Bastian stalked down the steps and into the berth. He knew he projected a cold and intimidating aura, and he wanted to.
He knew what occurred beneath the decks of a sailing boat, especially after everyone had knocked back some rum.
His jaw locked when his eyes landed on where the festivities were taking place. Aidana was sitting on a crate—a half empty rum bottle next to her—clapping along to the music.
His crew were clapping and dancing and gulping down rum. His lips unconsciously turned into a snarl as he walked forward with measured steps.
The fiddle playing died down as he walked into the circle with his hands behind his back.
"Mr. Permeti, have half of the rum dumped overboard and store half of whatever's remaining in my private hold."
"Yes, captain." The man answered and ducked out. He appeared to be one of the most sober in the room.
He tilted his head when he caught sight of his wife. She looked wasted. His jaw clenched further along with his fists which were behind his back.
He turned to glare at Aidana who was smirking at him in a drunken stupor. His nostrils flared. He'd have to deal with her later. Though he did not know how he would.
He stepped forward and grabbed his wife's arms, stopping her from her dancing. He had to admit, she looked absolutely adorable and ridiculous.
Her grey eyes squinted in confusion for a few moments then widened happily. "Bastian!" She proclaimed in a slurring voice, her rum coated breath reaching his nostrils.
Just how much had she had to drink? She didn't seem too wasted actually, but she was definitely drunk. Rum was luckily always watered down, but still.
He sighed and shook his head before he picked her up by her wobbling knees. Walking out of the room he stopped at the door and called back to the remaining crew in the room, "Clean up this mess. I want to see you at first light above deck, mopping and scrubbing every plank."
He would not tolerate drunkenness aboard his ship.
They did not groan or mumble, to his ears. He was sure they would once he was out of earshot.
Hydrangea began squirming in his arms, saying, "I can walk.. I can walk.."
"You've had too much to drink." He said sternly.
"I have not." She whined in her Crescent lilt and began to struggle in his grasp even more—to the point he feared he would drop her.
He set her down and propped her up against a wall. "Hydrangea, can you not stay still for one minute?" He asked infuriated, leaning against the wall, his body hovering over hers.
She smiled cheekily, her flushed cheeks causing thoughts to stir within him. Thoughts that were pushed out from the bruises on her cheek and neck.
To his surprise she leaned forward and placed her lips to his. He stood there stunned while her arms wound around his neck and she pushed herself onto him. He caught her hips and hesitated.
Her kiss was sloppy and tasted heavily of rum, but the temptation to kiss her back was nearly impossible to resist.
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her lips from his. "No, Hydrangea. Not right now."
"Aw, why not?" She whined and moved herself closer to him. He inhaled sharply as she practically pressed her breasts against him.
"Hydrangea..." He growled, looking at the wall behind them.
"What?" She asked, her face burying into his chest.
"Okay." He tossed her over his shoulder and walked up the remaining stairs, ducking low so as not to hurt her.
She giggled and her hands begin to touch his backside.
He stopped in his steps and closed his eyes. Doing his best to control his breathing, he walked with a hunched back the rest of the distance to his cabin.
As soon as he pushed the door open he stormed to the bed and plopped her onto it.
Her hands flew out above her head along with her hair and she laughed in a daze. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked to close the door.
Turning back he found her struggling to get her boots off.
His eyes softened at the sight of her frizzed black hair and her fumbling hands. Why had she gotten drunk? He knew why. But he'd told her it would do nothing to help her. She was a smart woman who could make her own decisions, but why had she done something so foolish.
He removed his own boots swiftly and walked to the bed.
"Here, let me." He said gently and she looked at his hand fixatedly. He smiled and removed her large boots with ease. They were not his, and they were clearly not hers.
She leaned back on her elbows and stared at him with lazy eyes.
He smiled and shook his head. "Oh, what am I going to do with you?"
She giggled and said in her sweet accent, "You could kiss me."
"Could I now?"
She only giggled more, her elbows giving out from under her. She collapsed to the mattress and smiled up at the ceiling.
He sighed and rubbed her calf, "Did you have fun?"
"Uh huh."
"That's good."
He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips only to feel her arms pull him down onto her.
"Hydrangea." He objected against her lips but she didn't hear him. Or she simply didn't care.
He pulled himself off of her eventually. Panting and doing his best to control himself from finishing the kiss.
"Make love to me again."
His blood ran hot and his eyes snapped to hers. She watched him with begging in her eyes.
Silence hung heavy in the air between them. Hydrangea's panting breaths mingled with Bastian's staggered ones the only sounds to breach it. Though neither could hear them.
"N… no. No, Hydrangea. Not right now." He finally answered. Choking on his words.
He stilled when he saw the anger flare in her eyes. "Not right now?" She asked in an angry slur, "Why not? You wanted to do it before, you wanted to…"
"Hey, hey, I'm not saying that I don't want to make love to you. Honey, you're drunk."
"I.. am not.. drunk." She stated seriously.
He thinned his lips, "Alright. How about this? Would you like a massage?"
Her nose wrinkled and he cracked a smile.
"I don't know. It won't feel as good, would it?"
He chuckled, "No. but I think you'll enjoy it."
She muttered some words he did not understand and eventually nodded her head.
He smiled and flipped her over.
"Hey! Bastian!"
He laughed at her outcry, "You need to lie on your stomach for this, my flower."
She relaxed, "Oh."
He breathed out a slow breath. He didn't have any oils like there were at the palace; he'd have massages occasionally after a stressful day working or fighting.
But he was sure the effect would be the same. He'd usually pass out cold during a massage.
He didn't bother removing her shirt.
He started from her shoulders and began rubbing in circles. He heard her hum and grinned as he felt her relax more.
The more his hands kneaded her flesh through the thin fabric, the more he wanted to feel her skin. He knew she wouldn't mind, at the moment. But when she's sober again, he feared what wrath he'd endure from it.
So he left her clothes on.
Before a minute had gone by he sensed she'd fallen asleep. He smiled and removed his shirt before sliding beneath the covers, and pulling her under with him.