The first hints of dawn are beginning to seep through the window when I open my
eyes. I am sprawled on my back, the warm form of Jack beside me. He is half on
his side, snoring softly. The bits of us that are touching are sticky with
exchanged heat. The first throbs of a headache pulse behind my eyes as I try to
remember what happened last night.

Ah yes. A half-smile surfaces on my lips.

Wait. Something about what he said bothers me in the early morning semi-darkness..

He owns me? *Owns* me? Who does he think he is?

I prop myself up on one elbow, pulling away from him. The grogginess of sleep
begins to clear from my head as I watch him sleep. Like a baby, he is. His nose
twitches when he inhales. His eyelashes are sooty against his face, and his the
angled bone of his cheeks make small, dusky, inviting hollows. A tangled lock of
hair lies across his forehead, and I reach to brush it away before hurriedly
pulling back my hand in disgust for myself. 

Idiot.

Swooning like a little girl for a…a…a silly pirate! Simpering at every little
thing he says. Giving into all his whims.

Well, no more! I’ll show him.

Now the question is of how. I sit up on the edge of the bed, my feet swinging as
I think. Jack’s jumbled pile of clothes and junk, on the floor in front of me,
catches my eye. I glance back over my shoulder; Jack’s arms are bent at the
elbows, his hands up around his head. I chew on my lip and stare into space for a
minute. The first real grin of the day emerges on my face.

On my knees on the rough boards of the floor, I try to quietly rummage through
Jack’s heap. The light from the window is still too feeble to reach into the long
shadow of the bed, so I am left fumbling with my fingertips, slowly to avoid
making noise.

"Shite" I hiss into the darkness. I lift my hand close to my eye, watching a drop
of blood well up on the tip of my middle finger. Well, at least I know where his
dagger is. I watch as the droplet falls onto the floor, shining black against the
graininess of the wood. I stuff the finger into my mouth and continue looking,
this time with a little more caution.

My fingers finally locate what I am looking for. I fiddle for a minute and then
finally have it free. I head back to the bed with the length of rope which Jack
keeps tied to his belt. It is old and oily, frayed at both ends, but it will do
nicely.

He hasn’t moved. 

I make a slipknot in each end of the rope, and spend a few tense moments hooking
them around his hands without waking him up. I squint with concentration as I do
this, eyes slit, tongue playing at the corner of my mouth. That accomplished, I
loop the middle section around one bedpost, and stand back to admire my
handiwork. Not pretty, but it will do.

I settle onto the floor a few feet away from the bed, elbows balanced on my
knees, chin cupped in my hands, watching and waiting.

For the longest time he moves not an inch, still snoring quietly. I doze off and
jerk awake, doze off and jerk awake. The room slowly fills with early morning
sunshine.

Finally he moves one arm in his sleep, jerking the post of the bed, which squeaks
distressedly. He inhales with a hiss and raises himself up as much as he can in
the current situation. He glances around the room dazedly, and looks at me, eyes
unfocused. 

"Will, why am I attached to the bed?"

"I was thinking about what you said to me last night." I am on my feet, walking
slowly towards the bed, trying to maintain eye contact. "About you owning me."

His face is blank, his eyes dark and unreadable, as I sit down on the edge of the
bed. 

"I want to show you that it works both ways."

"Let me go. Now." There is barely suppressed rage in his voice, and his face is
tight. He isn’t liking this. 

"No." I gently place one hand on his bare stomach, and his entire body goes
rigid. His bound hands clench and the cords stand out in his arms. A look of
panic flows over his face, or maybe I just imagine that it does. 

He grapples with himself and wins, as his muscles loosen again. His hands hang
lax against their bindings and he looks at me levelly, daring me to do more.

I lower my head to his chest, keeping my eyes on his. The tip of my nose almost
touches the hollow where his lowest ribs fuse together. I inhale. His skin smells
of salt and the sun, sweat and something sweet like oranges. My head is swimming
as I straighten back up, but Jack is unaffected. 

Worse than that. He looks positively bored. His lack of expression is beginning
to unnerve me, and a rosy glow creeps into my face. I try to cover it with a
confident laugh that comes out as a pained squeak.

"I'll make you move yet." A barely imperceptible shake of his head. This is
beginning to irritate me. I catch the nub of his nipple between my finger and
thumb and slowly increase the pressure. A twitch, a tiny tic, in his left cheek
but nothing else. I know that if our positions were changed, if I were him and he
was me, I would be pleading for mercy. Still nothing. I let go, feeling generally
rejected. I can't keep my eyes in his any more, and I stare at his chest, rising
and falling.

Why can't he just let me win, give me something? I am suddenly filled with a
raging anger. My temper slips from my grasp and I turn and swoop up his dagger
from the floor, brandishing it at shoulder height. 

"Maybe this is all you understand." His eyes follow its glinting blade as I lower
the tip to his stomach. I don't press hard, just let the weight of the dagger do
its job as I trace a faint pink line across him. He follows the blade with his
eyes, but looks disinterested even as I begin to push harder and draw a thin line
of blood, a diagonal red slash below the line of his ribs.

I pull my hand away slowly, amazed that I had actually had the gall to draw
blood. The very tip of the blade is dulled with red, and I watch a droplet slowly
slide down his skin, under him and out of sight.

My eyes widen as I glance down at him, and his are oily black, staring back at
me. He blinks evenly and I give up. I'll have to untie him sometime, and now I am
afraid of what he'll do to me when I do.

I toss the dagger down to the floor. It skates across the rough boards and
clatters against the wall.

"Fine, you win." As I reach over him to unhook the rope from around the bedpost,
my fingertips brush against his chest, and a surprised rush of air escapes him as
he sucks in his stomach. 

I withdraw my hand, cocking my head to one side. Could it be that he is ticklish?

I splay my hand against his side and flex, digging my fingertips into his ribs.
He is laughing now, writhing away from me.

A smile breaks out on my face as I gleefully torment him. His breathing comes in
hitches and gasps and interminable babbling noises. Tears begin to seep from the
corners of his eyes, which are clamped shut, and the bed groans as he jounces
against the rope.

"Stop!" He finally manages to gasp out an understandable word, and I do. I got
what I wanted.

He catches his breath, and I realize that my heart is pounding in my ears. I lean
to press my lips against his, a complete reverse of our first kiss. I can still
taste the rum in his mouth. I stop to catch my breath and sit up.

"That was what you wanted?" He half-smiles and I nod. 

"Then you can untie me now?" I stand up and lean over him to pick at the knots
that hold his hands, finally loosening them enough for him to slip himself free.

Before I know what is happening he is up, with his hand around my throat. He
shoves me against the wall, hard wood digging into the bones of my spine.

"You are never, *ever* going to do that again, savvy?" With his face inches from
mine, I can feel his hot breath.

I shake my head, trying to draw in air. He squints at me for a moment, and then
loosens his grip on my throat.

"Good. Now, you're going to have to repay the favour I gave you last night.
That's the other rule." His hand is on my shoulder, buckling my legs, pressing me
down onto my knees in front of him. 

I am shaking as he looks down at me, but my hands manage the ties on his
breeches. He is already hard, and, inexperience aside, I steady his hips with my
hands short work of him. A warm flood in my mouth and a groan from above my head
and it's over.

As I stand up, I'm blushing again and I can’t look at him in the eye. He tugs his
trousers back up and we dress, the silence palpable. 

I catch him looking at me as I button my shirt, and he throws an arm around me,
squeezing my shoulder in an affable hug.

"We're even." He winks at me, which makes me smile despite myself, "now let's go
down and see about some rum. We have to start the day off right."