Cove sat cross legged on the deck of the Akashi. It was smooth enough sailing that everyone was topside, clustered in groups singing sky shanties or gambling around overturned crates. The grog was flowing steadily and there was roasted meat on skewers coming up from the kitchen.

Cove watched as his usual bunkmates played cards with some other shipmates. Fletch and Drift were using the sweets they had bought last week as currency.

“Two liquorice sticks says you’re bluffing,” Fletch grinned toothily at a red faced, hiccoughing older man Cove knew was called Morris.

“I’ve never bluffed in my bloody life!” Morris spluttered, sloshing a good lot of his tankard of grog across the deck where it landed stickily near Cove’s boots. Cove grimaced and shuffled to the left, catching Drift smirking at him.

Drift had been particularly hard on him since the incident in Glosko Town, giving Cove all the worst duties and forcing him to walk both the night shifts with Hanzo and the morning shifts with Drift or Fletch.

The only respite Cove had found had been when he had managed to slip away from Drift and find sanctuary in the kitchens with Gordy. The friendly giant of a ship’s cook had already started teaching Cove some basic recipes. Cove enjoyed the quiet of the galley and the feeling of Gordon fussing over him like his aunt had done before all the other babies were born.

“Put down some damn chocolate will yer?” Fletch was nudging Drift encouragingly. “I’ve got a good hand I promise.”

“Not the chocolate,” Drift shook his head, “I’m saving it.”

“Stingy fucker,” Fletch huffed, spreading his hand across the table to raucous shouts and cheers from the other assembled men.

Cove stared up absently at the sky. The stars were spread across the inked ocean tonight like drops of liquid pearl.

Captain Shin was stood on one of the upper levels of the deck, his telescope out and pointed upwards towards a particularly brightly shining star.

“That’s the one we’re following,” Drift had told him when they’d first come up on deck earlier than evening.

“Why are we going north?” Cove asked curiously.

“We always go north this season,” Drift had shrugged, “following the best trade routes to the winter cities.”

Cove closed his eyes listening to the low tones of the sky shanties, it hadn’t yet turned cold but there was a slightly chilly breeze in the air, he shivered unconsciously. A moment later Cove let out a yelp as a heavy piece of fabric hit his face without warning.

Cove scowled up at Drift, whose coat he realised had been flung at him.

“Look after it for me,” Drift ordered impassively, “I’m sweating from the grog. Don’t let it get dirty.”

“Ass,” Cove bit out, but drew the coat across his lap when Drift wasn’t watching, it was still warm from the other boy’s body heat.

“Here!” Morris announced cheerfully half an hour later after scooping up his winnings and shoving a fresh tankard into Cove’s hands. “Get that down yer if you want to be a real sailor.”

Cove sniffed suspiciously at the honeyed amber liquid before pulling a face.

“Don’t be drinking that,” Drift shook his head and stood up, moving to take the mug away from Cove’s grasp.

“Why not?” Cove snapped, jerking the mug out of Drift’s reach.

“It’s too strong,” Drift rolled his eyes, “Your body won’t handle it.”

Cove narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Drift, maintaining eye contact as he tipped the tankard up to his lips and began to resolutely down its contents.

Cove’s throat burned as the first gulp went down, it burned something rotten, just like the chili had. But Cove was determined not to cough or show any discomfort. Instead, he made an exaggerated show of smacking his lips and jutting out his chin. Holding up his empty mug defiantly towards Morris.

“Another!” he cried, copying what he had heard the other men do. This was met with a round of disbelieving cheers, and more importantly earned him a disapproving glower from Drift.

Morris had been only too happy to help Cove top his tankard up before linking elbows with him and dragging Cove across to the other groups and joining in with an enthusiastic chorus shanty about an ageing prostitute named Sally.

After a few more pints Cove felt a pleasant warmth flush through his entire body, both his elbows were interlocked with other hulking men who were swaying merrily to the music. At some point someone had produced a guitar and a tin whistle and everyone was getting involved in the sing along.

Cove laughed as Morris tried to teach him some of the lyrics, most of them colourful and pockmarked with swear words and dirty limericks.

Eventually the lights and laughter began to dissipate and even the stars overhead seemed to be dimming down for sleep.

“Alright brat, time for bed,” Drift’s low voice hit the shell of Cove’s ear and he felt strong hands grip his waist and haul him up.

Cove scrunched up his face in protest, he wanted to shout at Drift but he couldn’t quite figure out what he was angry about. Had the older boy called him a ‘brat’ again?

“Jesus he can’t even stand,” Fletch’s laugh sounded sharp and ringing, it made Cove flinch as he shuffled further into large, familiar arms.

“I like him better like this,” Fletch chortled, “he’s actually kinda cute when he’s not yapping.”

“Shut up and help me carry him,” Drift grunted.

Drift? Was that whose arms these were? Cove had forgotten. Perhaps they were Gordy’s? Gordon was nice, he was Cove’s only friend on this floating hellhole.

“I’m hungry Gordy,” Cove murmured, hiccoughing into the cook’s chest, but it didn’t feel like Gordy. There was hardened muscle and no soft and squidgy pot belly.

“Noted, your highness,” someone said tightly before hoisting Cove up onto a broad shoulder. Cove blinked as he opened his eyes and saw the door to the Salt Room being swung open. How had they arrived here already? He hadn’t even noticed them going down any stairs.

Cove whined as he was placed down into a hammock, it was swinging slightly and making his dizziness worse.

“Here, try this,”

Cove frowned groggily as a thick slab of something was placed in his hands. He brought it up to take deep sniff, it smelled sweet and buttery.

Cove nibbled at the slab, licking his lips in surprise. It was delicious, it was the nicest thing he had ever tasted. He hungrily attacked the rest of it, stuffing it in his mouth and relishing the way it dissolved on his tongue, flooding his mouth with creamy sweetness.

“Hey, slow down, you’re gonna make yourself sick,”

“It’s fine Gordy,” Cove dismissed with a wide yawn, burping as he did so. He whined miserably as the acrid taste of grog diminished the last of the sweet food. He heard a suffering sigh from above him before he was firmly pushed down in the hammock.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Cove grumbled, wriggling his hips in protest and attempting to crawl back out of the hammock. Maybe Gordon had some more of that delicious food stashed about somewhere?

“What the hell are you doing?” the voice snapped, a firm body came up to his side.

“You smell like Drift,” Cove frowned, leaning into the warmth and scenting salt and wood polish. “I hate him.”

“He knows,” the voice retorted drily. “Now shut up and sleep.”

Cove grunted in protest again, he didn’t feel sleepy yet, just dizzy, but every time he rolled his hips forwards to try and lever himself up out of the hammock there was something immovable blocking him.

“Stop humping my leg you damn brat!” the voice snapped accusatorily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Mm not,” Cove murmured, slumping himself back down but forgetting to tell his body he was no longer trying to leave. Instead, his hips continued to roll forwards, seeking the familiar friction. Cove gasped as he felt a burning heat pooling in his lower abdomen, it had been so damn long since he had enjoyed any kind of personal pleasure. Drift was always fucking there, looming over him making sure he didn’t try to escape again.

“Cove,” the warning growl rumbled through Cove’s body, making him shiver and doing nothing to quell the liquid warmth growing in his gut. He rolled his hips forward again, tipping his face into a hard wall of muscle and panting hotly.

“Just- “ Cove bit his lip hard until he tasted a rusty tang. “Just give me a second – ah!”

Cove gasped as the weight next to him shifted and the angle changed.

“Stop you idiot,” the voice sounded shaken and whispered.

Cove’s mind was still far too foggy to reply as he kept rolling his hips, the hardness in his crotch seeking delicious friction with every minute thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” the voice snapped, breaking at the end before the weight Cove was rolling into started to move away.

“No!” Cove protested, flailing out his arms and grabbing firmly onto it, thrusting his hips quicker and more erratically. “I’m so close,” he whimpered. “Please.”

Not a moment later Cove felt his entire body seize up, wracked with spasms of relief, his breath caught in his throat as he gasped. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest and his fingernails were digging into something warm and soft that felt like someone else’s skin.

His back arched almost to the point of pain before he shuddered forwards and collapsed, panting. His crotch was damp and sticky and he could feel sweat trickling uncomfortably down the back of his neck but he didn’t care. It had been so long since Cove had enjoyed a dream like that and he wasn’t exactly going to source the energy to get up and clean himself now.

“What was all that noise?”

Cove frowned as he heard Fletch’s voice from across the room.

“Nothing,” he heard the body beside him snap, “just go back to sleep.” Cove thought he heard the word ‘idiot’ one more time before he too fell into a contented slumber.