he covered the selkie's lips with his own. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, his mouth forced open and that vile tongue invaded it, tasting Draco but gripping him tightly in silent warning. “I'll have you my pet,” he purred softly as the kiss broke, “why would you want to make this harder on yourself?” He trailed his tongue along the ridge of Draco's jaw, while his hands slid from his shoulders and down to the bottom of his cotton shirt, sliding it up and off easily.

The cool air of the chambers caused him to break out in gooseflesh, and he instinctively lifted his arms to cover himself. Harry laughed softly, and took Draco's wrists in his strong grip, peeling them away from his chest. “My God, you're a pretty thing,” he leaned in to gently graze his teeth over Draco's right pectoral. He stopped at the bud of his nipple and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting sharp a gasp from his captive. “You are even prettier when you're scared, do you know that?” He groaned softly, pressing his constricted erection into Draco's thigh as evidence, causing him to whimper with fear.

Harry briefly released Draco's wrists, but remained seated upon him while he shrugged out of his coat and shirt, and tossed his hat onto the nearby gilded chair. He drew his dark locks out of their black ribbon, and they fell to frame his face in gentle waves. It took Draco a great deal of effort to keep from staring, the expanse of golden, thickly muscled flesh displayed above him, with a light dusting of dark, wiry hairs that trailed down the centre of his chest and abdomen, before collecting in a dark thatch just below his navel.

Draco forced his gaze away, wincing as he swallowed his nervousness, his throat still aching from the pirate's earlier assault upon it. Hot hands ran down his chest towards the ties upon his breeches, while Draco lay limp and compliant, wondering if there was any point in fighting off his rapist any longer. He lifted his arse off the bed as the garment was peeled off along with his underwear, and they were tossed carelessly away, followed closely after by his stockings.

Laying naked beneath the pirate, Draco felt painfully exposed. Unlike earlier, when he had been blinded by fear, now he could not bring forth the emotion, or anything else. He stared up at Harry despondently, while the pirate smirked his approval. He stood momentarily to rid himself of the rest of his clothing, then crawled back on top of his prize.

The pirate once more attempted to garner some sort of reaction from the selkie, but his cock was as limp and unresponsive as ever. Growling his frustration, the captain turned Draco over roughly, and used his knee to force his arse in the air and knock his thighs apart. Draco pillowed his arms and buried his face in them, willing his body to remain relaxed while he attempted to disconnect his mind from what was happening. He needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

Tears dampened his forearms, his breath rushing into his lungs in a shuddering gasp as he felt a damp, rough fingertip tease his puckered, virgin entrance. He clawed at the blankets beneath him and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his mind away from the distressing situation.

The unkempt fingernail tore at Draco's insides, and he bit down on his arm to stifle his cries. A second finger was quick to join the first, and Draco trembled as another soft whimper escaped him. The fingers slid in and out, scissoring with every alternate thrust, preparing him for much longer than Draco would have expected from such a man.

The fingers were withdrawn, and Draco felt himself go rigid with fear, struggling to will away the emotion, but it was too late and the pirate forced his thick, slick cock into him in one smooth motion.

Draco threw his head back with a cry, and he dug his nails into the bed, tears streaking his cheeks as he breathed shallowly, struggling to work through the burning, searing pain. Draco whined pitifully, while behind him the pirate groaned, his fingernails biting into his hips and his mismatched teeth biting into the dip of Draco's shoulder, his tongue laving across the indentation mere moments later. His arse felt uncomfortably full, and with each minute movement he felt another sharp stab of pain. He bit his lip in an effort to keep silent, but once Harry had begun to move, that had become nigh on impossible.

With each thrust, Draco's breath escaped him as a weak gasp of pain, while he white-knuckled the bedding beneath him. The captain seemed spurred on by his physical trauma and groaned with pleasure, picking up his pace as he began to near orgasm. His movements steadily became more erratic, and with one final moan of pleasure he released inside of Draco. He buried his face in the blankets to stifle the pained cries as the semen coated the minor lacerations in his bum, leaving him with a terrible burning sensation that made him feel sick to the stomach.

“Good boy,” Harry purred as he slumped forward, placing a wet kiss at the nape of Draco's neck before he slid out of him and sat propped up against the pillows. He dragged Draco forward and rested his head in his lap. He pulled up the covers to Draco's shoulders while he threaded his fingers through the blond strands, petting him like some beloved house pet.

Draco had absolutely no strength left to deny the pirate, and instead closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into the warm thigh beneath him. The gentle touches were bliss against his shredded emotional state, and he lifted a hand to hold on gently to the limb he laid on. He heard soft laughter above him, but it carried none of the cruelty he'd become so accustomed to hearing. Instead, Harry merely sounded amused, and that sound coupled with the gentle stroking of his hair slowly lulled him to sleep.

~*~

The following morning, Draco woke alone. He sat up slowly, wincing around the pain from the activities from the night before.

The large window had been cracked open, and fresh sea air played across Draco's face, allowing him to momentarily forget about his injuries. Across the room, a fresh platter of food had been laid out; an apple, crusty bread, and some sort of dried meat. A stein of ale accompanied it, but his stomach turned over at the sight of the food. Draco was aware that it had been close to two days since he'd last eaten, but his all-consuming misery at his predicament had chased any appetite he may have had.

Draco dragged himself from the bed, and found a flannel and a bowl of clear water laid out for him. He picked it up and dredged the cloth in the water, and with slow, sluggish movements he cleaned away the dried semen and blood from his hips and buttocks. He saw little point in dressing properly, knowing it was only a matter of time before the captain would rip him from his clothes and rape him again. Instead, he pulled on his white shirt and breeches, and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows while he tried to ignore how the once off-white garment was now starting to take on a greyish tinge.

He could hear the shouts of the crew intermingled with the cries of seabirds and the rush of the sea against the sides of the ship. Draco felt that all-too familiar pull at his heart as the sea called to him, and he bitterly wished for his skin.

Draco moved towards the chamber door, intending to explore the captain's cabin more fully, while doing his best to ignore the way each step he took burned painfully. Draco pulled on the doorknob, and felt himself go cold as it did not give underneath his hand. He retracted the limb as though he'd been burned, and threaded his fingers through his hair. A feeling of hopelessness settled itself over the other negative emotions in his mind, and he slid to his knees. I'm never getting out of here, he thought miserably, staring at the door, I'm going to be here for the rest of my life, and there's nothing I can do about it. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the enormity of the situation overwhelmed him, and he buried his face in his hands, nearly hyperventilating as he struggled to reign in his wretched emotions.

Almost as soon as the thought had finished passing through his mind, the doorknob rattled. Draco jumped up in alarm and stumbled backward until the back of his knees bumped into the side of the bed. The pain the sudden movement had caused did not immediately register, and it came back to him as a dull throb. The lock clicked, and Draco inhaled sharply, but was surprised when it was not the captain on the other side of the door but a young man dressed similarly to him, about a head taller with light brown hair and a kind, handsome face.

“Hello there,” he said with a small smile, “you must be the selkie everyone is talking about.” He smiled warmly, while Draco opened and closed his mouth several times, uncertain what to say. He could recall the small scuffle he'd overheard the night before, and he wondered if he would get in trouble for speaking to this person.

“My name's Cedric,” the young man continued, stepping further into the room while Draco instinctively backed up, wincing as his bum brushed against the surface of the bed. “I'm not going to hurt you,” his voice was soft and gentle, and he lifted his hands at the same time, showing Draco that they were empty. “I just thought you could use some company...it can't be easy, being here.”

Draco snorted at the comment, but couldn't bring himself to look directly at the pirate. No matter how kind he seemed, Draco couldn't let himself forget what he was. “I was here when the mutiny happened,” Cedric continued softly, seemingly unconcerned with Draco's silence. “Captain Riddle...He was power-mad. The crew was a constant rotation, because the captain would kill you for the smallest infraction. He wouldn't abide people who didn't respect him, and the crew was terrified of him. But First Mate Potter wasn't.”

Draco chanced a glance up to see that Cedric was smiling. “He planned the mutiny with two others—Granger and Weasley. They're both first mate now, you probably met them the night of the ambush on the Islands.” Draco pursed his lips, but he kept his silence. “Riddle was marooned, and the new captain changed the name of the ship, secured the crew, and made a name for himself—all in the span of one year. I'm here mostly in a deck-swabbing capacity, I don't have the same taste for bloodshed a lot of the others do, but—” The door banged back open, cutting Cedric off, and Draco's gaze snapped up in alarm.

Captain Potter stood there, his eyes blazing with fury. Draco shifted backward at once, but realized a moment later that he wasn't looking at him, his rage trained upon his terrified shipmate. Cedric opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes bulging at the sight of his leader. From what Draco had seen of the captain's personality, the fear in the man's face was hardly unjustified, and he watched as the captain stepped forward, lifted his arm and bent it, then slammed his elbow into Cedric's cheek—hard.

Cedric gasped in pain, his cheek splitting under the blow as he fell in a heap at the captain's feet. Draco winced, watching as he stood gingerly, blood streaking his cheek and dripping slowly from the edge of his jaw. “Tell me,” Harry growled, inclining his head to stare into the taller man's eyes, “what do you think you're doing with me selkie?” Draco bristled a little at being referred to so casually, like a possession.

“Captain, I—I meant nothing by it,” Cedric's voice trembled as he spoke, “but I was just concerned that—ah!” He cried out his pain as he was struck again, but this time the captain drew his sword, pressing it to the side of Cedric's throat to keep him from getting up.

“I'll bet. Your concern for my pet has earned you a very special reward.” The captain smirked, while Cedric looked up at him warily, “I'd say it be an appointment of sorts...with Davey Jones.” Cedric went very white, and Draco watched helplessly as he was dragged from the chamber by the captain, the door slamming and locking behind him.

Draco knew very little of Pirate culture, but he knew enough to understand the reference. He pressed his back into the lush pillows and drew his legs up, a wave of guilt washing over him. Someone was about to be killed, and it was all his fault.

From the open window he could hear no voices, save a shrill screaming and a thunderous voice he knew belonged to the captain. Suddenly, the screaming stopped, and utter silence descended. Draco buried his face in his knees, feeling nauseous and miserable. While he was vaguely aware that it was not technically his fault that Cedric had died, he had still been the cause.

Barely ten minutes after the execution, the door was unlocked and Harry stepped inside. He still looked angry, but nowhere near the blinding fury Draco had seen earlier. He strode purposefully towards Draco, who bit the inside of his cheek to keep from audibly whimpering. He tried to shift back and away from him, but Draco was quickly learning that whatever the captain wanted, that captain got. Draco was no exception to this rule, as Harry sat down, grabbed onto Draco and dragged him forward, settling the selkie in his lap while he draped his arms around him.

Draco was slightly startled by this strangely gentle approach, but he was more thrown by feeling as though there was something...different about the captain. Draco struggled to place what it was at first, but then as he looked down at the linked hands that enclosed his waist, he struggled to hide a gasp of surprise.

His hands, once almost black with dirt, were clean. The scraggly nails had been trimmed and tended to, and the golden hue of his skin was unblemished by soot or dirt. The strong body odour he'd come to associate with the man was severely diminished, and if he wasn't mistaken, he'd even made an attempt at washing his hair. Draco was shocked, and had no idea how to take in what he was seeing. Was it a gesture for Draco, or did he merely try and clean himself once every couple months as a general rule? Draco was dragged from his musings by the low rumble of Harry's voice.

“You have no idea how pretty you are, do you, pet?” The nickname caused Draco to shiver, and the captain lifted one hand to stroke his cheek. “You're so very pretty. My crew ain't trustworthy. If one of them wanted my captaincy, I wouldn't put it past them to slice me open and take you away from me.” The tip of his tongue trailed down the nape of Draco's neck, and he shut his eyes, utterly failing to suppress a shiver. “You're my prize from that poor excuse for a settlement, and I won't let anyone else have you.”

“What did you do to Cedric?” Draco's voice was barely a whisper when he spoke, and Harry's arms tensed around him. Draco could sense the possessiveness in the action, and it did little to ease his dread at what was undoubtedly coming.

“He had an appointment with the keel of me ship,” he answered simply, his voice startlingly neutral when he replied. “He'll be feeding the sharks for the next couple days,” he chuckled softly, while Draco felt sick. The pirate's mouth found Draco's neck again, while he held onto him tightly, “that will keep anyone else from trying to take you from me.” The comment made Draco realize that the captain likely knew that Cedric hadn't done anything unseemly to him, but instead made an example of him.

Somehow, Draco found that even worse.

One of Harry's hands slid from his waist to lightly cradle his jaw, and he coaxed Draco to turn in the embrace, and devoured his mouth with a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Draco tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable, but found himself shocked when it never came. Harry broke the kiss, pausing to taste Draco's lower lip before he released him, the reluctance to do so apparent in his every movement. “Eat something, pet. I will be in later to check on you, after I've seen to me duties.” He kissed him once more, and Draco was deeply unsettled by how tender it was.

Harry strode towards the door, and Draco felt his heart fall a little when he heard the lock click back into place.

~*~

That evening, Harry returned to the room with another platter of food.

Draco had made a valiant effort of eating the foods that had been left earlier, but his stomach refused to cooperate. He managed a few mouthfuls before he began to feel decidedly ill, and pushed the plate away with a groan. Cedric's kind face kept floating into his mind, and he struggled to believe that he was actually dead for such a small thing as talking to him. Not for the first time, Draco bitterly wished for access to his skin. He needed to get out of here; he needed to get away from these people.

The platter the captain carried was similar to the morning: fruit, some kind of boiled gourd, dried meats, and ale. His eyes fell at once on the barely-touched meal he'd left earlier, and they narrowed a little in annoyance. “I thought I told you to eat,” his voice was irritated, but not as angry as Draco had expected to be.

“I tried,” he mumbled, staring down at his hands twisting in his lap, “I just...I wasn't hungry.”

He looked back up to the captain, who sighed heavily, setting down the food on the desk alongside the uneaten portions. He sat down on the gilded chair that so often faced the desk, “come here,” Harry said, motioning with his hand. Draco stood slowly, his muscles and buttocks still aching from the previous night's activities, and stepped over to him has quickly as he could.

The captain dragged Draco into his lap, arranging him so that he was perched comfortably, his legs threaded between the back of the chair and its arms, so that Draco was more or less straddling the man. Draco found himself startled by this position, though not afraid in the strictest sense of the word. Harry rested a hand at the back of his neck, and tugged lightly on him, pulling him in for another tender kiss, much like the one he'd bestowed upon Draco earlier.

It lasted only a moment then he pulled back slightly, and Draco found a piece of the dried meat being held up in front of him. Understanding the silent command, he sunk his teeth into the tough, salted meat, chewed, and swallowed. Obeying this small command earned him a small smile from the captain, and the small show of positive emotion made Draco feel uncomfortably warm.

Harry picked up the tankard, and lifted it to Draco's lips, forcing him to drink. It was strong, but better than Draco had expected it to be, and swallowed the offered drink willingly. Harry's free hand moved to lay flat against the small of Draco's back, and rubbed gently as he picked up other pieces of the food he'd brought, watching Draco intently as he ate from the captain's hands.

Draco found that in the arms of the captain, with these gentle offerings and actions, his stomach readily accepted the foods, and he even found himself relaxing. The hand on his back trailed up his spine to cradle the back of his neck, and following certain mouthfuls he would capture Draco's lips in a tender kiss that was almost as delectable as the food itself. It unnerved him how his stomach would flutter when he was kissed, and he found himself craving these gentle touches almost more than the food his body so desperately needed.

When the last of the food had been consumed, the captain's mouth twitched into a smirk, and he pulled Draco in for another kiss. He drew it out and invaded Draco's mouth with his demanding tongue, linking his hands together at Draco's waist. He pulled him closer, the minor friction of their groins coming together eliciting a soft, barely audible moan from the selkie.

With a victorious sort of chuckle, Harry's hands dove beneath the hem of his shirt and dragged the garment off roughly. Draco shivered, the reaction having little to do with the temperature of the bedchamber. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, his insides churning in an unsettling combination of budding arousal and fear.

“You're such a pretty thing, my pet,” Harry purred, his fingers ghosting over Draco's pearlescent flesh, eliciting another shiver from him. Draco hated the nickname, but he knew by now that objecting to it would make no difference. His lack of reaction to the compliment did not deter the pirate, his hands sliding down Draco's front and stopping at the ties of his breeches.

Draco quickly looked away, his form beginning to tremble as Harry worked at the ties, easing them open in a matter of seconds. His cold, rough hand slid over Draco's soft member, and he slowly began to stroke it. Draco gasped sharply, his eyes slipping shut as his hips jerking feebly forward under the man's touch.

He tilted his head back, his breathing becoming more shallow as Harry worked his weathered hands over Draco's cock, his own erection pressing insistently into his inner thigh through the fabric. The pirate's free hand came to rest at the back of Draco's neck, drawing him in for another heated kiss.

His cock wept between the pair of them, while Harry carefully lifted him up, supporting him with one arm while never breaking their kiss. He carried Draco over to the bed, releasing him briefly to let him fall back on the soft blankets. His face flushed with his arousal and shame; he could not deny that Harry's expert touch had brought him to a state of desire, and he found that he no longer cared as explicitly that that pleasure would come at the hands of his kidnapper and rapist. He was ashamed to admit—even to himself—how desperately he wanted this man to touch him.

Draco's silent wish was granted almost at once, Harry crawling onto the bed still fully clothed and resting his knees on either side of Draco's hips while he claimed his mouth. He whimpered, arching his hips minutely, while he reached up tentatively to thread his fingers through the thick dark hair. Harry groaned, moving his hands down to the waist of Draco's breeches and yanked the garment off roughly. Draco arched his hips further to aid in its removal, shivering as he tried to ignore the way his mind and body fervently contradicted each other.

Harry seemed amused by his inner conflict, a soft chuckle escaping him as his hand slid over Draco's insistent erection. He pressed his head back into the bedsheets, a soft, keening cry escaping him as Harry's hand began to move.

The captain's mouth moved from Draco's lips to the side of his throat, tasting his flesh with swift flicks of his tongue, before scraping over the patch of skin with his teeth. The hand not at his cock slipped between his thighs and began to tease his hole, Draco's breath hitching in a sharp gasp of pain, as he was still sore from the previous night's activities.

The reaction did not deter Harry, though he did pause long enough to reach for the night table, withdrawing a small stone jar from the uppermost drawer. He unscrewed it to show a thin oil, almost clear, but with a faint brown tint. He had remained perched on top of Draco while he drew out the substance, and dipped two fingers into it, rubbing it between his fingers carefully before setting it aside with the cover resting lightly on top. “Relax,” he said in response to Draco's nervous expression, “this won't hurt.” Draco almost laughed at the reassurance—it was a bit rich coming from his rapist.

Harry pinned him to the bed, a hand braced on his shoulder and his mouth claiming Draco's once more, while he casually knocked his thighs apart and brushed his oil-slicked fingers against his entrance. Draco gasped again but the pirate did not relent, and slid his fingers past the ring of muscle. Draco whimpered into Harry's mouth, squirming in a feeble attempt to get away, despite the fact that he knew it was useless.

It hurt—but it was nothing like it had been the previous day. The ache was a low thrum, and Harry seemed to be using liberal amounts of the oil, preparing Draco much more gently and thoroughly than he had last time. As he worked at Draco's hole he realized that some of the pain was fading, and he wondered fleetingly if the oil was medicinal. The idea of Harry doing anything for Draco that even remotely resembled kindness seemed ridiculous to him, and he quickly dismissed it.

He teased Draco's cock intermittently with shedding his own clothes, until his exposed cock, the head slick with precome brushed against Draco's, eliciting a shuddering moan from his barely parted lips. He slowly slid his fingers from Draco, who was too lost in the haze of his arousal to notice when Harry lined up his slick cock with Draco's entrance and slid inside.

Like before, he did not take the time to ease Draco into it, but took him in one. Draco reached above his head and gripped tightly to the blankets beneath him, his knuckles going white as he tried to ride out the sharp pain, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his calves perched on Harry's shoulders tensing as he slid out, and back in just as roughly. Draco whimpered, his eyes screwed shut as Harry worked to distract him from the pain by stroking his cock in time with his thrusts.

Yelps of pain and moans of pleasure leapt from Draco's throat in equal measure, his hips jerking and his back arching as he squirmed beneath his attacker, his breathing becoming steadily more ragged as his orgasm approached.

Harry covered Draco's mouth with his own as he came, coating Draco's insides with his seed, while his own orgasm was leached from him a moment later, painting their bellies with it. Harry slumped on top of Draco, panting heavily and peppering sluggish kisses to the edge of his jaw. He slipped out of Draco and dragged a blanket over the pair of them. “Good boy,” he murmured, placing one final kiss to the nape of Draco's neck before tugging him close and falling into a dead sleep.

Only after Draco came down from the high of his orgasm did he allow the tears to fall.

~*~

Draco had been too young to remember at length what it had been like for his mother when Lucius first stole their skins.

He could recall going with her to the seaside, and feeling the same longing, same pull as she did to descend into the sea's waiting arms, and return north to their home.

They never spoke of it, and Lucius never maltreated either of them; doting on Narcissa and treating Draco like his own son. They wanted for nothing, and when they crossed the Atlantic for Lucius to take up a governing role on one of the British Caribbean settlements, they were treated like royalty. Draco was waited on hand and foot, he and his mother watching as Lucius strove to pamper them in every way he could, but Draco assumed that the man knew deep down that it would never be enough.

When his mother died just short of his nineteenth year, Draco felt as though a part of him had died with her.

Now, Draco felt as though he could empathize more with what it must have been like for her, to be with a man that was his captor and partner in one.

The weeks passed slowly for Draco in a haze of rough sexual encounters with the captain, and painful isolation during the hours which he was left alone. Harry was still fiercely possessive of Draco, and he had not seen another living soul since Cedric.

The times when Harry took his pleasure from Draco were still painful, but he seemed to be making something of an effort to make it easier on him. He always used a similar oil to prepare Draco, and his suspicion that it had restorative properties was confirmed when the ache in his rear faded much more quickly following each encounter with his keeper. Afterwards, Harry would hold Draco so tenderly that he almost felt guilty when he broke down and wept.

At these times, Harry would hold him in silence, and for a moment Draco would blissfully forget who it was that held him.

Draco did not know what month it was, or what day it was. The seasons on the Caribbean Sea were all sunny and warm, with precious little shift in clime. The only difference between the current day and every day that had preceded it was the presence of a small speck of an island on the horizon.

The sight filled Draco with cold dread. He was nowhere foolish enough to assume that this was a supply run, the jovial cries he could hear from the deck were far too exuberant for that. He could hear loud yells, too far away for Draco to discern the words, and the distinctive sound of the crew organizing everything for the coming raid.

Draco sat on the middle of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest. He desperately wished there was something he could do to warn the people of the island what was coming. Flashes of memory filled his mind's eye, remembering the smell of burning flesh, the screams, the village on fire...Draco shivered. It was going to happen again, and he had no way to stop it.

“If I didn't know better,” Draco's head snapped up at the sudden voice, and saw the captain eyeing him hungrily, his shoulder resting against the door's frame. “I'd say you'd be wanting me to fuck you,” he chuckled a little, while Draco felt his face burn.

It was early still, and Draco hadn't bothered to dress properly following the previous night's activities. This had left him wearing one of the captain's somewhat cleaner shirts rolled up to the elbows and precious little else. Harry stepped further into the room, while Draco hugged his knees more tightly to his chest, eyeing the pirate warily. He stopped at the edge of the bed and carded his fingers through Draco's hair. His eyes fluttered shut momentarily, willing himself away from the situation as best he could, but Harry's voice dragged him forcibly back.

“I haven't the time to fuck you right now, but you can get on your knees for me, pet.” Draco looked up at the amused, leering smirk painted across his face, but Draco's silent pleas were ignored. His miserable gaze focused on the ground, he slid gracelessly from the bed and knelt before the pirate, and proceeded to undo the front of his breeches.

The captain was already half-hard by the time Draco extricated his cock from its confines, and it took very little time to stroke him to hardness. A bead of precome rested upon the tip of his cock, and after steeling himself for the inevitable, he closed his mouth over the shaft. At once, Harry groaned and twisted his fingers into Draco's hair, while he forced his throat muscles to relax while he swallowed more of the man's cock.

“Good, so good...” His mumbled praises came with his fingers tightening in Draco's hair, while his breath came out in short, shallow gasps. Draco lifted a hand and rested his palm against Harry's inner thigh, his fingers trailing up towards his sac as he began to bob his head.

It took precious little time to bring the captain to orgasm; within ten minutes the back of his throat was painted with his semen, and prepared for it this time, he was able to swallow it in relative comfort, instead of choking on it. The hand in his hair slackened enough for Draco to slip the softening cock from his mouth, and Harry quickly dragged him to his feet.

Draco had expected Harry to be in a post-orgasm daze, but he seemed as alert as ever. With his mouth pulled into an amused smirk, he caught Draco's chin and lifted his mouth slightly to meet his. Draco's fingers twisted into the front of Harry's shirt, his muscles tense as he resisted the urge to try and push the pirate away. He hadn't the strength to do so, and the pirate would take what he wanted from him—one way or another.

Harry broke the kiss with a nip to Draco's lower lip, and squeezed him once before releasing him. “Good boy,” he purred, combing his fingers through Draco's hair one last time before spinning on his heel and leaving, a cold laugh following him out as Draco slumped miserably to the floor.

~*~

Harry returned at sunset with a plate of food for Draco. He did not say a word, but sat on the bed with his ankle propped on the top of his knee and watched while Draco consumed everything on his plate. It was the same fare as always—dried meats, grain, and fruit. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, and as a result he stalled as long as he could, peeling apart the venison into bite-sized pieces and chewing it slowly, while he avoided the pirate's eye.

“Finally,” Harry growled as Draco finished and stood. He yanked the selkie down into his lap, and Draco squeaked in surprise, tumbling onto the pirate with wide eyes. Harry spun him round at once and pinned him to the bed, claiming his mouth while he hurriedly stripped him.

The sudden attack startled Draco, his mind dissolved into a fight-or-flight panic. His breath hitched just shy of hyperventilation as the pirate grappled at his clothing, tearing at his shirt roughly in his haste. Draco whimpered and pressed his hands against Harry's chest, but almost at once he found his wrists wrapped in an iron grip and pinned above his head. “You know better than that pet,” he whispered hoarsely, while Draco hissed in pain around the too-tight hold. “Be still,” Draco went limp under the dangerous growl in the captain's voice, and refocused his gaze on the curved wooden ceiling.

He could feel his clothing being shed, and he was vaguely aware of Harry ridding himself of his own clothes. Draco barely reacted when he was bodily flipped onto his stomach, and at once he lifted his arse into the air, knowing full well what was expected of him at this point.

Harry spent very little time preparing him, and as a result his initial invasion of his rectum burned painfully. Draco buried his face in the blankets in an effort to stifle his cries, reaching forward at the same moment to grip tightly to the bedding, struggling to will his mind away from the assault upon his person.

Draco hissed as the pirate began to move, angling his cock so that it purposefully brushed his sweet spot, and an unwilling moan escaped him as his cock twitched. He heard the pirate's amused chuckle in response to his physical reaction, tears stained the bedspread and the captain's breaths became deeper, just as a loud rapping upon the door snapped them both out of their reverie.

“Shit,” he hissed, his fingertips digging harder than necessary into Draco's hips while his head whipped towards the door. “What?” He yelled so harshly and loudly that Draco cringed and the person on the other side of the door hesitated before replying.

“I'm sorry to interrupt cap'n, but we be in range of the island. If we don't attack soon we'll lose the element of surprise.”

Harry growled furiously under his breath and withdrew from Draco's arse, while getting dressed hastily. He did not even cast his captive a second glance as he stormed towards the door, and burst out, yelling a number of choice expletives at the sorry sod who had made the poor decision to interrupt him.

Draco caught none of the words however as he stared wide-eyed at the door. In the captain's haste, he'd forgotten one important thing.

He did not lock Draco in.

~*~

The cannon fire sounded much louder from the ship than it ever had ashore.

Draco had dressed fully and sat next to the door, listening carefully to ensure he wasn't likely to be caught. He couldn't hear much from the room, but he did not want to risk sneaking out if there was a chance the captain was still hanging about.

Ever so slowly, the muffled voices faded away, and aside from the loud boom, boom of the cannons laying waste to the ill-fated island, he could hear no voices beyond the door.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Draco turned the knob of the door, and felt a thrill of excitement rush through him as it turned without resistance, and opened.

In the outermost part of the captain's cabin, it was blandly decorated, with little more than a large, businesslike desk and a few wooden chairs. Draco had to crouch low to avoid being seen by the large windows that faced the deck as he slipped over to the desk, and began to try the drawers.

Draco found a number of things that were of no interest to him; fountain pens and parchment, thick yellow folders detailing truces with various trade vessels, maps, a journal, and other such things. Most curiously was a locked drawer at the bottom of the desk. His heartbeat quickened, could it really be that easy? He wondered, and looked around for a keyring, a prybar, anything.

There was a silver-plated letter opener propped up artfully on the top of the desk, and Draco snatched it up, carefully wedging it into the drawer's seam. Being held captive for so many weeks, and living a charmed life for so many years before that had rendered him physically weak, and it took several tense minutes for Draco to work the drawer open. It slid open a few inches, then he set aside the opener and pulled it open the rest of the way, only to have his face fall with disappointment. It was empty.

Draco moved to push the drawer shut, but two things struck him at once. First, why would anyone bother to lock an empty drawer, and second, the flimsy wood felt much heavier than it ought to be.

Chancing a glance to the windows and seeing no one, he reached a tentative hand into the drawer and tapped the bottom. Grinning broadly, the false bottom dislodged easily, and Draco reached inside.

His skin slid smoothly over his fingers, soft down over supple, leathery flesh. The light grey was near-white, with speckles in a darker shade of grey near the tail. His heart thrummed in his throat, his eyes wide and shining with joy as he allowed the skin to run over his fingers, holding it for the first time in almost a decade.

Draco sat crouched by the desk and merely held his skin, momentarily unable to work through the shock and joy that it had been so easy to find. The booming echo of the cannons, the distant cries of the crew—none of it registered as he lifted his gaze to the back horizon. The sea sang to him; she was calling him home.

He stood slowly, no longer caring if he was seen. It didn't matter, not anymore. Draco was going home. He moved to the door, blissfully unlocked, slipped outside, and rushed to the starboard side of the ship. The sparse garments flew from him as he ran, and he ignored the startled cry, knowing he'd been spotted, but he did not stop. Draco flew over the rail of the ship's side, and sunk like a stone into the warm, dark water.

At long last, his seal skin enveloped him, and he felt a warmth enclose his heart that had little to do with the temperature of the water around him. He let out a bleating cry of joy, surfacing just enough for his eyes and snout to break the surface. A handful of pirates were bowed over the edge of the ship, gaping at the spot where he'd disappeared, one holding his abandoned, dirty shirt, while another held onto his boots, and a third held onto his discarded breeches. They were speaking to each other, but too far away for Draco to catch the words. He dipped beneath the waves and struck out eastward, but froze his movements almost at once.

The sea called to him, his home was waiting several hundred miles to the north, but something else called to him from the shore of the tiny ruin of an island. Draco hesitated for a moment, then made for the shallows of the shore.

Harry was standing on the beach, his arm slung around the shoulders of one of his companions, the ginger Draco remembered the captain calling Weasley. He was laughing uproariously, an enormous sack braced over his shoulder and overflowing with all manner of treasures. Draco surfaced, far enough from shore to keep from beaching himself, but close enough that he knew Harry would see him. His fair coat would be difficult to miss, even on the blackest of nights.

He glanced up from his first mate, and his eyes found Draco at once. His eyes widened and his smile froze, the corners of his mouth quivering into a frown as he realized what he was seeing. Draco sunk beneath the waves at once, his goodbye lost on the current.

The End

A/N: Phew. This was a really tough fic to write, it's got more smut in it than most of my recent fics, and I haven't written noncon like this in an age. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and I hope you guys aren't annoyed with me for not divulging in the tags what sort of creature Draco was, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise.

Til next time,
James xox
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dead Men Tell No Tales