#bb rome

Captain Techno was a smart man.

He knew just exactly which coordinate the ship lay on, and he could tell the time of day to the minute just by seeking where the sun beams high in the sky. He knew how to persuade weaker captains to get exactly what he wanted - & likewise, he knew when persuasion would fail, ready to resort to more physical means at just first glance of an enemy ship's captain. Despite years spent studying the sea and learning first hand the ways of the ocean, there was one thing he couldn't understand.

He knew you were upset - that you made obvious with the scowl on your face, creased lines between your brows growing thicker each time he showed up like this, cold, soaked and injured. What he could never define, time after time, was exactly why you were upset. He admitted he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, choosing to survive and continue to fight with you by his side. And you had admitted just the same - so how come you shut him out every time he sought refuge in your cabin, a silent plea for you to tender his wounds?

"I'm convinced you're just doing this to annoy me now," you mumbled one night, winding the bandage around his arm tight enough for him to hiss in discomfort.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He watched you pack up the first aid kit instead of responding, head tucked into yourself to avoid making eye contact.

"Ah, right. The silent treatment. Real mature," he grumbled, sliding himself off the wooden seat, folding it back up to the wall.

"Oh, you wanna talk about mature, Technoblade? How about you act like an actual captain instead of some crazy, chaos seeking teenage boy," you spat, slamming the first aid kit closed and stalking over to the cabin door, holding it open for him. He watched you move, water dripping from the end of his tailcoat where he stood. You refused to meet his eyes still, lowering your voice to prevent waking up the other crew. "You can go now."

Techno frowned, conflicted on whether to leave and seek the actual ship's nurse, harass her for any knowledge on how to fix a bruised ego. Instead, he swallowed his pride. It was you, after all. Let anyone else try spitting such harsh fire and they'd meet the end of his blade before they could punctuate it.

"Hey," he started, voice soft and weary. He walked forward gently, afraid to make the wrong move. When you showed no signs of pushing him away, he gripped the door knob, closing it quietly before offering you a hand. He smiled when you took it, small palm wrapping around his large fingers. "Look at me," he whispered, more so a question than a command. You did, hurt masking any other emotion on your face.

"I'm sorry."

"I just wish you'd be more careful, T. You told me weeks ago that I was the reason you wanted to survive - yet you continue to push us into pointless battles. You continue to show up at my door, recklessly hurt and injured — am I not...."

He frowned, giving your hand a soft squeeze to continue.

"... Am I not enough anymore?"

If he wasn't such a guarded man, he's sure he would have collapsed, wrapping himself around your legs as he sobbed reassurances into your thighs like a child.

Instead, he pulled you close, tucking you into his chest - refusing to let you see the water building in his eyes. A rough palm rest at the back of your head, lips pressing a long kiss to the top of it.

"I don't deserve you, my siren."

"You do, T," you spoke, muffled by the flowing silk collar of his blouse. "You deserve everything you've ever wanted."

No matter how many times he's been told that, by friends and ex-flings alike, spoken by mentors and captains before him - he never truly heard it until he was here. Standing in the creaking wood on your makeshift cabin, arm and upper lip throbbing from this evening's messy scuffle, pushing you - a stranger who captivated him more than any other - impossibly close to him.

If anything, he just wanted to collide into you - to collapse his body against yours, soul intertwining with soul as his heart beat faster at the desire to melt himself into you. To become one, he thought, would be a heavenly way to go. For now, for you, he would give up this streak of conquering, perhaps dock by an island - decreeing it your Eden.

His bloodied lip caught yours, crooked finger under your chin lifting your eyes to meet his. His throat was scratchy, and he chose to ignore the fat teardrop that fell from his face, sliding in between your kiss. He embraced the salty taste, scooping you up to set you on the cracked desk.

"Kiss me," he begged, as if your lips weren't already moving fast and heady, taking ownership of his. "Kiss me until I can't fucking think about anything other than you."