Black Sails fic: Punishment
Jul. 30th, 2017 08:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_rosePunishment (1129 words) by meridian_rose
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Captain Flint/John Silver
Characters: Captain Flint (Black Sails), John Silver, Hal Gates
Additional Tags: Whipping, Corporal Punishment, Hurt/Comfort, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Community: hc_bingo, Established Relationship
Summary: Dufresne’s insistence on punishing Silver is meant to hurt Flint. Unable to refuse, Flint administers the whipping himself - as well as the aftercare.
Also at AO3
“Twenty lashes,” Dufresne said.
Flint stared at him. Dufresne held his gaze, challenging him. Flint’s fingers dug into the rail in front of him. This wasn’t about punishing Silver for what he’d done, it was about punishing Flint by making him hurt the man he’d recently taken to his bed.
Silver looked as if he’d been slapped. Gates had a restraining hand on Silver’s shoulder but he was horrified too. The grip slackened and the arm around Silver pulled him somewhat closer.
“That’s bullshit,” Billy said, arms folded. Flint didn’t dare look to him and risk showing his gratitude.
Dufresne turned his attention to Billy. “What would you suggest?”
Billy gave this serious consideration.
“You could let me off with a warning,” Silver suggested, tone over-bright with false hope.
“He has to be punished,” Dufresne said. He glanced back at Flint. “Unless there’s some reason you’re protecting him, Captain.”
Flint swallowed. He could not refuse and look weak, but he could attempt to mitigate the punishment. “Twenty lashes is too many,” he said. “Or I’d have bloodied you many a time, Dufresne.”
“Ten,” Dufresne offered as if they were bartering over a bolt of cloth at a market stall.
“Five,” Billy said finally. “I think that’s plenty.”
“Aye,” Gates agreed and the rest of the crew murmured agreement.
Flint nodded. “Five,” he said, glaring at Dufresne and daring him to object. Even he knew when to back down though.
Gates stripped off Silver’s shirt. Silver was trembling and Flint feared he’d throw himself overboard in terror - wouldn’t be the first time, after all. But Billy came to help Gates secure Silver to a mast, having him put his hands in front of him and around the wooden post. Gates tied a strip of cloth around Silver’s wrists before tying a rope over them to secure him. This would reduce the chafing if he struggled.
Flint took up the whip. He had to do this himself, not only to show leadership but because he could not trust anyone else. He strode over to Silver and spoke softly. “Five isn’t so many,” he said. “It will be over soon.”
Silver gave him a look that said Flint wasn’t the one being beaten. Then he stared at the mast and closed his eyes, bit down on his lip.
Flint stepped back, measuring out the whip to ensure the correct distance.
“Mr Gates, the count,” Flint ordered.
The ship was silent save for the creaking of wood and sound of the ocean, every man present watching the spectacle. Flint took a breath.
The whip cracked through the air. Flint aimed for the shoulders. The skin was thicker here and there was no risk of damaging the spine. The first lash found it’s mark, leaving a welt across Silver’s left shoulder. Silver flinched and Flint’s heart constricted.
“One,” Gates said.
Flint drew the whip up once more. He’d have used it on Dufresne given the opportunity. He aimed to hit just a little away from the first mark and succeeded.
“Two.”
A third time. The whip licked across the initial welt. Silver let out a strangled sob. Flint took a sharp breath, had to force himself to let it out slowly. He had to focus.
“Three.”
Another lash.
“Four.”
Flint delivered the final blow.
“Five.” Gates stepped in front of Silver as if he expected Flint to continue beyond what had been agreed.
Flint nodded, tossed the whip aside. “Back to work,” he snarled and everyone but Gates, Billy, and Silver, scattered, even Dufresne.
Billy untied Silver from the mast before going about his business. Gates put a gentle hand on Silver’s undamaged shoulder, urging him to stand up straight and turn around. Flint was taken aback to see the tear tracks and bloodied lip. He wanted to pull Silver close there and then but that was impossible under the circumstances.
“Come here,” Flint snapped. Silver stumbled towards him and Flint gestured, making Silver lead the way into his cabin. Flint followed, unable to take his eyes off the effects of the whipping.
They stood in silence until Gates appeared with a bowl and a couple of cloths. Flint took them and placed them on his desk. “I’ll take care of him,” Flint said and Gates gave him a sideways look before leaving them alone.
Flint closed and locked the door. He stared at the deck for a moment. “I’m sorry.” He turned to look at Silver.
Silver shrugged, winced at the movement. “You had no choice.”
“I’m guessing Dufresne knows about us. This was to punish me,” Flint said.
“I know. Is he jealous?”
Flint scoffed, relieved at the touch of sass in Silver’s tone. “Let’s see to your back,” he said.
Silver sat backwards on the chair as Flint bathed his wounds with the saltwater, shuddering and gasping at first but relaxing as the initial sting faded.
“Stay there,” Flint ordered. He dabbed off the worst of the water with a dry cloth before he took out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer.
Silver made a noise of disgust as Flint opened the jar. “What the hell is that? It stinks like a dead whale.”
“It stinks,” Flint agreed, dipping two fingers into the yellow goop, “but it will help the healing process and ease the pain.”
He began to apply the cream gently, Silver flinching at the first touch. But Flint was careful not to rub too hard, dabbing the ointment on in generous dollops that would soak into the damaged skin soon enough, and Silver was soon leaning forward over the chair back, soothed by the tender ministrations.
When Flint was done, he wiped his hand off on the dry cloth and then ran his fingers across the other shoulder and over to Silver’s spine. Silver shuddered for an entirely different reason when Flint dragged his fingertips along the vertebrae.
“I’ll make Dufresne pay,” Flint breathed, leaning over to press a kiss to Silver’s neck.
“I know.”
Flint moved to stand at the other side of the chair, facing Silver. He crouched down. “Let me clean you up,” he said, taking up the wet rag once more and wiping at Silver’s cheeks and chin.
“Thank you.”
The sincerity, the affection in his tone, nearly broke Flint. He was not only going to make Dufresne pay, he was going to make him suffer.
“Come,” Flint said, gesturing to the bed. “Rest a while.”
Silver moved to lie on his side on the bed and Flint sat on the edge next to him. Flint stroked his cheek, carded his fingers through Silver’s hair. That he’d been the one to bathe Silver’s wounds would make for further rumours about their relationship. Yet at that moment Flint couldn’t bring himself to care.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Captain Flint/John Silver
Characters: Captain Flint (Black Sails), John Silver, Hal Gates
Additional Tags: Whipping, Corporal Punishment, Hurt/Comfort, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Community: hc_bingo, Established Relationship
Summary: Dufresne’s insistence on punishing Silver is meant to hurt Flint. Unable to refuse, Flint administers the whipping himself - as well as the aftercare.
Also at AO3
“Twenty lashes,” Dufresne said.
Flint stared at him. Dufresne held his gaze, challenging him. Flint’s fingers dug into the rail in front of him. This wasn’t about punishing Silver for what he’d done, it was about punishing Flint by making him hurt the man he’d recently taken to his bed.
Silver looked as if he’d been slapped. Gates had a restraining hand on Silver’s shoulder but he was horrified too. The grip slackened and the arm around Silver pulled him somewhat closer.
“That’s bullshit,” Billy said, arms folded. Flint didn’t dare look to him and risk showing his gratitude.
Dufresne turned his attention to Billy. “What would you suggest?”
Billy gave this serious consideration.
“You could let me off with a warning,” Silver suggested, tone over-bright with false hope.
“He has to be punished,” Dufresne said. He glanced back at Flint. “Unless there’s some reason you’re protecting him, Captain.”
Flint swallowed. He could not refuse and look weak, but he could attempt to mitigate the punishment. “Twenty lashes is too many,” he said. “Or I’d have bloodied you many a time, Dufresne.”
“Ten,” Dufresne offered as if they were bartering over a bolt of cloth at a market stall.
“Five,” Billy said finally. “I think that’s plenty.”
“Aye,” Gates agreed and the rest of the crew murmured agreement.
Flint nodded. “Five,” he said, glaring at Dufresne and daring him to object. Even he knew when to back down though.
Gates stripped off Silver’s shirt. Silver was trembling and Flint feared he’d throw himself overboard in terror - wouldn’t be the first time, after all. But Billy came to help Gates secure Silver to a mast, having him put his hands in front of him and around the wooden post. Gates tied a strip of cloth around Silver’s wrists before tying a rope over them to secure him. This would reduce the chafing if he struggled.
Flint took up the whip. He had to do this himself, not only to show leadership but because he could not trust anyone else. He strode over to Silver and spoke softly. “Five isn’t so many,” he said. “It will be over soon.”
Silver gave him a look that said Flint wasn’t the one being beaten. Then he stared at the mast and closed his eyes, bit down on his lip.
Flint stepped back, measuring out the whip to ensure the correct distance.
“Mr Gates, the count,” Flint ordered.
The ship was silent save for the creaking of wood and sound of the ocean, every man present watching the spectacle. Flint took a breath.
The whip cracked through the air. Flint aimed for the shoulders. The skin was thicker here and there was no risk of damaging the spine. The first lash found it’s mark, leaving a welt across Silver’s left shoulder. Silver flinched and Flint’s heart constricted.
“One,” Gates said.
Flint drew the whip up once more. He’d have used it on Dufresne given the opportunity. He aimed to hit just a little away from the first mark and succeeded.
“Two.”
A third time. The whip licked across the initial welt. Silver let out a strangled sob. Flint took a sharp breath, had to force himself to let it out slowly. He had to focus.
“Three.”
Another lash.
“Four.”
Flint delivered the final blow.
“Five.” Gates stepped in front of Silver as if he expected Flint to continue beyond what had been agreed.
Flint nodded, tossed the whip aside. “Back to work,” he snarled and everyone but Gates, Billy, and Silver, scattered, even Dufresne.
Billy untied Silver from the mast before going about his business. Gates put a gentle hand on Silver’s undamaged shoulder, urging him to stand up straight and turn around. Flint was taken aback to see the tear tracks and bloodied lip. He wanted to pull Silver close there and then but that was impossible under the circumstances.
“Come here,” Flint snapped. Silver stumbled towards him and Flint gestured, making Silver lead the way into his cabin. Flint followed, unable to take his eyes off the effects of the whipping.
They stood in silence until Gates appeared with a bowl and a couple of cloths. Flint took them and placed them on his desk. “I’ll take care of him,” Flint said and Gates gave him a sideways look before leaving them alone.
Flint closed and locked the door. He stared at the deck for a moment. “I’m sorry.” He turned to look at Silver.
Silver shrugged, winced at the movement. “You had no choice.”
“I’m guessing Dufresne knows about us. This was to punish me,” Flint said.
“I know. Is he jealous?”
Flint scoffed, relieved at the touch of sass in Silver’s tone. “Let’s see to your back,” he said.
Silver sat backwards on the chair as Flint bathed his wounds with the saltwater, shuddering and gasping at first but relaxing as the initial sting faded.
“Stay there,” Flint ordered. He dabbed off the worst of the water with a dry cloth before he took out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer.
Silver made a noise of disgust as Flint opened the jar. “What the hell is that? It stinks like a dead whale.”
“It stinks,” Flint agreed, dipping two fingers into the yellow goop, “but it will help the healing process and ease the pain.”
He began to apply the cream gently, Silver flinching at the first touch. But Flint was careful not to rub too hard, dabbing the ointment on in generous dollops that would soak into the damaged skin soon enough, and Silver was soon leaning forward over the chair back, soothed by the tender ministrations.
When Flint was done, he wiped his hand off on the dry cloth and then ran his fingers across the other shoulder and over to Silver’s spine. Silver shuddered for an entirely different reason when Flint dragged his fingertips along the vertebrae.
“I’ll make Dufresne pay,” Flint breathed, leaning over to press a kiss to Silver’s neck.
“I know.”
Flint moved to stand at the other side of the chair, facing Silver. He crouched down. “Let me clean you up,” he said, taking up the wet rag once more and wiping at Silver’s cheeks and chin.
“Thank you.”
The sincerity, the affection in his tone, nearly broke Flint. He was not only going to make Dufresne pay, he was going to make him suffer.
“Come,” Flint said, gesturing to the bed. “Rest a while.”
Silver moved to lie on his side on the bed and Flint sat on the edge next to him. Flint stroked his cheek, carded his fingers through Silver’s hair. That he’d been the one to bathe Silver’s wounds would make for further rumours about their relationship. Yet at that moment Flint couldn’t bring himself to care.
