Page 109 of Rears & Vices

Everard scoffed. “Then I shall worry for St. Clare. Thom. Anyone who has associated themselves with me⁠—”

Another nip.

“—ouch! Stop that, you—you—pup.”

D’Arcy smothered his laughter with Everard’s chest and a hand. “Not quite. Look, Thom’s very well liked, nonthreatening, and a boy, besides. Even pirates have scruples,” he said, not unironically.

“And St. Clare?”

D’Arcy sobered, notched his chin into the hollow of Everard’s shoulder. “I’m not not worried for Bell,” he said carefully. “But,” he said hastily, as Everard inhaled, “it isn’t for that, or other reasons you might assume.”

Everard didn’t know what to assume, except that he knew D’Arcy didn’t spend every night in the greatcabin.

“I have no wish to intrude on your relations with—with other men,” he said, flushing with heat D’Arcy doubtless felt bloom beneath his fingers. “None of my business, obviously. But⁠—”

“I’m not fucking Bell,” D’Arcy interrupted flatly.

“Er…”

“And it wouldn’t make any difference if I was. Nobody cares. Hang a moment; is that what you thought I was beaten for?” D’Arcy said, aghast.

“I— Whatever else would it have been for?”

“Because these past days, we’ve been extremely discreet,” D’Arcy said sarcastically. “Especially that time in the dining parlour⁠—”

“Oh, God.”

“—with all the windows, and Vee⁠—”

“I do recall it,” Everard gritted out. “Thank you.”

D’Arcy grinned. “Then I will enlighten you to other revelations. You two matelots may be uncommon in the year of our lord 1816, but nigh on the majority of these pirates are like-minded, Ever. That’s half Varfolomey’s infamy in itself, albeit written between the lines. Have you gone belowdecks of a morning?”

Even lit by blue moonlight, Everard was sure he was positively scarlet. “Well, yes⁠—”

“And you a Navy man, too.” D’Arcy chuckled. “Christ.”

“I figured them especially loyal,” Everard muttered.

D’Arcy collapsed into laughter. “Secretly Puritanical, these pirates. Extremely invested in maintaining the monogamy of a barely legal matelotage.”

Everard hushed him. “You’ll wake Vee.”

“I shan’t, as he wakes for almost nothing.” D’Arcy pulled in close anyway, and whispered: “I’ll fuck you off the weather rail, Everard, with all hands to witness. Then you’ll see how much people care for it.”

“Good lord. You will absolutely not⁠—”

“Bent over the stanchion⁠—”

“Then why?” Everard interrupted hotly. “If they don’t care I was—stepping out, so to speak—why would they target you? In fact I’d rather thought⁠—”

“Oh, no.” D’Arcy sighed.

“Er.”

“… yes?” D’Arcy encouraged, sounding resigned.

“That Vitaliy had in fact done something to remedy… well, the act of—er, claiming—it affords you much the same understanding…?”