He finds her standing on his boat, hands braced on the gunwale and leaning out over the ocean. It had worried him, at first, because as much as he loves Lily and all of her foibles, calling her clumsy is understating the matter. The water in Fenith Port is a different beast than that of Whitesand Beach, and he had feared that she would fall in with no one around to see or help if she needed it.
As it happens, however, Lily has excellent sea-legs. The clumsiness so apparent on land disappears the moment she steps on his little boat, and he loves her all the more for it. (It makes him wish for things he's long since left behind. She would be a sight to see on a proper ship, face flushed and the wind in her hair.)
He makes sure to announce his presence with loud steps, coming up behind her and smiling as she shifts her weight to lean back against him. He curls a broad forearm around her waist and exhales loudly, ruffling the flyaway hairs on the top of her head.
"Good evening, Bacchus," she says, flirty and pleased, her hands coming to rest on his forearm.
"Evening," he returns, a little gruffly.
"I heard from Odette that Joe went out treasure hunting today." It would sound like idle commentary to anyone else, but there's a question beneath her words that warms Bacchus to the core.
"Aye, he did." He presses his nose into her vibrant red hair and closes his eyes as he breathes. "Would you care to join me for a drink?"
Lily laughs, her fingers tightening against his skin in a gentle squeeze. "I would love to."
Bacchus leads her into the cabin and below deck, but she finishes the journey as she takes his hand and draws him to his bed. She sits delicately on the edge of the bed-frame, pulling his face down to hers and drawing him in to drink from his lips. There's nothing tentative or demure in the way she demands his attention, a slick tongue in his mouth and a warm press of lips, familiar and loved.
While she digs a hand into his beard, he slides his own hands down her back in a firm caress, ending with his hands cupped under her butt to give him the proper leverage to lift her up and take her place on the bed. Lily settles herself back into his lap, her legs spreading to straddle his thighs as she rucks up her skirts to keep them from getting caught between their bodies.
"Touch me," Lily says, wiggling against the hands he still had on her rump, and Bacchus complies. He trails his hands over her clothed skin, palming the generous curve of her hip, the heft of her breasts, the curve of her neck. (Their clothes remain in place for the benefit of him, not her. Lily would strip out of her dress with a delighted smile if he asked, but Bacchus prefers to ease their way into it.)
It still feels odd to him, sometimes, that he gets to touch, that Lily has found something in him that she can love. He's a crusty old sailor with a rather unsavory past, rough around the edges and old enough to be her father if he had started young (and he had). His admiration for Lily had been something safe and comfortable, liking the way she cared for her sisters and how sweetly she sang. He had never intended to approach her as he does now, happy to enjoy her smiles and laughter as a good friend and a little bit of a old flirt.
For Bacchus is not a quiet person, and of course Lily knew that he liked her - he proclaims his love every time she brings him another bottle of wine. It's not much different from the drunk tourists that do the same, toasting everyone in the room but especially appreciative of the sisters that run the inn and bar, supplying them with food and drink.
But then Lily came to him, took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, face warm but eyes shining as she asked if he would kiss her. One kiss became another. Their friendly walks became more intimate, their talks more important. And when he first took her to bed, he could hardly believe he wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't dreaming, though, neither then nor now, and Bacchus moves a hand to dip beneath her dress, curving around the warm skin of her thigh to press a thumb against the wet heat saturating her underclothes. Lily rocks forward into his touch, curling her arms around his neck and smiling as Bacchus takes that as permission to slide his fingers underneath the cloth that covered her sex.
She lets out a reedy little whine as he presses his thumb against her clit and rubs firmly; the sounds she makes are music to his ears. Her body tightens and quivers against him as she finds her first peak, peppering kisses to his mouth and the edges of his beard as she sighs and clenches her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.
"Clothes off," she says when she finds her voice, twisting to begin the process with her own dress.
"Let me," Bacchus offers, catching her hands with his own, even though his left is still wet with her pleasure. He uses his right to loosen the ties of her bodice, the cloth falling from its tight bind over her breasts to pool at her waist. She returns the favor as she unbuckles his belt, shoving his vest from his shoulders and pulling his tunic free from his shorts. The rest of their clothes disappear with a bit of laughter, as Bacchus once again forgets to remove his heavy boots before he shucks off his pants.
Lily lies naked on his bed in a delicious sprawl, her hair fanning over his pillows and wreathed in shadows more than light. (He makes another mental note to find a better lamp for his sleeping quarters.) Eyes half-lidded, she looks hungry as she takes her lower lip between her teeth and trails her gaze along his scarred body.
"Come here," she says, hand gesturing towards her spread legs and a hint of impatience in her voice.
"Of course, lass." He finds his place between her thighs, leaning over her body to press a kiss to her collarbone, her neck, and then her mouth. Her lips form a little moue of displeasure, her brows tilting down into a frown.
"Bacchus. I want you in me, if you please."
The groan that escapes his throat is entirely warranted, getting to hear his beautiful Lily saying things like that. But he would never deny her. She helps as he lifts her thighs, shifting with him as he guides himself within her. It's a warm, easy glide of flesh —Lily hadn't underestimated her readiness for him— and Bacchus groans as he sinks within her, Lily's ankles hooking together behind his back.
"There, that's much better," she tells him, a little smug and definitely pleased. She clenches around him and his hips give an aborted little thrust, which causes her to giggle.
"Lily," he tries, but is voice is hoarse and it comes out more as a garbled moan.
He knows exactly what she wants. Soon enough, he builds up a sweet rhythm of their bodies, the slick sounds of their coupling loud in his ears. Underneath him, Lily pants and squirms, meeting each of his thrusts and keeping her hands tangled in his hair. He presses open mouthed kisses to every place he can reach. Her nipples pebble beneath his touch and she whines, scraping her fingernails along the skin behind his ear and he curses as he fumbles and presses her deeper into the mattress.
Lily only laughs, repeating the motion and grinning as he shudders. He brings a hand to where they are joined in retaliation, finding her clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts. It doesn't take much longer for her to tumble into an orgasm, her mouth open on a high moan and shivering in his arms.
"Keep going," she murmurs, petting at the skin on the back of his neck.
It doesn't take much longer, his chest heaving like a bellows as he drives into her pliant body. She helps as much as he allows, tilting her hips and taking all that he gives with a contented smile. When he finally spills within her, it's a relief, pleasure rocketing up his spine and down to his toes as he roars.
Later, when they're curled together and drifting towards sleep with the helpful rock of the ocean, Lily plays with the hair on his chest and announces that she loves him. It's not the the first time she's said it, but the three simple words never fail to kindle a warmth in his heart.
"Aye," he replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I love you, too."