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Pirates of the Caribbean
Title: A Quiet Moment
Pairing: Pintel/Ragetti
Summary: Pintel watches Ragetti sleep.
The Black Pearl glides through the dark, glistening waters of the sea, sleek, silent as a bird on the wing. Inside, the snores of slumbering men join the croaks of the wooden planks as they shift and settle to the ocean’s demands. Hammocks sway with the ship’s movement. They all carry a single man, but for one. On it, two men are enjoyably ensconced, legs entwined, bodies pressed together.
Pintel’s hand rests on the sand colored head that lies on his chest. His fingers barely ruffle the blond strands; he doesn’t wish to disturb Ragetti’s sleep. The dark mostly conceals his friend from his eyes; he can only see vague shadows of his form. He misses that lovely sight, but he doesn’t need to see it when he can feel that slender form nestled into his. Ragetti’s head is cradled below his right shoulder and his hands rest across his breast, one on its back, the other settled over his heart. Pintel wonders if that hand has been purposely placed or if it simply fell there. He suspects the former. Ragetti’s hand usually finds its way there, and if not then his head does. Is he reassured by the feel of Pintel’s heart beating against his skin, the steady tattoo ever present in his ear?
Ragetti shifts, a slight motion. His face turns more into Pintel’s chest and the hand over his heart curls upward, fingertips rubbing his skin, and then relaxes. His sleep seems to be unbroken. His breath--soft heat on Pintel’s skin--soon regains its deep, steady rhythm. Pintel lies still and simply enjoys the feel of Ragetti--his light weight, his warm skin. The hand that seemed to have clutched at his heart rises and lowers with Pintel’s every breath. Pintel lays his own hand atop it. It feels so small under his, so fragile. He has such delicate hands, too delicate for a pirate. Even after years at sea, few calluses mar the long, lithe fingers. They are still graceful, beautiful. Pintel gently strokes them along their length. His hand burrows beneath Ragetti’s and wraps around it so that they are palm to palm.
He doesn’t notice Ragetti open his eyes until he stirs under his other hand.
‘Pinters?’ His voice is thick with sleep.
Pintel’s hand twitches; for a second he considers removing it from Ragetti’s, but in the end he keeps it there.
‘Didn’t mean to wake ye,’ he whispers, so as not to rouse the others.
Ragetti raises his head and stares at their joined hands for a long moment, then he turns to look up at Pintel. There’s a smile on his lips.
‘Yer holding me hand.’
Under other circumstances, Pintel might have rolled his eyes at his friend’s tendency to state the obvious, but the pleasure in his voice makes him smile instead. It’s not often that he allows himself such a tender gesture as this.
He strokes Ragetti’s wrist with his thumb.
‘Aye, that I am, Rags.’
He hopes Ragetti can see the intense look in his eyes. He thinks he does, because he gives his hand a firm squeeze, his gaze intent on Pintel’s. Pintel squeezes back. After a moment, Ragetti lays his head back down on Pintel’s chest. Pintel can feel his smile on his skin.
Their hands remain entwined long after they both drift to sleep.
Title: A Quiet Moment
Pairing: Pintel/Ragetti
Summary: Pintel watches Ragetti sleep.
The Black Pearl glides through the dark, glistening waters of the sea, sleek, silent as a bird on the wing. Inside, the snores of slumbering men join the croaks of the wooden planks as they shift and settle to the ocean’s demands. Hammocks sway with the ship’s movement. They all carry a single man, but for one. On it, two men are enjoyably ensconced, legs entwined, bodies pressed together.
Pintel’s hand rests on the sand colored head that lies on his chest. His fingers barely ruffle the blond strands; he doesn’t wish to disturb Ragetti’s sleep. The dark mostly conceals his friend from his eyes; he can only see vague shadows of his form. He misses that lovely sight, but he doesn’t need to see it when he can feel that slender form nestled into his. Ragetti’s head is cradled below his right shoulder and his hands rest across his breast, one on its back, the other settled over his heart. Pintel wonders if that hand has been purposely placed or if it simply fell there. He suspects the former. Ragetti’s hand usually finds its way there, and if not then his head does. Is he reassured by the feel of Pintel’s heart beating against his skin, the steady tattoo ever present in his ear?
Ragetti shifts, a slight motion. His face turns more into Pintel’s chest and the hand over his heart curls upward, fingertips rubbing his skin, and then relaxes. His sleep seems to be unbroken. His breath--soft heat on Pintel’s skin--soon regains its deep, steady rhythm. Pintel lies still and simply enjoys the feel of Ragetti--his light weight, his warm skin. The hand that seemed to have clutched at his heart rises and lowers with Pintel’s every breath. Pintel lays his own hand atop it. It feels so small under his, so fragile. He has such delicate hands, too delicate for a pirate. Even after years at sea, few calluses mar the long, lithe fingers. They are still graceful, beautiful. Pintel gently strokes them along their length. His hand burrows beneath Ragetti’s and wraps around it so that they are palm to palm.
He doesn’t notice Ragetti open his eyes until he stirs under his other hand.
‘Pinters?’ His voice is thick with sleep.
Pintel’s hand twitches; for a second he considers removing it from Ragetti’s, but in the end he keeps it there.
‘Didn’t mean to wake ye,’ he whispers, so as not to rouse the others.
Ragetti raises his head and stares at their joined hands for a long moment, then he turns to look up at Pintel. There’s a smile on his lips.
‘Yer holding me hand.’
Under other circumstances, Pintel might have rolled his eyes at his friend’s tendency to state the obvious, but the pleasure in his voice makes him smile instead. It’s not often that he allows himself such a tender gesture as this.
He strokes Ragetti’s wrist with his thumb.
‘Aye, that I am, Rags.’
He hopes Ragetti can see the intense look in his eyes. He thinks he does, because he gives his hand a firm squeeze, his gaze intent on Pintel’s. Pintel squeezes back. After a moment, Ragetti lays his head back down on Pintel’s chest. Pintel can feel his smile on his skin.
Their hands remain entwined long after they both drift to sleep.