*******

“Hullo, Westley. Enjoying your new career?” The Dread Pirate Roberts lounged in his chair, a goblet of rare wine in his hand. “Sit, sit, I like to know my crew personally.”

“Yes, Captain.” Westley hadn’t been sure about becoming a pirate, but anything that would allow him to live and find his way back to his beloved Buttercup was acceptable.

“Tell me, your duties, they aren’t too arduous, are they?”

“No, Captain. I cook, and mop up, and coil ropes.”

“Ah, you’re the cabin boy.” An evil grin spread across the captain’s handsome face. “Would a promotion suit you? To say, bosun? You can use a sextant, aye?”

“I’ve learned how, Captain.”

“Good, good. But, there is something I need to know before you are elevated to the post. Your girl, this Buttercup, what are you willing to do to stay alive and return to her?”

“Anything, Captain. I live on the memory of her kisses.”

“Do you, do you indeed? And think you that she lives on the memory of yours?”

“I can only hope. She is as faithful as she is fair, and she is fair as the dawn.”

“Aye then. Show me this kiss that she lives on, and I’ll tell you whether she awaits you or no, Westley.” Roberts stroked his mustache, and smoothed the black satin mask over his eyes.

Screwing up his courage, Westley rose and bent over his Captain. Steeling himself, he brushed Roberts’s lips with his own tightly pressed ones.

Roberts laughed. “Oh lad, she’s not going to wait a week for that sort of peck. Kiss me properly.”

Closing his eyes, and pretending it was Buttercup, ignoring the satin and the mustache and the smell of man and leather and tar, Westley put his whole self into the kiss, as yearning and melting as ever he’d kissed. Deep and slow, his arms wrapping around the Captain, he kissed until Roberts broke it.

The gleam in the man’s dark eyes said he was deep in thought. “Aye, lad, for that kiss, she’ll wait until Hell freezes and the Devil ice-skates. Again. I don’t think you gave her just the one.”

Westley did it again, and this time Roberts was an eager participant, his own arms hard as oak around Westley’s body, his mouth demanding.

“Aye, that’s sweet, boy. Now, take the kisses lower.”

“Lower, Captain, sir?” Westley looked puzzled.

“Lower.” Roberts trailed a hand down Westley’s throat, along his chest, over his hip and grasped his slowly filling shaft. “You kiss better than any I’ve met, and I want your mouth.”

Knowing better than to refuse his captain, Westley did as he was told. The captain’s loose shirt came away rapidly enough, and the trousers unlaced well too. It was not unpleasant to lick and kiss along the strong, solid chest, but the ultimate goal made his stomach lurch.

Roberts, sensing his hesitation, shoved down on his shoulders, bringing the young man level with his prick. Westley eyed it uncomfortably, the kissed it lightly.

“Oh, lad, yes.”

Encouraged by his captain, Westley kissed it again, this time taking the head into his mouth as he would take a tongue. Just another kiss, he told himself. Some more kisses and I’ll be safe to go home to Buttercup.

Roberts’s hand came down to tangle in Westley’s hair, guiding him to more vigorous action. The kisses were wonderful. They were exactly what he’d wanted ever since he’d seen the young man. He held the boy in place when the passions overtook him, and stroked Westley’s throat, encouraging him to swallow.

After a moment, Roberts laced up, and went back to his wine. Westley regained his feet and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Good job Westley. Sleep well. I’ll probably kill you in the morning.” Roberts dismissed him with a casual wave and the words that had become a ritual.

Westley staggered out of the cabin to his own hammock, and Roberts looked out the stern windows of his cabin.

He wouldn’t kill Westley. Not tomorrow or any other day. He’d never intended to. The Spaniards had a saying “I’ll kill you tomorrow because you’re too worthless to kill today.” But Westley could be more than valuable in the end, too worthy to kill today or tomorrow.