Yohann and Lublin expand the crew's fleet of ships (RPF Smut Crew)

[guardiansverse]

"The young soldier swallowed a gasp at the sudden nearness. So close, the eyes of the old Guardian were as blue as the ocean of his long-abandoned, much-missed hometown. He could all but feel it in his skin and under it, the core of power that always thrummed through his mentor. Power he had resented, fought, until he realized he longed for. Longed for its touch as much as he did for the cold, mighty touch of the ocean.

"'Well done,' the Guardian said lo, the words rumbling in his throat. 'Very well done, lad. Soon I'll have nothing left to each you.'

"The words filled the boy with elation and in its wake with dread. Was he finished - ready? Was he a man now? To be sent away to fight far battles all on his own - perhaps, yes. But was that what it meant to be a man? Was there... more?

"It had to mean more. It had to mean courage. The boy swallowed. 'Perhaps you have a thing or two, domé,' he murmured, and leaned up into the taller man's closeness, to capture his mouth in a kiss.

"Now it was the old Guardian who gasped, in suprirse and with an edge of anger, but another, liquid edge of something yearning wrested out. The way the set of his hips responded to the pressure of the lithe, splendid young body against him was - "


The scratching of Fro Lublin's transcribing pen on paper stopped abruptly. When Yohann glanced down from his pacing round the printing press, he found the other man with his face in his hands, whimpering. "He's going to kill us, Fro Rinken. He will roast us in your beds and sell our cocks on sticks in the market."

Yohann huffed. He liked the illustrator very well, but Lublin had entirely the wrong kind of imagination for their trade. "Please. Neither he nor Frowe Stattenholme have done a blessed thing yet, even after the leaflet with the electrified device..."

"This... this is different." Lublin raised stricken eyes to him. "Fro Detrich, he was... he was..."

"Singular? Incomparable? An icon?"

"Oh, every Land's Own is. But he... a man of such magnitude, rutting with this... monstrous, foreign lad, a boy of sixteen..."

"My dear Lublin, you have the point exactly." Moon and Sun, the Hyemi wasted such stunning minds on such tragic suppression. He leaned over Lublin's shoulder. "Our good Captain will be dead and buried before he takes a tenth of a step to acknowledge that this filth even exists. Ergo, the filthier it is, the safer we all are." Ilyigans were worse than Hyemi, in his experience. He ought to introduce that into the story somehow, come to think of it. "Now, take it from 'splendid young body'..."