Chapter 87

Thrown onto his back, the paralyzed navigator raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture to protect his chest, using his claws to push away the dog-like face of the man who was about to kiss his neck: “Wait!”

The latter lifted his head in displeasure: “You have thirty seconds to talk.”

When Caesar spoke, his hot breath sprayed onto the navigator’s face. It was said that steam was scalding, and at this moment, Miguel felt like his brain was about to be fried. So he remained silent, wasting fifteen seconds just staring at Caesar’s handsome face. When the man raised an eyebrow and started counting down, Miguel’s brain finally sparked back to life and began to function with difficulty. He raised his hand and slapped the man’s forehead: “Didn’t you fucking boast that you’re as straight as the Heavenly Pillar?”

Caesar didn’t know what the Heavenly Pillar was.

But he could at least understand the literal meaning of “standing tall like a pillar”—for example, the state of his dick right now could be called “standing tall like a pillar”… So these four words, when you thought of them as a noun, could occasionally be interpreted as a verb in someone else’s understanding.

“A pretty boy isn’t out of the question,” Caesar said something that made Miguel want to vomit blood, “It’s all the same once the lights are off.”

If the navigator’s legs could move at this moment, he would have kicked the heavy man off him without hesitation. He paused, deciding to give Caesar one last chance to redeem himself. He poked his own face with his finger, his big black eyes blinking: “A pretty boy?”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “…What does silence mean?!!”

Caesar thought for a moment, unusually patient as he directly addressed his little slave’s persistence, and then he said sincerely: “You’re too old to be called a ‘boy’ anymore.”

Miguel got his answer, but he felt like the focus of the response was a bit off. However, Caesar didn’t give him a chance to ask further questions. The man easily pinned his hands above his head, pressing his body down. The navigator’s powerless legs were effortlessly spread open by Caesar, allowing the man to wedge a knee between them. One strong hand easily suppressed the navigator’s struggles, while the other hand neatly tore open his clothes—

With a loud ripping sound, the metal buttons from his clothes clattered to the floor.

“My clothes!”

“What are you yelling about? I saw you sneaking them from my wardrobe this morning.”

“…”

The man slightly lifted himself up, and in the dim light of the nearly burnt-out candle in the small cabin, he lowered his head to examine his possession for the first time so closely—the torn fabric revealed a large patch of pale skin, the yellowish light turning the fair complexion into a beautiful creamy white, glowing with a soft luster. The two points on his chest were a light color, and as they were suddenly exposed to the air, they stood up sensitively, trembling slightly with his breathing, as if silently luring someone to kiss them.

“Good quality.”

The Captain chuckled hoarsely in praise, and Miguel felt like this was a habit the man had developed from appraising antiques during his long career of plunder… The navigator rolled his eyes and turned his head away, unaware that this action completely exposed his neck to the man’s gaze—the long, white neck was indeed as clean as he had emphasized earlier, as white and tender as tofu. If one looked closely, they could even see the blue veins under the translucent skin, from the neck to the collarbone and down to the partially exposed chest, all connected in a stretch of white skin that seemed to emit a faint glow—

When God closes a door, He at least opens a window.

When a young man has an unremarkable face, he must have a delicate, soft, and fair skin.

The heart seemed to beat in rhythm with the blue veins under the neck, and the man’s eyes grew darker. He stared at the expanse of white skin as if entranced, the part of him below becoming even more insistent, almost ready to explode. His breathing grew heavier, and Caesar could hardly believe that he had missed such a treasure, allowing him to sleep sprawled out beside him every night, stealing his pillow, without ever realizing he could have another use.

The Captain had forgotten that he had already seen, touched, and even abused this good skin before.

For example, during the tattooing.

When the man lowered his head and gently licked the trembling nipple with his tongue, he heard Miguel let out a sharp gasp—and the man took this as a response to his actions.

He sucked with a sound that made one blush, while one hand gently kneaded the other neglected bud. He felt the black-haired young man’s body grow hot under his touch, and when his knee brushed against his lower body, the Captain was pleased to find that he was hard.

Teasingly, he pressed against it, and the Captain smiled wickedly: “Son, you’re hard.”

Miguel wanted to burst into tears at Caesar’s shamelessness.

“You’re as hard as a brick too, Dad.”

Caesar hummed in agreement, then very efficiently stripped Miguel completely naked.

The Captain sat on the edge of the bed, using his strength to lift the navigator into a sitting position. At this moment, Miguel was completely naked, straddling the man, while Caesar had only undone the top two buttons of his shirt and his belt…

When Miguel’s bare, hot skin came into contact with the man’s slightly rough clothing, he felt a sense of shame as if he were running naked in front of everyone. And it was precisely this feeling that made his body even more sensitive. When the man’s large hand, resting on his waist, slowly slid down his spine along the vertebrae, it left behind a trail of moans and an unsettled inner turmoil—

When Caesar’s fingertips, like piano keys, moved down with measured pressure and finally stopped at the fully healed tattoo, Miguel’s hair stood on end. An inexplicable wave of pleasure traveled from his curled toes through his blood to his heart. He let out a low moan, as if the most sensitive part of his body had been touched!

“You’ll never know,” Caesar’s voice was so low it was almost a sigh. His rough fingertips rubbed against the tattoo he had personally inked. When he felt the navigator’s lips gently brushing against his neck, the Captain chuckled, his fingertip accurately moving to the arc that symbolized the scythe—and also symbolized Caesar’s ownership. The arc curved beautifully, ending just above the front of the cleft, and Caesar’s finger rested there, lightly tapping, “You’ll never know what happened when I tattooed this.”

Grabbing Caesar’s collar, Miguel looked down, “An earthquake?” he asked with a light laugh, his breath hot against the man’s collarbone, causing a slight itch.

[Worse than an earthquake. I once thought it was a trick of the gods.] The man laughed, his hands gripping the black-haired young man’s comparatively slender waist, lifting him slightly. Miguel’s legs were in a kneeling position around the man’s waist, and when Caesar made this move, he lowered his head, unsurprisingly meeting a pair of deep amber eyes—

[Apparently, my body is more honest than my heart.]

The man’s thin lips parted, and he stared into those black, shining eyes, as dazzling as the Mediterranean’s most precious black pearls, and spoke almost word by word.

He was speaking in Latin, an ancient language that, along with Greek, had the greatest influence on European and American academia and religion due to the expansion of the Roman Empire. For a navigator who had never been exposed to this language, he couldn’t understand even a single punctuation mark.

Miguel knew that pressing for an answer was futile, so he chuckled and patted Caesar’s dog-like face: “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Expected,” Caesar curled his lips into an elegant smile.

“But I think you’re confessing your love.”

“Rich imagination.”

“Imagination creates a beautiful future, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what’s missing in the Age of Exploration—how else would you discover new continents?” Miguel lay limply on the man’s body, moving his hips slightly. His painfully hard cock rubbed against the man’s through his pants, the clear fluid secreted from the tip staining the man’s pants with a small wet spot. Only that spot was darker than the surrounding fabric, vaguely revealing a thick outline, unabashedly showcasing the massive size hidden beneath it.

Rubbing cocks with another man was an exhilarating experience.

The easily satisfied navigator could almost climax three hundred times just from this—

Caesar wasn’t so easily satisfied, but clearly this action also stimulated him greatly, because when he turned and pressed Miguel back onto the bed, the movement was so forceful it almost collapsed the entire bed—

Miguel truly heard his bed creaking under the strain.

Caesar almost roughly lifted his hips, his rough hands kneading the buttocks of the man beneath him with enough force to hurt. Then, when he lowered his head to once again aggressively plunder the lips of the person in his arms, his long fingers quietly moved away from the buttocks, gently sliding along the cleft—

He laughed as he swallowed the navigator’s moans, not knowing when his shirt had been pulled open, his firm abdominal muscles rubbing against the other’s tense stomach—

“If you weren’t paralyzed,” Caesar’s tongue lasciviously teased Miguel’s teeth, “I’d ask you to wrap your legs around my waist.”

“Too bad,” Miguel breathed heavily, his head buzzing, “I’m just a big cripple.”

Caesar hummed in response, then used his actions to show just how little he cared about this issue—

His finger, without warning, thrust into the man’s hole—

At the same time, with a loud crash, the cabin door was kicked open!

“Hey boss, that mermaid can talk now, you—”

Caesar: “…”

Miguel: “…”

Rick: “…”

The esteemed Captain, who supposedly only liked women, was kneeling on the bed with his shirt wide open and his belt undone. In front of him was the completely naked navigator, his pale skin almost blinding. At this moment, the Captain’s sacred hand, usually used for steering the ship, was resting on the navigator’s buttocks, and his middle finger had mysteriously disappeared between the navigator’s cleft—

When Rick kicked open the small cabin door, this was the scene that greeted him, nearly causing his eyeballs to fall out.

Where did the middle finger go?…

Rick: “Uh…”

Caesar: “Get out.”

Rick slammed the door shut as quickly as he had kicked it open.

Then the first mate of the Wind Fury scurried away in a panic.

With a wave of his sleeve, he took with him a mind full of “This can’t be happening.”