The Pirate Way 71-75

The Pirate Way

Parts 71-75

Posted: February 2004
Author: Haleth

~~~~~~

Chapter 71 - Will's Apology

"Tlazolteotl," Will Turner murmured.

"Bless you," Jack responded.

Will laughed. "No, Tlazolteotl."

Jack looked at him blankly. Then he realized that Will had laughed, for the first time since… Jack fiddled with the edge of the map on the table, realized he was looking at it upside down, sidled around the table in a show of great dexterity.

"She's a goddess. Aocmoilhuicpa said she would like you."

Oh no, he wasn't going on about that bloody randy heathen god again was he? It was fine enough, Jack thought, to be kidnapped by this shameless deity and have to bare his soul to him. But why did Will keep having to talk about it?

"Your patron goddess," Will added helpfully.

"What, she's the goddess of pirates?" Jack scoffed.

"No. Licentiousness."

Licentiousness. Aocmoilhuicpa thought that was what Jack was. Licentious. Fair enough. Smart old pagan god, that one was.

"He liked you too, you know." Will smiled. Not laughing at Jack. Smiling. Gazing at him. Fondly, even. With his head tilted to the side, just enough to make curls tumble down on his shoulder.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"That's why we were spared."

Jack coughed. "Luv, he didn't like me. He liked my taste in men. That's why we were spared."

Will blushed. Perfect. He blushed because a god was attracted to him. It made Jack smile for the first time since they got back to the village.

"He said he probably wasn't allowed to harm you because the Goddess of Licentiousness likely had you under her special protection."

"Oh, really," Jack smirked. "And when did Aocmowhat'shisname tell you this?"

"When we couldn't find our way out of the labyrinth. The second time we ended up back at the cave."

Jack felt a hot stab of jealously. "You were talking to that randy god?"

"For a bit. You and Matthew were arguing about which way to go, and Alphonse was trying to get you to cooperate. I felt cold air around me and then whoosh! There he was."

How could Jack have missed that?

"It was only for a minute or two, and I was around a boulder, you couldn't have noticed it anyway." Will looked down at the floor, scuffed his boots on the floor. They still suited him perfectly. Jack looked down at the leather-clad feet, the way the leather hugged Will's ankles, and how, at the very top, Will's calf muscles strained against them. "He told me not to tell you."

"But you just did."

"Well, his point has been proven."

Jack was silent. He rolled the top layer of map and traced his finger absently along the coastline showing on the map below. It bowed out gracefully into the ocean, a clean smooth line until it turned direction toward the south, where a series of ridges in the shoreline reminded Jack, painfully as it were, of Will's ribs when he had his back arched. He looked lower on the map, and a little outcropping of land was the exact shape of Will's chin when he pressed it out, just like that, when he was coming close to pouting. And that island, that one just off the coast, was the spitting image of Will's left nipple, Jack's favourite, when it had been sucked and pinched to its very peak.

Who planted this map on his table?

"I honestly don't remember." Jack said it so quietly, so low, Will had to lean forward to hear the rest. "I was so bloody drunk, I don't know, I must have… I don't remember."

Will stepped forward. One step only. But one step closer to Jack, so Jack wasn't about to complain.

Jack took a deep breath, readying himself, and looked up. He expected to see that same look of shock, or confusion, or betrayal or hurt. He expected the eyebrow crease to be firmly entrenched, and the mouth he so wanted to see smiling curled down in disgust. But what he saw was a little sad and somehow soft.

"I know," Will said. "Anamaria told me."

Jack stole a quick look at the rum bottle. It was the same one he'd started on, and not nearly enough was missing to make him imagine something like that. He stumbled to one side and sat hard on the chair. The dull thud and the smack of wood against his arse reminded him that he'd been that last one on the receiving end during his and Will's ever so lovely round of switching places. He cringed a little, but looked up at Will nonetheless.

Will was standing with one hand on his hip, which only served to emphasize the graceful curve of his waist, and the other one fidgeting with the edge of Jack's map on the table. He was looking down at the map. Jack wondered if Will could see, in the cartography, what Jack had seen. Or had Jack just imagined it all?

"Before we came on board, she took me aside and explained everything. She feels bad about it, Jack. She hopes you'll forgive her."

Forgive her? What the hell?

Will looked into Jack's eyes. "I know you didn't really want to do it."

"I didn't?" Jack asked.

Will shook his head and took another step toward Jack. Two more and he would be practically in Jack's lap. One could only hope.

"No, you were both drunk, both upset, and she started to cry. She told you she didn't think Charlotte would get pregnant, and that she wanted a baby, so you told her she should have her own baby. So she dragged you into her cabin." That didn't sound much like it was Jack's idea, did it? "And then she told me how you told her ‘no', that you only wanted me, and she told you it wasn't really sex, it was just making a baby." Ha, but Jack knew that was a lie. "And you told her that was a lie." See, he knew it all along. "But she said that's what I was doing with Charlotte, so why couldn't you do it with her." Sounded like pirate logic, to Jack. "But then you couldn't…"

Couldn't what?

Will took another step forward. Always a welcome development. Will touched the top of Jack's head unsteadily. "Just like me. You couldn't get hard for her."

Well, that would be the fault of the rum, wouldn't it? Jack was deathly soft right now, but if Will kept stroking his hair like that things might change. Jack looked at the dangerously low level in the rum bottle and fretted, perhaps not.

"She said you had no interest in her. She had to talk about me." Will's voice dropped an octave and took on that breathy quality that made Jack ache. "She told me about sitting on your lap and whispering in your ear. Telling you about when she saw us together, two years ago. The first time we were ever together."

Will stepped one more time. His knees were pressed up against Jack's and his hands rested on Jack's shoulders. Anamaria saw them on the Interceptor? He knew he should have locked the door. But then, from the way Will's voice shook a bit when he said that last bit, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. He wished he could remember Anamaria telling him this first hand, because it was proving to be bloody exciting third hand.

"And she saw us behind the tavern, the morning after I met my father. Do you remember? Under the willow tree."

"We didn't do anything under the willow tree, did we?" Jack gasped as Will's fingers tugged on the beads in one of his braids.

Will spread his legs and sat down on Jack's lap, all in one movement. "You tied my hair up in a string, and you kissed the side of my neck."

Jack could hear the rustling leaves around him and smell the tang of Will's hair. No, wait, the hair was right in front of him. That's what he smelt. They hadn't done anything overt under the willow tree, but it must have been obvious from his actions what he'd done the night before, and how he felt. And it was certainly obvious, at least to Jack, how he felt now, even if he couldn't remember what happened that night when he was drunk on the Pearl.

But he could. He could vaguely remember. He remembered Anamaria crying. She wanted to make Charlotte happy. She wanted Charlotte to have a baby, but she couldn't stand the idea of Charlotte sleeping with Will, or anyone else for that matter. She knew how much Charlotte would enjoy Will, and she didn't think it was fair. And she was urging Jack to give her a baby, so Charlotte would never do anything like that again.

"I remember," Jack said. "Then she told me to think about you."

"Hmmm," Will wriggled on Jack's lap, "you and me together."

Jack's cock couldn't help stir at that. He nuzzled Will's neck, felt soft curls tickle his nose. "She grabbed my cock and told me to imagine it was you, to think about your hand on me, and your lovely arse." He couldn't resist reaching around to cup Will's arse in his hands, so firm and round. "She said Charlotte told her it was the only way to get you to fuck her, to tell you to think about me fucking you… and so I did, I thought about you. But then I thought about you fucking Charlotte," Jack groaned, "and about how perfect your ass would look while you fucked her." Round arse tightening and pushing and fucking. Rolling hips and thrusting over and over. Jack licked Will's neck, since it was right there in front of him. "And I thought about what you said, about me fucking you while you fucked…"

Jack couldn't talk anymore because he had Will's tongue in his mouth. He certainly wasn't about to complain. He sucked the sweet tongue he'd feared he'd never taste again, and it tasted even sweeter for it. Will spread his legs more so his cock came into contact with Jack's belly. When he pulled back he didn't look sad anymore. But he looked worried again.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry I ever agreed to get Charlotte pregnant. I didn't see the harm in it then, but now I do. When Anamaria said that she was pregnant, and I thought about you and her. I thought you'd taken advantage of her when she was drunk. But I shouldn't have thought that. I'm sorry." He kissed Jack again, softer this time.

Jack was flabbergasted. Moments ago he'd been sitting there quietly drinking himself into oblivion because what he'd done was unforgivable. Now he had six luscious feet of Will Turner sitting on him, apologizing for what? He wasn't sure, but he knew he liked the way Will was peppering his face with little kisses and licks. And his cock seemed to have bypassed all the drink and was rock hard.

"That night, on the cliff…" he muttered.

Will nodded. "Guilt. You were guilty about what you did with Anamaria." The boy seemed relieved by this.

Jack ran his hands over Will's back, tense and corded, with the muscles standing out. He's been overworking himself again. He did that every time there was a problem between them.

"I think maybe, I don't know, I was afraid that you might think I was…" Will took a deep, shuddering sort of breath. "It makes sense now, but then I was worried you might be tired of me."

"I could never be tired of you, luv. You are endlessly," he kissed Will's cheek, "forever," he kissed Will's chin, "and infinitely interesting." Jack wrenched Will's shirt out of his trousers and slid his hands up across warm, smooth skin. "I couldn't tire of you if I locked you in this cabin and had my way with you for fifty years." His fingers lingered at the waist of Will's trousers, feeling the hitching of Will's breath as much as he heard it. "Relentlessly fascinating, you are. Here, help me get this shirt up off you, ah, yes, much better." He lapped at Will's left nipple. No, the map had it wrong. The nipple was so much more complex than the island, with a delicate shape and subtle flavour all its own. "But I swear to you, that night on the cliff, I couldn't remember what I did with Anamaria."

Will reached between them and wormed his hand past his own cock with a moan. He pressed his fingers around Jack's erection. "But your cock did." He squeezed enough to make Jack shut his eyes.

Now he remembered Anamaria hissing in his ear while he had his cock inside, desperately trying to keep him hard and fucking her. How long had it been since he fucked a woman? Since long before Will Turner. After meeting Will he'd lost his taste for women altogether. He'd only been to a few harlots, and then only for their mouths. He didn't like the feel of a woman anymore, but he could imagine the mouth belonged to Will, if he kept his eyes shut and didn't breath in anyone else's scent. With Anamaria it felt all wrong, but the wench kept talking about Will and what it must be like to fuck Will's tight arse, and to have those endless legs wrapped around his waist, and the noises. She'd heard the noises, so she talked on about those at length, about Jack making Will groan and shout and howl. She only got him to spend in her by telling him to think of the noise Will made the first time Jack fucked him, that purr that started so low and deep and just kept growing. The way Will panted and tried to talk but he couldn't make sentences. The exact way Will pronounced the words "more", and "please", and "I love you."

Will purred as he rubbed Jack through his trousers. The back of his hand bumped against his own cock. "So perhaps," he breathed right into Jack's ear, "perhaps I should do something to make your cock forget all about Anamaria, and make sure it remembers only me."

Jack growled, let go of Will's arse and grabbed the edge of the table. He pushed with all the strength in his legs and stood up, with Will still lodged firmly against him. Maps and rum and the remains of a dinner he didn't eat tumbled onto the floor as Jack swept his hand across to clear the surface. He tilted forward so Will sat on the edge of the table and pushed him back to lie on the heavy smooth planks, with Jack hovering over him.

"And just what did you have in mind, Mr. Turner?"

---

Chapter 72 - Nothing But The Boots (For Real This Time)

Will Turner. Propped up on his elbows, lying on his back on the captain's table, knees bent, feet dangling, Captain Jack Sparrow standing between his spread legs, had to gaze past the prominent bulge in his own trousers to see the even more prominent bulge in Jack's.

His eyes raked up across the frayed sash at Jack's hips, the enticing vee of his shirt, open almost to the navel revealing sun-browned skin, the jutting collarbone that would feel so good under his lips, the hands that hovered over him as if they could not decide what to touch first. Fingers twitched and flitted over his prone form, scratching him from too far above to make contact. Jack's face bore a look of intense concentration.

The fact that Jack wanted to touch him so much, and so badly, made him ache.

Jack gave him a wily leer. "You did have something in mind, did you not?" he asked. His voice was rough at the same time it flowed. That might have been the rum. Or it might have been Will.

"I…" Will thought. No, he had no plan. He never did. He just knew that anything Jack had ever done with him made his cock think only of Jack. Jack's hands, fingers, mouth, tongue, cock, anything he came in contact with made him want more. The lean drape of Jack's arm around his chest while they slept. The crush of Jack's thighs when they wrapped around him. Jack's lips touching him anywhere. Every inch of tanned or scarred or branded or smooth or rough or delicious skin made him yearn. He wished he could have that same power over his lover. He wished he could think of something, anything, to make Jack want him more.

"Not possible," Jack said.

Will's eyes widened.

"You know you said that out loud, eh?"

He did?

"About wanting me to want you more."

Will stared. "I actually said it? You're sure about that?"

Jack gave the satisfied smirk of a cat lying in the sun and rubbed his hard cock against Will's left thigh.

Oh, dear. Now Jack knew everything. Would he try to take advantage of it?

"I feel much the same way about you, luv. So now that we're squared," he dropped suddenly so his face was inches from Will's, beads dangling from his beard to brush Will's chin, "how about we just show each other?"

Show. Each other. What? Will didn't have time to answer his own question because Jack's tongue was licking along the line of his cheekbone, soft and firm at the same time, while he made a little purring noise. When had Jack started acting like a cat? Will wondered.

He didn't bother to ponder the point any further, as the cat-like tongue was making its way down his jaw line to the very centre of his chin, were it rasped against his scruffy beard, before starting a straight line down his throat. Jack didn't stop licking until he reached the open neckline of Will's shirt, at about his sternum.

"Off," Jack hissed. Will's hands flew to his waist where they crossed and grasped the hem of the shirt. He was half sitting up, so the strain of holding up his torso without his elbows behind him pulled deliciously in his stomach. He pulled up, pulled the garment over his head, and found his hands stilled before it cleared his head. "That's perfect," Jack purred at him, and grasping hands found his tight nipples, so Will's purr joined in the chorus. Jack gently pushed him back down, so he lay flat and stretched out tight.

Will felt ridiculous, splayed out on his back on the table like that with his hands tangled over his head and his shirt covering his face so he couldn't even see what was going on. He could feel well enough, though. Hot breath on his chest, wet tongue on a nipple, teeth nipping at his flesh, a nose nudging under his arm, then the dark hair there being pulled ever so slightly to the tune of a feral growl.

Jack liked to say outrageous things about him smelling like vanilla and nutmeg and tasting like cream or gingered peaches. He wondered, and Jack's tongued the thatch of dark hair under his arm, what he really smelled and tasted like? He had to smell like sweat and work and the sea air and, well, like a man. Jack purred again and rubbed his whole face into Will's armpit. Jack must like the smell and taste of a man, or he wouldn't be doing that so enthusiastically, he figured. It should have tickled, or irritated him, but the little nips Jack was taking of the tender skin, right there where the hair stopped growing at the front, they just made his cock even harder.

He could feel the linen of his shirt pressing over his face, hollowing where his mouth hung open. Then Jack's mouth descended on him, lips pressing hard on his, and he couldn't quite taste Jack through the shirt but the texture of it on his lips was extraordinary.

Jack's hands fumbled under his chin, peeled the shirt up over his face, out of the way. "Better?" His lips hit again, tongue rammed into Will's mouth, and Will tried to nod and kiss at the same time. He sucked at the tongue in his mouth and Jack ground his cock against Will's groin in a slow circle. Will could taste something, something that must have been his own sweat, on Jack's lips. He liked it. The taste of the rum was strong as well; Jack had been drinking all evening. It certainly wasn't affecting his coordination. Jack lifted up, slid his hand smoothly between them and yanked Will's trousers open. But he didn't touch Will's cock, no matter how much Will wriggled and tried to get him to make contact. His hands were sliding down Will's thighs, and then the mouth was gone and he was standing again, looking down at Will with blackened eyes.

Will swallowed hard. He lifted his hands feebly, as if asking Jack to release them from the snarl of his shirt. Jack was breathing hard, and his face was creased into something Will though might be anger with him, or frustration. Restraint. Denial.

Will was breathless from the kiss, helpless from the assault of Jack's hands and mouth on his chest. He couldn't find any words, so he arched his back, twisted his hips, anything to encourage Jack to continue. He couldn't stop now, Will needed it too much.

Jack bit his lip. His hand settled on Will's stomach, fingers splayed, keeping him down.

"No," Jack whispered, and moved around the table so he could disentangle Will's hands without actually having to lean over him.

Why had he stopped? Will twisted around, trying to bring his mouth back into contact with Jack's lips. Jack couldn't just stop it there, could he? Jack was shaking his head and cursing under his breath. One of Will's hands jerked free, and he shoved it down to clutch at the swell of Jack's cock.

Jack recoiled, and worked to free Will's other hand, but the sleeve was tangled hopelessly, and his frustrated efforts only served to tighten the knot. "No," he repeated, more forcefully this time. "I won't do it. I won't take you like that."

Take him like what? He thought of himself, lying on the table, bound as it were. And writhing. Pushing his hard cock up at Jack, silently begging him. Far too wanton. Jack must have been appalled. He blushed, shocked at his own lascivious behaviour. Jack must think him some sort of… he didn't even know the word for it.

Jack dropped his hand, at the end of his patience, so Will's arm dangled over the edge of the table dripping sweaty, jumbled shirt from the end of it. He placed a hand delicately, tenderly on Will's cheek. Will blinked when Jack kissed him on the forehead.

"What did I do to upset you?" Will whispered, thinking he knew the answer, hoping he was wrong.

Jack kissed him again, on the top of his head. "Not you," he murmured into the curls. "You've never upset me. It's me. I shouldn't… I couldn't… we have to make sure everything is square between us. I don't want you to think I'm using you."

Will sighed. Was that all? He was tempted to tell Jack to go ahead and use him. His body wanted it feverishly. But he stopped to think about what Jack said, to analyse the situation.

They had a fight. No, not a fight. They had never actually fought about Jack and Anamaria, or Jack and Anamaria's baby. Will had felt incredibly hurt and betrayed. And then he and Jack had not talked. For a night and a day, they had not talked. And now here they were. They had talked about it to an extent and he didn't feel betrayed anymore at all, but he did feel nervous. Uncertain. This desperate need to make Jack want only him. He had been helpless on the table, and Jack didn't want to take advantage of his need and his helplessness, in spite of the fact that he wanted Will so obviously badly.

Oh.

Will launched himself at Jack, dragging the other man on top of him, on top of the table. He wrapped his legs around Jack's waist and brought their cocks together, hard and hot through their clothing. "Jack, you stopped. Oh, Jack," he kissed him on the lips, "you love me so much you stopped." He kissed again, forcing his tongue into Jack's hot mouth.

Jack was pushing him down, stroking his arms, calming him. Will took a deep breath and tried to still his trembling limbs.

"Much as I would have liked to continue…" Jack looked down the length of Will's body, "… and your Aocmo-fellow will confirm that one, this isn't the time. Don't get me wrong, luv, someday I'm going to tie you up and have my way with you proper. But not tonight. Tonight I just want to show you. I want to show you what I feel, what you mean to me, what I want for us."

Jack was, inconceivably, blushing. Or he was flushed. Flushed from need and desire and denying himself something Will had never really, to be honest, thought about being tied up before, not as an enjoyable thing. But the feel of his arms pushed over his head and Jack's mouth all over him and his own inability to stop him, that had been so arousing Will was embarrassed by it. And Jack knew it.

How easy it would be for Jack to just tie him up and take him, Will mused. Will certainly wouldn't protest. But Jack didn't want to take. So Will decided he would have to give.

"Jack," he said, sultry, or at least he hoped it was sultry. Jack looked at him sharply. Too sultry? He pressed on, undaunted. "Jack, I want the same thing. I want to show you. I want to show you everything."

Jack shuddered, as if Will's words had stroked down his back or tickled him somewhere unbearable.

This encouraged Will. He stretched one long leg out to hook his foot around Jack's calf and coax the pirate back to the end of the table, back between Will's thighs where he belonged. Will propped himself back up on his elbows, back to where this had all started, except he was naked from the waist up and had a terribly tangled shirt obscuring his left forearm. They could start again.

"So show me." He hoped, prayed, his voice was soft and low enough to convince Jack. He watched avidly, as Jack trailed his fingers along Will's thigh, down his shin, to cup a boot at the heel.

Jack laughed nervously. "These boots," he admitted. "They do something to me. I had a…" His voice trailed off, and he pulled one, then the other from Will's feet. He smoothed his hands over the stockings underneath, over calf and ankle and foot. "Dream."

Will held his breath while Jack loosened the ties at the knees of his trousers, rolled the stockings down, peeled them off his legs. He shifted, lifting his hips so Jack could strip the trousers down and well. The planks of the table were smooth from years of wear. Had Jack ever taken anyone else on this table? Whom had he bent over this table in the past? It didn't matter. That was before; this was now. And ‘now' had Jack on his knees, massaging the skin inside Will's knee with his lips. His hands lingered on Will's feet, still warm from the boots.

Will had one of those flashes of inspiration that typically lead to a religious conversion of some sort. He slithered down the table and pulled Jack up to his feet again. Silently he stooped to pick up one of the boots. It was heavy, still warm from his foot. He slid his foot inside, relishing the way the leather hugged his naked ankle. Jack's gasp was loud in his ears as he slid his other foot into the other boot and straightened.

Pitch black, Jack's eyes were. He was shaking all over, too.

Will was inordinately proud of the fact that he had done the exact right thing. It was possible Jack's eyes had held that much pure lust in them before, but Will couldn't remember it. He blushed. He could remember plenty of times Jack had looked at him with lust. With hindsight, he could date the lust back to the first time they'd ever met. But this was special. He just knew that Jack had thought of this before, Jack had fantasized about Will standing like this, wearing nothing but the boots.

He plucked at the loose neckline of Jack's shirt. "Off," he ordered.

Jack ripped his shirt off, swore when he couldn't untwist the end of his sash, and Will had to help him untangle it, kicked off his own boots in a fury and stopped dead still just as he was unfastening his trousers.

Will stared at his lover, gave him a wide smile, and leaned a little further back onto the table as he stroked his hard cock languorously. Jack had stopped because the sight of Will handling himself like that was a distraction, Will thought. He couldn't stop the smirk. He couldn't stop relishing the power he felt at that moment. He couldn't stop moaning when his own fingers tightened around his cock, dragging over the head. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Maybe if he couldn't see Jack then Jack couldn't see him, and Jack would find the ability to finish undressing. But he couldn't stop his own hand on his cock from moving, pulling, stroking, caressing. Not until Jack swatted it away and pressed up close and perfectly naked all over.

"Impatient, William?"

Will shivered. He loved it when Jack called him that. Grown up. A man's name.

"Perhaps I could help you with that, eh?"

Will breathed a sight of relief. Jack had regained control, regained his control of the situation. He let Jack guide his hand down, taking control. It was so much easier when Jack did that. Took control. He didn't have to think, he didn't have to be creative, he only had to respond.

Of course, when he really let go, when he allowed himself to respond naturally, he often did end up taking control. Those were the times he rode Jack wildly while sitting on his lap, or fuckd Jack's throat while the pirate held onto Will's hips for dear life, or fucked Jack's arse, so hot and snug around Will's cock, until Jack screamed.

But not tonight. Tonight he wanted Jack to fuck him.

Jack's fingers surrounded his hand, wrapping Will's fingers around his own cock. "Don't stop, luv, I like to see you do that." Was he teasing? No, he wanted to see it. Will whimpered a bit when Jack made him squeeze tighter. "God, Will, let me look at you."

Jack stepped back again and looked. Will kept stroking himself, feet planted wide and solid on the floor, hips lifting with each down stroke. Jack's eyes swept down to look at his long legs, and the boots. He really liked those boots. Will could tell by the way Jack's hips answered with a little roll of their own. Will lifted one leg to wedge his arse up onto the table, and kept lifting the foot until the heel of the boot rested on the table as well. He felt terribly exposed like that, even though he wasn't sure if his bollocks obscured Jack's view of his arsehole or not. He kept pulling on his cock, waiting for Jack to respond to the invitation.

He saw Jack's eyes dart over to the bed, to the ledge where the bottle of oil sat. Jack was judging distance, time and the odds of Will changing his mind about this whole thing. Will could see that. He decided to help him make his decision. He slid his hand off his cock and down so he could touch, just touch the dry ring of muscle with his fingertip. And he purred.

Jack leapt across the room for the oil and bounced back, skidding to a halt in front of Will's spread legs. He dropped to his knees with a thud so loud Will winced. But he didn't think any further on it, because Jack's tongue was nudging his finger out of the way and spearing into him, opening him up for Jack's cock. Will's head fell back. He leaned on the hand tangled in the shirt, the tangled shirt reminding him of how much Jack loved him, the jabbing tongue reminding him of how much Jack wanted him.

No words now. Will lifted his other leg up, over Jack's shoulder, exposing himself further, opening. He rubbed the boot over Jack's shoulder muscles and the tonguefucking sped up. Hmm, Jack really really liked the boots. Will squirmed on the table, tilting his hips, so Jack could fuck him harder with his tongue. Then the tongue was swirling over his bollocks, and Will looked down to see the dark head of his cock bobbing against his stomach and Jack's lips, wet and hungry, inching up it. He quivered under Jack's tongue as it licked up his stomach, his chest, his neck, sucked the tongue into his mouth, sharp and heavy with the taste of himself.

Slick fingers pushed into him, not enough but better than nothing, and then Jack's cock, which Will loved so much, was pressing against him. Everything was happening so fast, he wasn't sure if he was ready. Jack grabbed Will's cock and held it between shaking fingers, fumbled a moment, and leaned in.

The stretch made Will's eye close. The burn made Will's breath stop. The pain, delicious vital pain, made Will's legs clamp around Jack's waist. The pleasure was what made him open his eyes again and look into Jack's face.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he hadn't been expecting that.

Jack looked lost. He looked so very young, and lost and unguarded. His eyes were wide, his mouth slack, his lips swollen. Will touched his cheek, hoping everything was all right, but Jack didn't seem to be focussed on him. He touched his forehead to Jack's, which required him to lean forward and put his weight on Jack's cock. Jack's hands slid under his thighs, supporting him and shifting him so Jack could lean back and stand, away from the table.

"Oh," Will said. He'd never done that before. He wound his arms around Jack's neck and pressed his chest forward so they touched. A sharp nipple grazed one of his, flat belly pressed against his. "Oh," he repeated.

Jack slid his left hand back along Will's right thigh and caressed the top of the boot. Moaned Will's name. Canted his hips just so to make Will purr. Will nestled his head into Jack's neck and curled around him, never wanting to let go.

So he said it. "I don't ever want to let go," he whispered into Jack's neck and hair and a sharp, silver-tasting bauble. He could feel Jack smile. Then he felt strong hands lift him up, lift up his arse so Jack's cock dragged out of him in a slow, steady ache, and then settle him back down again. It was an impossibly difficult thing to do. A ridiculous amount of energy for Jack to have to expend, holding up Will and then lifting him up and down on Jack's cock like that. Will felt terribly selfish. Until Jack change the angle just so and Will shouted. Actually shouted.

Everyone must have heard that, he thought.

And everyone should hear it. Because he was the one Jack was fucking. He was the one Jack wanted to fuck. And everyone should know.

---

Chapter 72 - Nothing But The Boots (For Real This Time)

The fact that Jack wanted to touch him so much, and so badly, made him ache.

Jack gave him a wily leer. "You did have something in mind, did you not?" he asked. His voice was rough at the same time it flowed. That might have been the rum. Or it might have been Will.

"Not possible," Jack said.

Will's eyes widened.

"You know you said that out loud, eh?"

He did?

"About wanting me to want you more."

Will stared. "I actually said it? You're sure about that?"

Jack gave the satisfied smirk of a cat lying in the sun and rubbed his hard cock against Will's left thigh.

Oh, dear. Now Jack knew everything. Would he try to take advantage of it?

Jack bit his lip. His hand settled on Will's stomach, fingers splayed, keeping him down.

"No," Jack whispered, and moved around the table so he could disentangle Will's hands without actually having to lean over him.

"What did I do to upset you?" Will whispered, thinking he knew the answer, hoping he was wrong.

Will sighed. Was that all? He was tempted to tell Jack to go ahead and use him. His body wanted it feverishly. But he stopped to think about what Jack said, to analyse the situation.

Oh.

Jack was pushing him down, stroking his arms, calming him. Will took a deep breath and tried to still his trembling limbs.

How easy it would be for Jack to just tie him up and take him, Will mused. Will certainly wouldn't protest. But Jack didn't want to take. So Will decided he would have to give.

Jack shuddered, as if Will's words had stroked down his back or tickled him somewhere unbearable.

"So show me." He hoped, prayed, his voice was soft and low enough to convince Jack. He watched avidly, as Jack trailed his fingers along Will's thigh, down his shin, to cup a boot at the heel.

Pitch black, Jack's eyes were. He was shaking all over, too.

He plucked at the loose neckline of Jack's shirt. "Off," he ordered.

"Impatient, William?"

Will shivered. He loved it when Jack called him that. Grown up. A man's name.

"Perhaps I could help you with that, eh?"

But not tonight. Tonight he wanted Jack to fuck him.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he hadn't been expecting that.

Everyone must have heard that, he thought.

And everyone should hear it. Because he was the one Jack was fucking. He was the one Jack wanted to fuck. And everyone should know.

---

Chapter 73 - Shore Leave

Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair and Will Turner in his line of vision. Will was lunging forward to deliver a stunning counter-riposte to Shimura, with whom he was practicing. Will had never been kidding about the three hours of practice a day, and Jack was never happier about it.

Nothing could be more perfect, he though to himself.

Except for *that*, he added to himself with a smile.

That particular lunge had involved Will's arse being encased by his tight trousers in a stunningly suggestive manner, and the curve of his outer thigh being highlighted by what could only be described as a sublime angle of the sun on his long, left leg. Stunning. Shimura yielded and Mr. Bertram took his place opposite Will.

Bertram had never been much use at swordplay. Very handy in close quarters with a knife, Jack had witnessed for himself over the years, but less adept with a long blade. Will had taken it on himself to teach Bertram the basics. Will would demonstrate a few moves, Bertram would go off on his own to practice them while Will engaged a few of the pirates in mock battle, and then Bertram would return for a lengthy spar.

Today's lesson, apparently, had to do with fighting in the same close quarters in which Bertram was used to wielding a much shorter blade. Will and Bertram were inches apart at times, sharpened steel rasping across steel between them, very dangerous. But not half as dangerous as what the whole spectacle was doing to Jack.

Will, as was his habit, wore a loose shirt, rather open at the neck, and tucked in at the waist, but not as neatly as when the training session began. His sleeves were rolled up, always delightful to view. His hair was tied back with a scrap of leather, wild curls escaping at random intervals and creating all manner of interesting effects when they clung to Will's sweat-dampened cheek, or plastered themselves against the cords of his neck. His snug trousers featured a panel laced across the front and fastened with the same knot every time, a knot Jack was now capable of unravelling in seconds. In his sleep.

All very well. However, Jack's eyes followed the graceful line of Will's extended leg, the one he was leaning back on and pivoting on just so. His arse went all tense, the way it did when he was thrusting his hips forward. Jack followed the leg down and his heart almost stopped.

He was wearing the boots.

The boots.

The.

Boots.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, holy heck and hellfire, son of bloody damnation. He was wearing those boots in public, where anyone who cared to look could see them!

Jack pulled himself together. Nobody seemed to notice. And why would they? They were just an ordinary, everyday, very nicely made but not fancy pair of boots, weren't they?

Oh no, they bloody well were not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. They were the boots Will had worn three nights before. When he was wearing nothing else, mind you.

Jack rubbed his hand absently over his right lower back. That spot had absorbed the brunt of the action, from the boots anyway. The skin was still a little tender there, chafed by the seam above the heel, when Will's legs had been around his waist, while Jack's cock was so deeply up Will's arse the boy had almost passed out.

Screamed, he had, screamed when Jack went all the way in. Never heard anything like that before, Jack hadn't. He didn't think anyone could make that much noise just from being fucked.

Oh, even Jack had howled a few times. Especially that time in the tent, their last night in the tent. Will had taken Jack from behind, only Will was lying on his back and had pulled Jack on top of him. Jesus, what an angle of penetration. Jack was arched back with his head hanging upside down over Will's shoulder, and Will's hands didn't stop for a second, pinching at his nipples and gliding over his stomach and snaking around Jack's cock. Jack was grinning just from the memory.

But Jack had not screamed, not quite like that.

Two nights ago, Will had fussed and cooed over the marks on Jack's hips and back. He kissed them tenderly. He licked at them; short, sweet tentative licks. Then he'd licked around the front of Jack and erased even the hint of any pain by giving him the softest, gentlest, most loving kisses and licks and sucks Jack had ever experienced, until Jack felt like he'd lost all his bones and melted into a puddle on the mattress.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I should have thought… I didn't mean to hurt you." All hushed and breathless, after Jack had spilt into his mouth and Will had snuggled up beside him.

Jack had rolled Will onto his back and brought the lantern close, so Will could see the faint finger marks from where Jack had held his hips, even though he had to twist something awful to see the ones on his arse. He couldn't, of course, see that his arsehole itself was still a little swollen from all the activity. He must have felt it, though. Tender sweet hole. Jack kissed it reverently, and licked everywhere else Will could possibly be tender, and then licked where he was decidedly not tender, and in fact was quite rigid. And Will tasted as sweet as ever, or even sweeter, because of the way he was purring in contentment and making those little scritch scritch noises against the sheets with his fingers when he filled Jack's mouth with his seed.

Jack's eyes narrowed as Will's swayed above Mr. Bertram. Bertram was jammed between the mast and a barrel of shot. The way he leaned back to avoid Will's sword pushed his hips up almost obscenely. The way Will bent over him made it look as if…

Jack took a deep breath. They were only sparring. Bertram didn't even like boys. He'd been caught with that little strumpet, after all. But that didn't change the fact that Will's thigh was wedged between Bertram's legs and his chest was heaving and they were sweating on each other.

"A word, Mr. Bertram."

Jack didn't even know how he had managed to descend to deck level that fast.

Will unbent his frame and stepped back. He held out a hand to Bertram and hauled the other man up to his feet. "Excellent," he said to his opponent. "You just have to work on pulling your elbow back further, so your blow will hit me directly, rather than glancing off as it did then. I'll clean your weapon for you." And he took both swords with him below deck to polish the hilts and oil the blades.

Mr. Bertram shrugged. "He's too kind, y'know, Captain. If that was all I needed to work on, I wouldn't have been bent over with him on top o' me, like that."

Jack winced.

"You wanted something, sir?"

Jack looked at Bertram. He was a pleasant looking man. Handsome even. Even, rich dark skin and shiny black hair twisted into rows, almond-shaped brown eyes, strong straight nose and lips perpetually curled into a pleasant smile. Not entirely African, he might have had a bit of Indian in him. Younger than Jack. A bit taller. Possibly broader in the shoulders, but he didn't dress with quite as much style. Nice looking man, though.

Who didn't like boys, Jack had to remind himself.

"I, uh, don't know if it's really such a good idea to be sparring like that, on board. Practice is one thing, eh, but that was a little too…."

"Close? Sir?"

"I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. Fighting so close, savvy."

"So close to Will, you mean, sir."

Jack made a face. A wince combined with a frown combined with frustration and puzzlement and a bit of resentment that he'd been that transparent.

"I understand, sir, but rest assured. I don't like Will."

What?

"Not like that."

Jack couldn't understand why not. He was grateful for it, but the idea of Will bending over him like that, and Jack not liking it, like that, was absurd. How could the man not like Will, *like that*?

"He's a very nice man, mind you, and I'm sure he's very attractive, sir. But…"

But what? Whatever could be possibly wrong with Will?

"He's got the wrong goods, for me, sir."

Jack nodded. So, Jack was right. Young Bertram did not fancy boys at all.

"Good to know, Bertram. Wasn't what I wanted to speak to you about though." Because you don't get to be a pirate captain without excellent skills of recovery. "I would like you to stay on board with Shimura during shore leave. Keep an eye on the Pearl. Make sure none of these rapscallions comes back drunk and decides to take off with her. There'll be a bit something extra in it for you, Mr. Bertram."

"Aye, sir, I'd be honoured. She'll be in good hands, sir."

"I don't doubt it." Jack nodded and turned to go back to the helm.

"Captain Sparrow, sir?"

Jack spun back to face the man.

"I just wanted…" Bertram shifted from one foot to the other. He looked nervous, which made him look younger, and Jack wondered just how young Bertram had been when he signed on with the crew. "I just wanted to thank you, sir. I had nowhere else to go, and I didn't have all that many skills, and you let me on your crew. I never had a family before, sir, and I'm not saying we're a family on board, but it is the closest thing I've had. That may make me a bad pirate…"

Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Not at all, lad. That's why I trust you. You aren't in this only for the swag. You're in this for a place to belong. Can I tell you a little secret, Mr. Bertram?"

He nodded.

"I got into the pirate business for the swag, but I found far more than that."

Mr. Bertram smiled. No one had ever called him "Mr." until he signed on with Captain Jack Sparrow. No one had ever treated him like a regular member of a crew before. He'd be happy to serve under his captain for as long as he was welcome.

Later that evening, as he watched the boats row to shore, he stood at the helm beside Shimura.

"Fine man, Captain Sparrow is," he murmured.

Shimura nodded. "No one ever treated me decently ‘til I came aboard the Pearl," he agreed.

* * *

Jack sat in the fading light of dusk, unable to see the expression on Will's face as he and Mr. Gibbs rowed them to shore. Will hadn't talked to him since the incident with Bertram, but he didn't seem angry, more distant. Jack hoped he hadn't insulted him.

Will hopped out of the boat and tied it off on the piling. He held out his hand to haul Jack up onto the dock. They stood face-to-face, hands still joined. Will looked stunning, with his hair untied now, his shirt neatly tucked in again, his sun-bronzed skin showing stark against the white of the linen under the open neck, enough of the eyebrow crease to make Jack's heart thump but not enough to throw him completely off balance.

"Jack, do you not trust me?"

Jack just stared, unable to answer.

"You can trust me, you know."

Jack nodded.

"Besides, Mr. Bertram doesn't even like men."

Jack might have said that Will didn't even like girls but that didn't stop him from fucking Charlotte. Twice. But Jack was far too savvy to bring up that topic. He just smiled and led Will off the dock and up through the winding streets of Tortuga.

Ah, Tortuga had not changed at all since Jack's last visit. The brawling drunks, the outrageous strumpets, the fierce freedom. He'd missed the place, and couldn't wait to sample the entertainments. They'd run out of decent rum a while ago. The other entertainments he wasn't interested in, now that he had Will.

The crew went off in different directions with the agreement that they would meet at the boats in the morning, and he pulled Will along with him down a disreputable looking street.

"I really hoped you'd let me stay on board, Jack. I'm not really interested in this place."

A colourful strumpet done up in reds and greens slunk to Will's side. "Haven't seen you here before," she purred in his ear and pressed her body against him audaciously.

Jack extended one hand and pushed her off. "And that's all you'll be seeing of him, savvy?"

She looked Jack up and down, then flashed a knowing smile. "Suit yourself, mate. Just let me know if you want a little fun later on. I'm not opposed to two at once." She winked.

Will was shocked. Then he rebuked himself. This was Tortuga. He should be shocked by nothing.

The harlot seemed to understand precisely what was going on between him and Jack. He wondered if everyone in this place would be so blasé about two men together. He and Jack hadn't spent much time in public since this whole thing started. He didn't really consider the Isla de Muerte or the ship public. Everyone there knew and accepted them as they were. He guessed that pirates, in general wouldn't have a problem with it. He shuddered when he thought of how Elizabeth would react. He didn't think he would ever see her again, but surely word had gotten around when Norrington returned.

All he'd heard about Norrington was what Jacob reported. His nearly-naked return to port with a ship full of unarmed and similarly half-clad sailors had not been taken well by the authorities. His stature as son-in-law of the governor had saved him from a court martial, but he had been stripped of his rank. Demoted back to captain. Elizabeth would not have appreciated that.

Now that he thought back on it, Elizabeth already knew about Will's feelings for Jack, or at least his desire for Jack. She'd made a big, public show about preferring a man with a real future, and never mentioned the incident in the garden again. He wondered if she'd ever told Norrington.

But Norrington knew. He had to, after Jack dove off the Pearl to Will's rescue and that incident in the brig. He might have told Elizabeth that he'd seen Will, that Will was with Jack, and that Jack was most decidedly with Will.

"Will, luv, where are you?"

Will focused his eyes and saw Jack standing in front of him.

"Million leagues away, eh?"

Will shrugged. "Jack, I don't really want to drink a lot tonight."

Jack grinned. "Just ale, luv. I'll have me rum later. Have a pint and relax, eh." He guided Will to the entrance to a tavern. "Look around you, Will. This is the closest you'll ever get to freedom on shore."

Will looked around at the brawling pirates, the swooning harlots, the listing drunks.

What was the point of freedom if this was how it was to be spent?

---

Chapter 74 - Two Pirates Walk Into A Bar

The first man was a touch taller than the second, a touch broader in the shoulder, a touch finer in features. Pretty, one would call him. If one cared to contend with the sword that hung from his belt, brushing against a taut thigh. Lustrous waves of sun-tinged brown fell to his shoulders, and a light dusting of darkish hair decorated his upper lip and chin. His pink tongue ran over full lips, moistening them in a gesture of apprehension. His brown eyes darted around the room nervously, the only other thing belying his carefully composed demeanour. That and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes.

The second man was older, darker, more flamboyant in dress and manner, not quite so pretty but with a distinct handsomeness and undeniable charisma. His black hair was pulled off his face, tied in a scarf, revealing skin darkened by years of sailing under the unforgiving sun to the colour of a creamy caramel one might drizzle over baked apples. Pirate to the core, his walk was more of a swagger, and the clatter of his sword clashing with his pistol could be heard when one heavy boot fell to the floorboards, raising a puff of years old dust.

Layers of shirt and sash and vest and scarf and belt and the like swathed him in colour and texture. The only smoothness about him was a triangle of hairless tanned chest. The kohl smeared around his eyes gave him a sinister look that did not go unnoticed.

He took in the lay of the tavern instantly, dark eyes flitting from one disreputable patron to the next, then hovering on one corner where a dangerous looking pirate sat with his back against the wall.

The pirate in the corner did not see him at first. His eyes were trained on more immediate concerns. The man sitting opposite him, whose back was against a wide post, obscuring his view of the door, took a drink of his ale. Then the pirate glanced up to see the men in the doorway.

The first, younger pirate at the door let his hand drift up to the hilt of his sword. There was entirely too much attention being paid to him and his companion. He'd been assured that here, in Tortuga, no one would pay them the slightest heed. This was a port where pirates were common, where an infamous pirate such as his captain might find respite from constant challenge and notoriety, and where a relationship such as that between said captain and himself would be treated as a common occurrence. Was there nowhere they would be able to relax?

Everyone in the tavern had noticed the new arrivals by this time. A few rough looking characters collected their drinks and headed to tables further away from the door. The harlots immediately began jostling for the first go at the pretty one, or at both of them together. The surly, slightly drunk man in the corner responded with a simple narrowing of his eyes.

That was the one the second pirate concentrated on. It was his habit, for which he owed his survival, to pay attention to the biggest threat in the room first. Once that was dealt with, lesser threats would gladly step aside. Tried and true technique, and one he believed in with all his soul.

He reassured his young friend with a gentle touch to the elbow. The boy wasn't used to places like this. Yet. He needed to know that his back was covered, that nothing untoward would happen to him. He needed to know he was not alone. Not that the older man would ever leave the younger one alone.

"Don't say anything, savvy?" he said in a low voice.

The other man nodded apprehensively. He'd spotted the pirate in the corner as well, and was all too conscious of that shrewd narrowing of the eyes, and the subtle way the man's hand crept down to his boot, checking that some weapon was in place and ready for use at a moment's notice. The way he kept his dark eyes trained on the doorway.

The two most dangerous men in the room had singled each other out.

The pirate in the corner shifted, and his companion frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Don't turn around. Don't make any fast moves."

"Nothing? Oh, really?"

"Well, nothing you need concern yourself with, luv. Just an old friend. Funny how old friends turn up in the least expected places, eh?" He straightened his back, sat a little taller in his chair.

The two newcomers approached the corner warily. The older pirate wasn't sure what kind of a reaction to expect. He might be welcomed as a long-lost brother in arms. He might be shot in the forehead if he took one step more. Reality would likely fall somewhere in between. But this meeting was a long time coming, and he would not be the one to delay it any further.

He stopped a few feet short of the table.

The pirate in the corner held up his hand to his companion, who looked as if he was readying himself to spring up in defence. Long, work-hardened fingers clasped the hilt of an elaborate sword, far too elaborate to be the possession of an ordinary pirate. His boots were too well made for a pirate as well. His features, or what could be seen of them from the side, not nearly sunbaked enough. A fine catch for his old friend, if he was reading the situation correctly, but not much of a pirate.

His hand drifted back to stay his young companion from straying any closer to the scene of what could be a bloody confrontation. He was relieved the lad halted, still anxious and eager for a fight, but not stupid enough to jump into it blind. They would wait and see what the other pirate had in mind.

The man in the corner rose with a clink of beads and weaponry.

"Nagaraj," he growled.

The dark pirate smiled, glinting a gold tooth in the uneven light of the tavern. "Jack," he replied, quiet and controlled.

"I heard you'd given up travel. Something about a stint in the prison of a Caliph. I'd heard you were quite busy rotting in hell, actually. I'm disappointed to see you looking so well, mate." Captain Jack Sparrow was practically snarling by the end of this speech. He had one hand on his pistol, the other on his sword.

Nagaraj broadened his smile. "Sorry to disappoint you, Jack. Seems we both escaped from hells of our own making. Heard all about that little island Barbossa made you governor of." His hand tightened on his sword, and he could feel the lad behind him getting ready to attack. It was reassuring. If Jack did pounce, Nagaraj would need all the help he could get.

"Barbossa's dead," Jack said in as menacing a way as was possible.

"Heard that too," Nagaraj replied smoothly. "Heard you killed him, as well."

Jack nodded tersely.

"Pleased I was to hear it, too. Could never stand that man."

"Didn't know you knew him."

"Only after he cast you away. Unsightly man, terrible teeth."

Jack smiled for the first time. "Yes, well, being cursed by the heathen gods'll do that to you, eh?"

The youth behind Nagaraj relaxed. Violence might not be imminent. But he did not let his guard down immediately. One never knew what would happen next around his captain.

Nagaraj noticed that Jack's companion had not moved at all. He was probably waiting for the signal from his captain. Good lad. Good pirate. Perhaps he wasn't such a landlubber after all.

"I've never had any hard feelings for you, Jack. Surely we can leave the past in the past and be friends."

Jack looked at his companion, then back at Nagaraj. "I think not, mate. But we can be two ships, like, passing in the night as it were. You leave and I'll not follow, savvy?"

"Think again, mate. You know I can't be leaving a tavern at your behest. Especially not in Tortuga. Every pirate worth his salt would hear of it. Now, I've been out of these waters a while, and I'm looking to re-establish a reputation. Can't have a whelp like you showing me down now, can I?"

"You calling me out?"

"No, mate, live and let live. My sword can't beat you, I know that better than anyone. I trained you myself. You're the finest. Except," he said meaningfully with a slight wave toward the young man standing behind his left shoulder, "that man there. I trained him too, you see. Fast, Jack, and deadly accurate he is. Young too. I doubt you could keep up with him for long. Savvy?"

Will Turner would not take this sort of threat sitting down. He stood suddenly, almost overturning the table, ready to draw his sword. He wheeled around to face the challenger.

He instantly recognized the fugitive from so many years ago.

Nagaraj felt his mouth drop open in surprise.

There he was. The youth from Port Royal. God, he'd grown up since those few nights so long ago. Innocent, he'd been. So innocent that Nagaraj hadn't considered taking him into his bed. It didn't even occur to the lad what Nagaraj wanted to do to him. He was so painfully chaste and unsullied, even Nagaraj would have felt a cad to force himself on that lithe, tender body. Virginal.

A poor blacksmith's apprentice. He'd offered his guest the best mattress and slept on the straw one. He'd given up half his food to feed a poor man with no money or prospects. He'd been thrilled to learn a little from Nagaraj about the art of sword making. And when Nagaraj stole away in the night, having stayed a night longer than he should have, when he knew the soldiers were catching up to him, he knew the boy wouldn't say a word about him. Honourable, the lad was.

So young he'd been then. Slighter than now. Prettier. He'd grown into his prettiness nicely. His jaw was stronger, chiselled even. His cheeks, which were delicate before, looked less fragile, and possessed an exquisite curve to them. His eyes, oh God, Jehovah and Allah be praised, those rich chocolate pools had a steel to them now that made the soft colour jump out at him.

He remembered, after he'd fled from Port Royal, he'd gone inland for a while to avoid the authorities. There he'd run into a welcoming tribe who'd introduced him to the wonder of drinking chocolate. The first time he looked down into a wide shell of steaming, rich cocoa drink he'd thought of those eyes. Exquisite.

Virginal. Honourable. Exquisite.

Which begged the question. What the devil was the lad doing with Jack Sparrow, of all people?

Will's eyes widened in confusion, narrowed in suspicion, and bracketed the deepest, most perturbed eyebrow crease Jack had ever witnessed. But Jack could only spare a second to glance at it. He had to keep his eyes on the treacherous Nagaraj, who he thought he'd never see again.

Nagaraj spared a glance at Jack. He'd grown up as well. He took in the kohl, more carefully applied than he'd ever seen it before. The black hair, the hair that used to be so soft and sinuous, was twisted and braided and beset with baubles and trinkets. The two, neat braids in the beard suited him so well. He wasn't as pretty as he used to be. He was stunning, though. Stunning in his own way. Far more dangerous than the last time Nagaraj had seen him.

Drunken haze. Recriminations and threats. A real lovers' quarrel. But there was no kiss and make up. No tearful reunion. Jack had stormed off the ship in the deep of the night, somewhere along the coast of Patagonia. Nagaraj had counted on running into Jack at some point in time, but this was unexpected, to see him with this lad. Will, he'd said his name was. Will Turner.

He must have been the son of Bootstrap Bill. That would explain it. Nagaraj had never met Bootstrap Bill Turner, but he'd heard the tales of the Black Pearl. About the curse. About Jack. About Jack and Bootstrap.

He turned his attention back to Will, who by this time had his sword half drawn. What a sight. What he wouldn't give to go back in time to those nights when he hid in the smithy. If he'd known that the lad would go and get himself defiled by the likes of Jack Sparrow, he wouldn't have been so reticent. He'd settle for a night now. Preferably tonight.

The scrape of steel being pulled out of the scabbard drew his attention to the boy behind him. Charles. How could he have forgotten. He grimaced. Charles was, and always would be he realized with regret, a poor substitute. He'd been looking for the same boy, the same exquisite boy, all this time. Charles was bright, he was fast and skilled, he was beautiful – no one could deny any of that. But now that Will was standing in front of him, the other lad paled in comparison.

There was a degree of honour at stake. Honour among thieves. Honour among pirates. Jack had left him unfairly. Chafing at his apprenticeship. Unwilling to submit fully to Nagaraj's will, as was demanded of him. No one had ever left before. Nagaraj always chose when the apprenticeship was over. When the apprentice was sufficiently broken. Jack, as pathetic as he'd been when he was brought on board, refused to be broken. Snake, he'd called him. Devious, vile snake. He owed Nagaraj.

Will stepped forward, placing his body slightly in front of Jack's, directly opposite Nagaraj's. "I doubt either of you could keep up with me," he stated plainly, pulling his sword out the rest of the way. "And you'll be leaving this tavern before the night is through." Will stared at Nagaraj and then at Charles.

Jack was perturbed. Will was coming to his rescue. That couldn't be right. Jack was both angered and terrified by the sudden appearance of Nagaraj. He wasn't sure how he would actually be able to handle himself in a battle with his old captain. It was impossible that Will could understand all this.

But he did understand all too well. Nagaraj could practically sense the hairs standing up on Will's neck. Will's lovely mouth curled into a sneer. "Savvy?"

---

Chapter 75 - A Duel for Honour

Charles and Will stood facing each other with swords crossed. There was just the hint of steel scratching on steel between them.

Nagaraj beamed. This was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. His prize, the result of years of training and moulding, up against the real thing. Will was magnificent, and Charles would fight him to the death to prove his worth. How fitting. How exciting.

Jack gritted his teeth. This was not at all what he'd had in mind when he'd suggested shore leave. No battles, no duels were looked for. He'd wanted to come ashore, have a meal, have some rum, show every other pirate in the place that he had Will and they didn't. And while he was at it, show every harlot in the place that he had Will as well. Let them stew. It was a simple wish.

But Nagaraj had to show up and try to make his lad look better than Will, so now the duel had begun. There was no going back.

He wished he'd run into Nagaraj on his own. It would be much better to have this out with his old captain, just the two of them. He'd like the chance to avenge himself, to pay back Nagaraj for all he'd done to the young Jack Sparrow.

For stealing the honour of the young Jack Sparrow.

Jack had trouble thinking of the young man so many years ago as himself. He'd separated the two of them long ago. There were three of them, actually. There was Jonathon, the son of a violent and spiteful nobleman. He was so long gone Jack could barely remember him. Young, sheltered, artistic, romantic even. Living a life of careful luxury, as long as he avoided his father. He would spend hours painting a picture, or writing a sonnet, or lingering in the fields and admiring all the beauty around him. So foolish.

And there was Captain Jack Sparrow, rogue and rapscallion, notorious pirate, brutal when he had to be, but a good man at heart. A man of many desires who had finally found the one person who seemed to be able to satisfy most of them. Hedonist, true. But a hedonist with exquisite taste, as was evidenced by that one person.

In between, in the time and space between, was young Jack. He was desperate for a place to belong. He was desperate for approval. He needed to shed his early upbringing and learn the harsh realities of the larger world. He made his way to Paris, and joined a crew leaving for the East. It was a torturous voyage, but he survived it and landed in Singapore, only to find himself adrift once more.

He'd had no desire to follow the lead of several of the other young men, the ones who attached themselves to an older pirate for protection. He would see them go to their masters in the night, and creep back to their beds ashamed in the morning. Or at least he assumed they would be ashamed. He didn't want to have anyone take care of him. He fought his own battles, and not a day went by that he wasn't challenged over one bloody thing or another. But he worked hard and made it to port. However, his final refusal to the captain left him penniless on the dock of a frightening city.

There it was than Captain Nagaraj had found him, penniless and homeless and alone and not speaking a word of the language. He offered him a place on his crew. He didn't seem to want anything more than another pirate. So Jack took the offer and began a four year apprenticeship that came to involve more than just sailing and fighting and pirating.

Sword training. He got better at that fast. Navigation. Rigging and ropes and all the everyday things a pirate has to do. But it didn't stop there. Two weeks out, the captain offered him a different kind of apprenticeship. And Jack knew he didn't have the right to refuse.

"Pretty boy," Nagaraj cooed, bringing him back to the present. He gestured at Will, who was still standing firmly between Nagaraj and Jack. "I wonder, is he that fiery between the sheets?"

Will's eyes flashed anger and something else at the dark pirate.

"Ignore him, Will. He's a crude man who says crude things to put you off your guard." Jack couldn't unsheathe his sword without risking all-out war, but he was calculating the angles, looking for a way to disarm the poised lad in front of him.

Charles recognized his resemblance to Will immediately. It was startling, and he didn't like the way his master was looking at the other man. This was the boy Nagaraj always mentioned, when he was off guard, when he was drunk, when he was maudlin. "I could have had him," he would slur, and sometimes slap Charles, for what Charles couldn't tell but he assumed it was for not being the other lad. It would make Charles try harder, train harder, prove himself to be better than any hazy memory that Nagaraj would only admit to when there was sufficient rum in his system.

So here he was - Charles's phantom rival - the man whose image he'd been trying to live up to and surpass for years. He didn't look so special. Not to Charles. He wasn't nearly as pretty as Charles. His skin wasn't as smooth, his hair was a mess, his jaw was far too square. His scruffy beard was unkempt, not neatly trimmed like his own. His eyes were wild, where Charles expended a good deal of energy hiding his emotions, the way Nagaraj demanded of him.

Yet this man had his master's full attention. Nagaraj was drinking him in, like fresh water after a week in a lifeboat. It was indecent, when Charles was standing right there. He had given everything to his master but it would never be enough, not while this other man still stood. Charles felt anger boiling up inside him. All he had to do was strike hard, strike down this illusion of what his master wanted, to show Nagaraj that it was Charles who was everything he wanted.

Will could feel the oily gaze of Nagaraj flowing over his body. It made him want to recoil, but he held his ground.

After meeting Jack, after discovering how he felt about Jack, Will had thought back to the time when he was still young and innocent, and the dark, dour man had appeared begging for shelter. At the time, he wasn't capable of understanding that the man could have wanted anything else. He gave food and a place to sleep and companionship.

After learning what he had from Jack, he knew that the man had wanted Will in his bed. He knew what it meant when the man's hand had lingered on his a little too long, when he pressed himself up against Will's thigh when teaching him how to fold the steel.

And now that he was here, in front of that same man, Will was repulsed. This was not about someone who loved him. This was about someone who wanted to use him.

The younger man in front of him was so much like Will it was like looking in a mirror. He was better dressed and groomed than Will, and he had a prettiness Will did not possess, but Will could see it. It was like looking at an idealized version of himself. An idealized version of himself that hated him. For the hate glowed in the other man's eyes.

Will couldn't think of any reason for hatred. There was obviously some bad history between Jack and the dark pirate, but Will had done nothing to provoke hatred, other than defend Jack from an unfair attack. The slow slide of steel brought his attention to focus on the blade in front of him. If this man really was trained by the same man who trained Jack, he would have to be on his guard.

He saw Charles's eyes flick over to Nagaraj. For approval? To see if Nagaraj was watching him? He was trying to impress his captain. Then it all fell into place for Will. The young man saw Will as a rival. That would make him doubly dangerous. He was fighting for more than his honour.

He was fighting for a permanent place in his captain's heart.

Will forced his emotion to fall away. He had to concentrate.

Nagaraj took advantage of Will's confusion to slip past him, beside Jack. "You see the resemblance?" Nagaraj hissed in his ear. The man had the most unnerving habit of slinking up behind you when you weren't expecting it, like the snake he was named for. "It was after I left the employ of the Caliph. I made my way across oceans, but it seems the Caliph made some sort of a deal with the British over a trade route, and I was on a wanted list. Your young man put me up for a few nights. Awfully, accommodating, he was."

Jack bristled. This was not an insinuation he could take lightly.

There was no change in Will's suddenly stoic expression. Not even a flinch.

"Don't listen to him, Jack. Crude man, remember? I gave him a place to sleep, nothing more."

"‘Methinks he doth protest too much…'" Nagaraj quoted.

Jack huffed. "You're off the map, mate." There was no way anything had ever happened between this snake and his Will. Not in a million years. He shifted to the left, to get Nagaraj in his line of vision. He only had Charles in his peripheral sight now, but he felt he had more control over the situation.

"True, he was never as accommodating as you…" Nagaraj smiled a wicked smile and reached to touch Jack's hair.

Will saw Jack flinch. He'd never seen Jack flinch at anything. Something crept over Jack's face. Shame. Ignominy. Will was shocked.

Nagaraj smiled. "He was pretty, you know." He addressed this to Will, in a slippery voice. "He was eager to please. Such an accommodating boy." His fingers wrapped around a hank of black hair. "This looks so different. He had the loveliest, silkiest black hair. I used to run my fingers through it for hours. It was so wonderful to hold onto, wasn't it, Jack?" His fingers tightened and pulled. He yanked Jack's hair back, pulling his head with it, baring his throat. Hot breath poured over Jack's cheek. "I would grab it and he would do whatever I told him to do."

Jack didn't resist, and Will wondered why. He couldn't help, because he had to keep his eye on Charles, who was widening his stance slightly and getting ready to thrust.

Jack didn't want to do anything to distract Will from his opponent. And he knew that, sooner or later, Nagaraj would be off balance and Jack would be able to drop him to the floor. That was Nagaraj's weakness. He played games very well, fought well with a sword, could judge a room and the people in it at a moments notice, but he always left some part of his body open to attack. As if he was so intent on being clever or manipulative, he didn't have enough time or energy left to pay attention to what all of his body was doing.

"I've missed you, Jack. I wonder if you'd be so kind as to give me a bit of what you used to give me?"

Jack swallowed, but didn't move, let Nagaraj bend his head back a little more. He was trying to goad Jack into making a mistake. It wouldn't happen.

"Or perhaps your lad there will be so kind as to oblige…"

Jack winced. Will wouldn't ignore that one.

There was a clash as Will's sword came down on his opponent's. "Never," he cried as he attacked with the kind of efficiency that usually led to a fatality.

But Charles was well trained and narrowly avoided the blow.

Nagaraj's laugh was the signal to Jack that his old captain was off guard. He slid his left foot back and caught it around Nagaraj's right heel. The older captain crashed to his knees. Jack had to pay attention to what was going on at his foot, although he remained constantly aware of the clash of steel. Will and Charles were wasting no time with fancy footwork. The blows came with deadly speed and fury.

Nagaraj twisted and leapt to his feet, in time to meet Jack's fist with his jaw. He grimaced and fell back. "What's wrong, Jack? Don't feel like sharing your toy?"

Jack lashed out, catching the man's chin with his left fist. A ring ripped at the skin there. "He's no toy," he growled.

Nagaraj managed a laugh. "Oh, I see how it is. Funny, I never taught you that." He slipped to the right. "You must have gotten soft. You know you were never more than a toy." He ducked from another strike and managed to land a crushing blow to Jack's exposed ribs. ‘But you, dear Jack, you were a toy who wouldn't cooperate."

Jack's vision blurred. The memory of that last night always haunted him.

For a long time, he hated himself for submitting, hated that way he let his captain have his way with him. He learned to take pleasure from the actual acts, but it wasn't meant for enjoyment, it was just a way for the captain to prove he was in charge. He did it because it was the payment for his training. And he had nowhere else to go.

He'd made a deal with a devil.

Jack often thought longingly of the boys on the other ship, the ones who were chosen and taken care of by their older men. He thought it would be degrading, at the time, but he grew to understand that it was perfectly natural. He also saw that there was genuine affection between the older men and their younger men. He further saw that what Nagaraj demanded of him was a perversion of that act.

He hadn't thought of Nagaraj in years. Was that what Will saw in Jack, at the beginning? A lecherous, greedy, filthy pirate who would force himself on a mere boy, take whatever he wanted and not care about the cost? He hoped not. He hoped Will understood that he would never, ever do anything to hurt him.

Jack came back to his senses as Nagaraj twisted him into a headlock of some sort, and turned him so he could see Will and Charles fighting before him. Nagaraj had trained the boy well, he was countering every move, wearing Will down.

"I could have your toy as well as mine," Nagaraj threatened and squeezed hard.

Jack's mind filled with the vision of a much younger Nagaraj, laughing and drinking. He called Jack into his cabin. Jack wasn't expecting anyone else to be there. A naval officer. There was a menacing look in Nagaraj's eye when he informed Jack it was his duty to contribute to the ship's well-being. The officer had certain demands, certain requirements he needed fulfilled before he could ignore the presence of a pirate ship in his waters.

"But not you. I don't want you." Nagaraj punctuated this with a punch to Jack's stomach. "Nobody wants a toy that won't cooperate!"

Jack thrust his elbow up and back into Nagaraj's ribs. They separated for a moment, then flew back against each other in a struggle. Jack wanted to make sure they stayed so close together, Nagaraj could not draw wither sword or pistol. They grappled for dominance, and Jack glanced over at the other two men.

Will was fighting hard, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his forehead. He had one foot forward, was leaning on it, which made his thigh go all hard. He bent at the knee, and the shift of his ankle in the boot was mesmerizing.

Those boots again. He knew they would be a distraction. He thought of warm leather hooked around his waist, and long lean thighs rising from the warm boots. The sight of Will, leaning back against the table so casually, in nothing but the boots. Stroking his cock as if he'd always done that sort of thing. Smiling. Welcoming. Because Jack had never forced Will. Jack had never treated Will poorly. Jack loved Will.

Will shouted something and thrust a little too far, almost losing his footing.

Jack cursed and swung his knee up into Nagaraj's gut. First, he would dispatch this snake. Then he was going to see about buying Will a new pair of boots, because, frankly, it was far too intimate to have him walking around in public like that. He butted his head against Nagaraj's skull. It was simply as improper as Will walking around naked. He punched hard against a soft belly. And he wouldn't let anyone see Will naked, that was for certain. That was his pleasure alone.

Will and Charles both turned to see Nagaraj fall to his knees.

Jack looked up in time to see a sword fly up into the air.

Then a slim blade was pulled from a boot, and sped through the air in a streak of silver.

*****

previous | Chapter Index | next

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Haleth