Hansel: O Captain (NSFW)

(NSFW [but not very])

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“Settle the fuck down.”

Hansel shoved Mishka ahead of him into the hold -- the lowest, darkest part of the ship where no one would be able to see or hear them. Still gently. Always gently, even though Mishka was well past flinching at his touch.

He jabbed his finger in Mishka's smug face. “You need to fuckin' respect me in front of the recruits.”

“I have *great* respect for certain parts of you,” Mishka teased, closing the distance Hansel had put between them in a single fluid step, trying to brush against him slyly. Hansel batted his hands away.

He'd been in a *mood* the past few days -- they'd been at sea too long and he was getting restless, Hansel guessed. It wasn't normally the kind of mood he would mind at all, but he was still trying to teach the swabbies how to use their grappling hooks, and they were all still fucking disgraces, and he didn't need the captain standing on the top deck wolf whistling as loud as he possibly could every goddamn time he demonstrated the throw. It didn't matter that he liked it. It was distracting.

“I have a fucking job to do.”

“If I remember correctly, your job is to do what your captain says.” Mishka crossed his arms and shrugged and looked innocent. Now he wanted to play coy, did he? He wanted to act fucking cute? (Well, it was working.)

“Yeah?” Hansel stepped in, forcing him to either retreat or be knocked over. He took the former option.

“Mm.”

Another step, backing him against the wall. His eyes were big and bright and he was clearly biting the inside of his lip to keep his grin at bay, keep an attempt at a serious expression up.

“And what,” Hansel asked lowly, pushing a knee between his legs, resting his palms on the bulkhead to either side of him with a nonchalant *thud*-- “is my captain telling me to do?”

Mishka broke first. He always did. Hansel was very proud of himself for that.

“I'm telling you to --.”

As he made to snatch at Hansel's belt, Hansel knocked his hands away again and grabbed his hips, spinning him and slamming his chest against the wall. Still gently. Maybe a little less gently now.

Hansel pressed into him, knowing what the heat of his body did to Mishka when he'd been out in the sun all day, working and sweating in the ocean air. The little sound Mishka tried not to make in response was incredibly gratifying.

“Sorry, Captain,” Hansel said, close to his ear. “Didn't quite catch that.”

“Hans,” Mishka murmured, soft now, his eyes lidded, his cheeks flushed. It was one of his better tricks, and Hansel nearly gave in. But it *was* just a trick to get what he wanted, and Hansel had no intention of giving it to him just because he'd switched tactics.

He pulled away just enough to catch Mishka's wrists and pin them, one-handed, to the small of his back. Then he unlooped a short section of rope from the grappling kit hooked to his belt, tied a quick, neat knot around Mishka's wrists -- not too tight, but tight enough -- and deftly sheared off the excess rope against the exposed blade of his axe. It barely took a second, all the movements familiar individually, if not quite pieced together this exact way before. Mishka looked over his shoulder and gave a small *oh* of appreciation and anticipation.

His expression changed when Hansel jerked him away from the wall by the rope and pushed him away. Quizzical, first.

“I got shit to do,” Hansel told him calmly.

“Yes,” he said. “Me. I'm one of the things you need to do.”

Hansel approached him only to push him again -- down, this time, with a firm hand on his head just to make him hesitate on his knees for a beat, going doe-eyed with hope before he got the clear message from Hansel's completely detached body language. The expression shifted to annoyance as he sat down heavily.

“You sit here quietly and let me do my goddamn job,” Hansel said. “I'll be back later.”

“You think I can't get out of a fucking rope?”

“I think you do and I won't touch you 'til we reach Skyport again.”

Mishka’s eyes narrowed. “You're bluffing.”

Hansel gave him a look.

“You're not bluffing. *Fuck*.” He sighed dramatically but shifted a little, settling in. “Well, how long do you plan to leave me down here?”

Hansel scratched his beard and looked away, feigning thoughtfulness as if he hadn't been thinking about this for most of the day and already decided. “Hm. Tell you what. I'll be back when at least a couple of the swabbies can make it into rigging without killing themselves.”

“Hansel, I've seen their capabilities.” He was aghast. “They're fucking terrible.”

“Well, whose fuckin’ fault is that?” Hansel shrugged and turned away from him to head back to the stairwell.

“I'll die of starvation.”

“Yes, Captain, whatever you say, Captain,” he called, loud enough to block out Mishka hissing his name in protest, already halfway up the stairs and grinning to himself. Hmm. Now that he thought about it, knowing that Mishka was tied up and waiting on him below decks might actually be more of a distraction than having Mishka catcalling him up above. It might take even longer than he expected to get those swabbies in shape. Wasn't that too bad?