into the void

Mathias Shaw stands on the high wall of Stormwind's dock and watches the King's flagship approach the port. He'd seen it coming long before its tattered sails rose over the horizon, because he sees all things, in all ways.

Behind him, the city flourishes in its newfound beauty. He doesn't have to look; in his mind's eye Shaw sees the walls coated dark with its citizens' blood and the thick layers of corruption it nourishes. It has spread vigorously between buildings, tendrils lashing around the brickwork in taut ropes like tendon and sinew. The rearrangement of the architecture into the Master's sacred geometry is happening slowly, but he sees more change every day, the void reshaping the stone as it has reshaped him.

He sees Stormwind as it is and as it will be in a hundred realities—perpetual blessed night, an abundance of shadows to operate in. He sees it with his eye open, and he sees it with his eye closed. He sees it constantly, whether he cares to or not, every minute of every day, every permutation of the city he is charged to protect spun out into endless fractals, a mirror facing a mirror.

He sees everything. N'Zoth has granted him this.

(There is a reality in which his city remains a savage, pristine white. A glimpse of it all but blinds him.)

He hears the soft squelch of a wet boot and the smell of seaweed fills his nose. At the threshold of the Master's victory, Fairwind had driven a knife into Shaw's left eye, naive enough to think that it would stop him. It had helped, to let him do it. He'd wept like a man destroyed. Shaw could not have contrived a more perfect fracture to pry open.

Shaw had listened to him sob, then shanked him and tossed him into the harbour. A day and a night later he'd crawled up out of the darkest parts of the ocean and let Shaw show him the true way of things.

"Alright there, crabcake?"

He isn't, unfortunately, perfect. But close enough for Shaw's needs. He turns. The Dread Pirate Fairwind has lost a shirt since last Shaw saw him, and gained a familiar-looking hat.

"Bored of your little plaything, are you?" Shaw says, sparing a glance at the stained and tattered sails of the Tiffin's Melody. The water surrounding the ship is as black and viscous as tar, churning with activity below the surface. Captain Proudmoore is no doubt comfortably chained in the hold. So far he's proven unsuccessful as bait for luring out his beloved sister, but quite effective for keeping Fairwind occupied when Shaw is too busy to combat his particular brand of affection.

"He needs a rest," Fairwind says with treacly fondness. He swans over and snakes an arm around Shaw's waist, bringing him in flush to his thick chest and its resplendent hair. "And so do you, I reckon. You look like five pints of caffeine in a half-pint glass. Let's put you out of commission, shall we?"

Something slippery and muscular slinks its way up the inside of Shaw's thigh. Fairwind's been given gifts of his own.

"Captain," Shaw cautions.

Fairwind tucks his chin and pouts. Shaw had thought if the rules were easy he wouldn't waste energy breaking them, but who could convince the sea to be reasonable?

He curls his fingers along Fairwind's jaw, fingernails rasping against his unshaven skin. "At least wait until we're somewhere private, hmm?"

"Hmm," Fairwind purrs back. "Go on, then. Do your thing." He scrunches his nose, leaning in to take a quick sharp bite of Shaw's lip. Hard pressed to call it a kiss, but it sends a jolt of heat through him just the same. He revels in the promise of it, and with a smirk, falls back into the shadows, grabbing Fairwind by the lapels and dragging him along.

They tumble into Shaw's office; immediately he hooks his ankle behind Fairwind's and trips him onto his back. He lands heavily and Shaw gets astride him, hands working at the buckle of one belt. His advantage is short lived. Fairwind grabs his wrist and bucks him off, turning them over with a twist of his hips and the strength in his thighs so that Shaw finds himself pinned to the floor under him.

Fairwind guffaws, his dark eyes flashing. Clearly he is enjoying himself. Shaw can't say he isn't either; it would be hard to disguise with the way they're pressed together. Fairwind gives him a knowing wink, then sits up looking immensely pleased with himself. It's always been an entirely infuriating look on him. It makes Shaw want to hurt him.

He goes for one of his daggers. Fairwind intercepts with a wrist-grab and draws it himself. "Ah-ah," he says, and stretches Shaw's arm out above his head. His instinct is to arch his back, so he does.

Fairwind grips the dagger between his teeth and runs his hand over the curve of Shaw's ribcage and down his waist, fingers bumping over the buckles and boning and embroidery of his armour.

"Lovely," he says, teeth clenched around the blade. His hair stirs in unseen currents. "Lovely. Let's see, now."

Something warm and slick catches Shaw's other hand and yanks it alongside the first, twining around both wrists and leaving Fairwind free to operate. First his pauldrons come off, then his belt, slung aside and forgotten. Fairwind gropes at his waist again, fingers skating over the taut leather, then takes the dagger from his mouth and slips it, slowly, beneath the lacing of his corset, the way he might lovingly disembowel a foe.

Shaw sucks in a breath at the brief tightening of his armour. The laces shear one by one, pinging apart as Fairwind angles the dagger, then he works the point of the blade under the wide strap of his breastplate, and with a tug, splits it open.

He's breathing hard, chest heaving with strange exhilaration. Fairwind has always encapsulated the tension Shaw finds between desire and threat, and never more so than now.

"Pretty as a picture," Fairwind says, eyeing Shaw's face. He's likely flushed. "Feeling something? Because I'm feeling something."

Shaw bares his teeth. Fairwind grins widely in return, teeth and more teeth, and sits back to admire his handiwork. Shaw bends his knees and puts his feet flat to the floor and takes the opportunity to try to turn the tables.

He is not successful. Before, Fairwind might have laughed it off. Now, retaliation is swift and ruthless. A tentacle loops around his neck. Shaw can feel each of its suckers against the thin skin of his throat as it squeezes tight. Blood pounds in his ears. He takes a harsh, gasping breath.

Fairwind grabs his hair, pulling his head back. It barely relieves things. He leans over to speak, low and genial. "Now, just you listen. I'm doing you a favour here, so the least you can do is be grateful, eh?"

He says this as though he isn't indulging himself completely. He kisses Shaw's ear, then sinks his teeth into his earlobe hard enough to draw blood. The sting of it blazes through Shaw's body. There is no controlling the guttural noise that rises up in his throat, the bloom of arousal in his gut. He fights his bound wrists, wanting to grab and claw.

This delights Fairwind and he does laugh this time, lifting his weight enough to paw Shaw over onto his front. The tentacle pulls around Shaw's neck like a noose. He scrabbles a moment against the varnished wood floor, boots seeking purchase.

"Hey, hey, steady. I'll take care of things, don't you worry."

Fairwind pulls off Shaw's breeches with a series of brisk yanks and gets on top of him. Shaw hears him spit, feels the smooth, wet glide of a tentacle behind his balls. Shaw's cock throbs where it's crushed between his belly and the floor. A moment later, something presses at his ass. Fairwind pushes into him slowly but relentlessly, the meagre coating of spit doing little to ease the way. It seems to take an eternity; there's nothing but hot dragging friction and the thick heat of his cock as it fills him.

With a shaky sigh, Shaw lifts his hips to take it. Difficult with his hands restrained and Fairwind bearing down on him, but he seems happy to assist. He seizes Shaw's hips and pulls him back, slamming the last inch or two home with a marked lack of decorum, hard enough to make his back teeth ache. It washes through him in dull, burning pulses.

"You could have done that from the start," Shaw says. He sounds hoarse. It's hard to breathe.

Fairwind plasters himself over Shaw's back, the full expanse of his chest and stomach pressed against his skin. Shaw can feel his cock shift inside him. "I'll have none of your lip today," he says into Shaw's ear, then gets a grip of his hair again. Pain prickles across his scalp. Fairwind digs his teeth into the scruff of Shaw's neck, above the rippling coil of the tentacle.

Things tighten further. Shaw's vision greys around the edges and he jerks helplessly as Fairwind slowly withdraws. He'd swallow in anticipation, but that has become difficult. Fairwind stops biting him just long enough to nuzzle with affection at the corner of his jaw, then pushes his face to the floor and proceeds to fuck him without mercy, hammering him with long forceful strokes.

It punches the breath out of him. He can't get it back.

Next thing he knows he's straddling Fairwind's lap, cheek stinging. Must have blacked out. Fairwind catches him with a beautiful backhand just as he shakes the disorientation.

His cock jumps. Fairwind is still inside him. Shaw glares at him.

"There you are. Can't have you clocking out too soon, or you'll be up again in an hour."

Fairwind gazes at him with eyes full of nothing, head tilted fondly. Typical sentimentality, but Shaw's always valued a man's loyalty more than his honour.

He purses his lips and frowns.

"You don't wanna argue with me today," Fairwind says.

Shaw feels the tentacle at his neck shudder and tighten again. Fairwind begins to move, driving into him with short, jolting thrusts that rattle Shaw's teeth. He fights against the urge to gasp, knowing it's useless. His head swims. Even when he closes his eye he can see the way Fairwind is watching him. He leans in and bites at Fairwind's mouth, tasting the crisp salt on his lips.

"I know," Fairwind murmurs. "Almost there."

His fingers dig into Shaw's thighs, keeping them spread wide as they fuck. The underside of his cock rubs against Fairwind's stomach, raw and oversensitised by the prickle of his body hair. Has he already come? He can't tell. Hard to know if it matters. In the skyless kingdom in his head he has a hundred times, and not at all. His vision is fuzzy, the press of the tentacle around his throat unrelenting. It lets only the barest sip of air through. Every one of his nerves is alive and screaming.

The world apertures down to Fairwind's hands, his mouth, his rough thrusting, the low groan he makes when he drives deep a final time and spills hot inside Shaw. That's when he loses control of his chokehold; the coiling mass around Shaw's throat spasms along with him, knocking Shaw out cold.

He comes around briefly with Fairwind's hands on him, lifting and moving him, lying him down. A coat over him, dry, but heavy as though sodden, its leather slick like seaweed. He sees Fairwind's grin, the shadow leaking from his eyes, and then, for a while, Shaw sees nothing at all.