Talk Like a Pirate Day

"I don't believe this." Malcolm looked around the messhall.

"Tis true, matey," Jon replied. Malcolm merely stared at his insane lover.

Trip, dressed in ragged pants and a colorful bandana wrapped around his head, handed them two mugs. "Drink up me hearties!" Hoshi shoved a hat on Malcolm's head, the plume almost as big as the hat. Porthos was at her heels, a very small black patch over one little brown eye.

Phlox was in the corner, his conversation punctuated by frequent "arrggg"'s. T'Pol was next to him, observing her crewmates with a puzzled air, as if trying to figure out how she was going to explain this in her monthly report to the Vulcan High Command.

Travis drifted by, clapping Malcolm on the shoulder. "Did you try that drink yet? That'll buckle your swash…" He was bare chested, barefooted and with ragged pants ending at his muscular calves. The eyes of most of the female crew, and a few of the male crew, followed him where ever he went.

Jon chuckled and indicated to his lover to drink. "'At's your rum ration for the month, matey. Best have at it afore me scurvy first mate here tries to pillage it from ye." Jon nudged Trip, making the stuffed parrot on Jon's shoulder dip and tilt drunkenly.

Malcolm drank. He'd need it to get through the night.

***

He had to admit it. Hoshi made a very fine wench. Liz Cutler didn't look to bad either. He snagged another mug of grog from the table, decorated with a paper mache skull and crossbones. Jon had cajoled him into changing into the outfit Jon had chosen for him. Malcolm was now trying to fight off the chill of being dressed in only a sleeveless and tattered striped shirt and pair of thin tight cotton pants—which had been deliberately distressed by his mischievous lover. The slits down the sides of the legs and a few strategically places rips made him feel exposed. And Jon's frank looks of appreciation and admiration made him feel randy.

It wasn't a good combination to be feeling, especially in such revealing pants and he gulped down another mouthful of his drink and contemplated his bare feet. He let the conversation swirl around him.

"I'd like to see her treasure chest."

"Yeah, I'd love to drop anchor in her lagoon."

"I could swab his deck."

"Or pump his bilge…"

"Ahoy there, land lubber!" Phlox greeted Malcolm with that frightening grin. Malcolm steeled himself with another large quaff from his mug.

Travis and Hoshi sat in the corner, watching their self-conscious Lieutenant relax as he talked to the exuberant doctor.

"That's the finest pirate booty I've ever laid eyes on," Travis sighed.

"Jon will hang you from the highest yardarm if you try to touch those doubloons, Travis," Hoshi warned. They giggled together, and turned their attention towards Jon and Trip, both who were attempting to learn a sailor's hornpipe dance from Ensign Williams. They were doing a fairly good job at it too.

***

The party lasted til the wee hours of the morning, the senior staff the last ones in the messhall. They sat around a table, trying to explain to T'Pol exactly what happened.

"Talk like a Pirate Day? And this is a significant world holiday on your planet?" T'Pol asked Jon, her tone betraying her skepticism.

"Yeah, started back in 1995 or something. Two guys made it up and within a decade it became some huge thing and we've celebrated it ever since," Jon explained.

"I did hear some rather colorful expressions, although their meanings were not very clear," T'Pol said.

"Such as?" Trip asked.

"Rostov asked Tanner 'how'd you like to scrape the barnacles off me rudder'," T'Pol quoted with a near perfect pirate accent. Jon sprayed out the mouthful of grog onto Trip and started coughing. Malcolm pounded his lover on the back, snickering as the rest of the table erupted into laughter.

"Yes, Captain, do explain," Malcolm teased.

"Maybe you'd like to field that one, Malcolm, seeing how you come from a naval family and all," Jon retaliated, watching in satisfaction as Malcolm blushed.

"Er. Hoshi's the linguist, I'm sure she'd know the origins of the phrase," Malcolm deferred, receiving a kick in the shin from Hoshi.

T'Pol looked at Hoshi. Hoshi looked around the table for help. Seeing nothing but smirking faces, she threw the ball back at Malcolm. "How far back does your family go with the navy, Malcolm? I'd think you'd have a few pirates in your background, considering that privateering was condoned and encouraged by the monarchy."

Malcolm shook his head. "Many people think that a privateer and a pirate were one and the same, but that's not true. A privateer needed a Letter of Marque, whereas a pirate didn't. He'd captured only enemy ships; a pirate attacked any vessel or town he pleased. A privateer took his prize to a court to sell legally; pirates sold their gains to anyone. Pirates usually fought until every man on the opposing ship was killed; a privateer only attacked when the captain thought he had a chance of victory. When there was no chance, he gave up."

Jon looked at Malcolm, a smile playing on his lips. "So, did you have pirates or privateers in your family?"

Ah. All the little dirty Reed secrets. But Malcolm felt too good to care and mentally saluted his father with the British bird.

"Both." He grinned as his crewmates leaned forward and he settled back in his chair to tell them a few stories about the black sheep in his family tree, those men and women who bucked the very proper and upright Reed tradition and made their own paths.

***

"Avast, me proud beauty…who'd have thought ye were descended from pirates and other scurvy knaves," Jon whispered in Malcolm's ear as he striped his lover's shirt off and pushed him onto their bed.

"Just a few, love." Malcolm's nimble fingers reached for the zipper of Jon's trousers.

Jon kissed him and sucked at a very sensitive nipple as his hands played lower. "Nice mast."

Malcolm chuckled and freed his lover's erection, "Hmm, I can see why they call you Long Jon Silver." Jon felt a heat spread through his body as Malcolm's hands got busy.

Malcolm switched to his own pirate accent and his low sensuous growl made Jon quiver. "Do ye want to know why me Roger's so Jolly?" He grabbed the lube from the nightstand. "Prepared to be boarded, Cap'n, I'll be firing me cannon through your porthole."

Jon laid back, and closed his eyes.

"Well, shiver me timbers and blow me down."