Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick | Fae AU

How the hell did I, of all people, get captured by pirates?

Gaz shifted on the deck, chains biting into his wrists and ankles as frost clung to the wood like a stubborn second skin. The wind tore across the rigging, shrieking through the sails, whipping his hair across his face and forcing him to squint against the stinging snow. The ship groaned and creaked under the weight of the winter storm, carving its way through Ghost’s domain with relentless precision. He could see nothing beyond the white horizon, the snow and ice blurring into one endless expanse.

And yet, for all the cold, for all the bone-deep chill that gripped the crew and the rigging alike, he felt nothing.

Heat radiated from him, golden and constant, spilling from his skin like a stubborn sun that refused to be extinguished. It pooled around him on the icy deck, melting frost beneath him into small hissing droplets. Crew members muttered and stomped their feet to stay warm, their chatter half-lost in the roar of the wind. Most seemed unbothered by the cold, or at least willing to pretend.

And then there was the captain.

The captain who had orchestrated his capture with the precision of a blade through silk.

The captain, who should have been unshakable, all icy poise and disciplined grace, yet who was giving off subtle waves of... discomfort. Not enough to make them bend or move, of course, but enough that Gaz could sense it. It was faint, almost imperceptible, like a flame trying to warm stone. Their aura was taut, their posture rigid, as though the cold had reached inside them and made them fight for composure.

Gaz smirked.

“Well, this is... quite the predicament,” he muttered to himself, letting his voice carry in the open air. “Captured by pirates, stuck on a ship slicing through the Winter King’s domain, freezing wind everywhere... and yet somehow, I’m the one laughing.”

He shifted slightly, letting the golden heat from his skin ripple across the deck, soaking into the chains and faintly hissing against the frost. The captain was nearby, watching. Gaz could feel their eyes on him, every subtle microexpression—the tiny flinch when the warmth rolled too close, the stiffening of shoulders, the deliberate planting of feet as if to anchor themselves against temptation.

It made him chuckle softly.

“Not that I’m sayin’ you’re cold,” he said, voice lilting, teasing. “Of course not. You’d never admit that. Pride and all that. But you... you’re shivering a little, aren’t you?”

He leaned back, hands braced on the deck, letting his chains jingle softly as he stretched, deliberate and lazy, golden heat pooling toward the captain in rippling waves. “I could... help with that,” he added, letting the words hang in the frozen air. “I’ve got a spot on my lap that’s more comfortable than it sounds. Warm too. Guaranteed to thaw even the most stubborn pirate.”

He shifted again, letting his torso glow brighter in his own perception, feeling the warmth like a sun breaking through clouds. His amber eyes flicked up to the captain, amber molten fire bright in the muted light, and he let a smirk tug at his lips.

The captain didn’t move. Of course not. They wouldn’t—never. But he felt the twitch of hesitation, the tension in their limbs, the way their aura curled inward in silent protest.

Gaz let out a quiet laugh, soft and mocking. “What’s the matter? Too proud to admit you’re freezing?” He leaned back a little more, chains rattling with the movement. “I mean, the crew’s fine. Look at ‘em,” he said, voice low but playful, eyes flicking over the crew clustered near the railings, stomping and muttering complaints about the cold. “All cackling and stomping and pretending this is normal. And you... standing there all stiff and dignified. Not a single laugh. Not a single admission that you’re—what’s the word?—uncomfortably cold.”

He let the words linger, watching the subtle reaction—the slight narrowing of the captain’s eyes, the faint pull back of a shoulder, a small exhale that was more tension than wind.

“See,” he said, voice softening, inviting now, letting the warmth of his body radiate more deliberately, “it’s okay. I can handle it. You don’t have to pretend here. Not with me.”

Gaz shifted again, letting the chains clink gently, deliberately positioning himself so his lap was subtly in view of the captain. A faint flare of heat pulsed outward in waves, coiling toward them like a living thing. He didn’t press the matter, didn’t move any closer—just let the offer exist, letting the warmth speak louder than his teasing words.

“Your choice,” he murmured, amber eyes gleaming with mischief. “You can keep pretending, standing there like a statue carved from ice... or you can admit you’re shivering, and I’ll help. It’s... surprisingly cozy.”

He shifted once more, stretching one leg out lazily, golden warmth rolling along the deck with him. The snow hissed faintly where it met him, and the chill that had clung to the ship’s wood melted away in soft, sizzling lines.

Gaz watched the captain’s every microexpression. He could see the flicker of irritation, the tension of pride, the almost imperceptible tug toward curiosity. He let it tease him, this little battle of fire and ice, savoring the tug-of-war.

He let his gaze wander over the deck, over the swirling snow and frozen rigging, then back to the captain. “You’re stubborn,” he said softly, a teasing lilt threading the words. “But I know how to handle stubborn.”

Chains rattled as he shifted again, letting his torso glow brighter in his own perception, warmth spilling over the icy deck, golden and tempting. His amber eyes met the captain’s, unblinking, unapologetic. The wind shrieked around them, the ship groaning against the cold, and yet here he sat, undeterred, a sunbeam daring a glacier to notice.

“Or maybe...” he added, letting a playful smirk tug at his lips, “you like watching me warm the deck while you freeze. That’s fine too. I’m patient.”

And he was.

Golden heat pooling, chains rattling, fire in his eyes and a mischievous smile curling his lips, Gaz leaned back again. He would wait. He always did. And the captain, icy and infuriatingly proud, would give in eventually.

Until then... he had all the time in the world to enjoy himself.