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effervescentdragon · 8 months

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Happy birthday, my dearest @singsweetmelodies ❤️ knowing you through this fandom has been one of the highlights of my life, and I am quite glad to call you my friend, to borrow feom your British tradition of utilising understatements of the century. You are magnificent, and kind, and wonderful, and I love you. I haven't written anything new in ages, so I'm cheating a bit here. Here is the first THEN scene from the pirate au sequel, just for you. All my love and well wishes go to you, friend.

THEN

Pierre kisses him once, then twice, and then Charles cannot count the kisses anymore because all of them melt into one very long one, which for Charles seems to last an eternity. He doesn't mind in the least. He's never been kissed like this, and he knows he never again will be, all the while he hopes that he will be kissed just like this for the rest of his life. By the way Pierre holds onto him, tightly, languidly, but with a certain possessiveness and immovability, he thinks his hope may not be in vain.

They kiss for a long time on the deck of the Prometheus. The boat moves, and the water droplets splash over them, carried by the wind and the movement of the ship, but they aren't bothersome; on the contrary, they affirm to Charles that all of this is real, and that he is really held in Pierre's arms whenever the drops lash gently at his skin, leaving behind salt and making him shiver. Or perhaps it's Pierre's kisses that make him shiver. Most likely, it is both.

Around them, the crew moves occasionally, although there aren't that many people on the boat in general. Charles thinks he may hear Sebastian at one point, but he gets distracted by the gentle press of Pierre's lips against his and the clutching hand at his hip, and then he is swept away anew into the micro-cosmos which consists of Pierre's lips and Pierre's scent and Pierre's touch and PierrePierrePierre.

"Okay, I've had enough of you two," a voice interrupts their little bubble, coming from too close to be as easily ignored as the rest of them were. They separate slowly, and Charles feels a pang of satisfaction when he sees that Pierre looks at least as dazed as he himself feels. "Take it inside, Gasly, you have your own cabin, and some of us are too painfully single to be able to watch you two and not cry. Which is really, really bad for the tough pirate image I’m trying to project."

Pierre rolls his eyes, and turns to look at - Daniel? Charles thinks the man's name is Daniel, the one who got shot at that little skirmish Sebastian mentioned when they were – ah. Leaving the church in a rush.

"Nobody is forcing you to look, Danny," Pierre throws back. His hand is holding Charles', and his thumb is making little circles on Charles' skin. It makes him shiver a bit, unused as he is to the tenderness of casual touches. Of Pierre’s touches.

I'll have time to get used to them, he thinks. I'll have time to get used to him touching me like this all the time, and yet somehow, I don't think I ever will become immune to him, for it is simply impossible not to crave more, now that I have him. He smiles, and squeezes Pierre's hand.

"Ah, but I had to check your technique, mon ami," Daniel says. He has a crooked nose, and a really wide smile. His accent is atrocious.

"Your accent is atrocious, mon ami, please never speak French again," Pierre says, and Charles can't help but giggle, because Pierre is still the same. He still says the things Charles thinks, but would never dare voice. We still know each other somewhere deep within, Charles thinks. I don't think we've ever stopped.

"You think so too, don't you, mon coeur?" Pierre turns to him, and Charles marvels at how easily the loving words fall from his lips. Like he's waited his whole life to say them, Charles thinks, then smiles. He probably has, just like I have.

"Ah, mon amour, I do not know your friend well enough to feel comfortable criticising him in any way," Charles says, basking in the happiness on Pierre's face at the French term of endearment. "Plus, he is injured. I am sure he has more important things to worry about than his French pronunciation."

Daniel - Danny? laughs a full laugh at that, and immediately groans and doubles over because his wound gets aggravated. Pierre twitches, but before he can move to his friend, the man straightens up. There are still traces of pain around his wide smile.

"I like you, Principe," he says, and his Italian is much better than his French. "You talk a lot, but then again, so do I. But you talk like someone who knows just how much every word weighs, and I like that. I like that a lot, Principe."

Charles scrunches his face at being called a prince, because he is not, not really. Daniel grins at Charles' expression, and there is blatant mischief in his eyes. Charles thinks he may like this man, provided the mischief is not aimed at him. Right now, he thinks he is out of luck on that account.

Pierre, as always, comes to his rescue.

"Do you need me on deck?"

Daniel snorts.

"As if you would be of any use, distracted as you are with your prince here. Go rest, or, you know. Don't."

Charles can feel himself blushing at the leer Daniel sends his way and the implication in those words. Pierre only rolls his eyes again and pulls Charles by the hand.

"Fuck off, Danny. You know where to find me if you need me."

Charles lets himself be dragged away by Pierre, turning back slightly to wave at Daniel, who wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. Charles giggles through his blush, and Pierre's hand tightens in his. He feels lighthearted, and young, and silly. He feels like he's finally free.

They pass some other people who offer them greetings and smiles and leers sometimes, but Charles barely notices any of them. His eyes are fixed firmly on the broad expanse of Pierre's back and on the feel of Pierre's skin on his where they are holding hands.

They go around, and down, and Charles doesn't really care to learn the route, because he has Pierre to show him. They come to a wooden door, and Pierre opens them, and then they are in the cabin. Charles spots two beds, and a protection charm over the closer one, and smiles.

"You share with Alex?"

Pierre only nods and pulls Charles to the far bed, a small window above it. They sit down, and suddenly the atmosphere is terribly awkward. The sounds from the deck are muted due to the closed space, but the sound of the ocean is louder here, waves breaking on the boat's sides. There is a certain anticipation in the air, and even though they are still holding hands, they are avoiding each other's eyes.

"Do you want to –"

"We should maybe –"

They stop simultaneously, and they look at each other, and then Pierre grins and Charles giggles and they're both laughing. Charles throws himself back and pulls Pierre with him to lay down on his side too. It's reminiscent of how they used to lie when they were kids, bodies curving towards each other, except the beds used to be bigger then, or they were smaller.

Charles pulls his legs up, kicking his shoes off and making himself comfortable. He frowns, letting go of Pierre's hand and shrugging his overcoat, throwing it carelessly by the bed. He lays back down and catches Pierre's hand again, and then they are just staring at each other.

"I missed you."

Pierre blinks.

"I missed you too, Charlito. Every single day."

They are both whispering for some reason, unwilling to break the calm intimacy of the atmosphere with raised voices.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," Charles admits. "I've never done anything like this. I've never not done what was expected of me."

"Do you regret it?" Pierre asks, like he can't help himself. Charles looks at him incredulously.

"Are you a fucking idiot? I am - I could never regret it." Charles insists, scooting closer. "I have never been happier to stand up for myself, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do –"

He huffs in frustration. Pierre puts his hand on Charles' cheek, caressing it gently, grounding him in the moment. Charles closes his eyes and rubs against Pierre's palm.

"There is nothing you need to do now," Pierre says gently. "We have five days on the sea before we rendezvous with the Veran. I'm sure Lewis has some plan already, but that can all wait." He scowls suddenly. "We will have to deal with the Bulls' betrayal, to figure out where it came from and what the fuck they were thinking, breaking the Code so out of the blue." His eyes are far away as he speaks. "I'm sure this has something to do with the latest information we were chasing, but we'll have to check with our informants." He huffs. "Someone betrayed us, but I don't even know where to start looking for a traitor. There will probably be a meeting tomorrow, so I guess that can wait for now." Charles squeezes his hand, and it breaks Pierre out of his contemplation and makes him smile softly at Charles.

They lay in silence for some minutes, just breathing together, their fingers tangled in each other. Charles has a million questions pounding around in his head, and he doesn't even know where to start. He runs through them, and decides to keep it simple.

"Who are the Bulls?" Charles asks. It's obviously the exactly wrong thing to ask, because Pierre freezes. His expression changes from contemplative to – to ashamed.

"Charles, I –" he starts to say, swallowing heavily as he does, "I've been a pirate for - ever since I left." He swallows, and Charles can't look away from how his Adam's apple bobs as he does. Charles kind of wants to lick it.

"And I haven't always been part of Lewis' crew. And I've done some things," he says, and his voice is so full of self-hatred, it hurts Charles' heart to hear it. "I've done some things I'm really not proud of, and some pretty unforgivable things, and I think you –"

Charles leans in and kisses him. He pulls away, blushing, but he holds fast and doesn't look away. Pierre looks stunned. He is definitely rendered speechless, so Charles takes the opportunity to go on.

"I don't care," Charels says, then leans in again. "You did whatever you had to do, and whatever you needed to do, and you survived," he says against Pierre's lips, letting them touch with the movement of his own lips as he speaks. "You're still alive, and you're here, and I don't care."

"Charles," Pierre whispers. "I'm not - I'm not a good man." He's almost kissing Charles back, leaving shallow pecks on his lips as they speak against each other. His hand tangles in Charles' hair, gentle but firm.

"Oh, shut up, calamar," Charles says. "Why are you always so dramatic," he says, and kisses Pierre properly, catching his top lip between his and enjoying how it makes Pierre's hand in his hair spasm a little. "Whatever you did, I do not care. I know you," he whispers. "I've known you ever since I knew myself, even before, and I know what kind of man you are, Pierre Gasly."

Pierre's hand in his hair tightens, and his kisses linger longer. "We've been apart for years," he whispers, and his teeth press into Charles' lower lip. "How do you know I'm not a bad, bad man?"

Pierre's hands are holding him, and his lips are on Charles', and his body is so close, Charles can feel the heat of it against his own. He whimpers when Pierre's tongue licks at his lips. "How do you know I'm not a scoundrel?"

Charles grabs at Pierre's wrists and opens his eyes just as Pierre opens his. A moment passes; Charles lunges, turning them around so that he's sitting on Pierre's hips and looming over him.

"You were always a scoundrel, Pear," he whispers sweetly, staring into Pierre's dazed eyes. "You used to steal sweets from the kitchen and oranges from the field when you were, what? Five? Six? Scoundrel," he says with a laugh, which cuts off when Pierre puts his hands on Charles' hips. Their touch burns through Charles' shirt, and Pierre's eyes burn too.

"I stole them for you," he says fiercely. Before Charles can respond in any way, Pierre's grip on him tightens, and he switches them around, tumbling them like they used to do when they were younger.

Except it's nothing like it was when they were younger, really. Not like those couple of times when they were fifteen or so, and they wrestled, and Charles made sure to keep his body away from Pierre's anywhere where it could betray him. He thinks Pierre may have done that too then, now that he knows that Pierre has always felt just like Charles did.

This time, Pierre is a solid weight on him, pressing his whole body against Charles' and pressing Charles into the bed. Charles' mouth falls open, unable to form a coherent thought, because there is such reverence in Pierre's expression, it humbles him.

"I didn't even like oranges," Pierre whispers, leaning over Charles, his lips a breath apart. His eyes are sapphire-blue, and his cross necklace touches Charles' throat from where it's hanging around his neck; a sharp point of contact that makes him shiver. "I just loved you."

Charles surges up, smashing their lips together desperately. Pierre catches him, tries to soothe him, to slow down, but Charles feels too much, he's waited too long, and he kisses Pierre with everything he has. He lets his legs fall apart around Pierre, pulling him closer. He grabs at Pierre's shoulders and his hair, and kisses him desperately, clumsily, until Pierre gives up his tries to soothe Charles and gives in, kissing Charles with all that he has.

He always does, Charles thinks as he takes and takes and takes. He always gave in to me, and he still does, even after all this time. The thought makes him shiver, makes him feel more powerful than being named the successor to the Governor of the Port - - did.

His legs are wrapped around Pierre's waist, and as he moves his body, he can feel how affected Pierre is. It makes him feel everything all at once, knowing he is the reason for Pierre's arousal. It also makes him suddenly self conscious. He breaks off the kiss, but holds Pierre close against his lips.

"I've never done anything," he whispers, and Pierre freezes. Charles swallows around the lump in his throat and keeps his eyes closed, so as not to see Pierre's face, and speaks into the dark behind his eyelids. "I've only ever kissed some girls, and a boy once," he says, and then there is a hand on his jaw and he opens his eyes instinctively.

Pierre's eyes are burning fires, too many emotions in them for Charles to be able to parse through.

"I don't care," Pierre says. Charles thinks he may be lying a bit, that he may be a bit jealous still, and that makes him satisfied in a way he should probably be ashamed of. Except this is Pierre. He's never been unnecessarily ashamed in front of Pierre, and he definitely isn't going to start now, when he finally has Pierre where he's always wanted him. "I don't care what you've done, or haven't done," Pierre goes on, but his eyes flash, and Charles thinks it may be the most arousing thing ever, Pierre's jealousy. Definitely something to explore, his mind supplies, making him shiver a bit. But not right now.

"I want to," Charles whispers the interruption. "I want to do everything with you - to you, everything, please." Pierre's eyes widen and he kisses Charles quickly, like he cant help himself.

"You never need to beg." Pierre's voice is gentle, and Charles grabs onto his neck, holding on desperately. "You will never need to beg, chèri, ever, I will give you everything you want, everything you need -"

"You," Charles interrupts again. "You, just you, all of you, all I've ever wanted," he says through kisses he keeps leaving on Pierre's lips and cheeks and face, wanting it all, unable to help himself. "All I've ever needed was you, calamar."

Pierre kisses the way he does everything; determined and competent, and it's slowly driving Charles wild. "You have me," he repeats over and over again. "You have me, and you never need to beg, I'll gladly give you everything."

#the pirate au sequel #f1 rpf #piarles #katie tag ♡#hope you like it beloved #<333333333 #effervescentdragonwrites #tbh its not even the whole scene but i need to leave something for the future

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