When Gods Collide

As the (occasional) seme that I am, I love teasing! I originally planned to be a bit crueler by giving an excerpt from just one chapter, but since I’ve been writing chapters as alternating POVs I figured I should be a little nicer. So, below you’ll find an excerpt of both OCs from my BL novel When Gods Collide!

Summary: Brontes: a pseudo navy solider who loves the open sea and longs for true freedom. Svane: a pirate who loves thieving and killing as much as taking male and female lovers. Both men suddenly find themselves in a new world with the great age of pirates coming to an end and Svane’s captain falling ill. What happens when Brontes finds Svane thieving from his ship for medicine in the dead of night?


Brontes Nicolau usually missed the sea as soon as he stepped foot onto land. If it were up to him, he’d never land on another shore again. Supplies weren’t infinite though; additionally his men would revolt if he didn’t let them come back, sometimes. He could feel their anticipation from behind the captain’s door, even though the wood was thick enough to muffle their idle chatter. He had warned the village of their return weeks ago and he could only hope that his message arrived in enough time. He and his men liked to eat and rejoice in making safe passage, and the town always needed ample time to prepare their feast, as well as the supplies for the next voyage. 

From his small window he could see the coastal town and their sailor base that butted up against the shore to the small inlet getting closer. His knees ached. The door opened with no knock but before he could raise his voice to be angry, he registered the open face of his shipmate. Castor Kravelas always smiled no matter the circumstances, and he was known as being the peacekeeper on the ship when men started to get sea crazy. Light eyes that shone like heated embers, a strong defined nose, and thick lips that revealed slightly crooked white teeth. His inky curls sat in a swirl on top of his head, always looking windblown. For as striking as a man Castor was, his height was… more underwhelming. But, Brontes loved all these things about Castor. 

He gestured for him to further enter, which Castor did with an even larger smile. As the door shut behind him, some of his crew members winked at him or nudged at each other. Before the door cut their view of him off, Brontes shot them the finger. The door shutting firmly blocked out any laughter he might have heard. Not that he would have heard the laughter even if the door remained open, because Castor was in his lap, plush lips pressed against the soft sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “Hello Captain.”

“Do you never tire of calling me that?” Even though Brontes liked having his ship and his men, he didn’t like the whole “being in charge” aspect of having his ship. The reason he’d volunteered to be the town’s defense against pirates and other scoundrels wasn’t because of some righteous sense of duty or justice. He just wanted the freedom of the sea. The smell of the salt baking into his skin as the sun beat down on his back. 

“But there’s a certain member of the crew that likes it when I call you that, Captain.” To emphasize his point, nimble hands grabbed at Brontes’ sizable package. Even semi-hard, Brontes’ package was something to behold. 

“We are about to drop anchor, Castor. Is there something wrong?” While everyone on the ship accepted their partnership, being on land changed things. Brontes wasn’t one for hiding of course, but he didn’t like being the subject of gossip. Plus, he knew it would cause trouble for Castor. 

“Hold me again,” Castor begged, pulling at the open blouse Brontes had hurriedly put on that morning. “It is my— our last voyage, and I want something to remember.”

Brontes considered it, because he too would miss Castor. They hadn’t been together for very long, but it didn’t take much for Brontes to form emotional attachments to his shipmates. So while Castor wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last, Brontes felt the loss nonetheless. The scar their broken union would leave was large enough with the memories of the past two years, adding another would be too much. 

“I told you last night Castor; that was the last time.” He ignored the heat radiating from Castor and acted as if his hard on wasn’t pressing into his own growing erection. 

“Do not pretend like you cannot feel this.” Castor grinded into him with the right amount of friction to get Brontes’ cock to become fully erect. 

Brontes remained still and refused to meet Castor’s lustful gaze. But Castor wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he kept grinding into Brontes. From outside the window Brontes could now make out their dock and the base attached to it. From afar you couldn’t tell, but from this range the town sitting atop the hill was visible. He could see the white villas and the lush greenery surrounding everything in an emerald haze. The dock and their base was almost like another island, but it was actually connected to the main hill. 

When the pirates first started making their way to their seas, the village had no soliders to patrol. All they had were local fishers, sailors, and men who’d retired from fighting battles and wars off in distant lands. Brontes had still been a baby during that time so he couldn’t recall a time where the Navy base wasn’t sitting on the mini island. While not a great feat of architecture, the base served its purpose well: a resting and drinking place for them to recharge before setting out again. A small portion of his men would stay behind each voyage, the men often trading amongst each other when they’d had enough of seafaring. 

“You cannot even spare me attention for something as small as this?” Castor’s thin fingers dug into him and he increased his movement against Brontes. “Did this mean nothing to you?”

“I need to drop the anchor.” Brontes finally gathered the courage to look Castor in the eyes. They burned with need and hurt so sharply that Brontes momentarily forgot his plan. 

Sensing this weakness, Castor sucked at another sweet spot of Brontes’; this time at the base of his neck. “Let your second in command do that Captain. Just focus on me.”

Brontes felt like he was in a thick soupy fog. It was hard to move or think and all he could feel was Castor’s growing dampness as their members rubbed against each other. This is pointless Brontes and you know that. Let go. He managed to move his head back to meet Castor’s hungry gaze again. “I’m dropping the anchor now.”

He managed to push Castor off his lap and stood up, adjusting himself and his clothes. Before he walked out to face his men and the land, he gave Castor one last look reserved for lovers. “You should clean up before heading back on deck.”


Svane Grímsson usually loved being a pirate. 

Nothing beat the freedom of the ocean and its vastness stretching far beyond what the eye could ever hope to see. The bloodrush of stealing from the picaroons touting around their riches and wares while the majority of lands they visited suffered. His dick always stiffened at the sight of helplessness in their eyes as the Captain and the rest of the crew took them for all they were worth. And sometimes, literally taking them. This wasn’t to say that their ship gave the loot to the poor townsfolk after robbing and pillaging, but they did from time to time leave extra payment after a patriculary wild night at a tavern. Or if one of the men roughed up a strumpet or two. 

But at that moment, Svane cursed ever wanting to be a pirate in the first place. Even with the stress threatening to tear up his stomach lining, he loved being sailing the salty sea underneath the blazing heat of the sun. What he did regret, was working for the position of second mate. His desire for the position stemmed from his childhood fantasies of one day becoming captain of some large fleet giving the Navy hell and having a harem so large they could fill an entire ship vessel. He didn’t realize that being captain required more than charging into every situation fearlessly and with the threat of violence; one needed responsibility and discipline to control the likes of a pirate crew. Especially a crew as lively as they were. And that was under normal circumstances. Now that it seemed the kiss of death was upon the age of pirates, crews like theirs had bounties the size of the mountains on their heads, which made it hard for them to stay in one town or village for too long, even if they were on their best behavior. 

So, taking care of his sick captain, Captain Stannes, was beyond what he signed up for. Whatever illness Captain Stannes had its severity increased a thousand-fold once the sun sunk below the horizon. That night marked the third, and Svane could only say the Captain wasn’t getting any better. 

Captain Sannes laid on his back, hands crossed over his sunken stomach. His once graying facial hair was now snow white and scraggly. His thinning face scared Svane most of all; pallid cheeks caved inward to the point where Svane could see the curvature of his skull underneath. His small eyes opened with seeming great effort to locate Svane standing above him. The vibrancy in his light green eyes, a mark of their heritage, was near extinguished. 

Shite this is bad. Svane looked out at the darkening sea from the small glass pane. There didn’t appear to be any land in sight and he cursed their recent bout of bad luck. 

“I’ll take all the leeches you have!” Svane hated dropping an entire wallet of gold, but he couldn’t be bothered with that now. 

The village doctor looked him up and down and Svane straightened his back which emphasized that not only was he tall (6’3” or 193 cm), but wide with broad shoulders and thick arms. One look at his build and long silver hair braided down his back and you knew he was of Viking descent. Which often led to the (correct) assumption that he was up to no good. However, the amount of gold jiggling in the wallet was enough for the doctor to bring out a rather large jar filled with crawling creatures. The short, dark-skinned man grabbed some other bottles and set them beside the jar. He wrote some things down on some spare parchment before sliding it next to the smaller bottles. “On the house.”

Svane could barely understand the poorly written English on the parchment then much less now, but did the best he could to treat the Captain. But he was at his wit’s end. He couldn’t help and pray for one of the only times in his life for them to find somewhere to dock for at least one night. Or at least a village to steal some supplies from. 

A rapid knock on the door behind him shook Svane out of his thoughts. “Come in.”

The third mate, Francis O’Hare, peaked his oval shaped head in the doorway. “Land ahead. Should we head to it?”

Svane looked up and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you, God. “Why’re ya wastin’ time askin,’ bilge rat!” Before Svane could follow Francis out, he felt a cool clammy hand land on his wrist, before slumping off.

“Don’t do anything crazy, son.” Captain Sannes’ gravelly voice raked over Svane, and he reached for the fallen hand, returning it back to his sunken stomach .

“Aye, aye.”

If you like what you read…

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Thank you to everyone who has supported me this far, and especially Religiously Nerdy for looking over my Brontes excerpt🥰

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