Five days

Day One

Out of the very few things that made Marco sweat, dreaming was one of them. Not scary nightmares, but rather richly envisioned erotic fantasies. Those particular dreams always left him in a cold sweat with his heart beating so loudly he feared everyone on the Moby Dick could hear it.

He didn't have them often, though tonight he found himself awakening in a dark room soaking wet. And he certainly didn't need to reach a hand down between his thighs to confirm his erection. With his sharp eyes he could see the tent it made by pushing up his bed sheets. When he dreamt it was always the same outcome and, above all, Marcohated it.

He hated how his mind could visualize things to the smallest detail. He hated how his body became aroused without his bidding. But, most of all, he hated that the reason he started having these dreams was because of a certain new addition to his crew, his family.

Marco rolled over with difficulty in his small bunk. Even though commanders had their own quarters it certainly didn't constitute luxury. It only meant an added sense of privacy, something Marco was incredibly thankful for given his current state of excitement. If he were sleeping in the barracks with the rest of his division of pirates, Marco wouldn't be able to order them around without a few jokes thrown in his general direction, slandering his reputation.

He shivered at the thought of being the butt end of his crew members' jokes. It would be humiliating. Another wave of disgust coursed through him. He was their captain's right hand, how could he be dreaming about one of his captain's newest sons?

This brought him full circle to thinking about his dream, or what he could remember of it. Marco groaned at the absurdity of it all and buried his face in the soft down pillow he'd 'borrowed' from an inn the crew had spent a night at during their last trip on land. He liked this pillow a lot and feared that all of his sweating would eventually degrade the quality of the feathers inside the pillow.

Besides, it was nearly time anyway. He would have to get up as soon as the night sky reached its darkest hour anyway.

With that in mind, Marco shimmied out of bed and onto the cold wooden flooring. The room was cramped and he had no trouble locating a pile of clothes with the help of a few small blue flames jutting out of the tips of his fingers, illuminating the room in a wash of bluish yellow light.

By the time he pulled on a pair of pants and a jacket his arousal was deflating. This was a relief as he didn't intend to stay put in his room, not with thoughts of what his dream had been about still plaguing his mind.

Moving sluggishly down corridors and past rooms that held sleeping occupants Marco climbed up to the main deck. The moon was out tonight, shining brightly with her children, the stars, in a cloudless sky. He snuffed out his fire, the need becoming obsolete. Besides, it was getting close to being that time of the year again and he needed to conserve his strength.

Guess it's time to find that island, thought Marco as he lifted his arms towards the mizzenmast in a feeble stretch. His arms fell limply to his sides, completely undermining his usual strength. I feel like a newborn baby bird. So weak.

And sweaty, Marco thought with a grimace. He felt clammy and, with no further thoughts permitted as to why this had occurred to him, he began to climb the rigging of the ship. At his current lethargic pace it took him several minutes to reach the top of the mizzenmast, right below where one of Whitebeard's flags dolefully flapped in the breeze. He wasn't at the highest point on the ship by far, but he knew that there wasn't a watch posted in the mizzenmast's crow's nest. There would be a man above the topgallant and another on the foremast. More than likely one or both of them would be asleep. Aside from that they probably wouldn't notice him until he'd long left the Moby Dick.