A/N: Follows on from my other Black Sails fic, Another Kind of Love, but you don't have to read that one to understand this one. Hope you like it. xx
Another Kind of Hate
Eleanor Guthrie stalked into Vane's tent, flinging open the curtain and expecting to find him still asleep, but hopefully keen for an early morning fuck. She'd woken from the most erotic dream; the kind of dream only repeated visits with Charles seemed to bring about; and she wanted to enact it, thank you very much.
She wasn't expecting to find him with company. When they were on – which was always at her whim and never at his – he fucked her and only her, and anyone else who dared was finished on this island. As trade boss, she had the ability to finish just about anyone on the island if she chose, and anyone who dared fuck her man when she wanted him was rival and victim all in one as far as Eleanor Guthrie was concerned.
The first thing she noted was the red hair. Rich crimson swaths of it hanging over Charles' shoulder and partially obscuring his face. The second at the feminine hand settled across his back, low on his hip where the blankets had fallen away. The third was a second, dark head of hair obscured by that red curtain, pressed close to Charles as though they breathed the same air. The fourth was the distinctly male arm not belonging to Charles that poked out from amid all that hair, a strong male hand tangled in Charles' brown hair.
"What the fuck is this?" Eleanor demanded.
Charles stirred, huffing and blowing hair from his face, though some of those red strands found their way into his mouth before he looked over his shoulder, revealing the face of Jack Rackham next to his own and Anne Bonny's shifty blue eyes also fixed on her. Charles blinked at her blearily.
"What the fuck?" she repeated when he raised his eyebrows at her, evidently wondering what she wanted.
"Urgh, fuck off, Eleanor," all three of them suddenly groaned in tandem.
Eleanor put her hands on her hips when Charles actually turned his head back and burrowed back into Bonny's hair, laying his forehead back against Jack's. She scowled down at them impatiently. She'd never figured their relationship out, not in all the time she'd loved Charles, or in the time she'd hated him. They were an enigma, the one thing in his life she didn't seem able to strip away from him, no matter how she tried. He'd turned on Edward Teach for her; killed men for her; hunted for her; stolen for her; betrayed for her. But throughout it all, those two had stayed by him.
"I want to fuck," she said, sensing that nothing else was going to motivate him to move from whatever weird sleeping pile they had going on.
Was he fucking them? Did the pair of them tag-team Anne Bonny? Gods, did Anne and Jack fuck Charles, instead? He'd been a slave to a fierce captain once upon a time, and though he rarely spoke of his time in their capture, she suspected he'd been raped, the same as any other slave.
"Go do it somewhere else," Anne Bonny's accented voice was slightly muffled against someone's arm. Jack's by the look of it. "Tryin' to sleep."
Eleanor huffed, waiting for Charles to give her what she wanted. He always gave her what she wanted when what she wanted was sex.
"It's almost endearing when she makes that little noise of frustration," Rackham observed. "Does she make it when she fucks, too?"
"The bullshit I've heard out of this tent suggests it's higher pitched and a lot more grating to the ear," Bonny sneered, rolling between the two men before slyly smirking at Eleanor over Charles' shoulder.
Her hand began to wander the expanse of Charles's back and she leaned closer, never taking her eyes off Eleanor before trailing her mouth along the curve of Vane's arm, her tongue darting out to trace a scar there.
"You like that little whine she does when she comes?" Charles asked, and Eleanor blushed, realising they were just trying to get a rise out of her now but unable to tear her eyes off Bonny.
She kissed down the length of his arm and then shifted it over herself, ducking under it and kissing across his ribs and to his hip. Anne never took her eyes off Eleanor as she did it, the dare in them evident. Try it, they said.
"You keep doing that, and I'll have you making that noise, Anne," Charles rumbled.
"I'll take care of that," Jack replied.
Anne wiggled her arse back against her lover, who untangled his hand from Charles's hair to begin tugging at Anne's britches, unlacing his own in the process.
Anne bit Charles' hip lightly, pushing her arse further toward Rackham.
"Fuck's sake," she heard Charles mutter when Anne nipped him again, harder, her tongue dipping out again as she pushed him slightly, rolling him a little and tracing her tongue into the V of muscle low down on his abs that led into his britches.
Jack's hissed breath suggested that whatever goal he'd been aiming for under the blankets had been met, and Eleanor saw Anne's eyes flutter shut briefly.
"Are you fucking serious?" Eleanor huffed, directing her words at Charles.
He wasn't listening, or if he was, he wasn't telling. He was too busy reaching around Anne, one of his hands dipping under the blanket and sliding Anne's knee up a little before dipping between her legs. Bonny bit him again, her tongue swirling over his stomach now even while Charles leaned around her, his other hand catching the back of Jack's neck and pulling him closer.
Eleanor stood there shocked when he kissed Rackham square on the mouth. They were actually fucking. While she stood right there. Legitimately cuckolding her. Eleanor went cold all over and when Bonny moaned softly, Charles's hand working between her legs while Rackham thrust into her again and again, Eleanor went hot all over, too. Jack kissed his mouth while Anne nipped and licked at his abs, her hands unlacing his pants quickly before digging inside.
"Fuck," Charles grunted, breaking his kiss to glance down at the hands in his pants and the mouth quickly following them.
"Good, isn't she?" Jack smirked.
"Fuck's sake," Charles rumbled, his hand still working between Anne's legs while he leaned in and kissed Jack again. Jack thrust harder, drawing a moan from Anne, muffled though it was with Charles's cock in her mouth, and Charles groaned in turn.
Eleanor thought she might come just from watching them.
"Christ, teeth!" Charles hissed and Eleanor involuntarily stepped closer to see Anne gently biting the taut skin at the underside of Charles's cock. The spot Eleanor happened to know drove him wild. Something Anne evidently knew, too.
"She bites," Jack chuckled huskily, thrusting even harder.
"I remember," Charles grunted.
"Learned it from you, I believe," Jack went on, and Eleanor realised with a jolt that he, too, was watching her with cruel malice and evil amusement in his eyes.
Charles answered by pulling Jack closer and biting his neck.
"Jesus Christ," Jack muttered, his eyes closing.
Anne rolled a little more, pushing Charles to his back and crawling over him, her lips closing over his cock and swallowing it down hungrily. Jack followed, as he always followed Anne wherever she went, and the blankets fell away as Anne laid over Charles' legs and Jack climbed on top of her, fucking into her from behind while she pushed back into the brutal thrusts he gave.
When Eleanor tore her eyes from the sight of Vane's cock disappearing into Anne's mouth, she found his eyes fixed on her. Christ, he had one hand curled behind his head, the picture of smugness as Anne sucked him off. He met her gaze unapologetically, that same wicked malice in his eyes and Eleanor knew they were enjoying seeing her suffer; she knew they wanted her anger.
"Bet you want to sit on my face right about now, don't you?" he taunted, smirking, and Gods, she might've come from the offer alone.
"You're otherwise occupied, I believe," Jack panted, his fingers crawling up Charles's leg around Anne and fondling his balls.
Charles hissed, and Eleanor suspected Anne had bitten him again when his hand jumped to tangle in her long hair, fisting it, his hips bucking into her mouth. Jack kissed Anne's shoulders and neck, biting her there while one of his hands took up the work Charles had abandoned, working her sweet pearl until she groaned around Charles's cock again.
"Fuck," Jack groaned, nuzzling Anne's cheek and Charles's hand when Charles turned it, pressing his thumb between Jack's teeth.
"Christ," Charles cursed, his breath getting faster, his hips moving quicker.
"Good, isn't she?" Jack smirked, breathing heavily.
"Fuck, yeah," Charles groaned, and Eleanor would swear they came within moments of each other and Anne moaned loudly as she followed them.
Eleanor thighs were wet with her own arousal, though she trembled with jealousy and fury.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Jack groaned, while Anne wiggled out from under him.
Eleanor watched the redhead drag her nose and then her cum-filled cunt across Charles's stomach and chest, before she rose to her feet, leaving a sticky white trail in her wake. She did the very thing Eleanor practically ached to do, spreading her legs and straddling Charles' face.
Jack started to laugh, crawling after her and sprawling across Charles's chest, craving touch and affection after the orgasm. Eleanor watched Charles raise his arms, cuddling Anne's thighs, holding her to his face. She saw his pink tongue dart out, dipping inside the redhead's cunt, his tongue coming away wet and white and sticky, tasting Anne and Jack's combined pleasure and groaning as though he loved it.
"Darling," Jack tried to reprimand Anne when she knotted her fingers in Charles' hair and moaned again. Eleanor said 'tried' because he was laughing too hard, reclining on top of his captain languidly and obviously not jealous or concerned in the slightest. "I fear you're making Miss Guthrie wet."
Eleanor's cheeks darkened. Anne looked over her shoulder, grinding down a little harder on Charles's tongue before getting to her feet. Charles's chin and cheeks were wet with come, Anne's and Jack's, and he looked like the cat that ate the canary, his arms lowering to settle around Jack. Anne sauntered over to Eleanor, her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess. Her eyes were icy, and Eleanor opened her mouth, unsure what to say, and unsure if she wanted to kill Anne or kiss her.
Before she could make up her mind, Anne suddenly spat something in her face, spraying her like a dolphin. Too much liquid to simply be spittle alone.
"Oh, shit," Charles started to laugh. "Did she just…?"
"Spit your come all over your cuckolded lovers face?" Jack supplied while Eleanor's mouth opened, a gasp of shock and horror escaping her. "Mmm, my woman is all class."
Charles laughed while Anne wiped her mouth, smiling meanly.
"You'll never own all of him," the redhead growled at Eleanor. "Cunt!"
With that said, she moved over to collect her coat, hat and weapons, shoving her feet into her boots without her trousers though her shirt was long enough to cover everything.
"Fucking brilliant," Charles laughed.
Jack laughed with him, shaking his head while Eleanor blinked, standing there and unsure what to do about the spit and come on her face.
"Do wipe your face, Charles," Jack said, levering himself off the captain and getting to his feet, tucking himself back into his trousers as he went. "Excuse him, Miss Guthrie, he's always been something of a messy eater."
Eleanor stood there, her face dripping, shocked to her core, while Jack reassembled his outfit and then slung his arm around Anne. Charles was laughing on the bed, using a blanket to mop at his cheeks and chin.
"Don't forget, we sail on the midday tide, Charles," Jack said over his shoulder as they strolled toward the door. When he reached Eleanor, he stopped and frowned into her face, feigning sympathy and horror before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. "You've got a little something…"
He indicated to her whole face with one bony finger and Eleanor snatched the handkerchief off him to mop at her face. Anne laughed meanly as she and Jack sauntered out of the tent together, Jack whistling a jaunty tune as they went. When she finished mopping her face, Eleanor glared at Charles, finding him stretched on his back with both hands tucked behind his head, his cock still hanging out of his trousers and his chest bare. The occasional streak of leavings still littered his tanned skin and he looked the picture of languid, feline grace.
"Enjoyed that, didn't you?" he smirked when she put her hands on her hips again, glowering.
"Fuck you, Charles," she said, turning to storm out.
He moved like lightning, lunging for her and yanking on the back of her skirt hard enough to drag her down on top of him.
"Get the fuck off me," she growled, even though her body practically hummed with pent up lust.
"You fucking loved it," Charles said, rolling her under him and flipping her so he could pin her to the bed, smirking down into her face.
"I had no idea you enjoyed buggering your men," Eleanor bit out angrily. "What kind of captain lets his quartermaster bend him over and fuck him bloody?"
"Can't play the straight card when you're fucking that French whore, sweetheart," Charles smirked. "And it ain't like that with Jack."
"His come on your mouth begs to differ," Eleanor snarled, writing under him.
"Fucking loved it, didn't you?" he teased again, ripping open her shirt and fisting her skirt to drag it out of his way.
"You don't get to fuck me after you just fucked the two of them, you fucking bastard," she snarled, though the statement trailed off with a strangled moan when he stuck his hand between her legs and ploughed his fingers inside of her without warning, his mouth closing over her nipple through her shirt.
"Pretty sure I do," he laughed when she arched, strung so tight after the show they'd put on that she couldn't even fight him off if she'd wanted to.
He wasn't kind to her. He never was. Things with Charles were always rough and tense and vicious, filled with aggression and fury, but Eleanor loved it. He ripped her clothes off her in stops and starts, distracting himself and her with his mouth on various parts of her body, until finally, he buried his head between her thighs and Eleanor cried out in delight. He feasted then, and whether it was his way of apologising for the three of them tormenting her so, or his way of bidding her goodbye, intending to sail on the next tide, or his way of getting back in her good graces so she'd flog his wares when his crew returned with whatever prizes they took, she didn't know. She didn't much care, either. She screamed when he pushed her over the edge, and his laugh was muffled but triumphant before he pushed her to it again a second time, and then a third, never letting up on her, never giving an inch.
When she was sure she couldn't have gotten up and walked out if she'd tried, Charles crawled over her, burying himself inside her, assured of his welcome and Eleanor groaned at the full feeling that always accompanied these moments. He grinned at her then, a genuine smile of happiness and pleasure that he seemed to reserve only for these moments between them when no one but her could see how much he truly loved her. And he did; she knew he did. She knew Charles Vane wouldn't put up with all her power play bullshit if he didn't. Anyone else who played with him like she did would meet a sticky end, and not the fun kind.
"Look at you," he teased, smirking as he powered into her forcefully enough to scoot her across the nest he'd made on the floor to sleep. "You fucking loved watching that."
"I didn't," Eleanor denied, though her voice was at once husky and breathless from the orgasm he'd pushed her to and the feel of him filling her so completely.
"You did," Charles disagreed, looking pleased with himself. He laughed, still powering into her and Eleanor could feel his love in every stroke; could taste it when stolen from her lips for another kiss, though he tasted like a cocktail of different orgasms that turned her on as much as it revolted her.
When he picked up the pace and pounded into her hard enough to leave bruises, Eleanor's body betrayed her one more time, clearly recognising the attentions of the love of her life. This man she loved and hated in equal measure because he was everything she wanted and none of the things she needed, and everything that stood in the way of her and a civilised world; a world where she had power and respectability in her own right and not because she was the daughter of Richard Guthrie, or the sea-wife of Charles Vane. She knew that for all the power she'd clawed and all the fights they had, and all the horrible shit they did to each other, the Beach considered her his sea-wife.
She was the woman he looked for when he returned to shore; the one he missed when he was out at sea and the nights grew quiet and lonely; the one he'd die for. When she'd been fourteen and defiant of her father's stifling indifference to her existence as anything but a nuisance to be controlled for the sake of propriety, Charles Vane had been everything she wanted. Young, freshly liberated from a vile and terrifying captain who'd made a slave of him, he was wild and mean and wiry, brave and defiant of everything. An animal. The type of boy her father would have to intervene should she take an interest in. That he was also handsome and ruthless and cruel and quickly gaining favour and power among the fierce pirates roaming Nassau town was just an added bonus to the teenage Eleanor. He'd claimed her then, when she'd set her sights on him and made it known she was interested. He'd promised that he would always love her, that he'd do anything for her, that he'd marry her one day. He'd declared that any other prick on this island who dared lay a hand on her would be dead, and he'd kept his word many times over.
The only one who hadn't fallen under his knife was Max over at the brothel and that was because Eleanor frequently caved to temptation and ended up fucking him all over again, only fucking Max for the outlet and the spite of doing so when she knew it would annoy him. One day, he'd likely run Max through, too, but they didn't talk about that.
Teenage Eleanor had adored him and been flattered by his scary brand of love. Adult Eleanor hated him for the way he made her look weak; for the way he never really caved to everything she wanted, even when they played their stupid games. She hated that he went out of his way to torture her with whores and bad behaviour and exaggerated evil just to get a rise out of her. Most of all, she hated that no matter what he did, she still loved him. Fuck, she loved him. She loved that he was rough and mean and handsome and strong and still utterly devoted to her in his heart.
"I love you," Eleanor moaned when Charles shifted their bodies around, slinging her legs up over his shoulders to plough into her even harder.
His rhythm faltered and his eyes darted up to meet hers, his cheeks flushed with exertion as he chased his release and hunted her own like it was the fattest prize he'd ever gone after. Eleanor held his gaze, not willing in that moment to take the words back. What was the point? They were true. She might punch him and kick and him and yell at him and rail at him every other day, but she did love him. She wouldn't keep coming back if she didn't.
"Fuck," Charles grunted, his brow furrowed and his gaze intense.
He lost the battle to stave off his climax any longer, and he growled, burrowing his hand between them, still thrusting and using his hand to push her over the edge along with him. After the previous three, it practically ached when her body tensed and clamped around his, spasming rhythmically and drawing a moan from Charles as he emptied himself inside her. He collapsed on her heavily after that, burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing in the scent of her perfume sedately as they caught their breath.
For a long time, he didn't say anything. Eleanor didn't know what to say, either. She shouldn't have mentioned it at all; wished she could take it back. Just because she loved him didn't mean she should tell him. She was supposed to hate him and he was supposed to believe wholeheartedly that she despised him.
"Did you mean it?" he rasped a while later, still on top of her, his breath tickling her skin while her hands idly traced nonsensical patterns over his bare back, following the paths of the many scars there that she'd learned by heart in the many years they'd played this game.
Eleanor sighed, knowing she should say no; knowing she should shove him off her and storm out of here like she usually did. She was so tired of playing this stupid game, though; tired of staying away and hoping that denying him her love might change the man he'd become.
"Yes," she admitted quietly. "I love you, Charles. I've always loved you."
His breath caught; Eleanor could feel the way he stopped moving entirely, could practically feel his heart hammering inside his chest where it pressed so intimately to her own.
"You telling me so you can use it to manipulate me into doing your dirty work again?" he asked suspiciously and Eleanor supposed she couldn't blame him for doubting her when she'd been such a heinous bitch to him for so many years.
"No," she murmured. "No motives. No plots. No games. Just… I'm just tired, I suppose."
"You let Jack and Anne get to you," he surmised, rolling away from her to stretch out on his back beside her.
"No, it wasn't them," Eleanor said. "I just… I dream about you, Charles. And I love you. I'm tired today; too tired to pretend I don't; to pretend I ever stopped. Don't worry, you're sailing away. I'm sure I'll find something to hate you again over while you're gone."
"Fuckin' probably," he grumbled, curling his arm around her and tugging her closer until she pillowed her head on his chest.
He pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead, his fingers stroking through her tousled blonde hair as she cuddled into his side and closed her eyes, for a few minutes allowing her guard to lower; letting down her walls that he might recall there was a vulnerable girl who just wanted love and fairytales under the hardened bitch she'd been forced to become to take over as Trade Boss for the island.
"I'm sure between now and then I'll have plenty of time to stew over you buggering Jack and think you vile by the time you return," she teased quietly and Charles's chest rumbled under her ear with the sound of his soft laughter.
"Fuck you, Eleanor," he answered, and she smiled because no matter the words coming out of his mouth, Eleanor knew that he actually meant "I love you, too."