There were many things Markus liked about his life at sea. The salty scent, the wind blowing through his hair, the endless water surrounding them, consuming everything but their three-master. However, what he loved most was the sight of the soaked white shirt of his captain sticking to his chest, showing off the muscles Markus could only wish to have. On a warm day like this he left his long, leather coat in the cabin and rolled up his sleeves, letting the raindrops cool down the tattooed skin of his lower arms. If Markus wasn't careful, he could stare at the man for hours; his eyes fixed on the drops leaving his hairline, tracing a path until they disappeared in his blonde beard. The man was like a walking treasure; dark gold hair, a torso that seemed to be carved out of marble and his eyes... his icy blue eyes were like unearthly gems, holding a sense of power every knee would bow to. 

Oh, how much would he want to go down on his knees, and... 

A tormenting heat crept through his body. Quickly he shook off the sinful image; his body was burning like he had swallowed lava. 

That was wrong. 

Rogier would hang him if he ever found out about his perverse fantasies. Markus had no idea where they were coming from; at some point they had just been there. At first he had blamed his fantasies at a lack of female company, but the last time they'd docked, his captain had allowed four whores on the ship. Once in a while Markus paid for their services, but last time he had been buried inside one of them, he had pictured how his captain had been seated behind him, his impressive chest leaning against his back, and... 

Swallowing, he tried to banish all inappropriate thoughts. No, that was not the reason he was staring at his captain. The rain was not the reason he couldn't take his eyes off the man; seeing him without his usual coat had a different impact on him, calling up a deep feeling of nostalgia. Rogier looked less exalted, more like his crew, more like... him. The with gold embroidered coat was a symbol of their distance. Not so long ago, they had been equals. Best friends. Rogier had been his tower of strength when the slave-masters had been tormenting him, they had been thick as thieves, whispering about their fantasies to become free men, to travel around the world, to slaughter monsters and shoot other ships to the bottom of the sea. 

It should have been them against the world. 

Four years had passed since they broke free from their chains and gathered their own crew, sailing the ocean looking for gold and adventure. 

And somehow, they had managed to grow apart. 

Sure, they were still friends. He was still his captain's right hand – or at least, that was what he told himself. In the beginning Rogier had consulted him, nowadays he made his decisions alone. The mouthy, fearless kid he had met all those years ago had changed into a quiet, calculating and ruthless leader, who was slowly blending into the image of what everybody outside the Skull Crusher already believed he was. In reality, it was nothing but a reputation built on exaggeration, drunken conversations and an overactive imagination as a means to provide their ship status and respect. The protagonist of a story, some mythical hero. 

"You're tryin' to become a statue?" 

The slightly hoarse, deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Rogier stood in front of him, eyeing him up and down as if he was making sure he really wasn't turning into stone. 

"No."

His voice was only a whisper. He sounded so meek, he hated himself for it but he had simply been so wrapped up in his thoughts about Rogier that his brain had the consistency of rum right now, doing nothing but aimlessly sloshing through his head. Being so near to the man he had just been fantasizing about, made him feel light in the head. 

"The hell are ye doin' then?"

His piercing blue eyes drilled into Markus' eyes; there was annoyance in them, causing a stab in his stomach. Markus shrugged, feeling stupid.

"Load the cannons."

Markus clenched his jaw. He was supposed to be his right hand, he wasn't some ordinary sailor. The impatient look in Rogier's eyes however made him keep his mouth shut and with a nod he turned around and descended the stairs. 

The lanterns were softly swinging in the middle gun deck. People were carrying barrels gunpowder that had been stored in the hold. Markus looked around, but the Gunner was already yelling orders. Reluctantly, Markus followed them like the others, once more cursing the lack of a rank he seemed to have. 

. . .

Despite the impatience of the men, no order to shoot was given. Markus leaned against the wall, waited a little longer and then decided to take a look on deck. The others would be fine with the canons. Rogier was his friend, he wouldn't mind to speak to him. 

The ship they had been following was around the same seize. He walked over to his captain, who was looking through a monocular. 

"What is it? Why wait?"

Rogier pushed the monocular in his hands and Markus took it, bringing it to his right eye. 

"Look at the flag."

Markus did as he said, aiming his view a little higher. A black flag. 

"Pirates?"

"So it seems."

He hesitated. "They don't seem to prepare for war."

"No." Rogier looked over his shoulder; Kidd climbed down the mast and hurried over to them. 

"'s weird," the man with the dreadlocks said, peeking at the ship. "Barely no movement. Counted a few guys but by no means enough to man a ship. Looks like a fuckin' ghost ship, Cap."

A shiver crept down Markus' spine. He wasn't exactly a big fan of ghost stories. "We better leave," he said. "Maybe they're wiped out by a disease."

Rogier's eyes landed upon Markus' face, the corner of his mouth curled into a dismissive smirk. "No risk, no fun. Prepare to enter."