Title: Alchemy; or, Solamente Alegría
Author: Tessabeth (email@example.com)
Summary: Jack and Will visit the jungle searching for gold.
Note: Many many thanks to Pir8fancier, whose frightening clarity, tactful honesty and enlivening encouragement all conspired to make this a lot better than it was when she first got it.
Written for: The Mad Fangirl. Requests: 1. Tandem fighting, in the style of the end of the movie; 2. Monkeys! At least 100 monkeys of any type or types; feel free to go higher. Restrictions: 1. Major Character Death (feel free to kill off an Ensign Expendable); 2. Non-con.
Inigo Alejandro de Halcones has been waiting to die for two days now, but is finding it a dreadfully slow process despite the fact that, for growing portions of each subsequent day and night, he is insensible to all around him. When he shudders feverishly to consciousness, he sees only the inside of his slowly collapsing shelter, with its growing collection of resident insects, and the slowly spreading mould, which overtakes everything in this godforsaken place. He hears only the repetitious, painfully loud cries of jungle birds, and the incessant crash of the breakers on the beach. He smells only the vile stench of his own, living flesh putrefying. The pain in his leg, once so extreme, is dulling as his nerves die. He is burning hot still, tongue swollen with thirst, heart thumping dully, insistently pumping his poisoned blood round and round his shaking, dying body.
He can make little sound, but Inigos lips form the words anyway. Madre de Dios, ayúde me, salva me.
When his eyes open again, she appears to have listened to him, which, despite his lifelong devotion, takes Inigo rather by surprise. He raises a shaky hand to his chest, crossing himself feebly. He can hear voices. Theyre back! Theyre back!
"¡Aqui!" he groans, putting all he has into that hoarse call. "¡Estoy aqui!"
A shadow appears on the wall of the tent, but the voice he hears does not speak his lovely mother-tongue, instead saying something in guttural inglés. More footsteps, and then a grizzled face, which wrinkles up its nose, and says something, the only word of which Inigo recognises is Jesus. But the expression needs no translation. Inigo knows that he is a disgusting, dying wretch. Perhaps they will be kindly, and put him quickly to the sword.
But they do not. A second man enters, a very odd man, whose long tangled hair, outlandish clothes, and dark-rimmed eyes mark him clearly as a pirate. He ignores the smell, bends, enters the tent, and crouches down by Inigo, taking out a waterbottle and bringing it to the Spaniards ravaged lips. Inigo wants to gulp greedily, but the pirate will not let him, saying, no, no, and then burbling on in English. Inigo can only stare. The man wets the corner of his coat, and lays it on Inigos brow. So cool. Inigo feels tears forming at the corner of his eyes at this unexpected kindness from an enemy stranger.
"¿Cómo cómo se lláma usted?" says the man, in halting Spanish.
Inigo doesnt want to waste words on such causerie. He says nothing.
"¿Está usted solamente?" Inigo nods.
"Oro tiene usted oro?" A greedy light has come into his saviours eyes. Inigo doesnt know whether to laugh or cry. Since hes already crying, its the easier option. He shakes his head, minutely. The mans lips twist with faint disappointment. "What in the devils name are you doing out here, then," he mutters, more to himself than to Inigo.
The Doctor, thinks Inigo. He has not seen him for weeks, but the Doctor may still live. This man could save him. "El Doctor," he mutters, his fat tongue making the words almost incomprehensible, even to himself. The man stares at him, frowns, says, "¿Que?"
"El Doctor," grinds out Inigo. " tomó su tesoro. En la selva. A su cueva los otros lo buscan "
"¿Dondé?" asks the pirate, his interest trebled at the word tesoro. Inigo shakes his head, mutters, "El río." He doesnt really know, but his best guess is that the Doctors haunt was not far from the only fresh water source theyd found. He was a good man, and doesnt deserve to die in this place. A pirate will hunt endlessly for treasure, he knows this much. And this man does not seem murderous. Perhaps he could save Inigos friend.
"Espera," says the man, and backs out of the tent. Inigo closes his eyes, can hear him talking with his companions. The words mean little to him.
" dont look like theyve got what we hoped they might, but seems one of em took off into the jungle with something. And hes a learned man. Might be worth a look, eh?"
"What dyou mean, something?" says the grizzled voice.
"Treasure, he said."
"We havent time for this, Jack, I need to get home," says a new voice, a young, deep, impatient voice.
"Hold your horses, we have to get this poor bastard aboard first, which means Gibbsyll have to get back to the Pearl and bring her round to this bay Ana, you and Pike can stay here tonight with Señor Whosit and try to keep him alive. If you can manage that, well get him aboard tomorrow morning and get that leg off, and by then, Mr Turner, you and Ill be back from our treasure hunt, so no time lost, dont panic."
Theres grumbling, and some arguing, but Inigo listens no more, sinking gratefully back into forgiving blackness.
Jack Sparrow stamps and slashes and curses his way through the dense, stinking, and unforgiving jungle. What excuse there had been for a path disappeared long since, and now hes hacking his way through virgin forest, vines grabbing at his face, wet and fecund earth sucking at his feet, ears assaulted by a constant whining buzz of insects that hed rather not see.
Jack is not in his element on any kind of land. But this this land is his worst nightmare. Its hard not to hyperventilate down here in the dim wet, far beneath the forest canopy; he feels stifled, suffocated, buried by the clinging, living earth. He longs for the clean, simple harshness of the ocean.
Tesoro, he tells himself. Tesoro, tesoro.
"What exactly are we looking for, Jack?" comes a disgruntled demand from behind him.
"A cave," says Jack. "By a river. Jesus fucking - !" (This last as a snaking tree root catches him unawares, pitching him forwards. He clambers up, swearing.)
"Thats not what I meant," continues the boy, ignoring the walking chaos in front of him. "I meant, why are we bothering with this, what do we think were going to find there?"
"I dont know," says Jack, "which is why its interesting me enough to make me trek through this godforsaken horror of overgrown weeds."
"Do you think itll be gold?"
"Not really. If this was a load of gold from Tegucigalpa, why would they have camped here long enough to be wandering around looking for caves, why would there be a Doctor with them, and what would he be doing dragging gold up to a cave? And wheres their ship, eh?"
Behind him, Will sighs. If theres one thing hes learnt in the past weeks, its that Jack is incapable of walking past something that intrigues him. He knows theyll be looking for this damned cave until they find it, no matter how long that takes. Unless something more interesting occurs.
"But what use will it be to you?" he says, trying gamely to plant seeds of futility in Jacks insane optimism.
"Use? Use? I dont know, William," snaps Jack, uncharacteristically, "but I must say that compared to the rest of this voyage its got to be worth something to me."
Wills silent. He knows that Jack has done him some very large favours over the past weeks, but Jack has never before shown that he in any way resents that. In fact hes been utterly encouraging, and giving, and helpful in every way. When Will first wrote to him with his plan, he was unsure of the likely response, but a scant week later, there was a knock on his window late at night, and there was Jack, ready to go.
"Its been worth a lot to me," says Will, "and you know I thank you for it, Jack." For back on the Pearl is more money than Will has ever possessed in his life, the proceeds of the sale of many of Wills finest pieces of work sold to men that only Jack could have introduced him to, and protected him from. Sold to the buccaneers and pirates that sail out of Roatán Island; men who have sailed with Coxen, Sharp, even Morgan. Men who would have slit his throat and taken his wares without a second thought, if he hadnt had the protection of Jack and his company behind him.
And now, Will can stand beside Elizabeth in the church, and know that he can give her all that she deserves. He could not bear to be her penniless charity case. Hasnt yet made an honest woman of her for that reason, though he has never told her that, and her impatience grows almost daily.
So he owes everything to Jack but at the same time, he cant wait to get home, and get away from him.
Away from clever, funny, rapid Jack, with his quicksilver grin and his wicked eyes that look down so deep into you. Lively Jack, with his plans and ideas and imagination, his expected excesses, and his unexpected subtleties. Strange and lovely Jack, who walks as though the sea herself runs through his veins, and once reached out and touched Wills arm with warm and trembling fingers, thinking him asleep. Unique and astonishing Jack, who sometimes makes Will think things that he doesnt expect to think, and doesnt want to think, for they cant lead to anything good
Mother of God, its hot in this place. Will pushes sweat-tipped strands of hair from his face, wiping away his unsettling thoughts, and plucks at his drenched shirt. "Wait, Jack," he says, and stops, and pulls it off, unable to bear its clammy touch for another moment.
Jack turns, and an odd tumult of expression crosses his face, till he says, roughly, "Dont do that, put it back on."
Will flushes, annoyed, thinking of all the times on board when shirtless Jack has swayed and lolled around his darling ship, inviting the sun to admire him till his body looks like living mahogany. "Why?" he demands.
"Youre in the jungle, darling," says Jack, gesticulating above their heads. "There are things up there thatll fall on you as soon as see you. And dont even get me started on the bot flies."
"Bot flies. Put it back on, I said, and thats an order, Mr Turner! Disgusting things. Lay their eggs on other creatures, which bite you, and the eggs go under your skin, and turn into horrid wriggling maggoty things, and you get this big, pustulous, swelling "
"Alright, alright, enough!" cries Will, struggling back into his damp clothing. Jack watches till hes clothed again, then turns and continues his trudge. Hoping that the boy did not manage to interpret what hes sure flickered across his face before he took it in hand.
Damnation! He has to get the boy home, soon, before he does something they will both regret. Mustnt call him a boy anymore, either. The body under that shirt is a mans body, and the heart that beats inside it is wiser now, a mans heart. Jack wishes that he hadnt put himself in this position, but who else was he to take into the jungle with him? Gibbs was the only one hed trust with the Pearl, Ana the only one fit to take care of the Spaniard, and he wouldnt want to spend two hours, let alone two days, alone with goddamn Pike.
Justify it all you like, Jack, says a small voice inside him. You know you wanted him with you. You know what you want.
"No I dont!" shouts Jack suddenly, to Wills confusion.
"Dont what, Jack?" he asks. But the pirate stamps ahead as though he hasnt made a sound.
Silence settles between the two, and they walk on, slashing and fighting their way through the undergrowth, until suddenly the dull hum of the forests inhabitants is broken by a terrible screaming roar.
Will cries out in alarm, and his sword is instantly drawn, as he stares around wildly for the source of that inhuman sound. But Jack swings round to him, delighted.
"Howlers!" he says. "Howler monkeys. Big things. Usually stay close to water. Good sign. Which way did you think it came from?"
"Left," says Will shakily, his heart still hammering, as he sheaths his sword.
"Excellent, my thoughts exactly," says Jack, and strikes out in that direction.
They follow the noises, which reverberate through the forest every few minutes. Smaller monkeys begin to appear, white-faced capuchins peering curiously at them from the trees, spider monkeys swinging from vines, calling taunts to the intruders. "Getting close," says Jack. And hes right; soon they hear a watery burble, and the dimness of the canopy lightens as they come upon a small, fast river. As they come out of the trees, they see three large, dark howlers squatting on the sandy far bank, but the animals skitter away as soon as they see the men.
"Big, arent they?" whispers Will.
"Aye, but not dangerous."
Jack scrambles down the bank and across the shallow river, Will in his wake. He crouches down where the monkeys had been sitting. "Look," he says.
"Um fruit?" hazards Will.
"Oranges," says Jack. "Which I really dont suspect are what youd call grown locally. Those boys have been pilfering from someones supplies. Were close, mate."
"Well," says Will, looking about them, "which way? Upriver or down?"
"Down," says Jack decisively. With absolutely no good reason for doing so. But, with a one in two chance of being proved mysteriously right, he reasons its worth a crack.
Which, within a hundred yards, it is. They round a bend in the river, and come to another sandy inlet, which backs into a cave in a low cliff-face, in front of which are the blackened remains of a fire.
Jack brings a finger to his lips, and draws his sword, and Will does the same. They move quietly across the beach, and stand either side of the cave entrance.
"¡Hola, amigos!" calls Jack cheerfully. Theres no reply. Jack looks up at Will, grins and shrugs. "Come on then," he says, and makes his way inside.
Will follows Jack into the cave, very dark after the brightness of the riverbank. It smells odd theres the rotting dankness that pervades the entire jungle, but other smells also, burnt and sweet and strange.
He can barely make out Jack in front of him, and when the pirate stops, suddenly, Will crashes into him. For an instant, his face is buried in Jacks wild hair, his chest against Jacks hot back, before he pulls away, covering his confusion with annoyance. "What, Jack, why ?"
"Think Ive found the Doctor," says Jack sadly, and moves out of the way, so that some light can filter through from the mouth of the cave. Reveals a thin, black haired body, curled foetal on the sandy floor, clutching its stomach, and clearly dead for some days, judging by the busy armies of ants wending their way to and from the corpse.
"What what do you think he died from?" whispers Will. He can see no wounds.
"Vomited himself to death if those stains are anything to go by," says Jack, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Id say he ate something as he shouldntve. Lets get him outside and underground, eh?"
By the time Will has finished filling in the grave, evening is drawing in, and Jack has lit a fire deep inside the cave, which has its own natural chimney, and a makeshift fireplace beneath it. It appears to have been inhabited for some time; theres a bed, and a lantern, and rough shelves whose contents Jack is now systematically investigating. When Will ducks back into the cave, Jack is laboriously reading scratchy Spanish notes from a large notebook, filled with drawings, pressed leaves, and seeds.
"When youve quite finished reading," says Will, "shouldnt we look for some food?"
"Found some," says Jack, not looking up. "Bag of those oranges, and some bananas too, tied up so the monkeys couldnt get em. Help yourself."
Will sighs. Food is never high on Jacks agenda. He takes a banana half-heartedly. "Water?" he asks. Jack, still intent on the notebook, waves his hand towards the fireplace. "Theres a pot over there," he says. "Better boil it first. Probably tainted, and doubtless unreasonably foul."
Will grabs the pot and heads back to the river, filling it and then sitting outside, eating his meagre dinner and watching the sun turn the leafy canopy on the opposite bank to a broiling gold against the darkening sky.
In the cave, Jacks too intrigued and enthralled to be hungry.
This "Doctor" was a naturalist, a scientist, a philosopher. His book is a collection of everything hes learnt about this place. The plants, the animals, the way it works. On the middle shelf, there are boxes filled with samples; some pressed, some suspended in glass jars of oil, others dried and chopped and in small bags. Each one is labelled. Jack is working his way through the book, finding the sample each page refers to, learning. Jack likes to learn. You never know when youre going to need an odd bit of knowledge. On the other hand, hes glad the Doctor did it on his behalf, because apparently the last thing that good gentleman learnt was that a certain plant was highly poisonous.
Jacks Spanish is serviceable, but only just. So a fair portion of the notes are incomprehensible to him. But soon he comes to a page whose simplest sentences certainly pique his imagination. He can make out the words, "encantador maravilloso tan bueno que es peligroso ningún miedo, ningún dolor, solamente alegría." Delightful, marvellous. No fear, no pain, only joy. These are the good Doctors descriptions of the effects of a sample which appears to be dried, crushed up leaves, which he steeped and drank.
"Solamente alegría " Jack mutters to himself. Dont that sound fine.
Will looks around as Jack, bearing the lantern, comes out of the cave. The pirate dangles a bag at him, and grins widely.
"Good news, mate," says Jack. "I found some tea. Fancy a cup?"
It certainly doesnt taste like any tea Wills ever had before. But its not unpleasant; it smells faintly of vanilla, with a dry, musky aftertaste. Better than plain water, anyhow. Jack certainly seems to like it. Hes already making a second pot.
Will sits back on the Doctors makeshift bed, leaning against the wall of the cave. After the long days walk, and its unpleasant discoveries, hes tired to the bones; the hot liquid is a welcome balm which slides down warmly, sending coppery tendrils of heat through his limbs. Calming all his irritations, relaxing his tense shoulders. Wills mind starts to wander through the past weeks, past months, and he finds hes seeing them in a new light tonight.
Tonight, these weeks on board the Pearl, which until now have seemed like an interminable delay separating him from his goal, dont seem so bad. The days are never dull, with so much to learn, and do, and so many new people to talk and laugh with. Its been quite an adventure really, and such a delicious change from the life he knows. In fact, really, ever since Jack appeared in his life, everything has been different. How dull life would be without Jack!
He looks over at the pirate, crouched by the fire, stirring the tea, and finds a smile flowing over his face. Im so glad youre my friend, Jack.
Jack looks up, grins. "Why, and Im glad youre mine, William."
Will blushes and bites his lip. Did he say that out loud? How odd. And yet, its true, so why not say it?
"Is that tea ready yet?" enquires Will, and Jack nods, holds out a hand for his mug, and fills it to the brim before returning it.
"This ones strong, Jack," he says, taking a scalding sip. Feeling simply and utterly happy, and for once in his life, without a single worry.
"Mmm," says Jack, "I didnt think the last one was up to much."
"I liked it," says Will. "You know, I really think its great here."
"Do you?" asks Jack with a smirk, scrambling up beside Will on the rickety bed, which creaks alarmingly.
"Yes," says Will, suspecting that he has a silly grin on his face, but not really caring. "Its dry, and warm, and there arent any bot flies, and I certainly didnt expect to get a bed tonight."
"Who says you get the bed? Whos the captain round here, eh?"
"Come on, you wouldnt make me sleep on the ground, would you, Jack?" says Will, elbowing Jack in the ribs, and somehow finding this terribly amusing.
Jack takes a deep draught of his tea. "No," he says, "I dont believe I would throw you out of my bed, William."
"Youd let me share, wouldnt you?" persists the youth, rather hazily. "Cause I dont think that would be so bad."
"Darling," drawls Jack, "I think it would be fabulous." He can definitely feel this stuff now, on his second cup. Theres a sunny warmth running through his veins, and a smile that wont be resisted on his face, and everything seems so simple, and honest, and true. He feels none of the torpor that comes with opium, or the hallucinatory oddity of absinthe, or the attendant stupidity of hashish. Hes no idea what this is. But he certainly likes it so far.
"Yes!" cries Will, and he throws an arm round Jacks shoulders. "Fabulous. Youre fabulous, Jack, everything you do is fabulous, everything you touch is fabulous."
"Why, thats terribly kind of you, sweetheart," says Jack, looking coyly up from under lashes that Will suddenly realises are the most beautiful lashes hes ever seen. And oh, the eyes that they so subtly reveal, arent they the most beautiful eyes? Hes on the verge of telling Jack this, but Jacks already talking.
"You may be right," says Jack, and he reaches a reciprocal arm around Wills shoulders. "Cause Im touching you, aint I, and I know youre fabulous. Although frankly you already were before I laid a hand on you."
Jack fears this may be too much, but Will just gives him a sunny smile. God, this is good stuff, whatever it is.
"You didnt use to think so, you used to think I was a stick," says Will, with no trace of rancour.
"Oh, God, you didnt hear that, did you?" says Jack. "I didnt know you then. And youve changed anyway, and now, I swear on my mamas grave, youre fabulous inside as well as outside." The very small part of Jacks brain that is still objective is quite horrified that hes saying these things, but the rest of his mind is happily oblivious, and wants only to continue with this lovely truth-telling.
"Am I?" says Will, and Jack just nods, staring helplessly into those wide brown eyes. "Im glad you think that," says Will, "Because, do you know, ever since I came aboard this time, thats what I keep thinking about you, too? That youre just so amazing, and interesting, and sometimes, Jack, I know this is going to sound really odd, but do you know what I think of sometimes?"
Jack looks at him, head cocked into a question. Wills heart is hammering. Im going to tell him, Im going to tell him, itll be alright, really it will!
"Sometimes " he says, slowly. And stops. Oh, Lord, hes feeling terribly, awfully warm, and excited.
"Finish your tea, love, then tell me," says Jack, draining his mug.
Will watches the movement of Jacks swallowing throat, mesmerised by the tilted line of his neck, the sweet slide of liquid in his friends mouth suddenly strangely vivid in his imagination. He brings his own cup to his lips, and oh, its so warm and metallic, and the slight curve of the rim seems to fit his bottom lip so perfectly that for a moment, lost in sensation, he forgets to tilt it. Hes very awake, very aware, very happy. Everything just feels terribly good.
"So, sometimes, you think of ?" prompts Jack, who, by now, really wants to know.
Will takes a deep breath, and turns to look at his friend. Whose face, as it turns out, is very close to his own. Whose arm is still around his shoulders. Whose leg is touching his. Whose breeches aha! are having exactly the same trouble as Wills own. How fabulous!
"Sometimes," says Will happily, "I think of what it would be like to kiss you. Dyou ever think of that? Of me? Ever? Even though its really odd?"
Jack stares into that beautiful face, and the warmth and happiness are fizzing in his blood as he puts up a hand and touches that sweet golden skin. Wills face is entirely open, and joyful, and even though Jack knows its the drug, he doesnt care. Doesnt believe Will could say these things if they werent in him. Decides to believe that this tea is just allowing them to let out secret thoughts, and make them real.
"All the fucking time, love," he says, low. "Every day since I first laid eyes on you."
Will bites his lip, still smiling. "So can I, Jack?"
Jack doesnt answer. Hes throwing everything to the wind, and leaning closer, closer, so that hes breathing in Wills breath, and can feel the warmth of Wills skin on his own, and oh, god, he wants those lips to touch him and when they do, theres a whole new surge of delicious heat through him, and he takes a sudden breath with the beauty of it. "Mmm -!" says Will, and Jack knows he feels exactly the same. Hot blood rushes through him, and he pushes a hand up into those warm, damp, silky curls and pulls Will to him, turning the kiss from gentle question to insistent answer, opening Wills lips with his own and loving the lurch that his heart gives as his questing tongue is accepted into the boys mouth. Which tastes of the same liquid as his own, but underneath is infinitely more delicious, more Will, more of everything that Jack knew it would be.
And Will kisses him back. Will is floating in a warm haze of delight, as he releases all the thoughts and desires that hes buried for the past months, and now theyre out here in the firelight, theyre not so terrifying after all. Theyre wonderful. Jacks tongue is wonderful, Jacks hand is wonderful, and how wonderful would the rest of Jack be?
Will tugs at Jacks shirt with his free hand, pulling it from the confines of breeches and sash. Jack smiles into the heat of the kiss, wriggling to help him, then arching and swaying into the delightful warmth of that cautious hand, sliding up his belly, round his flanks, up his back.
"Whats that?" says Will, without moving away from the kiss, so that Jack feels the reverberation of the words in his own mouth.
"Scars," says Jack, doing the same. "Youve seen em before."
"Havent touched them before," says Will.
"Want to touch them now?"
Will pulls back, so that he can see Jacks beautiful face, and hes sure that the flushed cheeks and reddened lips that greet him are a mirror of his own. "I want to touch everything," he says, honestly.
"Oh good," says Jack, almost speechless for once, and he stands, and under Wills delighted gaze, slowly peels off each and every item of clothing. Will just grins at each new revelation. The slender torso, all muscle and sinew, that hes seen before, but never touched. The muscled arms that flex so beautifully as Jack pulls off his beloved boots, revealing narrow ankles. And oh, yes, the lovely muscular thighs and the narrow hips and the one thing that Will certainly hasnt seen before, being Jacks dark and curving cock.
"Wow," says Will, and laughs and laughs, and Jack laughs with him, because its such a very strange thing to be here doing, but fuck it, it feels wonderful, so wonderful that when Jack pulls Will up and says, "Your turn!" Will has no hesitation, no compunction, no fear about doing the same.
When hes naked, Jack sighs, and smiles, and prowls slowly round him, and finally says, "See? Fabulous," before stopping behind Will. He presses himself, slowly and inexorably, against the boys beautiful unmarked back, one hand pushing the hair away from the sweetly vulnerable nape of his neck so that he can lick and kiss and suckle the salty skin there, the other hand sliding over Wills chest to pluck and tickle before tracing its way down, down
Will sighs with gratification, and arches backwards, giving Jack access to his neck and ear, where the pirates tongue leaves sparking, delicious trails of pleasure wherever it goes. Pushes his hips shamelessly back, so that Jacks cock sits warm and perfect in the cleft of his behind. He has never felt anything this right, this gorgeous, this luscious it fills up his body and his heart and his mind with sweet delight, fills him so theres no room at all for any conscious thought or concern. He is only the pleasure and the warmth and the flesh.
With one hand, Will reaches round behind him, stroking Jacks flank, reaching down to the firm curve of arse, feeling the flex and clench of muscle under satiny skin. With his other, he intercepts Jacks creeping hand as it fingers its way round his navel, and pushes it down, wraps his hand round Jacks as Jack wraps his round Wills heavy, pulsing cock. Lets out a long slow breathy sigh of joy.
Its so simple. Its so good. Its so right.
"I know," says Jack, smiling into Wills neck.
Speaking out loud again. "Jack," says Will, though the words half gasp, "I cant believe we havent done this before. Oh, Christ!"
And Jacks delighted to hear the profanity escape from Wills lips as his fingers slide, firm and demanding, over that delicate silky flesh, and more delighted with the movement of Wills hips, now pushing into his hand, now rolling backwards against Jacks own, sealing Jacks thrusting hardness between his slickly sweaty buttocks, so that, oh fuck, its so tempting to bend him over and give it to him there and then, but Jack wants to wait, wants to make Will wait, wants to make Will want it more than anything.
Right now, what Will wants more than anything is to push and move and come. And do it with Jacks mouth on his.
He turns to face Jack, panting, and Jack has to let go of that fabulous cock, which is a loss, but then a most wonderful gain as it slides snugly alongside his own, pressing into his belly, and strong hands on his back crush him unresistingly against this gorgeous lithe body.
Wills kiss is hungry and insistent and the sweet desperate sounds that come from him inflate Jacks joy and desire to a conflagration. They grind against one another, all swaying hips, clutching hands, sliding lips, trembling thighs, demanding tongues. Exploring and pushing and seeking further and deeper and more, building to a shivering joy that pushes them out of their barely sensible selves, and into a violent cascading fall that sees Will biting hard into Jacks shoulder to stop the sounds welling in him, and Jacks fingers leaving scratching bruises on the boys perfect backside as he clutches him.
Slow release, and panting breaths. Will leans heavily against Jack, feeling he may fall, his head spinny and faint with the delight of it. Jack braces himself against the weight, shuddering slightly as slow drops of cooling liquid slide down his belly.
Damn fine tea, that. Damn fine.
"Well," says Jack, with a smile, lifting Wills face for another, gentler kiss, "that was what you might call unexpected."
"Mm," says Will, coming down slowly, feeling his way back into his body. He shakes his head to clear it. "But its not as if I hadnt thought it before, Jack, hadnt you?"
"Oh, I thought it," Jack assures him, stopping himself from adding, but couldnt say anything because of Elizabeth, remember her? Instead, he drops to his knees, and cleans the lovely flat stomach before him with his tongue, revelling in the cool viscous taste of the two of them, mingled in his mouth. Will, appalled and enthralled, lets him, watches him. Likes the feel of Jacks tongue, and the look on Jacks face so much that he does the same to him in return. So strange. So good.
As he finishes, he looks up at Jack, whose hands are twined in Wills hair, and whose eyes hold an expression Wills never seen on him before. A simple warmth. Its beautiful.
"You can definitely share the bed," says Jack.
Jack lies on his side, Will curved against his back in the hard narrow bed. He is pretending to be asleep, but it is taking all his resolution to do it, as Will plants tiny, whispering kisses on his shoulder, and moves minutely against him, not trying to wake him, but not able to stop himself. Jack is pretending to be asleep, not because he doesnt desire Will with all his heart right now, but because he has a desperate aching fear that all of this will evaporate come daylight. And his only defence against that is Wills unquenched want.
The effects of the mysterious plant are quiescent in his blood now, and he presumes in Wills also. And yet, soft warm lips still tickle his skin, their tender implications skittering through his nerves. It fills him with a warmth almost greater than before, a wakefulness that threatens to burst him as he quells it into stillness and slow deep breaths.
A sharp crack from above their heads. Jack lies still. Wills mouth leaves his shoulder, and Jack can feel the smith listening.
A noise, like a footfall.
A sibilant sound, a whisper.
Wills hand comes round to cover Jacks mouth, trying to wake him silently. Jack lets him think hes done so, feigning a jerk to wakefulness, and stands without a sound. Will climbs slowly from the bed, ears cocked, and with his heart hammering reaches quietly for his discarded clothing, glimpsed dimly in the light of the dying embers. They dress fast, not speaking.
Jack creeps up to the entrance to the cave, sword drawn. There are definitely voices. Theyre coming from the right, up by the Doctors shallow grave. And they dont sound happy. Or English.
The beach is flooded with moonlight, which glints in Jacks eyes as he gestures back at Will come here, come on. They cant afford to be trapped in the cave. Will walks slowly and lightly up to the other side of the cave mouth, and presses himself back into the shadows there. The voices are getting louder.
"El no se enterró él mismo."
"Puedo oler humo, le digo."
"They know were here," mouths Jack, and Will nods. This is not good. It sounds from the footfalls and murmuring as though there are at least half a dozen men above them.
Jack leans slowly and carefully outside, craning his neck upwards. Takes a step Will does the same and at the same instant, they see a dark, shadowed face leaning over the edge of the low cliff, not ten feet above them. The mans eyes bulge, and he shouts, "¡Aqui!", and the forest erupts with running feet.
Jack and Will share a glance of an instant, and then run as one for the river. But theyre no more than halfway down the beach when a flurry of dark shapes traps them from either side, the Spaniards having come down on both sides of the bank. Their swords are drawn, and they shout incomprehensible, but comprehensibly angry, phrases. The nearest are mere seconds away from engagement, as Jack hisses, "Will, we want to go upstream, hear? My way. So were going to work them all round to your end, and then were going to run like fuck, alright, and "
But Will doesnt hear the end of this rather ungentlemanly plan, because with a roar and a flash of steel in moonlight the first soldier is upon him. He swings, wildly, and their weapons clash with a deafening ring that sends flights of shrieking birds up into the night sky. He can hear and feel Jack behind him doing the same, and although its hard not to turn and see whats happening behind him, he stops himself, thinks, Jacks got my back, and Ive got his, and all I need to do is fight whats in front of me.
And he does, with passion and energy and all the considerable skill at his command, and theres one Spaniard down already, clutching his belly and shrieking, and here come another two, and Will uses a precious second to bend and grab the injured mans rapier, so that he can defend his left, albeit clumsily, while he attacks with his right.
He dodges a wild thrust, parrying it away from Jacks vulnerable back, which he can feel is moving to his right as Jack manoeuvres his opponents round, and round, and round, till the two of them are standing almost side by side; and suddenly Jack hisses, "Back!" and Will takes two great strides backwards as Jack does the same and pulls his pistol on the four remaining men. For a silent second the men stare at him, but before they can determine that he cant possibly shoot them all, Jack and Will, as one, have turned and are belting up the beach, up the river, as fast as they humanly can.
"This way!" shouts Jack, and plunges into the jungle. Will drops the rapier, and grabs Jacks arm, for as soon as they leave the river its terribly dark, and he cannot risk losing Jack. He can hear the Spaniards crashing after them, can hear every trampled bush and cracking twig and shout, and knows that he and Jack are similarly audible.
The Spaniards are gaining, that much is clear. "Faster, Jack, faster!" Will urges. "And quiet, quiet, they can hear us!"
"No!" shouts Jack, stumbling and running and crashing through the foetid undergrowth, swinging wildly with his sword. "No being bloody quiet! Were going to wake up this entire fucking jungle!"
And indeed, it seems as if they are. Chittering tamarins flee before them, spider monkeys shriek their disapprobation from the treetops, and Will hears the horrible scream of a jaguar off to his left. Which, while adding to the chaos, hardly seems like anything that could be classified as an escape plan.
Until another noise bursts through, cutting through all the other jungle cacophony like a saw through butter. The terrible howl that Will had heard that morning, assaulting his ears, making his heart lurch. Howler monkeys.
"Yessss!" hisses Jack. "This way, Will, come on, this way," and he drags him towards the sound, and in a matter of moments, they have stampeded into an entire troop of howlers. "Frighten them!" shouts Jack, although it hardly seems necessary, for the instruction is barely audible over the maddened screams of the animals; and they both flail around with their swords, sending the howlers crashing and shrieking away from them, and suddenly Will understands what Jacks doing, and pulls Jack off sideways, back towards the river, for nows their chance, now theres no way for the Spaniards to follow them, to hear them, to identify them under this blanketing chaos. And they run, as planned, like fuck.
For the rest of the night, they follow the river, not daring to branch out into the forest, but neither daring to stop, because the river is such an obvious route. Barely daring to speak.
Will pushes on ahead, not wanting to follow, not wanting to see Jack in front of him. His mind is whirling he cant, cant understand what has happened here tonight. Not just the sudden and unexpected appearance of the Spaniards, but before that.
Why did he do it? (And he knows it was largely he himself who started it.) What came over him? He flushes to think of how he stood there, in front of naked Jack, and stripped his clothes away, like some eager harlot. How he touched Jack, and pushed against him, and thrust his tongue into Jacks mouth. How he licked Jack clean felt the pulse of blood under the warm bronze skin of Jacks belly
Even as he thinks on it, even as he feels hot shame at his behaviour, hes aroused by it again. Shamed and aroused, angry and overjoyed, cold and hot, and every other conflicting feeling there could be, all rushing through him, chasing their tails around his head. How could he have risked everything that hes worked for, now, when hes finally ready to go home and make Elizabeth his wife? And yet how could he have lived and laughed and fought alongside this incredible source of joy, and never reached out and touched it before?
Wills not a fool. Hes been aboard the Pearl long enough to see what rum, or opium, or hashish do to men. He knows that the answer to his question lies in that "tea"; and that, while it was none of those, it was clearly a potion of some sort. A disturbingly pleasant one. One that gave him the freedom to do whatever it lay in his heart to do.
And he knows one other thing; that, with Jack asleep in his arms, he was himself once more, with no chemical angel rushing through his blood. Yet his kisses did not cease, and the beating warmth in his tired heart would not let him sleep.
Will walks faster, slipping on mossy river stones, cursing quietly to himself.
Behind him, Jack listens to the uncharacteristic profanities; thinking, worrying. Will has said nothing, done nothing since they lost the Spaniards but walked, faster and faster down the river.
You have to leave him to it, thinks Jack. Let him think. But damnation, thats a dangerous option. In the light of day, sensible William will almost certainly return. Jack, unfortunately, was particularly taken with insensible William. Who appeared to reciprocate.
Jacks a little hazy on the details, but hes pretty damn sure that he didnt push it unnecessarily, that most of what occurred was as much Wills idea as his own. In fact, on reflection, he was quite restrained. He could probably have convinced the boy to do almost anything. Such as
Jack stops, and splashes his face with cold water. He hates walking around with a hard-on.
The eastern sky is lightening as they come to the mouth of the river, and they both recognise the northern peninsula as the one the Pearl had rounded two days ago; so, they are two bays, or about two hours walk, away from Ana and Pike, and now, hopefully, their ship.
Ana spots them first, as they clamber down the side of the final headland, and walks along the beach to meet them. The Pearl is at anchor in the bay, a cutter drawn up on the beach.
"¿Dondé está, su tesoro?" she calls, teasing, for she can see their empty hands.
"Aye, aye, fools errand," says Jack, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walk back together. "Although not entirely without its lighter moments."
Will doesnt dare look at him.
"We ran into some of Señor Whosits compadres, and dont appear to have made a very good impression," Jack continues. "So lets get him aboard quicksmart and get out of here, eh?"
Anamaria looks away. "No need, Jack. He died in the night. The poison from his leg was all through him."
Jack bows his head for a moment, then looks up resolutely. "Have you buried him?"
"Pikes just finishing up now."
"Was it quick?"
"Not very. He became delirious, not long after you left " She cant hold back a small chuff of laughter. "Thought I was the Virgin, come to take him off. Kept telling me to go and get the Doctor too, that he was a good man."
"He didnt make it either, sad to say," says Jack. "Any idea what they were doing here?"
"Waiting for their ship it was taking gold theyd brought down from Comayagua, up to Puerto Cortés, while they stayed here with the Doctor. He was some moneyed Castilian, a gentleman-naturalist. It was due to collect them soon, so they were trying to winkle him out of the jungle."
"Aint never going to, now," says Jack sadly. "Although, it wasnt all in vain " And from some voluminous inner pocket of his frockcoat, he pulls a battered notebook.
The Pearls course is set east-sou-east, heading back to Wills home and his girl.
He should be overjoyed. But as he sits at the lanternlit captains table, with Jack and his focsle council, and a decent meal in front of him for once, he certainly couldnt describe his state of mind that way. Isnt sure how to describe it, really.
As for Jack, hes in his element; back at sea, back on board his darling, drinking rum and telling new stories to his mates. He couldnt be happier.
Well, actually, he suspects he could, but hes not going there.
"So whats in el tesoro, Jack?" says Gibbs, who has christened the tattered notebook with this sarcastic moniker.
"Recipes!" cries Jack happily, boots up on the table, mug in hand. "He was quite a chef, el Doctor was. Eating his way through all the flora and fauna he could lay his hands on. Which was a great service to science, and would have made him famous, only he took it just that little bit too far, didnt he. You shouldve seen the vomit that came out of that man before he expired."
Ana throws a hunk of bread at him, for such vileness, but Jack only laughs. You have to laugh at death, or it'll start laughing at you.
"Alright, alright," he says, "its not really all recipes. Lots of, you know, pictures of things, notes. Stories about bugs. Lord knows why anyone would want to know about the horrors of that place, but apparently there are more enquiring minds around than mine."
"I doubt that, Jack," mutters Will, but no-one hears him.
"We did try one recipe, though," says Jack slyly, looking sideways at Will to see his reaction. Baiting him, after a day of being baited by the boys silence. Hoping to crack that determined façade, and see something of what lies beneath.
"And?" says Gibbs. "Come on, Jack, I know an opening for a Jack Sparrow tale when I hear one."
Wills frozen. Surely, surely Jack isnt going to tell them this story.
"It was a sort of a tea " says Jack, slowly, swinging his feet down and leaning across the table, fingers weaving delicate descriptions in the air as his face takes on a mysterious cast. "A fine, dark leaf, that we steeped over a fire, deep in that terrible jungle, as the night creatures howled all round us."
Will feels himself blanch. Oh, God, Jack, please dont, please.
"A strange steam rose from it," says the hypnotic voice, relentless. "It stung our eyes, even though it had a perfume as honey-sweet as burning petals, and as it rose into the night, the bats flapped and swirled through it, maddened by it "
Dont tell them what we said. What we did. Please.
" but since we had nought else, and it smelled so fine, we couldnt help but try it. We poured it into two battered tin mugs we found in the cave, and its colour was rich, a ruby brown like no concoction Ive ever seen before, and it smelt of vanilla and rose and every good sweet thing. And "
Dont Jack, dont share it.
"And when we drank it " In the light of the sputtering candles, Jacks face is wicked and otherworldly, and his audience spellbound by his dark voice and glittering eyes.
Dammit, Jack, its ours, yours and mine, and I dont want it to be anyone elses, I dont want YOU to be anyone elses! This thought strikes Will, suddenly, surprisingly, and it frightens him with its intensity. Astonishes him with its truth.
"When we drank it it tasted like shit, so we poured it on an anthill and went to sleep."
Wills heart is like a rising bird, and he laughs as loud as anyone, and nods as if in recollection, and raises his mug with Jack. Who knows a secret when he sees one.
Jack lies in his lonely cot, with only a very small bottle of rum for company. Tired. And not a little maudlin. Wills barely spoken to him all day. He pictures the dismally illuminating look of shame and horror that Will shot his way, thinking that Jack was going to tell the whole tale.
As if hed do such a thing! Jacks not a man to kiss and tell. Especially when the kisses were like that. Burning sweet, and laughing and desperate, and hungry beyond reason, and
Jack slaps himself, not particularly gently, and has just stood and divested himself of his shirt, ready to snuff the lantern, when theres a knock on his door.
And there he stands, the owner of the kisses that Jack covets above all else. Shy and fidgeting and apparently not sure what hes come here for at all. Jack looks at him evenly, trying not to reach out and grab him. Trying to let the boy do whatever it is hes decided to do.
"Mr Turner!" he says, in a tone which he hopes is welcoming and yet not overly tinged with the desperate gladness he feels. "What can I do for you, my friend?"
"I well, I that is, Jack, can I ?" Will gestures into the cabin, and Jack stands back to let him enter, closing the door behind him. Blood starting to pulse despite himself. He settles, feigning nonchalance, into a chair.
Will stands, and then sits, and then stands again. Being alone with Jack is disorienting delicious, and yet so wrong, and yet again, so... His fingers pluck senselessly at the fabric of his breeches. Why cant it just be like it was last night, so easy?
But it isnt like last night. Its not an accident, a twist of fate, a serendipitous opening. Its a choice. A choice that Wills been trying to make all day; and which is driven less by a need to understand what he wants (that has been sitting, urgently bright, in the forefront of his mind every time Jack has wandering into his view) than by a need to believe that this desire is reciprocated, in all its facets. Not just the desire to touch and kiss and lick and push but the desire to stand together, and be together, beyond tonight, and tomorrow, and its tomorrow. This is what Will must determine. Because the implications of this choice are towering, terrifying, seismic. He cannot make such a choice, with all its repercussions and attendant cruelties, without being certain.
"Come on mate, spit it out," says Jack gently.
"Well, Jack " says Will, slowly, thoughtfully; "You know you know how you took the notebook?"
"Yes, I know how I took the notebook."
"Well I was wondering if maybe if maybe you took some of that other stuff, also." Wills staring at the floor as he says this, but then flicks a look up at Jack. Brown eyes huge. Teeth on his lip.
Oh Christ, I want you, thinks Jack. But I really dont want to have to drug you every time I touch you.
"Why?" he asks, softly.
Will just looks at him, for a long moment, a flush growing at the base of his neck. Its a fair question. "I just want I want to feel that way again."
Just to feel that way again? Jacks more than a little disappointed that Will doesnt say, I want to touch you again, or be with you again. Apparently, he just wants the rush. On the other hand, whispers Jacks baser half, once hes got the rush, youre away, arent you?
Only problem being, that Jack didnt in fact grab the meagre remainder of the leaves.
Oh, fuck it. No man in his right mind could resist an opportunity like this, be it neverso slim, and theres plenty who would say that Jack was never in his right mind to begin with. "Be back in one second," says Jack, and scurries down to the galley, alternately rejoicing and hating himself.
He rifles the cupboards, hastily concocting a mix of tea leaves, cinnamon quills and vanilla pods, and douses the lot in a tankard of unwatered rum. Will drinks so little usually that even a decent swig of rum should cheer him up a bit.
Flush with guilt and lust, Jack returns to his cabin with his potion.
"Its not the same as before," says Will, with a considering look, licking his lips. Trying to conceal the force of his heartbeat, which is threatening to burst from his chest. Unsure whether to be disappointed with his correct forecast of Jacks behaviour, or impressed with himself at finally being able to predict the terminally unpredictable. Well, he now knows at least one thing that Jack wants.
"Course its not the same," agrees Jack, from his lounging sprawl across his cot. "Everythings better in rum."
Finally, Wills mouth twitches up into a smile. "You would say that," he says.
"I most certainly would," Jack concurs. "But aint you feeling just a little bit better with that down you, eh?"
Will, serious, considers. "Yes," he determines, "I am." Feeling a strange weighty warmth return to his limbs as he looks at his friend. His smile widens. "I am, Jack."
"Well, dont just stand there like a stick, come here and get comfy," says Jack, patting the mattress beside him and trying not to look conniving.
Yes! Whether its the rum, or Wills own minds fierce urge to shake off his shackles of propriety, hes doing so with alacrity, and suddenly theres a warm, smiley body beside Jack, leaning against the wall with him.
"Just like last night, only without the dead body and the insects," says Jack.
"Well, not just like last night," says Will, shyly. He flicks a glance at Jack, whos staring fixedly into his tankard, willing his hands not to stray. Hes going to give the boy every opportunity, certainly, but hes not going to come right out and jump him. Wouldnt be right. (And, Jack concedes, when a man whos just tried to convince another man that hes given him some mysterious drug that might make the man doing the drinking want to have mad sex with the man doing the giving when this man can still realise that some actions are simply beyond the pale well, you must admit those actions must be well beyond the pale for such a man to have noticed it.)
"No " says Jack slowly. "I spose its better than last night, since our bellies are full, and the chances of anyone attempting to murther us are greatly reduced."
"There is that," admits Will, and takes a sip, wincing. "But, on the other hand, Jack werent there things last night that were good?" He twists round, the better to see Jack, his heart thumping. All his courage returned with the rum. And when he sees Jacks odd beauty, his sharp darkness interrupted with glint and shine, his heart twists, and he knows he cant close his eyes to it. Has to try to make it his own, no matter what that means.
"Very good," says Jack, looking up, his black eyes serious and intent.
"Very, very good," murmurs Will. And stops Jacks "Very, very, very - " with a hand on his jaw and a soft, damp, questioning kiss.
Oh, Christ Almighty, the boy tastes divine, rum and Will, the most perfect combination Jack could conceive of. His heart shivers in his rib-cage, jumps as Wills tongue comes searching for his own, and in seconds the kiss is firing them both with a ravenous want that expresses itself through wide open mouths, demanding tongues, sharp teeth and wandering hands. Wills long fingers twine through Jacks tangled hair, gripping and pulling the pirate closer to him, and Jacks reaching up under Wills shirt, desperate to have that sweet skin against his own once more.
Will obediently lifts his arms, backing away from the kiss, so that Jack can pull his shirt over his head, and then launches himself back at the man, pushing him down on the bed, covering his neck and shoulders and collarbones with wet kisses as one hand wanders over Jacks thigh, and up to grip his hip.
Jacks in some sort of heaven. Wills mad for him, and theres very little excuse for it this time, unless you count a half a mug of rum. Which Jack certainly doesnt, unless its to count it as breakfast.
Wills hand is drifting lightly over the outside of Jacks breeches now, trailing a taunting line along his unutterably grateful cock. He stops his kisses, props himself up on one elbow, and says, with that mile-wide smile of his, "This is what you want, isnt it, Jack? Because because, God, I want it more than anything."
"Oh, Lord yes," is what Jack means to say. But what somehow emerges into the charged air between them is, "Will, I didnt have any of that stuff. Thats just a mug of rum and sundry odoriferous nonsense."
Will closes his eyes, taking a tiny moment of darkness to process the import of these words.
Jacks told me the truth. He doesnt want me to think this is a drug. He wants me to come to him myself.
Jack wants me. Not merely my body. Me.
Jack, meanwhile, is thinking to himself that not only is he the lowest of the low to have done this in the first place, he is now compounding that sin by acting as though he is also the most incompetent con-man on the face of the earth. After years and years of elevating mendacity to an art form, he has to suddenly be gripped with an attack of honesty right now?
But with a twist of victorious amusement on his lips, Will says, "I know that, you insufferable rogue," and gives one of Jacks nipples a painful tweak as he leans down to the other, sliding his lovely hot tongue around it, drawing it between his teeth as Jack gasps out, "You do?"
"Of course I do," mutters Will between licks. "But it was a wonderful excuse, and I felt a need for one. Im afraid Im just not terribly practised at throwing myself at men. Besides which Ill admit I was curious as to the extent of your capacity to lie to me."
"Oh," says Jack, caught out, but for once, glad about it. "Well, now that you know my shameful secret, being that I can only lie effectively to those I dont much care for, do you still feel the need for an excuse to throw yourself at me?"
"No," says Will, lifting his lovely face to Jacks, leaning over him so their faces are hidden in a tangled curtain of nut brown curls. "Now," he whispers, "Im feeling other needs entirely."
"Is that so " mutters Jack, sliding one hand over Wills warm and silky back, and dipping into the waist of his breeches with the other, stroking the lovely cleft of his behind acutely aware that Wills quite probably rather inexperienced in these things, and wanting to give the boy the lead. "And what, pray tell, would you like to do to feed these urges of yours?"
"Well," says Will, with a shy no, definitely coy! glance, "I should admit to you that I dont exactly know how best to cater to them, Jack. All I know is that Ive most definitely got them." And he grinds his hips down on Jacks answering hardness, drawing a delighted groan from the man beneath him.
"Im fairly confident," says Jack, "that between the two of us we can fulfill every need you have, mate, not to mention, with any luck, the vast majority of mine."
"Excellent," mutters Will, leaning down for a kiss, the fingers of one hand hooking under Jacks waistband, searching, stroking.
"But " says Jack, who is still temporarily possessed by a perverse fairy of veracity, "But what about, you know ? Your girl?"
Will freezes. Faced, coldly, with the crux of his choice.
At this point, Jack, who initially felt suicidal as he heard these words issue from his mouth, realises what they mean. They mean that, firstly, he would not hurt Will for the world, even if that hurt would bring himself pleasure. And secondly, that hes not willing to simply have his way with Will, and then let him go. Which is something hes experienced extraordinarily seldom in his life. He puts a hand up to Wills face, thumb stroking the bones beneath that golden skin, which is like honey made flesh.
"Because I cant give you up, once youre mine," he hears himself say. "I wont share you."
Will closes his eyes as if in pain. There they are. The words that make his choice clear. Hard cruel but clear.
"Dyou mean that, Jack?" he whispers.
Jack grinds his teeth, knowing that hes probably giving away the most precious thing hes ever likely to have. "Im sorry, love, but I do."
Wills silent for a moment, and then he says, "I made a terrible mistake, Jack."
"Oh, no, no, dont think that, it wasnt " But Will stops Jacks words with a finger across his lips.
"I did, Jack, I did. I thought I could do it. Could buy my way into being what Elizabeth needs. Could be a good husband to her, and ignore all the strange things I thought about you. But how could I, when I know now whats really in every beat of my heart, and what my body wants with every breath? What manner of man would that make me?"
Will looks at Jack now, and his eyes tell the sweetest story Jack has ever read. Jacks heart leaps in anticipation, waiting for his words.
"So sharing wont be required," says Will, and adds, with a fierce look, "or permitted, for that matter."
"Im exceptionally pleased to hear it," says Jack, whos pleasantly surprised to find that even the latter demand doesnt bother him one bit, "and since thats the case "
Jack hooks a leg over Will, and rolls him onto his back, kissing him with new urgency, his mouth no longer satisfied just with Wills lips and tongue, but roaming all over that beautiful face, the satin cheekbones, the heartbreakingly delicate eyelids, the strong dark eyebrows, the soft moustache, drawn back, irresistibly, to the lovely curve of Wills mouth, parting beneath his, inviting him in.
Will squirms beneath him, his desire no longer permitting stillness. "Touch me, Jack," he mutters, "Please, touch me."
Jack sits back, between the boys knees, and traces a teasing nail along the outline of his erection. Will bites his lip at the delicacy of the sensation, then hisses, "Touch my skin," and starts to push his breeches down over his hips. Jack, almost out of his head with lust, helps him, and throws them on the ground. Will is spread-eagled before him, the most glorious thing hes ever seen, all long limbs and sharp lines and perfect skin. "All mine," says Jack, in wonder.
"Not for long, not if you dont touch me soon," gasps Will, whose hands are clutching at his own thighs, desperate for sensation.
"Demanding little bugger, aint you," mutters Jack with a grin, and he slides his warm hands slowly down Wills pale flanks, seeing Will flush at his choice of words. "Oh, yes, dear heart," says Jack, "It will come to that, believe me."
"I know," says Will, and then, to Jacks unutterable surprise, "I would have let you, last night. I know you wanted to."
"I did," admits Jack. "Among other things."
"Ill ah! Ill Jack, Ill let you now," says Will, his low voice catching as Jacks nimble fingers skitter over his hips, threading their way down to where he wants them, with all his heart, to be.
Jack cant quite believe his luck. But at the same time, hes not willing to be "let" not willing to be granted it as a gift.
"Not till youre begging me," he says, the touch of ferocity in his voice making Wills eyes widen.
"And what mmm makes you think that will happen?" pants Will.
Jack smiles his golden promise of a smile, and as he lowers his mouth to his prize, he mutters, "The simple fact, darling, that Im Captain Jack Sparrow."
Will trembles under the weight of that beautiful truth, and under the unbearably delicious sensation of Jacks hot tongue, licking its way over skin that has never been touched in such a manner before over the tender white flesh where hip meets thigh, down to circle through soft brown curls, and up, gloriously up the quivering length of his shaft. The pleasure and heat that course through him are better than any drug, and he arches, muttering, "Yes, you are, youre Captain Jack Sparrow, youre my Jack, youre mine, arent you, mine-" until he cant speak anymore, all sense having left him under the lascivious slide of Jacks mouth. His body is beating with a rapid, enervated pulse, and he twitches and quivers, as Jacks hands push beneath him, cupping his backside, digging deep into tense flesh as Jack lifts Will to his mouth, opening his throat, taking that lovely cock in deep, deep, as Will whimpers his pleasure.
Will hears these small animal noises coming from himself, and knows deep inside that he has found a place where he can lose himself, his cares, his fears, and every bad thing. A place where he will find the strength to do all the hard things, even the cruel things, that this choice will demand of him. A place where there is only his joy, his and Jacks; and he needs no liquor, no drug to find it. All he needs is Jack. All he wants is Jack. And he has to show Jack that.
"Alright," he says, in a strangled squeak. Jack looks up in query, his tongue still describing circles round the end of Wills cock.
"Ill beg," says Will, shamelessly. "Please, Jack. Please do it. For me. Please, give it to me."
Jack knew it would happen, but by God, he didnt know it would happen that easy.
He shucks off his trousers, gives himself the indescribable pleasure of Wills skin on his, Wills body breathing hard beneath him, Wills lips on his own, Wills hair in his hands. "Anything," he whispers, and means it with all his heart. "Ill give you anything."
Up on deck, a hot and changeable wind fills and snaps the dark sails. At the helm, Mr Gibbs fears a storm.
As the watch changes, theres a strange sound on the air. An animal cry, a feral ululation.
"Gods teeth," mutters Pike, still unsteady from his night on land. "I can still hear those damned monkeys."
If Mr Gibbs smiles, its too dark for any to see.
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