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sweetcocopowder · 4 months ago

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Shaytham + " please" for the milestone prompt? 🙏 👀 and congrats!! I absolutely adore your fics!!!

Prompt 7 | Shaytham

Synopsis: Haytham enjoys seeing the Captain of the Morrigan come undone

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Violence. Roughness. Biting. Marking. Grinding. Begging.

Note: This is the last fic of the Lil Milestone Event!! Thank you everyone for sending in requests and I do apologize just how long it took me to spit all these out. Life has been very stressful and this year has taken quite a turn haha. I hope you enjoy this last fic!!!

The Morrigan groans as mortar fire crashes down around her like shooting stars falling from the heavens. One tears through the main sails and ropes snap apart like thunder, slashing across men’s chest and face. Some come out unharmed while some others are less fortunate and thrown backwards into the churning, cold sea. Shay Cormac grinds his teeth as he veers the Morrigan to port so that her cannons are facing the fort. The one that bears it teeth at them with its mortars and cannons.

“FIRE!” Shay cries out above all the chaos.

The boom of the cannons rings in his ear as the ship groans under the pressure. She’ll take it. She always does. The cannon balls hit their mark and a fort tower falls, crumbling into the sea below in a foam of white and blue. The satisfied swell that rises in him is quickly shut down as the destroyed stone reminds him of an all too familiar memory. He looks away, pushing it down and locking it away. He can’t get distracted, not now. Now while his men need him.

It’s not until now, snapping out of the trance he gets lost into that he notices Haytham. The Grandmaster is crouched down behind the railing, holding on for dear life all while holding onto his hat. It’s almost a humorous sight if it wasn’t for Haytham glaring daggers his way. It’s an expression that brings Shay back to himself. Reminding him of why he’s here. Why they’ve travelled so far up the River Valley to take on the fort with the foreshadow of losing men or even themselves.

Shay brings the Morrigan around again, facing her starboard side this time to the fort. Another volley of cannon balls are fired out with the sound of his booming voice shouting the order to do so. This time, only half of them hit their mark. Some strike the mountainous rock behind the fort and others in the water. Shay curses, shouting out to his men once more to reload the cannons as quick as possible. They’ll get this done. The fort will fall today!

With four more rounds of cannon fire and some quick thinking on Shay’s part, the fort groans in ache as the last of her mortars are destroyed. But the fight is far from over. Shay knows that all too well. Docking the Morrigan is a difficult challenge. Survivors of the fort fire their rifles and muskets toward the Morrigan as she docks. They hide behind the rubble of the fort, ducking in and out like groundhogs when they come out to yip before disappearing again.

Before Shay can race into battle, Haytham is quick to grab at his shoulder and drag him to face is intense stare. “We’ll go around the side of the fort! Up to the top!” He bellow over the retuning gunfire of Shy’s crew. “It’ll be quicker to get to the war room that way!”

Shay’s dark brown eyes dart up to the fort, quickly accessing the way up. “Lead the way,” he grins.

Shay doesn’t hesitate to follow his Grandmaster up and over the side of the Morrigan. Gist is quick to clear the way for the two, a bullet shooting one man clean through the eye. Shay praises his first mate under his breath, but doesn’t let himself get too distracted as he follows Haytham up the side of the fort.

The stone walls would normally be impossible to scale up. But with half of the tone tumbled and destroyed, it’s easy to get a grip on stone and bricks that jut out. Haytham rises to the top first and offers a hand down to Shay. He takes it eagerly, letting Haytham help him up over the ledge.

Shay spots the war room easily. It’s just a hop and skip away to their left. The only thing in the way is a guard staring down his rifle at the two in his watch tower. Shay pushes Haytham away as the rifle cracks. The bullet pierces through the collar of Shay’s coat. Too close to call.

The Irishman is quick to pull is own gun on the guard. He can see the fear in the white’s of the man’s eyes before Shay pulls the trigger. He dead before he even hits the ground. Shay swallows thickly as he sets his gun back into it’s holster. He stares at the guard tower, where the man lays dead. Haytham brushes a hand over his elbow, snapping him from his oncoming thoughts.

“On with it,” Haytham snaps.

Getting to the war room is easy enough. It’s the man inside that has both Templars stopping just inside the door. A man armed with two swords grins at them. Shay draws his own, ready for the fight.

But Haytham rolls his eyes. And as the man charges with a vicious shout. He clashes swords with Shay quicker than either Templar would have liked. Shay is pushed back against the door, a fist smashing against his mouth. More taunting than anything else. Shay’s eyes widen with a fierceness akin to bloodlust. But he doesn’t get the sweet taste of killing the man or even hurting him a little.

The man barks out a choked cry as Haytham’s sword is thrust through his back. The tip sticks out of his chest, glinting at Shay. The Grandmaster doesn’t waste time to push the man off of his sword and down onto the ground. He has better things to do than to bother about a man that he doesn’t even know.

“I do hate the theatrics some men possess,” Haytham drawls out as he reloads his gun.

“What about mine?” Shay asks.

His Grandmaster quirks an eyebrow his way with a frown on his lips. He points his bloody sword towards him. “I tolerate you on good days,” he quips out darkly.

But Shay grins at that as he sheathes his sword. Haytham returns his antics with the slightest of a smile before turning towards the war room’s desk. He’s quick to look over the many papers and reports spread out on the wooden table. He plucks up three pieces of paper before rolling them up in his hand. Tucking them under his arm, he deems this mission a success with a curt nod of his head.

His dark blue eyes land upon Shay’s lip and the cut that bleeds slowly. He steps around the desk and Shay stays where he is, watching Haytham with a curiosity. His Grandmaster swipes a thumb at the blood on his lip, pondering a thought to himself before wiping it on the front of Shay’s coat. Shay watches him intensely, leaning forward a bit as his chest tightens. But Haytham hums to himself, as if satisfied before passing Shay.

“Let’s get out of here,” Haytham concludes.

And Shay follows like some lost pup.

Shay unfolds the papers out over his fleet reports for Haytham, letting the Grandmaster look over them first. He hums in satisfaction, his eyes flicking over the coordinates and the set dates for each cargo ship. Shay sits down in his chair with a groan, his face aching every time he clicks his jaw. He tries to get that right spot, but no matter what he does nothing works. The pops of his jaw are loud in the quiet cabin and slowly, they draw the attention of the Grandmaster.

He stops immediately. Instead he leans over the table to pick up a half empty bottle of whiskey without a word. He flicks the top off and he draws over two glasses near him as well. Haytham watches with interest as both glasses are poured with the golden liquid. Shay pushes one glass over to Haytham before he leans back in the chair and nurses his own.

Haytham takes it as his gaze returns back to the reports. Shay tries to make sense of them, his eyes skimming over the words. But he has never been a strong reader having lived on the streets nearly his entire life. Liam tried to teach him, but it took forever to crack it into his brain. He can read per say, it’s just that Gist normally takes over to make things go quicker. It always brings a bound of shame within his chest that makes him angry and frustrated at no one but himself.

“So was all this worth it for the papers?” Shay asks.

“Yes,” Haytham quickly answers. “Routes of their trade and cargo. Supplies we can obtain to keep out of their hands.”

Why his Grandmaster needs these supplies? He won’t ask any further right now. He doesn’t feel all too chatty after having bellowed his throat raw on deck. He clears his throat, feeling the painful scratchiness that only the whiskey seems to smooth over for a few seconds. So he fills his glass once more for that few seconds of relief.

Shay looks to Haytham deep in thought. Wondering what plans and other whatnots are going on up in that head of his. Has he already thought of a plan to take the Morrigan out to intercept these ships? Does he know that they’ll have to stop somewhere to repair the old girl?

Haytham catches him staring, meeting Shay with a raised brow. The Irishman only smiles as he takes another swig of his drink. He pops his jaw again.

“Are you here to distract me?” Haytham asks.

Shay looks around dramatically, suddenly sitting up right in the chair. “Last time I checked this was my quarters,” he remarks cockily.

Suddenly, Haytham’s hand comes to Shay’s thigh, squeezing lightly. He leans over into the Irishman’s space, his eyes on his lips the entire time. Hooded, dark and filled with ill intent.

“And what makes you think I can’t just make you leave?” Haytham asks lowly.

Shay swallows deeply. The adrenaline of the battle hasn’t fully worn off yet and he will admit he is a bit riled up. Shay licks his dry lips and bites it lightly, not missing that Haytham’s gaze watch the action. His Grandmaster must be feeling the same.

“Because you enjoy my charismatic comments too much,” Shay grins around the lip of the glass before he takes another swig.

Haytham takes the glass from Shay to down the rest of the amber liquid. He sets the glass aside, forgetting about the fleet report for the moment to capture the Irishman’s busted lip in a deep kiss. Shay’s hands are quick to grab a hold of Haytham, unclasping clips and buckles. He doesn’t hesitate to try and get these stupid bulky clothes off of the man. They always hide the Grandmaster’s body and it always annoys Shay to no end. His heavy cloak falls to the floor, his coat coming off shortly after.

Haytham breaks the kiss to bring Shay out of the chair to his feet roughly with his hands fisted into the front of his coat. Shay grins wildly as he’s spun around to be thrown atop of the table. Neither of them care about he many papers and reports that litter the table top. Some of them are pushed aside and they shower to the floor.

None of them take notice as Shay’s groans fill the quarters as Haytham kneads a palm roughly to his groin. It’s a delicious sound that has Haytham palming more to milk them out of the man under him. Shay’s hip rut up into his hand, trying to get more friction than he’s being given. But Haytham stops all together.

“Please,” Shay breathes out.

Haytham hums at that, loving the view before him. Knowing he can have Shay like this at a simple touch. It’s almost intoxicating. He’s quick to undo Shay’s belt and throws it aside without a care. He pushes the man’s vest and shirt up his torso to reveal the body that’s been made with years of hard work and discipline. Haytham’s runs his hands over Shay’s hard stomach, earning him a shaky exhale from him. Beautiful.

“Hmm?” Haytham finally questions.

“Please, I need you,” Shay whines out.

That commanding Captain that was once on deck is gone for the moment. He looks to Haytham with only want and need. Begging for his Grandmaster to do something, anything.

So, Haytham gives him something. He leans forward to plant a kiss to the man’s stomach. His skin is salty with sweat and he can taste gunpowder on him as well. He kiss and laps at his skin all the same, sucking and biting lightly to hitch those noises from Shay’s busted lips. Haytham hooks his fingers into the hem of Shay’s pants as he ventures lower into the man’s snail trail. He bites lightly at the v of the man’s torso, Shay’s hips bucking up lightly with a groan from his throat.

Haytham grins into his pale skin before pulling his pants down to his knees in one swift movement. Shay’s cock is already hard and red. Haytham doesn’t mind it though, he stands up to lean over Shay. He towers over Shay to grab his face so that the man’s dark brown gaze is looking at him and only him. He wedges himself in between Shay’s thighs so that the only touch he’s receiving is the harsh friction of his closing.

He closes the gap to kiss Shay deeply, his tongue invading his mouth to taste the cheap whiskey. Shay moans into the kiss, his hips rutting upwards into Haytham’s crotch to try and earn himself some friction. But a firm hand on his hip holds him down, a thumb digging painfully into the soft skin.

Haytham breaks the kiss to only mouth at Shay’s prickly jaw. He ventures downwards, biting and kissing the Irishman’s neck, collarbones, chest and back down his stomach. Leaving purple and red marks of different shades. And with each one Shay whines and groans, his hooded eyes watching Haytham in a haze.

“Please,” Shay breathes out again, quieter this time.

Haytham smiles as he hovers over the man’s half hard cock. His deep blue eyes look to Shay with adoration. Only because Shay asked so nicely. He does love it when his best man begs like this. It just as delicious as he tastes.

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