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Siamus,
You haunt your sister's smile. How strange, the vision of an absent lover, suddenly near. She carries you with her, though her hair is darker, her eyes and complexion more fair. Wherever I go, you seem near enough to me to stoke fires that I must control, as you are not near enough for me to touch.
It must seem wrong and alarming to you - a man so lighthearted and easy with absence - to hear of my pangs, my torment. It is not only that I have fewer "ports of call", but also a distinct difference in background and temperament. You take comfort in thought and memory, feel confident that those who are yours remain yours when out of sight. I wonder, every day, if I am forgotten.
I see the golden undertone of her skin and I think of yours, sun bronzed, the sensually twining art inked upon it, the athletic shape of you beneath it. She tosses her sleek hair and I think of yours, lighter, sun-streaked, unruly silk between my fingers, in my fist. She half-smiles, eyes sly with a joke meant only for herself, and it is all I can do to hide the memory of your own slanted smile and the effect it has upon me.
Your sharp-eyed sister must think I am mad for her. I apologize. It also only makes me more annoyed with her, as though taking orders from her were not infuriating enough. Imagine if you suddenly had to grab forelock every time your former deckhand walked by. But she serves well in her role, you may have no doubt. It is my own humiliation that gets in the way of my full appreciation.
When next we meet, would you call me Captain? Pretend meekness? Let me give you orders? Let me sink my teeth into you, feel you go still and hear your fast shallow breath and not concern myself with whether it is from ecstasy or fear. And then afterward you can put me soundly back in my place, once I have spent myself and my anger in you, purged arrogance from my system.
My place, by the way, is as always on my knees before you, abject, devoted, unworthy, ravenous.
Zath