Parts 1-5

Posted: August 2003
Title: The Pirate Way
Author: Haleth
Type: FCS
Characters: Sparrow/Turner
Rating: Up to NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I didn't steal them either. I just borrowed them. Without permission. But with every intention of returning them once I've had my wicked way with them, in no way harmed or diminished. And fully satiated.
Summary/Notes: There is some subtext you just can't ignore.

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The Pirate Way Chapter 1

Long, powerfully-built legs wrapped around Captain Jack Sparrow's waist as he sank deeper into the body of the man beneath him. The captain gasped at the intense heat and pressure. He looked down into wide, chocolate eyes and smiled.

"Y'alright there, matey?" he drawled.

A quick nod, and the beautiful man thrust his hips up to take his captain more fully inside. They moaned in unison and began a slow rhythm together, thrusting and twisting to get the most satisfying contact possible.

So many days at sea without sight of land or respite from the gruelling sun took its toll on a body. Jack knew from experience how the isolation could get to you. This intimate connection with another man was the only thing to keep him same on a long voyage like this one. That was the pirate way.

"Oh, Captain Sparrow, please, more!"

Jack reached between their bodies, brushing past sharp hipbones and flat abs to grasp the ong, hard shaft that waited for him. His other hand tangled in thick brown hair, pulling back to bare a delicious, tanned throat to his hungry mouth.

"Is that more what you had in mind, Mr. Turner?" he growled before attaching his lips to the luscious column and sucking hard.

The lithe body beneath him bucked erratically, and Jack had to shut his eyes tight, unable to both watch the gorgeous flesh writhing and hear the wanton moans of his lover at the same time without losing all control. It was, alas, to no avail. As the tempo gradually increased he could feel his orgasm building inside him until he was ready to butst.

The two pirates thrashed about on the narrow bed until they reached their peaks together, Jack finding his belly bathed in hot cream at the same time he emptied himself into his panting lover.

They fell back onto the bed and held onto each other tightly. The older man let out a long, satisfied sigh that made Jack smile in gratitude.

"God, Bootstrap, I don't know what I'd do without you."

---

Chapter 2 - Spitting Image

Captain Jack Sparrow squinted at the lean figure behind the steering wheel. The tall dark man held onto the wood firmly, trying to hide his misgivings by plastering a courageous _expression on his handsome face. But he was betrayed by the line between his eyes, tension and uncertainty showed clearly.

"Spitting image of Bootstrap," Jack muttered to himself, studying the thin crease. William Turner'd got that very same look when he wasn't sure what he was sailing into.

Will Turner turned his eyes away from the horizon to regard the captain who swayed before him. "Am I doing something you disapprove of?" he asked imperiously.

Jack shook his head and moved unsteadily toward Will. "Not at all, my dear boy, just taking in the view, tha's all." He lurched to one side and took a good look at his new shipmated from head to toe.

Same hair, long thick and wavy. Jack wondered if it would feel the silky same, smell the spicy same. Same fine bone structure, same scowl. Jack wondered if he could make the scowl go away the same way, by running his tongue over that strong jaw line and nuzzling that same scruffy little beard, dark but not coarse. And the lips, oh god, the boy had his father's lips.

Jack licked his own lips self-consciously, remembered the tangy taste and indescribable softness of his former lover's lips. Will shifted uncomfortably under the lecherous scrutiny of the notorious pirate captain.

"Keep her steady, lad. You're doing just fine…" Jack barked out as he listed to one side and stepped behind the younger man.

Jack leaned against a barrel for support as he took in the back view.

Those stockings and shoes. On anyone else Jack would have thought them ridiculous, but on this boy they were absolutely sinful. Jack felt the need to adjust himself, thankful his trousers were somewhat baggier than the tighter leggings the younger man sported. He traced the curve of Will's left calf with his eye, the back of his knee. Lovely. Lean strong legs and, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the kid had his father's arse! The most perfect, fuckable arse on the Spanish Main.

Will frowned further, trying to concentrate on keeping the ship on course as jack had taught him to do. But the man was positively leering at him, and for the life of him will could not figure out why.

Jack leaned forward unconsciously, wanted to get close enough to reach out and grab that superlative ass. But Will turned his head abruptly, looking in jack's direction, so Jack was forced to pitch himself toward the hatch to cover up his indiscretion.

Jack hurried to drop into the hold. In the cooler, dark air below deck the roar of his blood subsided and he could think clearly. This wasn't Bootstrap Bill Turner; it was his sone. A kid, and a kid in love with the governor's daughter. "I gotta get a grip on m'self," Jack drawled. Couldn't just force himself on his former lover's young, innocent son. That was just bound to be against the code, somehow. Even if said son did have a body built for sin and the most exquisite arse on the whole ocean.

Jack's hand snaked down to the bulge in his trousers. "Yeah, def'nitely, a grip on m'self," he grinned as he stroked his rapidly stiffening cock.

The real advantage of dreadlocks is that when you throw your head back in ecstasy, the object of your affection only hears a muffled thud instead of a full-out bang when said head hits the wall. Jack bit his lower lip to keep his moans quiet as he imagined his old lover's hand on his cock instead of his own.

Jack pictured Bootstrap's face next to his, with that adorable line between his dark brows.

"Relax, Mr. Turner, no one's about to barge in on the captain's cabin this time of … ahh!" His breath hitched as Bootstrap's slender fingers reached into his trousers and grabbed the smooth hard flesh inside. Jack wriggled his pants down to allow freer access and hissed at the rough grip on his staff.

"Sorry, Captain, got a bit carried away." Bootstrap withdrew his hand, causing Jack to let out a grunt of frustration. He raised the hand to his mouth and spat into his palm. "That'll ‘elp, sir."

Jack settled back with a sigh when the moist palm covered his cock. "Aye, that's it, luv/"

He worked his hand up and down his own shaft, recalling the slick feel of his lover's hand on him. Now his hips were rising up to meet his fist. Jack pumped his cock in a brutal rhythm, lips to help remember the taste of his own seed when Bootstrap raised his wet hand to his captain's lips. Jack's tongue had slithered out to sample a taste of himself, then darted into Bootstrap's waiting mouth. Bootstrap moaned; he loved the taste of his captain more than anything, except for the taste of his captain from his own lips. Their tongues danced together as Bootstrap picked up the pace, and Jack reached down to grasp his lover's shaft.

Bootstrap's cock was leaking steadily as his captain and lover stroked it firmly. The line between his eyebrows deepened and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Jack leaned up and licked the crease. The touch of his tongue shot sparks straight down to Bootstrap's groin and sent him over the edge.

Jack clenched his teeth when he came, hot cream spilling over his fist. He groaned loud enough for young Will Turner to notice from his position at the wheel.

Will made a derisive snorting sound. Damn pirates, they were an insane lot. He absently licked his lips, tasting the salt of the sea air on them.

---

Chapter 3 - Like Father, Like Son

Will Turner looked thoroughly miserable. He sat aboard the Interceptor, head in his hands, waiting for night to fall so he and the unscrupulous pirate scum he had no choice but to cooperate with could go ashore to find a crew. Heaven only knew where Elizabeth was, although the loathsome Captain Jack Sparrow claimed to be privy to that tidbit of information.

He raised his head to study the pirate. Sparrow stood, or rather swayed, in front of him, staring off into the distant sea, ignoring the land they were anchored adjacent to. Will looked him over, top to bottom.

A more pathetic collection of rags, discarded bits of jewellery and disgusting, disreputable, sordid … he couldn't think of enough distasteful words to describe the sight before him. This filthy wreck of a sailor was supposed to help him rescue his true love, and Will didn't know if he could even trust him to get them to shore in one piece. And the shore was only a few hundred yards away.

A pirate without a crew. A captain without a ship. A man without honour. Or dignity. The way Sparrow strutted might have been meant to seem impressive at a distance, but up this close it was truly revolting. Or so Will kept telling himself.

Sparrow shifted suddenly and threw a great clump of ratted hair over his shoulder. It fell against his back with the clinking of beads. Really, what kind of a man wore trinkets in his hair? And the kohl smeared around his eyes made him look like a cheap whore.

Cheap whore. Will could see Sparrow reduced to whoring himself on the street. Take away the sword and the boots and the hat and you'd have a ragged slave, waiting to do your bidding. He could see Jack on his knees, serving his masters. That would serve him right for his disrespect. For threatening Elizabeth.

But Jack claimed to have saved Elizabeth's life. Right, well, a pirate would say that, wouldn't he? It should have been Will, at any rate. He should have been the one to dive into the ocean and save Elizabeth. If he'd been there, instead of that braggart Norrington, she never would have fallen in the first place. Instead Jack had, or so he claimed, ripped her dress off to save her from drowning. It should have been Will ripping off Elizabeth's dress!

Will stood suddenly, shocked at such a thought. He didn't want to rip Elizabeth's dress off! He wanted to court her, woo her properly, with respect and decorum. How could he even think about ripping her dress off? He must have been infected by that pirate scum!

Jack turned around when he heard Will clamour to his feet. The boy looked agitated, his cheeks flushed, brown eyes wide. Just the way Bootstrap used to look when he was thinking of something, ah, what was the delicate way to put it? something inappropriate.

The captain gave a small knowing smile. ‘Thinking about your lovely lady,' he mused. ‘Well, she was quite lovely, and feisty, if you're into that sort of thing.'

Will began to pace the deck, desperate to get thoughts of ripping Elizabeth's dress out of his mind, when Jack lurched into place beside him.

"Having a bit of a ponder then, eh, young Turner? Tell me what's on your mind then, lad."

Will stopped pacing and scowled at the pirate. "That's none of your business! Why can't we just go to shore?"

Jack skidded to a halt next to his handsome shipmate and patted his shoulder in what he hoped was a more reassuring than suggestive manner. "Patience, boy, we'll not be leaving the ship alone until we're under cover of darkness."

Will looked at the dirty hand on his shoulder. Long, strong fingers toughened by ropes and swords and god knows what else. They curved over the top of his shoulder, and he could feel the heat from them seep through his shirt. Will watched and felt as they twitched a little, gripping his flesh a bit harder.

He couldn't tell if it was on purpose, or if it was just one more of Jack Sparrow's unpredictable tics.

Jack did not let go.

Will looked up, into the eyes of the pirate he wanted so much do hate, and did hate being so dependent on. Black heat stared at him. Something he couldn't identify, some emotion or thought or impulse, gleamed back at him from above smudged kohl.

Chocolate. Melted, moist, swirling chocolate staring back at Jack. Lingering black lashes, finely shaped brows, and that delectable line of worry getting deeper and longer with every second he stared into the boy's eyes.

Jack's fingers moved of their own volition, crept up the broad shoulder, and one finger reached out to caress the smooth skin on Will's neck.

Will just blinked. And felt the heat form that one finger seep down, along his throat to his chest and lower. The determined set of his jaw softened, his mouth opened the slightest bit, and a wet pink tongue emerged to catch the single drop of seat that trickled down from his upper lip.

Jack had to close his eyes. In his mind he saw Bootstrap the first time they met. It was in Tortuga, the very port the interceptor was anchored near. Jack was rounding up his crew for the Black Pearl and had come across Bootstrap, who was on the losing end of a brawl with three hulking buccaneers. Jack dragged the poor man out of the melee into an empty stable.

When Bootstrap splashed his bloodied face with some cold water from a tough, the blood and grime of the fight fell away, and Jack saw the most beautiful man he's ever laid eyes on. He'd suffered from a few cuts at the temple and one slightly swollen eye, but that took nothing away from his beauty. Sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes to die for, a sweet luscious mouth, altogether too good to be true.

"William Turner," the vision said, sticking out his hand. "I suppose I owe you a load of thanks for that."

Jack took the hand and pulled Turner closer to him. "Captain Jack Sparrow, and no thanks required, mate. But if you insist…"

Jack knew the minute their lips met that he was in love. Or at least a very healthy lust. Cold water dripped form Turner's face, heating the instant it met Jack's skin. He tasted of a very appealing mixture of ale and spices.

Turner jumped back from jack, shocked at his saviour's boldness. A lovely scowl appeared, marring the perfect forehead, but in an alluring way.

Jack gave a low laugh and pulled the other man back against his chest. "Now, now, luv, no need to be shy. Just a little thank-you is all." Then leaned in again to claim his reward.

This time Turner's cool lips warmed and opened under Jack's. They spent the better part of an hour just exploring each other's hot mouths with insistent tongues. Jack wanted more, but he didn't dare take, for what he was already getting was more than he could honestly hope for.

The heat spread throughout young Will Turner's body and he leaned ever closer to the older man. He could feel hot breath on his cheek, and a lone finger caressing his throat, making it hard for him to think, as if he were under some spell, or curse.

Jack remembered the feeling of Bootstrap's hands on his chest, after an eternity of kissing and teasing. They yanked his shirt open, pressing against his heated skin. Fingers plucked at his hardened nipples, tender lips followed. Once he got started Bootstrap became more frantic, clawing at any clothing that got in the way.

It was Will's turn to sway now. He could taste the rum Jack had been drinking; their mouths were so close. The acrid flavour stung his taste buds, breaking the spell that had drawn him so close to the man he despised. Thought he despised.

Will's hand jerked up onto Jack's chest, stopping him from leaning any closer. He pushed against smooth, firm flesh with his splayed fingers, wrenching himself away from the pirate, appalled at the lust he felt flaring in his belly.

Jack opened his eyes to see Will staggering back, staring wildly around him as if he wasn't sure where he was anymore.

The captain smiled, flashing gold in the fading sunlight.

"So, you inherited more than just your name from your father," he murmured. A little more stubborn, or even a lot. He would take longer to melt. But melt he would.

---

Chapter 4 - The Mocking Moon

Moonlight washed over an expanse of smooth olive skin staining over sleek masses of muscle. Rich, tangled curls tumbled free, escaping the loose ribbon that no longer held them at the nape of a long neck shimmering with sweat. With every pull on the oars, the muscles contracted and stretched in ripples that were infinitely tantalising.

Captain Jack Sparrow reclined in the prow of the small boat, basking in the view.

It had, of course, been a complete and utter accident when he's stumbled and dumped an entire tankard of ale down the shirt and vest of young Will Turner.

And he, Captain Jack Sparrow, had only had his young comrade's best interests at heart when he's suggested the lad wash out the offending articles in a trough of fresh water, so as to avoid them becoming excessively stiff from the salt of the ocean.

And he's only exaggerated his own drunkenness by the tiniest bit, so that he could enjoy sprawling awkwardly yet delightedly in the front of the little boat while his younger and more sober companion rowed them back to the Interceptor in the moonlight. Half-naked.

Absolutely riveting.

Latissimus dorsi stretched when he leaned forward, pushing the handles in front of him until his triceps bulged. Trapezoids swelled as he began to pull back, tendons standing out along the graceful line of his neck as the oars dragged through the water. Deltoids shifted under the gleaming skin of his shoulders. Biceps popped out when he gave that final yank on the oars before lifting them out of the water to begin the captivating dance all over again.

The names of those heaving, sweating muscles floated to the front of jack's mind from some dark hidden corner, some barely-recalled anatomy class. Art, that was it. Art classes intended to shape him into a well-rounded, sophisticated individual. Bah, that was too far in the past to think about. The present is what matters.

And the present was far more appealing than mere anatomy.

Now Bootstrap, on the other hand, had not had such a perfect unmarred back. A long, jagged scar – so old it glimmered silver in the moonlight – extended from the right shoulder, across his tanned back, curving down gracefully, stopping just above a particular bit of skin that was Bootstrap's most sensitive spot.

That made him awfully vulnerable to attack, having such a sensitive spot in so accessible a location. Jack had only to drag his tongue roughly over that spot, hovering over Bootstrap's kidneys, and little nip, a small suck, and the man would be putty in his hands.

And when Bootstrap was putty, Jack was in bliss.

Jack inhaled deeply, trying to catch the scent of the man before him. Swear, yes, but a familiar spice as well. Not even a hint of the earthy ale scent his fther had carried, of course. Will refused to touch the stuff. But the spice was there. Nutmeg. And a hint of vanilla. He fancied the boy would taste like a somewhat salty custard. Jack's favourite dessert, by coincidence. A lovely, smooth rich custard.

One oar skipped over the surface of the water and Will let out a mile curse, which made Jack chuckle. The lad was even virginal in his language.

Oh, yes, virginal. Jack had never in his life seen eyes fo so wide and so terrified as when that strumpet reached between his legs to handle the goods. Couldn't really blame the wench for grabbing. After all the scum and wretched dogs that usually frequented that tavern, Master Turner was a prize indeed.

But Jack's prize. He's pushed her away roughly with a growl, and Will had looked at Jack with something akin to gratitude on his face. Excellent.

After the ale-spilling incident, as Will stood at the trough shirtless and angry, the gratitude was gone but Jack didn't care. It was worth a touch of wrath to have the lad shirtless in front of him. Smooth and hairless but for that teasing line of dark hair in the middle of his belly. Treasure line, indeed.

When the moon struck in a certain way, Jack could see that Will was not as flawless as he'd first appeared. Sprinkled across his broad shoulders were faint marks, small scars that would fade entirely in time. Ah, but they would be replaced by others. They were burns from flying ash, wayward sparks. There was a reason young Will had such a strong frame, a purpose to those forearms bulging in such a provocative manner.

This was no pirate half-naked in front of him. This was a blacksmith, who was no doubt planning to return to his bellows and anvil when this adventure was done. In that case, it behoved Captain Jack Sparrow to ensure this adventure was one Will would never want to leave behind.

Jack felt, before he saw, the Interceptor looming behind him. Damn, at the ship already. You see, all that remembering and pondering was fine, but it distracted from reality. And reality was that they had arrived at the ship and he no longer had the spectacle of bare flesh in front of him. Damn!

It was a bit awkward, climbing up the rope to the deck, what with his ragingly hard cock and all. Jack clamoured onto the deck after Will, pausing only to enjoy the sight of that perfect ass straining against trousers as Will climbed over the railing.

Will stood in the middle of the deck, wet shirt and vest in hand, wondering what to do now.

Jack lurched his way to will's side and took the sodden clothes form his hands.

"Look, I'll just ‘ang these up ‘ere, and they'll be dry by morning, eh?" Jack slung the clothes over a beam.

Will didn't move, just nodded. Jack saw him shiver faintly in the breeze.

"Cold, are ye, lad?" Jack stood in front of Will and placed his hands carefully on each of Will's shoulders.

There were slight goose bumps on the sleek skin. The sweat from his toil evaporating in the night air made Will's flesh cool to the touch, but the heat from the work he'd just done lurked beneath the surface. The golden, smooth, sleek surface.

Jack dared to tighten his tanned fingers ever so much and slide his hands down over taut muscles. His eyes drifted down to take in the lovely chest, and two perfect brown nipples ppuckered and hardened in the coolness of the night. Delicious.

He let his thumbs skate over the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of Will's elbows.

Will shivered, more noticeably this time. Jack looked up sharply to catch those swirling chocolate depths narrowing. Sweet lips parted softly, and Will drew in his breath audibly.

Still terrified, but beginning to understand. Not ready yet, though. There would be another, even more opportune moment. No use in scaring the boy away, Jack thought. He wanted what he wanted to be given willingly. A little seduction was called for.

He smoothed his hands back up the shivering arms, lifted on to Will's face, and looked deeply into wide eyes.

More delicate than his father. The visual resemblance was remarkable, now that he was looking for it so avidly, but the cheekbones were sharper, the jaw a touch mor angular. Jack let his fingers slide carefully over the refined curves of temple, cheek and chin. Will shuddered when a ragged nail edge skimmed down his throat, passing over his adam's apple at the exact moment he swallowed hard.

Then he jumped back.

Inevitable. Stubborn. But not to worry. Some men have to be broken slowly, gently.

Jack assured the lad he would keep watch himself. "Go down below, find yerself a blanket and warm up, eh. You'll need your strength in the morning when we go fetch our crew, so in the meantime rest. Dream of your sweet, bonny lass." He patted Will's shoulder in the manliest fashion he could muster and watched him disappear below deck.

From where in hell did this gentlemanly conduct appear? Jack had certainly not been reserved or chivalrous with Bootstrap. Then again, he's only had to steal that first kiss and then, bang, they were tumbling in the straw, clothes ripped off, mouths seeking hungrily, loins fit to burst. Jack felt a bit lost.

He snatched up the damp shirt and held it to his face. The rough linen caressed his skin as Jack breathed in.

Fresh water, from the trough.

A hint of sweat and the sea, of course. The boy had been working, then fighteing the pirate invaders of Port Royal, then breaking him out of jail, walking on the bottom of the ocean, commandeering a ship of the royal fleet – all arduous work. Then sailing here, in the sun, freash sea breeze and salt spray cleansing Will of the stink of respectable town life.

The spilled ale was still there, faint but teasing Jack. Taunting him about having to resort to such childish tactics to get a mere glimpse of his desire.

And underneath it all, yes, there it was. Nutmeg. Vanilla.

Essence of young Will Turner.

He tossed his body onto a pile of empty sacks on the deck and stared up at the mocking moon. It mocked him because it had shown him so very much tonight, ridiculed his newfound inability to pursue his desires.

He assured himself that he was not paralysed by nay sense of decency or decorum. That was unthinkable. It wasn't chivalry that stayed his hand, it was greed. That's all. He didn't want to have to take. He wanted it offered to him. He wanted Will to want it as badly as Jack did.

Jack slid his hand into his trousers and took his aching cock in hand. So hard he was aching. Just a few flicks of the wrist, then he closed his eyes to picture Bootstrap lying next to him, cheeks flushed with desire, eyes black with need. "William," Jack whispered greedily. "Please…"

Bootstrap smiled and bent to take Jack in his mouth. The heat, the swirling tongue and the suction. Jack arched back on the deck of the Interceptor and let out a low groan as his hand filled with his seed. Now he would lift his fist to his mouth, lick off the salty cream, and open his mouth so that his lover could drink it from his lips.

Soon, Jack thought. Soon.

---

Chapter 5 - Claustrophobia

Captain Jack Sparrow held his breath as he eased the hatch open, praying he wouldn't make too much noise.

Yeah, well, he'd known all along he wouldn't sleep much that night. And he knew he couldn't leave young Master Turner down below, all night long, all alone. That went without saying.

He lowered himself down to the floor, quiet as could be, and crept over to where Will lay, sprawled out and exhausted. The lad had tossed and turned enough to throw the blanket right off, and there he lay, bare-chested and sleeping. With his hair falling in soft curls around his peaceful face and that worry line finally erased. Will looked even younger than his few years.

Jack ghosted his fingertips half an inch over Will's chest, watching it rise and fall evenly.

He couldn't' take what he wanted without waking the lad, but bayve he could have a little sample.

First, he leaned forward carefully. Got so close those lovely curls tickled his nose. One deep breath and Jack grinned. Nutmeg, he was right. His favourite spice, so very fortuitous.

Will shifted in his sleep and rolled to one side, away from jack. The pirate found his fingers following Will's spine, delicately curved, his calloused fingertips hovering over delightful naked skin. So close he could feel the heat radiating off the boy. Perfect.

Bootstrap used to sleep on his side, with Jack wedged firmly between his back and the wall. Couldn't stand to sleep on the inside, always had to be facing out. Had a fear of suffocating.

Will mumbled something about holding the course steady.

"Aye, steady," Jack whispered. He took a deep breath of the warm, spicy air and let his hand rest on the curve of Will's hip.

The flesh under his palm was firm and hot even through the thick linen of Will's trousers. Will didn't flinch, didn't wake.

Jack slid his hand up, hesitating for a moment at the waistband, and then slowly, with the lightest pressure possible, touched the side of Will's waist.

Hot, incredibly smooth skin, soft, so so smooth. Jack slid his hand up over will's ribs, just slightly protruding. Lean but not too skinny, the lad was.

Will murmured softly, shifted slightly, inhaled lightly.

Jack decided he would be more likely to wake him if he lifted his hand off, so he should leave his hand where it was; at least that's what he told himself.

No further response. Jack let his hand creep up and forward, following ribs, tracing their arc, forward until his hand was in the centre of Will's body. Heartbeat echoing beneath his hand.

Will inhaled deeply in his sleep. As the ribcage expanded, Jack felt his hand rise over Will's breath. The exhalation was slow and shuddering. And Will smiled in his sleep.

Jack inched his hand down until it pressed against Will's stomach, navel centred under Jack's palm. A faint ‘hmm' escaped the boy's lips, and Jack suddenly couldn't breathe.

Jack wanted to get another look at those enticing nipples, but Will's arm was flung across his chest in a most irritatingly obscuring manner. Jack could picture them, brown and hard, begging to be kissed. Must have more.

He coutiously, delicately, leisurely rubbed gentle circles on the taut skin. Fingers trailed over flawless skin, interrupted periodically by that line of silky soft dark hair. He wated to taste the skin, rub his lips over the hair. Taste the salt and vanilla and nutmeg scent. But he didn't. Couldn't. Couldn't even take a breath.

He was being suffocated by the boy's beauty. That's what it was. In the almost darkness his sleek skin almost glowed. The graceful lines and planes of golden filled Jack's head, filled the hold with the overwhelming scent, filled his body with punishing and debilitating desire. As if every breath Will took was stolen directly from Jack's lungs.

He could not believe himself. Rubbing the boy's belly, like he was some kind of pet. Moreover, this was embarrassingly tame. He, Captain Jack Sparrow, was treating this boy like some sort of fragile treasure.

He was aroused beyond belief, cursing himself for enjoying the sound and feeling of air going in and out of a naïve, innocent, righteous, terrified, priggish, anti-pirate…

But Will made a sound jack could not have anticipated.

He purred.

Honest to god, he purred. Just like Bootstrap used to. Jack would never have bet that something so pure so involuntary, so erotic, could be inherited.

Will shifted again, pushing into Jack's hand, arching is back gracefully then pressing forward. Jack sped up his hand slightly, pressing back against the boy's belly. He curled his fingers slightly, raking them through the walnut –coloured hair as they passed it. Caught the rough edge of a nail on a curl. The purr deepened into a growl.

Jack watched Will's face as the little line of worry reappeared, brows knit closer together. He could see Will's eyes moving beneath closed lids. Full lips (would they taste like the vanilla and nutmeg jack could smell?) opened and the sight of a wet, pink tongue dragging along Will's upper lip mesmerized Jack.

He might have traded his claim on the Black Pearl to have that tongue draw across his own lips, if anyone had been willing to give him the option.

Then Will opened his eyes.

*****

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