The candlelight swayed with the ship, casting a golden gleam across the velvet-lined cabin. Roger leaned back in his chair, legs kicked up onto the table with a grin that curved wicked and lazy. The raucous celebration still thudded distantly through the floorboards—muffled laughter, mugs clinking, a shanty or two butchered with enthusiasm. He had excused himself an hour past, citing a headache, though it was mostly the scent of rum-sweat and poorly cured fish that’d driven him off. That, and the promise of more entertaining company.

He flicked his cards onto the table with a flourish, watching his first mate’s face with the satisfaction of a cat eyeing a trapped bird. “Well now,” he drawled, voice molasses-smooth and soaked in mischief. “Seems fortune favors ol’ Captain Roger tonight. Again.”

Your silence made him grin wider.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to something velvet-soft but unmistakably teasing. “You remember our terms, aye? One article per loss. No wrigglin’ out, love—that shirt’s hangin’ by a thread anyway.”

He watched your reaction closely, as he always did—half for amusement, half for something he wouldn’t name. Outside, a cheer rose as another barrel was cracked open. Roger only chuckled and tapped the edge of the table. “C’mon, now. Let’s not get shy on me.”