A gold band separated the dark purple sky from the dark blue water when the sun came up. It was a beautiful sight, and therefore it felt like it was crown on a wonderful night. Rogier and Rory were still at the prow, watching the sea. Rory's throat felt sore because he'd talked so much, but not for a minute he had bored his captain. On the contrary; Rogier had gone to his quarters to take a bottle of rum from his private collection to quench his thirst. Therefore, he wasn't that sober anymore, making the stories he was telling more and more unbelievable. 

"You gotta write 'em down," Rogier said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Your stories."

Rory looked aside, as he had done most of the night. In the beginning, he had been careful, but by now he had stopped trying to hide his admiration. The early light gave his face a mysterious glow, almost convincing him the man's skin would really feel like fluid gold when he'd caress his cheek. 

"They're in my head," he answered. 

Rogier turned his head aside, letting his blue eyes rest upon Rory's. He got warm immediately. "It's a waste when they stay there once you die. You can leave somethin' good to this world."

A little shy, Rory bit his cheek. That was a compliment he hadn't expected. "You really think the stories are that good?" he asked, hesitantly. "I mean — I only collect them, spice 'em up a bit."

Rogier chuckled softly. "Kid, I've been listenin' to your voice for hours. If your stories would be as boring as all the shit other people tell me, I'd made you scrub the floor a long time ago. But no — you got talent boy. And havin' a good storyteller around is never wrong, especially when times are tough."

Rory's chest puffed out with pride. "Maybe I can write your stories down. About all those monsters you've fought!" Full of enthusiasm, he looked at the man. "These are stories nobody knows about, aye?"

A slight grin crossed Rogier's lips. "I fear tellin' stories isn't one of my talents."

"Doesn't matter! I mean — if you give me some details I make a good story of it!" Rory's face started to beam at the prospect to spend hours in the captain's quarters with Rogier while the man told him about his adventures. It immediately increased his motivation to learn how to write and read properly. 

"A captain lives off fame. You've got a point."

"Aye! I will make you the most notorious pirate people have ever heard of!"

Rogier raised an eyebrow. "You mean I'm not that man already?"

Rory shrugged his shoulders. "Yer kinda cool, actually. Nicer than rumors made me believe."

Rogier kept his glance — it was such an intense moment that he forgot how to breathe. "Friendliness is a gift you should be careful with. Especially in a life like ours."

"Sounds like ya don't really trust yer own crew."

Rory had spoken before thinking, but the look in Rogier's eyes told him he appreciated his honesty. 

"It's only four years ago I committed mutiny and made myself a captain. Only four years. For a great deal, my reputation is built on lies. Yeah — people hire us to hunt monsters. But it's not like we've slayed hundreds of dragons. Four years is a period too short to become a really close community. My men are fickle, they're sensationalists or want to make big money. Your crew is different. You've been sailing together for years." He gave him a wink. "Even young ones like you are prepared to give their lives for their captain — and you are all concerned about that young fellow who was part of your crew for only a short time."

"Mousie..." he sighed, thinking of his friend. His fingers cramped around the wood of the railing. How was he? Wherever he was — would they treat him well? He imagined how he would tell him about all the things Rogier had taught him, once they would see each other again, he would tell him that he was going to become a helmsman and that he and the captain had had such frank conversations. 

Mouse knew how it felt — to feel like the most useless thing on board at one moment, while the next, the captain confided in you. Deep down, he hoped that one day, Rogier and he would have what Mousie and North were having now. 

Suddenly, he felt Rogier's hand on his shoulder. The man looked him square in the eye. "We're gonna find him."

Rory felt his heart leap in his throat. Whether it was because the man was touching him, because he was looking so intensely at him, or because of his uplifting words, he didn't know. His whole body started to glow, he was afraid that the man would even be able to feel it right through his tunic. Rogier's hand shoved down an inch, and suddenly his thumb brushed his collarbone, slowly, almost thoughtlessly. It might be some kind of soothing gesture — but it wasn't that natural between two people who hadn't really spoken to each other before this day.

Rory breathed in sharply when Rogier turned a little more towards him. All of a sudden he desperately longed to close the distance between their bodies; to feel that hard chest against his own. 

"What are ye doin'?" Rory asked, sounding a little hoarse. His own question made him flinch — why the hell did he ask such a question? Whatever Rogier was doing — he wanted him to continue, and instead, he was sending the wrong message. 

"I have no idea what I'm doin'." Rogier's voice sounded tense. His hand moved aside until his fingertips ran up across Rory's neck. His touch was light, but nevertheless, it felt like warm drops of oil were gliding across his skin. He closed his eyes, all he wanted to focus on was his captain's touch. Rogier's rough fingers pressed closer to his skin, his thumb tracing the right side of Rory's jaw. 

"Your eyes are too beautiful to close them."

Rogier's tone caused a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He looked up; it was hard to believe that someone who had such wonderful eyes himself liked his. He swallowed. 

"Is this why you're such a tight crew?" Rogier asked. "Because you're all lovers?"

Rory froze — suddenly, all this seemed to take a whole different turn. 

"Some — some of us are lovers. Mack and Lee. Beckett and Eric. North and Mousie. But I — I don't have one."

"Why's that?" Rogier's thumb ran across his bottom lip. "You're... fascinating."

Rory was afraid to faint because of Rogier's intense glance. He was breathing rapidly, his stomach feeling like a whirlpool. "I dunno," he whispered. "But, but —" He took a deep breath. "But I can be your lover. If ye — if ye want me to."

Why, Rory? Why lay it on thick? 

It felt like he couldn't think anymore, his brain felt like syrup. Anxiously, he looked up to Rogier — he couldn't believe he had really said that out loud. 

Suddenly there were footsteps — footsteps that quickly came to a stop.

Immediately Rogier pulled back his hand, and at the same time, both men turned aside. 

It was Markus who was staring at them, completely bewildered. Only one second passed by; then he squinted his eyes. There was a frosty fire in them — and suddenly, Rory understood why the man hated him so much. 

He wasn't the only one desiring the captain.