Parts 41-45

Posted: October 2003
Author: Haleth

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Part 41 – Sense and Senses

Smell

Tantalizing. Salt air. The sea. Freedom.

It's the sheets. Jack remembers being opposed to the sheets being hung to dry on deck. Hardly adds to the pirate image, having the linen flapping about on board. Now he's happy he was ignored. He burrows deeper into the bed, burying his nose in the pillow. The smell of the ocean air is comforting, although he can't fathom why he would need comfort.

Taste

When he licks his lips there's the faint taste of something even more comforting than the smell of the ocean. Very faint but undeniably in attendance. Spice and warmth and sumptuousness. Sweet as well.

That would be Will. Jack remembers now. Will tucked the crisp, clean sheets around him and kissed him on the lips. Closed lips, but Jack didn't mind. It was for comfort, after all. But why the devil would Captain Jack Sparrow be desiring comfort, especially when Will Turner's lips, as he well knew, could offer so very much more?

Sound

"Leave him be. He's earned the rest. Hasn't taken a minute to take a breather in days. When he's not sailing the ship he's caring for the boy. Don't worry about me, my leg's better now. Do me good to be out on deck anyway. Besides, it's his bed. He should use it."

Damn right, Jack thinks. He should use his bed. But there's only the faintest taste of Will and he hasn't the foggiest idea where the rest of him is.

Touch

There's a cool, gentle hand on his brow. Too small to belong to Will. It's not terribly soft, but the touch is light and practiced. Rasp of a bandage against his skin. Must be Kay, so motherly and soothing. Jack enjoys the feel of it. Until the fingers creep under his scarf, and meet the scar there. The fingers pause, hesitate even. They know they've touched something they shouldn't. Should they follow the scar or retreat? Jack's hand moves up of its own volition and grasps the arm, just above the bandage, no sense in causing pain. Only to tug it away from his forehead. The hand cooperates, lowers, takes a moment to stroke his cheek lovingly, then slides down to take his hand between strong fingers and raise it.

Now there's something Jack hasn't felt in a long time. The gentle touch of a woman's lips on the back of his hand. It's so very comforting it makes Jack wonder why he's craving all this comfort.

Sight

The light from the windows makes the inside of Jack's eyelids glow. A warm golden glow, like Will's skin in the light of a setting sun. The skin on his back, tanned and supple. When the light intensifies, lightens, Jack thinks it's more like the skin on parts of Will that aren't exposed to the sun so often. Still golden, but a lighter gold. Still supple. Always supple. The skin on the back of Will's legs is much the tone of the light that seeps into Jack's closed eyes.

Jack would very much like to see some of that skin now.

Desire

He starts at the knees, he tongues the gentle hollows slowly, loving the way Will squirms because he's just the slightest bit ticklish there and Jack knows it. And he's never seen anything so extravagant and magnificent as naked Will Turner lying on the warm sand of a beach while Jack tongues the backs of his knees.

Jack slides his hands up firm thighs. The muscles tense and relax under his knowing fingers. When Will bends his knee the muscle bulges under Jack's palm. Jack makes a sound when Will bends his knee, not meaning to but who wouldn't? He slides his hand further along, loving the heat and the soft dark hairs, sparse here, just a little curly.

They tickle his tongue as he runs it up the back of Will's thigh. Up to the delightful crease where thigh meets arse. He runs the very tip of his tongue along the dark line and appreciates the shiver that runs through Will's body. Sensitive there, isn't he?

Jack brings his hands up to cup Will's arse, really the nicest arse he's ever seen. The flesh is firm under his fingers, it resists just the right amount when he squeezes, and yields just the right amount as well. Covered in the finest down, you wouldn't even notice it unless you were looking for it. It doesn't tickle his tongue when he licks, it just adds to the satiny joy of it.

Jack kisses and licks until Will is close to squealing. Making a grown man squeal; really, Jack has no shame. His mouth comes to rest at the small of Will's back, where he places a wet, noisy, smacking kiss, which makes Will giggle. There is nothing quite like making a grown man giggle to make one feel alive. Especially when it follows squealing.

The scent rising off Will is thick and spicy. He's sweating, the sun is hot, the sand feels even hotter, and Jack's hot mouth is planted on his tailbone which probably makes him nervous, and that makes Jack more excited. He licks down to the dark cleft and tastes pure sweat, pure lust. Pure because it's so concentrated and pure because it's so virginal. This makes him pause, but only for a second, and he delves lower, feeling thicker coarser hairs on his tongue, tasting thicker richer sweat. Will moans and shifts, and Jack can tell that's because his hard cock is pressing into the warm sand.

Jack places his hands firmly on the backs of Will's thighs and pushes them apart. Will hesitates, them lets his legs be spread. Jack's tongue never leaves skin, it tastes and feels too good to move away, even though he's crouching awkwardly and his back is starting to smart. He manages to crawl between Will's spread thighs, and slide his hands up and under, so they are wedged between sharp hipbones and abrasive sand. He nudges his hands upward, lifting, encouraging. Will complies, lifting his hips off the sand, putting weight on his knees.

It's a terrible dilemma. To stay put, to feel that delicious cleft opening a little as he raises up on spread knees, or to disconnect and move back, so he can see his favourite arse ever, finally open and exposed. Jack tongues his way down the crevice, opting for taste and touch over sight.

And smell. Oh, the musk here is strong, and increasing. Will is breathing hard, Jack can hear him taking in huge gulps of air, but he's not sure why. Could be excitement, could be nerves, most likely both. Jack can't wait any longer. He slides his tongue down and swipes it across tense, puckered skin.

Will jolts under him, but doesn't bolt. He digs his knees a little firmer into the sand and does this maddening roll with his hips. It brings the furrowed opening back under Jack's tongue, so Jack obliges the unvoiced request and laps at it a few times, waiting to see how Will responds.

Purring.

Jack presses harder, licking deftly at first then desperately. The taste hits him right in the groin, his cock gets devastatingly hard from it, a rich, dark, tangy musk he tastes and smells at the same time. He has to have more. He spears his tongue and stabs at the little hole, bringing forth the lowest, rumbliest purr yet. He knew Will would like this, but knowing and experiencing are two entirely different things, and the experience is heady. He worms his tongue in as far as he can and feels the muscles twitching around it, tight and thrilling.

The sounds coming from Will have to be made with an open mouth, round like an ‘o', with the breath whooshing through rapidly. There's no other way to make noises like that. They widen and deepen, the further Jack's tongue insinuates itself inside the musky opening, inside the velvety tunnel. So tight and small, it seems as if there's no way Jack's cock could fit in there. The ring of muscle is putting up a losing battle against just a harmless tongue, and then the battle is lost.

Now it's Jack who is moaning, because he has his tongue extended as far as it can, and his lips are touching puckered skin, and the muscles clenching beneath his mouth are opening and loosening, as he fucks with his tongue. And Will is making a low, breathy sound of surrender.

Smell

Nutmeg and vanilla and something very tasty. It's the vanilla custard smell he fell in love with. Wait. Who said anything about falling in love?

It's closer now, but it's not the musky, sweaty, heady odour in his mind. This is real. It's fresh and bright and close by. Hovering over him. Jack takes a very deep breath. Through his nose.

Taste

His mouth, his whole body, is flooded with a sweet taste. Not just a lingering aftertaste on his lips. This is actually in his mouth, so much so he's brimming with want. It's that peach tart taste, and that salty vanilla custard taste, and that simply Will Turner taste that makes him ache.

The taste is in his mouth, on his tongue, wrapping itself around his tongue, sinuous and sinful. It is smeared over the inside of his cheeks, and running smoothly over the surface of his teeth.

Sound

Shallow, careful breath in his ear. Low, careful tones. Are they not alone? "I know you're awake. I saw you move."

Jack's eyes twitch under closed lids.

Breathy words, spoken but so soft and rounded they sound like a whisper without any hiss. "I saw your hands clench. I saw you lick your lips."

He licks them again.

"I saw you move your hips, the way you move your hips when you get hard."

Touch

Will's tongue, in his mouth again, without warning. It could be a deadly weapon. No, not deadly. A non-lethal weapon that would paralyse the target with lust. It scrapes under his teeth and darts all over his mouth. It circles his tongue like a shark and then withdraws to lick along his lips. Armies would surrender, just for one more kiss.

A hand is on Jack's shoulder, large and warm with strong fingers that have rough edges. He can feel that through his shirt. The hand squeezes his shoulder gently, restrained. Jack lifts the arm to similarly hold Will's arm. The bicep under his fingers is hard. Will has been working at something. Doing his share of the work on the ship.

Trust Will to do something like that. Jack had kept him immobile ever since pulling him from the ocean, forcing him to rest and recover. As soon as Jack is asleep, Will's out there, probably doing the work of three men. But that's not important. It's not important because…

Sight

Jack opens his eyes to see chocolate eyes and blushing cheeks and tumbling locks and all the things he ever wants to see. There is a smile playing around the full, slick lips that just kissed him. And the smile knows. The smile plays. The smile is the one he wants.

Desire

Everyone else is gone. It's just him and Will and a bed with clean sheets and fresh sea scent and Will's lanky limbs draped over him.

"You scared me."

Jack thinks about this for a while.

"I was scared you were hurt. You just keeled over for no reason."

Jack blinks. Keeled over for no reason. He closes his eyes to remember. He was on a deck and he was annoyed because people were keeping him from what he wanted to do, which was hold Will in his arms and kiss him. But he couldn't do that; there were too many people to see it, too many children, and a boy with an angry, ugly brand on his shoulder. How could anyone do that to a child? To anyone? The brand on his arm itched.

He was on a beach, a deserted beach. It was deserted but for the two of them, Will and Jack. They didn't need clothes or a bed or sheets. Will was on his knees, Jack remembered that without difficulty. When Jack looked down he could see the impression in the sand, blurred from all the wriggling but clear enough, of Will's hard cock. Knowing how it leaked when he was that hard, Jack imagined there might be some grains of sand stuck to the delicate head, and that Jack would have to brush them off before he could suck the head into his mouth.

Will was on his knees, and Jack was crouched behind him. Will on his knees, arse in the air. Jack nuzzling him, licking him, making him moan and growl and beg for more.

"Jack, Jack!"

He blinks again.

"Your eyes were glazed over, what's wrong?"

"Why nothing, luv. Everything is as it should be."

Will frowns. "If everything is fine, then why did you faint?"

Jack thinks it over. He had indeed fainted. And the Black Pearl was still at sea. There was no way he'd been on a beach. He groans. "You mean we weren't just on a beach together? Naked?"

Will laughs. "Not for quite a while now." He ducks his head down, ever the shy virgin. Well, not forever, if Jack had anything to say about the matter. "Although I wouldn't mind that again."

"Then I didn't…" Jack's hand wanders down the curves of Will's side, and settles further back on the swell of Will's backside. He squeezes, then works his fingers down into the crease with the seam of the trousers under his fingertips. Heat radiates through the linen.

Will blushes furiously. "No, you didn't." He pats Jack's hard cock gently through the layers of blanket and clothes. "But I want you to."

"No, you couldn't. You've never..." Jack's throat aches. He needs the sweetness of Will's kiss to ease it. "You can't even imagine, but I hope you will. I know you'd like it."

Will arches against him, cock hard through the sheets, eyes half-closed. Hair messed in the same way as that night, when Jack found him in the brothel, with that woman.

Charlotte. Who left her father because he was violent and hateful. And was never satisfied with the efforts of his children. And was cruel to the point of hatred. And used to have fits of rage, in which he would throw things and grab fists full of hair. And beat with sticks and belts and whatever was handy. The poker from the fire. The teapot.

"Jack, Jack!"

But Jack doesn't hear Will because he's fainted again.

---

Part 42 – Sins of the Father

A bare foot slid up Captain Jack Sparrow's similarly naked ankle, teasing, up and down. Long, limber toes wriggled against his instep, then the hint of a nail scraped across the sole of his exposed foot, causing a shiver to ripple up through his limbs and body.

Jack smiled. Will was curled up behind him, leg thrown over his, top arm around Jack's waist, lips touching the back of his neck. Will's chest pressed against his back, and Will's cock, not hard not soft, nestled against his arse. Too many clothes between them, but still an altogether agreeable manner in which to awake.

"Are you awake?" Quiver-inducing breathy whisper against his neck.

"Hmm, I'm not entirely sure. I suspect I may be having a really lovely dream," Jack murmured.

Will chuckled against him. The bare foot pushed up Jack's leg, almost prehensile toes stroked calf muscles. Most agreeable.

But then the foot was gone, and Will's body moved away, not entirely away but enough to allow air between the two men, and that sweet hot mouth wasn't against his neck anymore. "Shhh." At least his hand still rested on Jack's waist, long fingers wrapped around the curve of it, warm. The door clicked open.

"Ah, don't they look sweet together," Kay's voice drifted across the cabin.

Rustle of clothes, a chair being pulled out, drag of the rum bottle across the tabletop, splash of rum in a tin cup. Jack didn't know from hearing that it was rum hitting the bottom of the cup, but he could faintly smell it. Along with something lilac. Much more pleasant to concentrate on the scent of Will surrounding him, so he did that.

Kay pulled the blanket up over both Will and Jack and dropped two kisses, one on black dreadlocks and the other on chestnut curls. She patted Will's shoulder and walked back to the table. "Ooh, this hand is sore. But that ointment Okonkwo made up is helping. Lovely man, he is. You know that woman with the boy, the one Jack was talking to, she's his wife. She's been over here five years, and it was sheer luck that they were both sold," her shudder was audible, "To that bastard who owned the ship Norrington sank. It's wonderful they're together again."

"I still can't believe Norrie sank that ship with all those people on it," Charlotte hissed.

Jack groaned inwardly. Oh god, not the harlot, please, he'd been having such a peaceful time of it.

"I think the man is unstable," Kay proclaimed. "Something must be driving him to do these horrible things."

Charlotte snickered. "Well, he hasn't been to see me in two years. Maybe he's not getting enough…"

"Hush, don't say that! It's not proper." Kay couldn't contain a little snicker though.

It made Jack smile to himself.

"Oh, and that is?"

Jack just knew Charlotte was pointing at him. And Will. She could dislike him all she liked, goodness knows he disliked her, but if she dared say anything about Will…

"That is adorable," Kay replied. "They're in love, and even if Jack is a little…"

Go on, say it, I dare you …

"…Older than Will, I don't have any problem with it."

Older. That he could handle.

"And as for the pirate part of it, you're in love with a pirate yourself, Charlotte."

"Yes, but my pirate's different. She's brave, and strong and loyal and passionate…"

As if Jack needed to hear the harlot singing the praises of Anamaria.

"I'm well aware of what my sister is. And I believe Jack is all those things too."

Good. He knew it. Kay was on his side.

"Although I fear he may not be well. All this fainting, I'm worried. Something must be causing it."

Clink of the mug hitting the table. "They were talking about the brand the first time. D'you think he might be squeamish about pain or blood?"

"No, I treated that wound on his shoulder, he never fainted once."

Bloody right. Captain Jack Sparrow does not faint from pain.

"And then he mentioned his father being a right bastard," Charlotte remembered.

"Is thinking of one's awful father enough to make one faint?" Kay mused. "I don't know. Do you feel faint when you think of yours?"

Charlotte barked out a harsh laugh. "I only feel angry. He was awful, that's for sure. And he was harder on me than on the other children, because I wasn't his legitimate daughter."

Jack heaved a carefully quiet sigh. Ss she wasn't his full sister. That was a relief.

"That shouldn't make any difference. Jacob has a different father than the rest of us, but we still consider him our brother."

Damn that Kay for being so flexible.

"But he at least looks like your brother. I didn't look anything like the Earl. He's got darker skin than me, and darker hair. Pitch black, thick and wild and untamed. Hardly a streak a grey in it, even though he was close to seventy when I left. This red hair and pale skin really set me apart, reminded him every day I wasn't his."

"Oh, some men can be cruel."

"The lady of the house was always kind to me though, she was a lovely woman. Always ready with a comforting word. Never got angry. I don't know how she put up with the old man."

Jack's mother was a saint. Taking in a child who wasn't hers.

"But he was a bully to me. Always yelling and shoving. And that wasn't the half of it. When he discovered he wasn't my real father…"

But that would mean Jack's mother…

"Oh, but he was a cur, the Earl. He put my mother out on the street!"

On the street. His mother? When, where? He'd have to go back to England right away. He held his breath, waiting for the rest of the story.

"And you can imagine how hard it was for her to find work, once word got around what happened. It's not like she had any skills, she was just a scullery maid."

Jack was terribly confused.

"But he kept me there, even though he knew he wasn't my father, more out of spite than anything else. Kept me around so he'd have someone to take out all his frustrations on. He just got meaner and meaner…"

Yes, that was Jack's father all right.

"It was like he was going through children the way he would go through hunting dogs. From the time I can remember, there was just me and a boy he'd sired with the upstairs maid. He'd burned all the portraits, removed every reminder of his children."

So she'd never seen a picture of him. Good.

"And then one day, he was reminded of one, the oldest …"

Jack stiffened.

"… Jonathon. He had a run in with the West Indies Trading Company."

Oh, no.

"But the Earl didn't help. He flew into a rage, worse than ever before. The lady of the house helped me, gave me enough money to get away. I fear he would have killed me if I stayed."

Jack knew the feeling. Something similar had befallen him.

"She gave me an address, in Paris. Turned out to be a brothel. I had no idea why the lady sent me there, but the madame was a lovely woman, very kind and helpful. Of course, she put me to work, but that's what you'd expect."

Except Jack hadn't been sent to work in a brothel.

"A real beauty too, she was. Long black hair, almost black eyes, gorgeous high cheekbones. Alex was her name."

Alex. His sister, Alex? She wasn't more than fifteen when Jack left, unable to take the abuse any longer. And she'd become a madame?

"Things were very good for me there, but the madame got sick, and the doctors couldn't help her. She closed the house, and gave me enough money for my passage to the Caribbean. Such a generous soul."

Alex, his sister. Sick. Doctors couldn't help. Jack felt a hot sting in his eyes.

"The change in weather did her the world of good. It was the rain, you see, and all the mildew and filth in Paris. Once we got out in the fresh air, here in the Caribbean, Alex was fit as a fiddle. But she'd lost her taste for the business, and sold it to Marina as soon as she could."

Fit as a fiddle? Sold the business to Marina? What?

"She got married to some high toned and fancy bloke from England. Went back there like a queen, she did. Never seen her happier. She was going to have a mansion in the countryside and be a lady. I was happy for her."

So am I, thought Jack.

"Funny thing, eh? She had this little locket, and in it there were pictures. She showed me, before she left."

Oh no, Jack thought again.

"Her and her brother. She said she missed him terribly. Pretty boy, lovely dark eyes like her, gorgeous black hair. That's when she told me she was the lady and the Earl's daughter."

Blast. He was found out.

"Looking at him, I could almost see what the lady would have seen in the Earl when they got married, you know? So attractive."

Now that made Jack smile.

"But I wonder though, if people are destined to grow up to be like their parents."

"What do you mean?" Kay asked.

Yes, what do you mean?

Charlotte poured more rum into her cup. "Well, look at Will. His father was a pirate, and Will ended up living the pirate way. And Alex, her mother was a beauty as was she, and she's a kind and generous soul just like her mother. And me, it turned out my father was a pirate too, well, a highwayman actually. He swept my mother off her feet, even though she was working for the Earl, and sleeping with him, at the same time. He didn't stick around at all, it wasn't until my mum read about him being hanged in the paper that it came out he was my father."

Jack sighed. There must be a point to this somehow.

"And here I am, in love with a pirate! So I worry about the son, Alex's brother. Do you think he's as violent and awful as his father? The only person he was never, ever mean to was his wife. And that, I believe, was only because the money was hers. I hate to think of how his son turned out…"

So did Jack.

"Nonsense, people decide what they'll become. Franklin's father was an awful, bigoted man. And look at Franklin, he's wonderful. And Jacob's father was a buccaneer, but he joined the navy."

Explain that, harlot!

"And now he's a pirate."

Not really.

"But a pirate with a good cause."

Hear hear.

"And what about the other pirates?"

What did Kay really think of pirates?

"I think the other pirates, at least the ones on this ship, are just fine. Anyway, that's enough rum for us. We shouldn't be dawdling here, dearie. There's work to be done making supper for all these sailors, pirate or not. Leave those two be, they need more rest. And this is Jack's cabin, after all."

The door opened and closed.

Jack lay motionless, assimilating all this new information. Alex was well and married to some rich man. His mother was safe and still wonderful. His father was still a bastard. No big surprise there. And his identity seemed to be safe as well. No one had been smart enough to put two and two together, and come up with the disinherited heir to the Earl of Duncroft.

But what would Will think of him if he knew? And was he like his father? He knew he had a temper. He knew he could be heartless when he wanted. Was he cruel? Or would he turn cruel when he got older?

He had left Alex alone. The only thing he'd ever felt guilty about. But things had turned out well for her in the end. Still, he left her there, a defenceless woman in the house of that brute. Perhaps that was a sign of how cruel Jack really could be.

Will's arm snaked around his waist and soft lips brushed over the tip of his ear.

So soothing. Would Will be doing that if he knew who Jack really was? It wasn't as if Jack had to tell him. He could just forget about it, ignore it, pretend he didn't remember who his father was. One little secret. That's all.

"Don't be so tense, Jack." His breath along Jack's ear was followed by a slick tongue, tracing intricate patterns for a few seconds before lips pressed a gentle kiss against his neck.

"I don't think you've turned out like your father at all."

Note: Some readers found this all a little confusing. Okay, some find this whole fic confusing, but that's their problem. As for this particular part, it is confusing because it's from Jack's POV, and he's confused. He left his family behind long ago, so the sudden intrusion of his hated and feared father into his present life has put him in a bit of a tizzy – but that's why we all love Jack, because he does ‘tizzy' so very well. Suffice it to say that Jack is indeed the legitimate heir and son of the Earl and the Lady, and that Charlotte, who was believed to be the illegitimate daughter of the Earl and the scullery maid is really the daughter of the scullery maid and an entirely unrelated highwayman – and news of her infidelity to the Earl while he was cheating on his wife was not received well. (No, we don't know the highwayman, he's been executed by hanging and is not part of this story at all, although his did have lovely flaming red hair and cut quite a dashing figure in his high black leather boots and cloak and his name was Arthur, if anyone wants to be really obsessive. And yes, he had a lovely big cock – now get yer minds back on the story at hand!) Where were we? Ah, yes, now Will knows about all this Jack history and he's not going to hold it against Jack at all – because he has much much better things to hold against Jack, doesn't he…

---

Part 43 – Norrington's Fate

Captain Jack Sparrow stood on the deck of the Black Pearl on a moonless night, staring into the blackness of the ocean. Nothing seemed right. Everything was supposed to be going so well, but he was standing in the cold dark air while Will was in the cabin and that was just wrong.

He closed his eyes and thought back to earlier in the day.

He'd been standing in this very spot, watching the last of the slave traders settled on the tiny deck of the Matthew. The sailors from the Interceptor II were already lined up, blindfolded and bound, back to back, in cramped rows; had been since the Black Pearl and the other two ships in the insurgent fleet had parted ways at dawn. None knew where they were, or even what time of day it was. The clouded sky prevented them from even sensing where the sun might be.

Oh, and there was Will Turner scrabbling over the railing. God, he loved watching Will climb over the railing. Climb over anything, come to think of it. Something about the way his pants clung to his arse when he spread his legs.

Will greeted him with a discrete peck on the cheek. How charming. Then Gibbs gave the signal that the prisoners aboard Matthew were secured. "Very well, luv, time to set your Commodore free, in a manner of speaking. Care to accompany me below?"

Will didn't like the idea of visiting the Pearl's brig; Jack could see that. But he tagged along, unwilling to let Jack alone with Norrington for even a moment. He clearly did not understand the reasons for the rivalry and hostility between the two men, but he perceived the presence of it clearly enough.

He understood why Norrington hated him. Will had terribly disappointed Elizabeth, and would expect her husband to view him with derision. However, Norrington did get to marry her, so Will naively figured that would level the score. But why had Norrington left himself so open to attack in his zeal to capture Jack?

Norrington stood in the corner of the cell, ramrod straight spine and shoulders back, in filthy shirtsleeves and torn trousers. Better dressed than most of his crew, but he didn't know that yet. Jack would have given a fair lot to see the look on his faith when he discovered the general state of undress of his crew. All donations, he would have assured him, went to a good cause. Charlotte, in particular, looked splendid in the Commodore's best dress uniform, after Kay had helped her take in the waist and adjust the trousers a little. Okonkwo looked very fine in his new gear as well, but Jack suspected the healer would discard the high-necked red wool coat as soon as possible, in favour of something more comfortable and practical.

"Ah, Commodore, so good of you to wait for us. I fear our all-too-short visit is about to come to a conclusion." Jack jangled the keys to the cell merrily.

"Sparrow, you dog! This outrage will not go unpunished!" Norrington sputtered. "And you…" he snarled, catching sight of Will. "Your indecent behaviour has been duly noted and will be reported to all and sundry."

Will affected a look of such utter innocence and surprise at this outburst that Jack felt his heart melt in his chest. A feeling quickly pushed aside for later reference, as Jack had work to finish.

"Commodore," he cooed, voice suddenly husky, "I fear you spend far too much of your time contemplating the behaviour, indecent or not, of young Mr. Turner. I sense an inappropriate interest on your part, and it does not – no, not at all – please me."

Norrington backed himself up against the far wall of the cell. The fear in his eyes was real. Will could not see the wicked grin on Jack's face. Just as well, it would have alarmed him far too much.

Jack opened the cell door and stepped lightly inside. Cages didn't make him nervous. He crept up to Norrington and leaned in close. "I know all about you, Commodore. I saw the look on your face, and what you did to Will." He prodded at Norrington's groin with the large ring the keys dangled from. "And I know how much you enjoyed it." Voice all quiet-like, so Will couldn't make out the words. "Pathetic, really, picking on an innocent boy." Jack had to work not to laugh at that. He knew how much less innocent Will was now than he'd been when they met. But Will still had no idea, was still far too innocent, to understand how Norrington had enjoyed having Will tied up like that. "How about something a little more sporting, eh? How about going a few rounds with someone who," Jack nudged again with the key ring, one spiny perpendicular key poking particularly hard, and was rewarded with a gasp of alarm, "Really knows what they're doing, savvy?"

"Jack, just get him out of here!" Will called out, alarmed by the menace Jack displayed and the terror it seemed to be inducing.

Jack backed off, reluctantly. "Saved by the boy," he whispered. "So I'll just let this be a warning. Don't come looking for him, because you're sure to find me. Have we got an accord?"

Norrington nodded, bobbing his head automatically.

Jack sighed and fumbled in his waistcoat for the little flask of rum he kept in the, ah, there it was. Only a few swallows, but they'd be a good start. He remembered watching the Matthew receding into the distance that afternoon, bound and blindfolded Norrington standing midships, yelling out curses to no avail. He was directing them to the starboard side of the Matthew, and the Pearl had already swiftly and silently changed her bearing and had long gone to portside. They would change course several times more before dusk, and now, at the very beginning of the middle watch, they were still only headed vaguely toward their true destination. It wouldn't do to be tracked.

He supposed those on the Matthew, if they had not already been found, would be rescued sometime before the next dusk. They'd been dropped a few islands west of Port Royal, close enough that shipping traffic would spot them easily. Anchor dragging but not caught in the shallows, they wouldn't drift much. Jack figured they got out of the ropes within a few hours, but were unable to move anywhere, being without sails or oars of any kind.

This gentlemanly way of piracy wasn't entirely to his liking. He'd rather have done them all in, but there were preachers and mothers and freemen and women who didn't want their new lives to be at the expense of others' lives. And he had a very decent blacksmith to think of.

A very decent blacksmith who probably hated him, now. He'd sworn, sworn! he wouldn't do anything to hurt Will. But in his frenzy, his passion, his damnable lust for the lad, he'd gone to far, he'd pushed too hard. The squeal, and the hurt look on Will's face, someone bumping their head on the bedpost, he couldn't tell who, and the way he jumped. Jack buried his face in his hands. Would serve him right if he were never trusted again.

It all started out so nicely, with dinner in the cabin, and a few glasses of wine, and then retiring to the bed with clean fresh sheets and privacy. And then, he didn't know, the wine had affected him, Will had affected him, he wanted Will so badly, didn't take the proper time, the proper care. It was all a jumble.

He could just slip over the railing and drop into the dead water and no one would be the wiser.

"Jack?"

Jack peeked through his fingers.

Oh god, Will, shirt open, chest gleaming in spite of the lack of moonlight, standing with legs apart, bare feet planted firmly on the planks, one hand extended.

"You all right?"

He nodded, then shook his head. He had no idea.

"Don't be distressed," Will said. "I'm sorry I'm so clumsy. I must disappoint you so…"

Jack straightened up. He couldn't have heard right. He swivelled to fully face Will. "You have never, ever, disappointed me, luv. I only ever disappoint meself."

Will smiled shyly. "So, you'll give me another chance?"

Jack opened his arms and drew Will into them. That felt much better, to have the boy wriggling in his embrace. Drove the cold of the mists away. Will finally stopped squirming when he was securely wedged between the rail and Jack, with his full body draped over the pirate, hands on the small of Jack's back and thighs snuggled around Jack's left leg. He rested his head on Jack's shoulder.

"That's where I'd like you, luv, forever. But if you insist on following that infuriating family of yours to that godforsaken island, I'll hug the land until you're ready to join me back on board."

That must have been the right thing to say, because Will nuzzled Jack's neck and gave him a little lick. Then he rolled his hips and dragged his cock across Jack's thigh.

"You didn't even have to stay with the Pearl. You could have gone over to the Dauntless and joined them right away, you know."

Uh-oh, wrong thing to say. Will pulled back suddenly.

"I would have come right back to you, on my honour."

"No, I couldn't leave you alone with Norrington."

Jack took in the tension, the deep eyebrow crease. Hit a nerve, did he?

"Jealous of what I might have done with your Commodore, then?" he teased.

"He's not my commodore, and hardly jealous, but I couldn't let you harm him." Determined to be honourable, the lad was.

Jack reached up to stroke Will's fair cheek. His fingers grazed the sharp line of the bone remembering the angry red imprint of the Commodore's hand there, and settled at the corner of lips set thin in vexation. "Luv, after what he did to you, I assure you, it took the utmost self-control not to slit him from stem to stern and hang him from the crow's nest, a feast for the gulls."

Will's reaction to that. Seething, anger with Jack for opposing his wishes, fierce passion conflicting with sheer embarrassment at the implication that Will required protection of any kind, absolutely overwhelmed that Jack felt so strongly for him, trying not to give in to his own feelings. It was a most enjoyable war to observe played out on Will's face, taking part predominantly in the vicinity of the forehead as it did.

Time to end the internal strife. "However, I swore a vow to not physically harm the Commodore, so Norrington is safe as houses. Unless you've changed your mind and want to turn around?"

Will shook his head vehemently. Jack hoped he would do that, as it made chestnut curls frame his face in such a lovely way. Will melted back into his position against Jack. That was better. And Jack loved this relaxed, pliant Will. Gave him so very many ideas about what he would like to do with the rest of the night.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"About earlier?"

"Don't fret, luv, we've got plenty of time."

"I mean, much earlier, below deck."

Jack pulled back to look at Will's face.

"What did you mean, about Norrington having a go with someone who, well, who knows what they're doing? Do you, I mean, does he…" Will got that flustered look. Ooh, Jack wished he would get that look more often. It was so captivating. "Do you desire him?"

Jack laughed. Oops, wrong thing to do. Will looked self-conscious, but not in an alluring way, in an uncomfortable way. Best correct that. "Luv, I harbour no desire of any kind for the Commodore." Other than to see him strung up and gutted, of course, but there was no need to further discuss that.

Will relaxed again. "I was worried, I mean, I wasn't sure what was going on."

And how horrified would the naïve and innocent young man be if he knew that his mistreatment at the hands of Norrington had given the other man pleasure? *That* kind of pleasure. No, it would not do for Will to be introduced to such concepts, not for a long time yet.

"Just some old fashioned threats among seafaring men, savvy?" Jack assured him. "Nothing to fret over. He won't be bothering you again." He once again stroked the delicate line of Will's cheek. "I just love this," he murmured without realizing he was speaking aloud, "I just love everything about you." The skin under his fingers heated, making him realize he had said it. "Can we go back inside, so I can show you?"

Will stood back and looked into Jack's dark eyes. They glittered.

"Show me what, Jack?"

Jack swallowed noisily. Kept his eyes glued to Will's, wide and bright.

"Let me show you how much I love you."

---

Part 44 – The Man Doing the Breaching

Will took a deep breath and turned away from the sideboard, a goblet of wine in each hand. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot, one leg bent with the foot tucked under the other thigh, trying for all the world to look casual. But he radiated tension, tension of a good sort. Tension Will knew would feel good when released.

He cleared his throat and tried to walk nonchalantly over to the bed. Not an easy task because Jack was staring at him with bright, black eyes. The scarf on his head, the kohl under his eyes, the beads dangling in his beard, they did nothing to hide the fact that this man was not nearly so sure of himself as he wanted to seem, and that unnerved Will. Because if Jack wasn't sure of himself, then Will was truly asea.

"Jack," he started, perching at a distance on the end of the bed. "We seem to be having this problem, and we should talk about it." There, he'd started. Now it was Jack's turn. He waited patiently. Sooner or later, Jack would speak.

But Jack did not speak. For once in his life, Jack Sparrow kept his mouth shut. He simply looked. Looked at Will. Will felt eyes raking over his legs, his chest, his face. Will couldn't see them anymore, for he'd shut his eyes. This dizziness, maybe it was the wine. He put his goblet down on the table. Had to bend over to reach. Felt Jack's eyes on his arse.

The source of their problem.

Will had no idea how to address such a problem. As with all problems, he supposed honesty and forthrightness would be the best approach.

"I seem to have some sort of a, um, a limit."

Jack choked on the wine he was sipping at the exact moment Will decided to speak.

"Uh, yes, so it would seem." Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Will noticed that Jack licked the wine he'd wiped off the back of his hand. Pink flash of tongue. Made his cock stiffen. Just the sight of the man's tongue.

Will fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt. A single loose thread wound around his finger, unwound, wound again. He felt the blush creeping, starting at the centre of his chest, up and around his neck, spreading up his face, to the tips of his ears, betraying his uncertainty and discomfort. But no more than his awkward actions had already done so.

Perhaps the blush wasn't so bad. After all, Jack seemed to like it when he blushed. He acted as if it endeared Will to him, like some young maiden. Did Jack think of him that way, like a maiden? Did he think Will, egad, pretty?

Will believed Jack. He believed he was beautiful. And the word pretty had been murmured at select moments. So now he sat on the bed and considered whether he wanted to be thought of as pretty. It wasn't very proper. It wasn't very manly.

He did want Jack to think of him as a man. Yet he called Will ‘lad', and ‘boy' and ‘young Mr. Turner'. Did Jack really think of him as that young? Was his age of such import?

His inexperience certainly was. He thought back to the first time Jack had really been with him, back on the original Interceptor. He was shocked when Jack took his cock in his mouth. The act was simply unheard of. Even touching another man was outré. But taking his hard cock in his mouth, that was unthinkable.

Will had to smile a little. Just the memory of Jack's mouth on him, the revelation of how good it felt, made his cock jerk and stiffen in his trousers. He caught the little twitch at the edge of Jack's lips, the darting of his eyes. He'd noticed as well.

Back on the island together, at first, he had been so naïve. For the first few days the idea of going without clothes had not even entered his mind. It simply wasn't proper. Then the first time he felt the sun on his naked arse, first time he rolled over in the sand and felt the rays warming his cock, it was so liberating. And then the pleasures they shared. He never dreamed he would enjoy something so perverted. But then it wasn't perverted was it? Two men enjoying each other's bodies, fully consenting.

When he considered it carefully, there was absolutely nothing wrong. Oh, some might claim the bible was against it. But the same church the bible came from said that it was acceptable for someone to own Okonkwo and Matthew and the others, just because of the colour of their skin. So how could any biblical judgements about a man being with another man hold water?

This was acceptable. It was more than acceptable. It was right, because it felt right. Because it felt right and because Jack loved him. Loved him.

Did it matter if Jack thought he was pretty? He looked over at the pirate, who hadn't moved. He was still sitting firmly on the bed, but the tension in the air made it seem as if Jack were hovering in the air, awaiting permission to land. So what if Jack thought he was pretty? It didn't make him less of a man.

And yes, he was younger than Jack. What difference did that make? He had his youth, Jack had his experience. The extra years certainly didn't make Jack any less attractive. If Jack found his youthfulness attractive, so be it.

But, however and nevertheless, Will was a man. He would not be thought of as some blushing maiden, even if his blushing did make him more attractive to jack. And he found himself suddenly determined to prove it. To prove his masculinity.

‘How does one prove one's masculinity when one is engaging in sexual acts with another man?' he mused.

Jack hovered a little closer, it seemed. Heat was pouring off him. Will was afraid to touch him, afraid to lose his resolve. He had a point to make. And every time he had a point to make, Jack moved too close and made his thoughts all confused.

He stood abruptly and walked to the window.

Jack tilted forward, almost losing his balance, as if he'd been leaning against Will's aura all along. The lack of it caused him to pitch, out of control. He regained his composure and stood as well, but did not approach the skittish colt, which is what Will felt foolish for feeling like.

Will cleared his throat. Made a little sniff. Pursed his lips.

Jack watched all this in slow motion, savouring every tiny move.

"So, I think this is an issue we must deal with," Will said finally.

Jack leapt beside him. "Yes, I think so too."

"It occurs to me that perhaps, I have this limit for a reason."

"You think you have some aversion to my breaching you with something other than…"

"No, no. Not at all. I think it may be an issue of bulk."

Jack cocked is head to one side, and Will wondered what the gesture meant. "You mean, it's not a limit of the ‘nature of the act' persuasion, it's more of a, um, three-finger limit?"

Will stared furiously out the window now, unable to control the violent colouring of his facial skin. Who could have guessed this would be so difficult to talk about? "How is such a ‘problem' usually dealt with?" Couldn't hurt to ask.

Jack shifted beside him. "Well," he began, "The man doing the breaching is usually quite careful to, uh, prepare the man who is being breached."

Will thought about this for a moment. Prepare, with spit and gentle fingers. Yes, but it hadn't been adequate. And while he rather enjoyed one finger, and two was certainly stimulating, three was just too much.

"And if this preparation is not enough?"

"I suppose," Jack purred, "The man doing the breaching might be allowed to prepare some more."

"I see." Will shuddered as Jack's hot breath met the back of his neck. He could feel every contour of Jack's body as if it were touching him, but it wasn't. A counter proposal occurred to him. "Suppose it's not a matter of preparation at all. Suppose the man being breached would be more comfortable doing the breaching?"

Jack's slow steady advance on Will's personal space halted abruptly. "But what if the man doing the breaching doesn't want to be the man being breached?"

Will shrugged, the top of his shoulder just catching one of Jack's beard braids. "Suppose if the man being breached were to do the breaching, then perhaps he might understand the process a bit better and not be so bothered by being breached…"

Jack exhaled sharply, burning Will's skin through his shirt. "But the man doing the breaching is the one with the experience. Suppose he would like to show the man being breached how it's done before the man being breached is given the opportunity to…"

"Do you think I would hurt you, Jack? Do you think I'm so clumsy?"

"Ah, experience does count, luv. Experience and attention to detail." Jack's hand swept down across Will's back and curved around his arse. Will loved the feeling of security that gave him. "And, my dear, you really do have the loveliest arse I've even seen or felt, and I would dearly love the opportunity to breach it properly. However, if you are not feeling capable…" Was that a wicked glint of a gold tooth?

"Nonsense. I'm perfectly capable. I'm more than capable, I'm eager." Damn. Did he really say that? Will almost vibrated with frustration. He'd attempted to turn things around, to prove his dominance and only succeeded in making himself seem eager to be breached. Perhaps he was eager to be breached?

It wasn't worth questioning any further, because Jack had swept him up in a furious kiss. Will's head was tilted back with his mouth full of questing, hot tongue and his slim torso was enfolded in strong arms. This, he found, he could be comfortable with. He tangled his tongue with Jack's and found one leg lifting, bending, settling on Jack's hip. It felt like it belonged there, and he hadn't even meant to do it. So this is what Jack had meant when he'd told him to do what felt good, what felt natural.

It was more liberating than being in control. Will simply let his body lead the way. In no time, both his legs were wrapped around Jack's waist and he was drinking in the decadent, sweet taste of Jack's mouth. He let moustache and beard scrape along his face and add accents to every swipe of Jack's tongue. He let his hands roam down Jack's back and wriggled his arse when strong hands squeezed it.

He tilted his head back, revelling in the feeling of Jack's tongue sliding down his throat. "That's it," Jack breathed against him. "Just let it happen."

Will's cock was impossibly hard due to this surrender. There was no proper. There was no decent. Just him and Jack, shuffling toward the bed, and it would help if he got down and walked too, but the roll of Jack's hips as he walked caused his stomach to press against Will's hard cock in the most delightful ways and he simply couldn't bring himself to give up all this full-body contact yet.

Will was dumped on the bed and found Jack looming over him, unbridled lust written all over his face. Clothes just had to go and it wasn't a moment too soon that he was naked and writhing under his lover. Jack cursed as he yanked off his layers of clothes, which Will found inexplicably funny, but all sniggers were silenced by that plundering tongue and a hot hard body pressed tight against his.

Wet lips tugged on his nipple and he arched to rub his cock against firm chest muscles. Jack was all over him, licking and sucking and making him wild and then taking his cock, oh, so deep all at once. Will reared up off the bed. Splayed fingers spread over his chest, pushed him down on the blanket so he could only lie still and endure. In a haze he thought maybe that breaching of any kind had been forgotten about, but there were Jack's hands under his arse, reminding him. Before he could tense up he was flipped over and yanked toward Jack so he was lying sideways across the bed with his feet flat on the floor and Jack's mouth sucking on the back of his neck, hard cock pressed against him but not poking into him because Jack was slinking down his back, leaving a wet trail to cool on his fevered skin.

Jack's tongue slithered down and Will fought the urge to avoid it, fought his mind's command to escape it, just let it go where Jack wanted it to go. And then Will felt Jack nudging his legs apart and that tongue where he knew it shouldn't be but somehow had to be. Jack hummed against his tight opening and gave a slow, luxurious lick and Will felt himself almost instantly open to the slight pressure.

"Oh," was the only thing he could think to say when the slick muscle breached him. Spreading his legs further was the only conceivable response. And wriggling his arse further off the bed to allow Jack greater access followed so naturally that Will didn't think of it. He just let it happen and moaned from deep within.

If this was preparation, he'd happily prepare all night long.

"Oh, sweet jesus, you're heaven," Jack moaned against him before spearing his tongue into the loosened opening. "You taste so fucking good." Which, of course, made Will purr and wriggle for more.

But eventually, after licking and kissing and tonguefucking his arse until Will was practically oozing off the bed, Jack rose up off his knees and slid a single finger inside. Will felt it, but no pain. Only delicious pressure and stretching and he wanted more. Jack happily obliged with another finger and Will purred and writhed. Jack hesitated with the third finger. Will rolled his hips and whimpered for more. He had to be filled. Now.

Will could feel Jack's hard cock leak against his hip. He reached back and wrapped his fingers around the rigid length. It still felt too large to fit inside him, but now he didn't care. He twisted his wrist, guiding Jack's cock to where he wanted it. Jack pulled back.

"Careful, luv, preparation, remember?" and he moved away. But kept the two fingers inside Will, stroking and brushing deep inside. He was reaching for something from beside the bed, and the first cool trickle made him start, but the oil warmed quickly, and Jack pulled his fingers out to coat them thoroughly before plunging them back inside. Then he added the third.

The slide of it made Will want to scream. He jolted and his hard cock slammed against the side of the mattress. That felt great! He did it again. Jack hurriedly reached around and grabbed Will's cock before he did any harm to himself.

"Jesus, Will, take it easy."

"No. Now!" Will couldn't remember ever wanting anything this badly. Jack was working his fingers in and out, spreading them gently, but Will didn't want fingers anymore. Drastic situations call for drastic measures. Will screwed up his courage and pulled away from Jack's hand. The fingers left him suddenly and he could feel his entrance spasm as if searching them out.

"Oh, god." Jack sounded as if he was in awe.

"Breach me," he hissed, "Now, Jack!"

Jack fell against him in an instant. "Will, I've been wanting this for so long," he mumbled.

Will stiffened for a second at the blunt pressure of Jack's cock. Then he leaned back.

---

Part 45 – There It Shimmers

Breath held. Body entirely taut. Will has never been this still before. When he was knocked unconscious he didn't lie this still. It's unnatural. Preternatural.

Jack grits his teeth to keep from screaming. His eyes are glued to the incredible sight before him and time itself stands even stiller than Will. He watches closely, pretending he isn't actually participating, because if he thinks about how it will feel, if he gives any consideration at all to the intense heat and pressure he is about to breach, the breaching will be over all too soon.

One hand flows in long, soft strokes down Will's back, soothing and grounding him, gliding over sweat slicked velvety skin. The other grips his own slippery cock, the slick head poised, skin stretched tight over a million nerves, brushing, only brushing, tiny folds of skin. Heat transferring back and forth freely. He can see the oil shining and the laxness of the ordinarily clenched muscle, but his still cock seems impossibly huge in comparison. He doubts if this is really worth the risk.

If he hurts Will, if he causes him pain, he risks losing his trust – him - forever.

Then Will leans back.

Jack hisses and watches, mesmerized, as skin stretches around the head of his cock, as his cock sinks into that perfect arse. He grips Will's hip with his oily hand, velvet smooth skin under shaking fingers, trying to keep upright as the wave washes over him. When the head passes through the first ring of muscle a vice grips him, yet Will keeps on pressing back, the rest of him not moving, not making a sound, not even breathing.

Jack can hear the sound of his cock sliding past stubborn skin, the movement smooth but so slow it goes on forever. Then he is buried to the hilt, the smooth curve of Will's ass matching the concave of Jack's groin to perfection. Nestled. Where it belongs. He'd never experienced anything this intimate before. He's in so deep he's never been in this deep before.

Jack takes a deep breath. It's where he's always wanted to be but he can't tell if he can enjoy it. Long, graceful back laid across the bed, rising to paler globes split almost obscenely – no, most definitely obscenely – by Jack thick cock, and pink skin stretched around him so tight it pains him. Will's arms at his sides, arms bent so his muscles stand out, fists clenching the sheets but not moving. His head is down, forehead touching the bed, so all Jack can see are rich, thick curls, twirling around his ears and twining down his neck, grazing his shoulders, golden highlights in an ocean of chestnut.

The black of Jack's wiry hair stands in shocking contrast to the delicate pale of the underside of Will's arse, upturned and exposed to him as never before. He lets his moist hand trail across, to trace the faint line there, glide over silkily.

Then Jack leans back, pulls out so slightly. He watches that shiny pink skin cling to the darker hardness of his cock, as if it doesn't want to let him go. When he sinks back in again, only having retreated an inch or so, that same pink skin follows, as if it is fused to him.

He finds his hand reaching to the side for the uncorked bottle, brings it close, tilts it just so, and watches the oil drizzle down the dark cleft of Will's arse, wend down through soft hairs, slide around the stretched opening, around the very base Jack's cock. There it shimmers. He could do just this forever.

"Breathe," he whispers.

And it starts low, from deep inside, a place perhaps a few inches from where the head of his cock is buried inside the miracle that is Will Turner. It rolls around inside, echoing around Will's chest, rumbling like a cannon ball rolling across a deck, and rises up through his throat, releasing into the air just as Will's back arches, hair falls back onto hard shoulder blades. And the vice loosens around the base of Jack's cock, only to be replaced by a surging grip from within, from stem to stern.

The feral purr slams into Jack like a tidal wave. Time starts up again.

Jack is grateful for that. He could have gone on like that forever, but Will couldn't. Will has to move, so move he does.

Jack's hands fly up, inexplicably, off the dangerously undulating form in front of him. He wants to be touching that golden skin, feeling those flexing muscles, but instead he's reaching to grip the low wood beam, fingers pressing the worn texture. Holding on for dear life as it were.

Will arcs, thrusting his hips back to take Jack's cock in and out of his tight hole. He growls, slams back with enough force to make Jack lose his footing – only his grip on the beam saves him from tumbling to the floor. The purr grows to a growl and a voice breaks through, desperate and guttural. "Jack, please… it's so… I need…"

Jack can only moan in response. His brain races frantically. Will needs something, but Jack is paralysed so he can't deliver. Will grinds his arse back against Jack's pelvis, taking the cock, which really is too big, to impossible depths and then rises back up off it, trailing hot oil along its length. The air smells like spice and Will and sex and Jack, tastes the same too.

"Jack," he pants. "I have to see you."

Jack just can't grasp how that's possible. He couldn't be more immobile if he were encased in cement. The only movement from Jack's body is the bobbing of his cock, deep inside Will, as Will pistons his body back and forth around it. Jack tries to articulate this, but finds his words choked clean out of his throat when Will twists to one side. His mouth drops open uselessly when he realizes what's happening.

Ridiculously flexible, the boy is. One long leg draws up under Will's still prone body before the whole body begins to roll, and then that leg, ridiculously long and lean, stretches up, and the other leg still on the floor, now between Jack's slightly spread legs, rotates as well, and the next thing Jack knows he has a perfectly formed ankle with a pale scar around it resting on his shoulder, nestled against his neck, and a mile of long leg bent at a heartbreakingly perfect angle extending down from the ankle to the juncture of thigh and hip, where Will's cock rises from glistening soft curls. Leaking onto his flat belly. Plastering soft dark curls to golden skin.

Jack's eyes whip up, past the shining chest, past the graceful neck arched back, past the determined jaw, open swollen red lips, and dive into wide open chocolate pools. No, that's it. Never more intimate.

Jack's fingernails dig into the salt air softened wood of the beam. One hand breaks free and grips the ankle on his shoulder. The other leg starts to rise and Will's weight is, for a moment, half-suspended from Jack's cock, excruciatingly painful at the same time it's perfect. And finally Jack is standing with one ankle on either side of his head, and one hand sliding down, or up depending on your vantage point, ruffling leg hair against the grain, and his is cock just gone. Because he is jammed so tight against Will you can't tell he has a cock. Jack's flat stomach could just continue down with no appreciable change in topography and no one would be the wiser. Except for Jack.

Jack has to speak. Has to say something. Will's heart beats around his cock and he has to tell Will that this is the most ideal thing on earth. Only random words surface in his mind. So he tries a few out loud.

"Perfect," he starts with.

Will wriggles, maddeningly, and Jack bends his knees to shift back and tilt his hips, and then his cock feels something different inside, unyielding, and Will's eyes glaze over, no longer focussing on Jack. Which is a good thing, because they'd been threatening to burn a hole in Jack's retina, and what kind of a pirate has burned out eyes?

"Sublime," he croaks out next.

Will rolls his hips and brushes Jack's cockhead in the exact right spot, which makes his own cock leap and slap back against taut stomach muscles. His eyes scrunch shut, little wrinkles at the corners deepen.

"Over…fucking…whelming."

Will drops his legs. Jack winces as splinters ram into his fingertips when they drag off the beam. His arms are flung back by the force of Will's descending calves and then those legs wrap around his waist. Around his waist. Will's endless legs surrounding his torso, ankles hooked at the back, balls squashed against Jack's belly.

In the single instant it takes for him to realize that his mouth has been hanging open somewhat stupidly, but it could be forgiven under the circumstances, Jack bends and licks across the inside edge of Will's collarbone, through a little pool of sweat. It tastes of Will and salt and something new. Will is exuding something new. Or Jack is perceiving something new. Whatever it is drives him to embarrassingly new heights.

Oh, there it is. In Will's mouth too. Jack's new favourite flavour. The taste of Will Turner being right and properly fucked.

Will jerks his head and is breathing right into Jack's ear, trying to make his own words with little success. Jack can make out a few choice syllables.

"More."

Jack angles and thrusts and makes Will cry out when he suckles on a hard pink nipple.

"Please."

Jack slides a hand between them and closes his fingers around Will's cock, slippery with sweat and oil and everything that is still dripping from it.

"I love you."

They both stop moving. Everything stops. The Pearl stops. The world stops turning.

Jack pulls back, keeping the fingers wrapped around the cock, keeping the legs around the waist, but looks into Will's eyes.

Will opens his eyes, keeps the ankles locked behind the back, keeps the cock buried as deep as possible inside him, deeper than anything has ever been and hotter too, and keeps looking into Jack's eyes.

"I…"

"Shhh."

And time suspends for a while longer.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

How long can two men stay connected like that, connected in the most intimate way, with out moving?

"Me as well."

"I know."

I know. I know. I know.

Will twitches elegantly and his cock starts to pump out searing hot cream over Jack's stomach. The burn makes Jack shudder. His cock explodes when Will's body closes around him, making his release that much more intense.

Later, between collapsing on the bed and falling asleep, after licking the salty wetness off each other's bellies, but before settling in for a long, thorough open-mouthed kiss during which they will fall asleep, breathing into each other, Jack rubs a thumb over Will's slightly creased forehead. He's not upset, or worried, or even confused. The little crease is there because he has trouble comprehending.

"Is it always?"

"How could I know? I've never fucked you before."

* * *

Will woke with the sun in his eyes and Jack shrugging into his waistcoat beside the bed. He blinked, dazed. "I overslept?"

Jack turned to face him and grinned. "Don't be vexed, luv. It's to be expected." He fished around in his pockets until he found the object he sought, tossed the compass in the air and caught it deftly. "Best be getting this ship on course."

Will sat up, sheets falling to his waist.

Jack raised an eyebrow, naughty smirk washing over his face. "Now, lad, I've got duties to perform, savvy?"

Will blushed. Good to see the whelp still had it in him after the rather spectacular deflowering of the night before. Jack leaned over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Will slid out from under the sheets, and Jack had to grab the table to steady himself. Lord, naked Will Turner first thing in the morning, what that did to a man.

Will reached for his discarded trousers. Pity, that. "We're stopped."

"Nonsense," Jack drawled, "You've just found your sea legs, is all."

"No, the ship is anchored." Will pointed out the window. "We're near an island."

Jack peered out at the lush green shoreline. "That's not where we're headed. What is that Anamaria up to? Leave the wench in charge and see what happens?" That town in the distance looked familiar. Too familiar. Hmm. Frown.

Anamaria flung the door open at that very moment, looking very dashing in her new red wool jacket, acquired from Okonkwo in exchange for Charlotte's bottle-green dress (which looked quite smashing on Okonkwo's wife).

"You won't be needing that compass for a while yet, Jack. We're making a social call." She grinned wickedly when she saw Will's dishevelled state. "Get yourself pulled together lad. You'd do well to be properly dressed when you go meet your dad."

*****

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