
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/389777.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Michael/Adam_Milligan
  Character:
      Adam_Milligan, Michael_(Supernatural), Zachariah_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Five_Acts, Alternate_Universe_-_Navy, Alternate_Universe_-_Pirates,
      Nautical_Themes, Forced_Feminization, Crossdressing, Aristocracy, Size
      Kink, First_mate!Michael, Pirate!Adam, Discussions_of_abduction_and
      slavery
  Collections:
      Five_Acts
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-23 Completed: 2016-05-29 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3212
****** In the East ******
by bluebells
Summary
     Michael is their first mate, the best sword on the ship, and the son
     of a Governor. With a word to his father, Michael can have any of
     them thrown behind bars when they come to port. Adam wonders if he'll
     be first.
Notes
     Written for bellacatbee as part of the Five Acts exchange (nautical
     themes, underage, size kink, forced feminization, aristocracy).
***** Chapter 1 *****
When the shipmates shoved Adam against the hull and threw that gypsy's clothes
in his face, they thought it would be a humiliation.
Adam keeps his head bowed, he's careful not to smile, because they have no idea
what the life of a pirate has witnessed for him. He's seen true horror. He's
endured much worse.
Adam wonders if Sam and Dean are in the navy crewmen's quarters again. They
disappeared shortly after the sun sank below the horizon, leaving Adam to his
own devices in the mess. This is how he ends up twisting the ties of a stolen
bodice at his torso, flicking the short, heavy skirts at Zachariah's shoulder
when the older man jeers, elbowing his shipmates as they loll from their
benches, drunk and stupid. They'll be hanging over the hull by the morning.
Adam wrestles a smirk, biting the inside of his cheek. His clothes smell like
rum, smoke, and spicy perfume.
These men don't realise who's reaping the most entertainment from the night's
festivities.
His amusement takes a sharp turn when the ship's first mate descends into the
mess. Michael towers in the narrow arch, frowning at the raucous revelry, but
he would be an imposing figure even on a deserted island with only the seas at
his back. Michael makes it impossible to forget his noble heritage when he
stands so tall and imperious at the ship's helm.
He's also a man of few words. He doesn't need them when he beckons Adam back to
his quarters with the subtlest incline of his head. Every night.
"Sorry, boys," Adam shrugs, once Michael meets his gaze in the low light of the
mess. He's not sorry to make his exit. The men call after him with their filthy
leers, him and not Michael, because only the stupidest of them, even at three
barrels down, would speak ill of Michael.
Michael is their first mate, the best sword on the ship, and the son of a
Governor. With a word to his father, Michael can have any of them thrown behind
bars when they come to port. Adam wonders if he'll be first.
Adam leads the way back to Michael's quarters, the skirts brushing his bare
thighs. Once the door closes behind them, Michael hooks Adam in the circle of
his arms, and Adam smiles up into the kiss crushed between them. These are the
only times that Adam feels small, feels how much thinner his wrists are when
Michael pins them by his sides. But Adam never feels afraid. He groans happily
as Michael's large hands come up under his skirt. Michael crowds Adam against
the door with the shelter of his body, grinding lazily, his erection already
hard against Adam's thigh.
The skirts don't leave many layers to the imagination. Adam parts his thighs
wider and lets Michael feel how little he's wearing underneath. Michael groans,
soft and wounded. If he was a true sailor, Adam smugly thinks Michael would be
swearing by now.
"Who put you up to this?" Michael's voice is husky and whispered, the hem of
Adam's skirt threading between his fingers as he kneads the cheeks of Adam's
ass. Nobody else gets to hear Michael like this, or see how relieved he is to
crumble. The heat in Michael's eyes makes Adam shiver as the dark gaze rakes
over him hungrily. There are rumours, but no one would breathe a word of how
low the Governor's son let himself be dragged by a pirate. Not until they made
port.
"One guess. No, don't say his name," Adam says, carefully choosing his steps as
the ship rocks under their feet. Michael's hands stay on his thighs, hitching
the skirt high around his waist. Adam guides Michael to sit on the edge of the
thin cot before climbing atop to straddle him with hands on Michael's
shoulders.
Michael kisses him, palming heat along the taut lines of Adam's thighs before
his hands disappear underneath Adam's skirts again. Adam's gut clenches and his
hips buck into Michael's hand when warm fingers wrap around his cock. He gasps
into Michael's mouth, tucking as close as he can to rock against that broad
chest, Michael's hand stroking him tightly. The fingers of his other hand slide
between Adam's cheeks, then still in shock finding Adam already oiled and
loosened and ready.
What can he say? He had time.
"How does one so young know so much?" Michael asks him.
"How come an old man like you learns so slow?"
"I'm not thirty years, Adam."
"And I haven't seen twenty." Adam grins, voice lowering as he sucks Michael's
lip into his mouth, then kisses him soundly. Michael's grip on his thigh curls
possessively. "I could still show you a few things."
Michael slides a finger into him experimentally, then two. Adam breathes
easily, relaxing to the warm intrusion, rolling his muscles with the rock of
hips to take Michael in deeper. Adam feels so full and complete, but he knows
it can be better. His hands move fast at Michael's ties before he's pulling
Michael's cock free, and its heavy weight springs into Adam's palm. Michael
blinks up at him, hazy and lust drunk, as Adam spreads his thighs wide and
kneels over him.
Adam's skirts cover their thighs when Adam sinks down. His eyes water at the
stretch of Michael breaching him, but he holds, breathes and lets Michael guide
himself in by feel, fingers around Adam's hole, his cock, knees braced under
Adam's splayed thighs. The first time Michael drives into him, Adam groans
tightly, heat melting his spine, and he takes holds through the skirt of the
hands grasping his hips.
Air doesn't come so easily inside this bodice. He feels hot and stifled, and
his clothes cling to his skin, but he doesn't think of removing them. Michael
can't keep his hands off him. Adam feels every knot in his bodice like a bump
along his spine, trembling with the heat of Michael's hands along his back,
down his sides, and to his neck as his head falls back. Michael kisses his
bared throat, buries his growl there, and thrusts up harder when Adam bears
down.
The ship groans around them, many planks of the age old Impala bracing against
the ocean as heavy waves crash along the hull. Thunder cracks in the heavens
outside. A storm is brewing. Michael will be needed soon on deck.
Adam sees Michael's expression clear with the same realisation. He rises up and
presses fingers to Michael's lips.
"Shh." Adam kisses him, takes hold of Michael's shoulders, and begins to roll
his hips in tight circles. It doesn't take long. Michael shudders, Adam bounces
in his lap as Michael loses his rhythm, and the growl against Adam's lips is
the closest Michael will come to a curse.
Learning Michael's key was easy. Michael underestimated him. Adam would never
make that mistake.
Michael's longer fingers are calloused and strong, winding through Adam's in
the grip around his cock. Heat and light rush from his spine, curling his toes
and tipping his head as he rocks forward with the present burn of Michael still
resting inside him. Adam's thighs splay around Michael's waist, and he leans
back, letting the skirt catch the rush of his release. Panting, he shivers in
the cabin's cooling air and feels Michael suck a kiss to the base of his
throat, arms curling around Adam's waist.
Feet pound on the deck above as the men race to their stations.
"Duty calls?" Adam asks, breathless.
Michael squeezes his thigh, skirt bunching in his hand. "Does the sun rise in
the East?"
Adam's mouth quirks in a smile. "As it sets on Davy Jones."
"As long as you're here with me."
Adam closes his eyes for Michael's parting kiss. Michael leaves Adam sprawled
on his cot with his skirts around his waist, and Adam wonders what it would
take to make trouble stick to that Governor's son.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Four months later.
Chapter Notes
     That moment a commentor catches you in the right mood and you spit
     out a sequel four years later that's even longer than the original. I
     hope this is what you were after!
     This chapter contains discussion of slavery and acts done while under
     said enslavement that makes this fall under dubious if not outright
     non-consent, regardless of whether or not Adam enjoyed it (because
     slavery and prostitution will always remain apt analogies for the
     vessel arrangement in Supernatural).
“And what’s this?”
Adam eyes the roll of parchment when Michael offers it to him. It is tied with
black ribbon and bears the Governor's official seal. Suspicion gnaws at Adam’s
gut.
Already he’s scanned Michael’s office for exits and cited he could make it
across the desk to the high latticed windows at a quick lunge. From the sound
of stuttering wheelbarrows and the calls of merchants, he gauges the drop to
the alley below would be short. Adam bets he wouldn’t even break anything.
Michael is frowning when he steps into Adam’s direct path to the window, as
though sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Hey,” he hushes, moves into
Adam’s personal air of protection as though he belongs there, as though the
lease of their agreement didn’t expire with Adam’s amnesty as soon as they
sighted land. He lowers the parchment, searching Adam’s face with that
concerned frown, and gently takes Adam’s shoulder. “It’s all right.”
Adam rolls his jaw, biting his cheek and the instinct to snarl. Forces himself
to smile instead and can’t help when it twists into the challenge he usually
reserved for the shadows of cabins and the protection of the late hour, when
that smile could mean do your worstand he knew Michael would try, try and
always fail, because Michael was good and Adam was….
“Adam,” Michael’s frown turns confused as Adam steps away, shrugging off the
hand on his shoulder.
Adam sneers at the parchment. “So which prison will it be? Do I warrant that
much? Or is it straight to the gallows?”
Michael looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “This is not a sentencing. It’s a
pardon for your crimes.”
A pardon. Adam snorts a laugh under his breath. “For being stolen from my home?
For flying under colours against my will? For doing whatever I had t—“ His
voice cracks, and he didn’t even notice his throat closing until his chest is
burning without air and his eyes sting. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he
is angry, he’s been feinting for so long, he will notbe lulled into another
trap.
“I know, I know,” Michael reassures, trying to close the distance. His face has
softened with regret, hands raised as though trying to pacify a dangerous
animal, and if he doesn’t stop, he’ll learn just how dangerous Adam can be.
“How could you know?” Adam spits in the face of his pity. He steps back as
Michael advances, a stilted waltz preserving distance.  “I never told you.”
“You told me enough.”
Adam hesitates, something about the open appeal in Michael’s expression makes
Adam want to strike him. What a privileged life he led that he could show such
vulnerability with impunity. “I wanted to live. Is that my crime?”
Michael offers his hands, palms open, parchment lying in his right. “I won’t
let them hurt you.”
Adam weighs his words. “Letthem.” He eyes the parchment. “So, what would I owe
you for this?”
And Michael has the nerve to look surprised, even offended. His back
straightens, as he draws upright. “Owe me?”
He shouldn’t look a gifthorse in the mouth, but the last time Adam tried to
trust someone, he was traded like livestock and gifted to the man before him.
Adam smirks and doesn’t pull his punches. “We’re not shy about our
transactions, Michael. Technically, I still belong to you.”
Michael’s hazel eyes narrow, that strange green-gold of his irises that often
caught in the morning light. “Don’t speak like this.”
“At least, according to your captain. Your crew. I do. Would you tell them you
released your gift, granted him amnesty?”
“I do what I want.”
“Andthatis the privilege of being you. My Lord.”
Michael’s jaw clenches, he looks away to the high bookshelves with more tomes
of knowledge than Adam could hope to earn in three lifetimes, to the maps that
paper his walls with all the territory of his king’s domain, and Adam can see
the great effort it takes to swallow whatever retort leaped to the tip of his
tongue. The spirit of the fight makes Michael the deadliest sword on his ship,
but it’s the judgment he exercises now to withhold his opinion that makes him
such a respected and effective first mate.
Adam wishes Michael had less restraint. He is raring for a fight.
When Michael meets his eyes again, tension still crowds his shoulders. His full
mouth is turned in an unhappy scowl and Adam wants to bite it to a familiar
shape of red and gasping, because he knows how to deal with that. He wants to
burn the parchment poised so carefully in Michael’s fingers, he wants to take
it and run, he doesn’t want to trust the thing he has wanted so badly is so
close within reach. He can’t. If it’s a lie… if it’s stolen away from him when
it’s so close….
“What do you want me to say?” Michael’s voice is quiet in its resignation.
“Yes, I still want you. I want you safe. And I want you to be happy. You’ve too
much spirit to be under lock and key, Adam.”
“No one deserves that,” Adam interrupts, coldly.
Michael nods slowly, considers the parchment again in his hands, tapping it
against his open palm. “Well, I can’t save everyone. Not in a day. But I can
start with you.” He offers the parchment. “Will you… would youhelp me?”
Adam stares from the parchment to the other man’s face. “Help you?”
“Free them.”
Adam can’t be hearing this correctly. “Who?”
“The ones under lock and key.”
“… You’re not serious. Is this another trick? To make me stay?”
Michael’s mouth shrugs as he glances to the maps on the wall, the boundary
lines marked in red twine with properties that are starting to alight with new
meaning in Adam’s mind. “This pardon is yours, regardless of what you decide.
And I’m also going after the slavers. I thought we’d start with the locals:
like the businessmen who tricked you. They’re men of opportunity more than
anything, basic skills and even poorer connections.”
“Don’t underestimate them.”
Michael smiles, that same slow grin of challenge that drew Adam across the dark
cabin that very first time all those months ago. He’s serious. He’s really
going to do this with or without Adam.
“I could use an advisor. I’ve trailed these men for years, but the ship – when
I met you – that was the closest I’ve come to the main traders in these waters.
I could use someone who knows them from the inside. Someone smart and
resourceful. I know how well you played those men.”
“Zachariah,” Adam seethes, and then wonders with a hot flare of hope, could
this mean he might never have to see that man again? He shakes his head. These
men are dangerous and more resourceful than Michael must understand. “They’ll
kill you. There’s no way your father will stand for this.”
To Adam’s astonishment, Michael’s smile widens. “Are you sure about that?”
These high collars. Out of their minds. All the fresh air up here must feed
them delusions of grandeur. Stupefied, Adam can only gape, motion dumbly at the
parchment in Michael’s hand as if it’s the cause of this insane venture.
“They’ll kill you.”
But he doesn’t back away this time when Michael presses the parchment to his
fingers, closing his hand around it. “Then I’ll need someone to watch my back.”
“They’ll kill me.”
The grip on Adam’s hand tightens, and Michael’s flirtatious mirth hardens to
steel, eyes growing dark. “Not on my life.”
Adam searches his face for a weakness in his resolve, deflates, the crisp
parchment crumpling in his fist. “Oh, you’re mad. You’re going to get us both
killed.”
Michael seems encouraged by that, puffing up. “Don’t undersell yourself. I’ve
seen you fire a pistol.”
“Shut up,” Adam tugs his hand free and slides his nail under the seal of the
wax, finally opening the parchment to test this man’s claims. His knees weaken
as he reads the words that will allow him to return to civilian life. He can
barely breathe. “God, it’s real… this is… this is effective immediately.”
“I knew you could read,” Michael smiles, kisses the top of Adam’s knuckles, and
Adam doesn’t even have the presence of mind to resist when Michael slides an
arm around his waist, pressing them close from knees to chest as Adam reads to
the end of the articles.
“Your father signed this.”
“He did.” Michael brushes a kiss over the back of Adam’s hand still clutching
the parchment, all but beaming with pride.
“No clauses about you… or your family,” Adam turns the parchment over to check
for fine print, but his full and immediate pardon is there in fresh ink,
without further condition or indenture.
“You’re a free man.” Michael pulls back far enough to look Adam properly in the
face above the parchment between them, expression serious. “But I meant what I
said. I would be honoured to have you at my side.”
And it must be the elation of his release that makes Adam think maybe. Maybe
they could do this.He sighs and says, “Don’t make me regret this.”
Michael laughs like a dam of joy breaking loose, like he’s the who was just
granted clemency, and he scoops Adam around the waist, almost crushing him with
the strength of his embrace, spinning them around in the narrow space of
Michael’s office, his war room,and nothing will ever be the same again.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Adam grunts, but he’s smiling when Michael sets
him back on his feet, tilts his face up to the kiss when Michael leans in,
hands cradling Adam’s face. A thrill shivers through him, realising it’s his
first kiss as a newly freed man. He really has a choice now.
He can stay. He can go. He can fight and bring those slaving bastards to their
knees.
“Does the sun rise in the East?” Michael grins, fingers pushing through Adam’s
hair.
“Don’t fucking use that on dry land,” Adam grumbles against his lips at their
old refrain, but he can’t stop smiling, not while Michael peppers kisses
against his mouth, his cheeks, his neck; he can’t hold the laughter that
bubbles out of him.
“As it sets on Davy Jones,” Michael promises, hiding his face in the curve of
Adam’s neck, arms snug around Adam’s waist.
It’s a new feeling, this joy, chased by a fear in doubt of its truth, of
trusting it’s real, that it’s precisely what it claims, nothing more, nothing
less; and that it will still be here in the morning.
But he has a choice now. Adam fought to live, so he’s going to try.
His hands sink into Michael’s thick hair, around the broad set of his
shoulders. He breathes in the fresh starch of Michael’s uniform, the clean soap
of his hair. He tightens his hold and smiles, vindicated, when Michael clutches
him back, gently rocking them in place.
Adam has a choice now. He’s going to fight for this, too. He’s going to fight
for all of them.
“As long as you’re here with me,” Adam murmurs.
 
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