jackxwill - pirates of the caribbean slash
Stories Main
Submit a Story
Beta List
JackXWill Yahoo! group

Contact us

TITLE- Anthem
AUTHOR- Pigeon (pigeongirl99@hotmail.com)
DISCLAIMER- own absolutely nothng, not the characters, world, or lyrics.
REQUEST- Jack and Will singing a song together - can be one teaching the other, but doesn't have to be. Preferably PG-13 or higher.  No darkfic (death, non-con, etc.). Under *no*  circumstances can the song be "Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me."

Part One- Intoxication

Before lips.

Before tongue and throat.
Before it settles in your belly and warmth seeps into your blood and tingles through every extremity, there is scent.
A thick, rich, decadent scent that sets you drooling.
Before the first taste, rum is already intoxicating.
Will leans over the rail.  He laughs slightly as the Cornish coast comes into view.  The thin morning light sparkles across the water and picks out the shades of brown in his loose hair.
Jack steps up close and breathes.
Salt.  Lime.  Hint of rum.
“Has it been long?”  Will shoots him a smile before looking back over to England.
Jack gives a shrug-shimmy-roll.  “Depends on your definition of long, mate.  Long enough that I can’t recall what and whom I took repast of.  Short enough that the place doesn’t seem misty in me head.”  He glances up at the thick white clouds gathering overhead.  “About six years or so.”
Will nods and sweeps a hand through his hair.  “I haven’t seen England since I was a child.”  His voice turns low, confidential, and shivers race up Jack’s spine, “And then I never saw past Poole.  I’ve never been here before, never seen Cornwall.”
“Not sure quite how much you’ll get to see this time, lad.  Smuggling rum doesn’t ‘xactly get you invites to the top table.  Of course, should you be so inclined, I’m sure something could be arranged.”
“Jack, are you planning on pretending to be landed gentry?”
Jack swings an arm about the boy’s shoulders, tugging him near and off-balance.  Will stumbles slightly, but settles easily, pressed to Jack at ankle, thigh, hip, and arm.  “A masquerade, luv.  It would be a masquerade.”
Will shakes his head and looks back at the approaching coastline.
The sand is coarse and pale.  It has nothing on the fine white beauty of the Caribbean, but Jack remembers the damp weed covered pebbles of Southend and Brighton, and knows this is the best England has to offer.
He watches how the near-full moon lights up the beach; lights up the cliff face, sand, and lapping water.  He watches how Will is caught in the moonlight.
The boy looks made for this half-light.
It accentuates the sharp bones of his face, deepens the shadow at the well of his throat, plays across his lips.
Jack can feel a half-breath catch in his throat.
“It’s strange,” Will murmurs, turning on the spot and staring at the landscape he stands upon.
“To be here.  Back here.”  Will frowns.  “Even though I haven’t actually been here before.”  He bends and runs long fingers through the sand.
Jack takes a moment to sweep his hat off his head, and push his hair from his shoulders.  “You still know it as home, lad?”
“I think it always will be.”
Jack nods and glances back at the silhouette of the Pearl.
“You don’t feel the same?”
“Home can’t be somewhere you feel trapped, Will.”  He pauses, “Or it shouldn’t be at least.”
Will looks up, small smile easing itself onto his face.  “This wasn’t home for you,” he states.  “That is,” he nods towards the ship.  “I’m not sure I’ll find somewhere that is more home than this for me.”
Jack sees Will glance from the land to the ship and back again.
He sees the way Will’s eyes, wide and dark in the dim light, take in the harsh lines of the cliff-face and the light waves of the sea.
He sees and wonders if Will can settle beside him and not be torn in two.
The caves, jagged and dark with granite, are close and winding.  The lanterns they hold light brief circles before them, but each twist and turn throw out ever deepening shadows.
Jack grips the boy’s sleeve, though Will laughs at him and whispers, “I’m hardly likely to lose you, Jack.”
Looking at the rugged shapes in the rock is akin to looking at sinister clouds, Jack decides.  It’s too easy to see the figments of nightmares; an outcrop shaped like a skull, a shadow twisting stone to the guise of Barbossa, or a pistol, or a golden coin.
He represses a shiver and draws them deeper into the caves.
“You know these men we’re meeting?”  Will keeps his voice hushed.
“Well, I know their leader.  Who we’ll actually be meeting with, might be another matter, luv.”
“But you trust them?”
Jack stops, tugging on Will’s sleeve to keep him from moving forward without him.  “Wouldn’t say that, luv.”  This close he can almost taste Will, the sweet, salty scent of him.  Lips that will be firm and soft and giving and taking.  “Trust is a little hard to come by.”
Will opens his mouth, eyes glancing off, away into the shadows, and from Jack’s face.  “Do…” He shakes his head, question unasked.  “Never mind, doesn’t matter.”
Jack nods, leading them deeper into the caves.
It takes Jack a moment to realise they’ve arrived at the rendezvous point.  In the distance he can hear the steady swish of the tide, close to there is nothing but the soft sound of Will’s breathing.
“Are we early?”
“Not by my reckoning.”  Jack places his lantern by his feet and pulls out his watch, it is hard to read in the faint light, but he knows the men they’re meeting should be here by now.
“Could they have been caught?”
“Always possible.”
“Or is it a trap?”
“Just as likely.”
He hears the sound of Will’s sword being slowly drawn from its scabbard.
In the end it is the sound of many booted feet that tips them off.  Smugglers, wary of noise and capture simply do not tramp like that on the way to a covert meeting.
It is the unmistakable sound of the authorities, complete with rifles and cudgels.
Jack moves to go back the way they’ve come, but Will’s hand suddenly finds his and pulls him off down a different tunnel.
Will’s grasp is strong, roughened by land and sea, and tough with calluses.
Jack wishes he had time to think on that hand.  To study the long tapered fingers and broad palm.  To imagine the pure sensations such a hand could wring from his body.
But Will is plunging them further into the deep, and Jack has little chance to do anything but try to keep up.
“Face it, lad, we’re well and truly lost.”
“Well, I never would have guessed that, Jack!”
Jack leans against the jagged wall.  “Should have headed back to the Pearl.  We could have been safely tucked away in the cabin by now, half-drunk on a nice flask of rum and tucking into some salted-pork.”
The lad takes a breath and narrows his eyes.  The lantern is guttering out, sending out fitful flashes of light, the small flame shaken and shrinking.  The shadows on Will’s face shift and slither about like living things, hardening or softening his features with each gasp of the wick.  “If we had headed back,” Will grinds out.  “We would have been caught.  They knew we were coming, Jack.  They were ready for us.”
Jack shrugs, and the lantern dies.
“Yes, lad?”
“Will the Pearl wait?”
Jack reaches out and finds Will’s arm in the darkness.  He smoothes a hand across broad shoulders and remembers a thousand betrayals.  “Of course they’ll wait, luv.”
In the pitch gloom of the caverns there is nothing to do but, hand in hand, grope their way forwards.
They trip and stumble regularly and guess at twists and turns.
Jack mutters beneath his breath about labyrinths and minotaurs and balls of string.
Will tells him sharply to talk sense or shut up.
They stub their toes against the rough-hewn stairs, and practically crawl up them until they find the heavy slab that seals the top.
“Where do you think it leads to?”
“Well, could be a mansion house, full of gold and swag, and those pretty landscape pictures, and virginal young ladies just waiting to be deflowered by black hearted pirates…”
“Or a field full of cows and shit.”
They heave upwards and shove the stone off the entryway, and step onto moonlit grass.
Jack looks about at the gravestones, and the drywall boundary, and flint church with light blazing from the stain-glassed windows, and shrugs.
Will frowns and looks about him.  “Why would it come out into a churchyard?”
“Best place for it, luv.”  Jack drags the stone back into place.  “No one searches a churchyard, all hooked up on the idea of superstition and rotting corpses.  Trust me, any coastal church’ll be hiding a few secrets.”
“What now?  Head back to the Pearl?”  
Jack glances up the road, to the east he can spot bright lanterns and a crowd of men, to the west comes the sound of dogs.  “Expedience might suggest belaying that plan a little.”
“Oh, and what are we supposed to do instead?”
Jack smiles, “Evensong?”
It takes great effort for Jack not to grin at the disapproving little frown on Will’s face.  The boy, pirate though he may now be, has yet to re-evaluate his moral standpoint, and figure out where his principles truly lie.  And Jack cannot help but delight in pushing and prodding at all the things Will immediately labels as wrong, sinful, and despicable.
Like hiding in a church.
Like hiding in a church in the middle of a service, and taking their place in the congregation as if they belonged.
Jack finds the right page in the hymnal, and passes it with a small flourish to the lad.
Will’s frown deepens, and Jack bites back a smirk.
“Come on, luv,” Jack whispers.  “Look like the godly soul you are and sing along.”  He takes a moment to listen to the loud resonance of the organ, then sings out clearly, “Have mercy, Lord, on me, As Thou wert ever kind; Let me, oppressed with loads of guilt, Thy wonted mercy find.”  He glances over to see Will looking at him, mouth slightly open.  He nudges him sharply with his elbow.
Will blinks, and turns quickly back to the words in front of him.  “Wash off my foul offense, And cleanse me from my sin; For I confess my crimes, and see How great my guilt has been,” he manages, voice quiet and a little scratchy.
Jack shakes his head, and belts forth the next verse, “The joy Thy favor gives Let me again obtain, And Thy free Spirit’s firm support My fainting soul sustain.”  He sees a few of the people around him glancing in his direction, and sends them genial nods.
To God the Father, Son, And Spirit glory be, As ’twas, and is, and shall be so To all eternity.”  The voices die away, the vicar clearing his throat in the pulpit.
“I…” Will sweeps a hand through his hair and shakes his head.
“Will, what is it?  Spit it out, mate.”
“It’s just…”
“You’re looking at me as if I grew another head, luv.  Either that or declared an intention to give up my filthy pirating ways, present all my ill-gotten gold to charity, and become a monk.”
Will laughs in spite of himself.  “It’s you,” he confesses.  “You can sing.”
Jack looks at the boy.  They are in the half-shadows of the entrance porch, the congregation has dispersed, and they stand by the heavy oak door as if dawdling after the mass.  “That’s what it is?”  He can see Will’s eyes, large and guileless in the thin light.  He steps close and puts a hand on the boy’s hip.  “That’s what you can’t believe, mate, that I’ve a fine singing voice?”
“Well,” Will bites at his lower lip, but doesn’t move away from the touch.  “I’ve never heard you sing like that before.  It was beautiful.”  He takes a deep breath, glancing first at the ground, then to the side, and finally back up at Jack.  “It was as if you believe every word. Meant every word.”
“What makes you think I didn’t, mate?”
“You never normally sound like that.  On ship, I mean, with your Pirates Life for Me, you just don’t…”
Jack inches closer.  He can hear the vicar somewhere behind them, pinching out the candles and putting the church to rights.  Under his hand he can feel coarse cloth, and warmth, and almost, if he tries really hard, the curve of flesh over bone.  “Mayhaps I just don’t always show these things, luv.”
For a second neither of them moves.
For a second there is just Jack’s hand on Will’s hip, and soft night-time sounds, and their breath mingling between them.
Then Will clears his throat and steps back.  “Wh…what now?  Head to the Pearl?”
“In a moment, luv.”  Jack steps back as well, smoothing down his clothes and glancing over his shoulder.  “First I think we’d better be checking out the crypts and seeing what goodies we can find.” 

Part Two- Appreciation

When the rum first hits your tongue, wait.
Don’t swallow, not yet.
Take a moment to let the warm liquid sit in your mouth, to savour the taste, to delight in all those small pleasure before the crest of inebriation washes over you and sweeps you away.
In this sober, indulging moment, there is sheer appreciation.
It isn’t, Will decides, that Jack has actually changed around him.
If he’s honest he can’t remember a time when Jack didn’t sling an arm around his shoulders, or call him luv, or raise his eyebrows and make a dirty comment.
Of course there weren’t the kisses before, but even that seems more of a progression than a change.
No, it isn’t Jack, it’s him, his perception.
The crew is happy; sated on grog and treasure, sprawled out over the deck, laughing and gorging themselves on the wares plundered from a merchant ship.
Will leans with his back against the mast, from his position he can see Jack, Anamaria on his left, Gibbs on his right, face split by a wide smile, bottle in one hand, a fat pear in the other.  The merchant ship had held all manner of things; silks and fine damask, golden baubles and trinkets, cured meats and a heavy barrel of conference pears.
The crew had helped themselves to any of the haul they’d taken a liking to, the rest being kept aside to sell on.  Will had glanced at all the pretty shine, let his hands drift over fine-wrought jewellery and soft fabrics, and shrugged and turned away.
A cry goes up and two of the crew, Big John and Robinson, start circling each other.  Bets are called out, and Will sees Cotton set up the book.
“Pirates rules,” Jack yells out above the clamour.  “No such thing as a fair fight, but cause any injury that’ll keep ‘em from duties tomorrow and I’ll keelhaul you meself.”
The wrestling match starts, all blows beneath the belt and sharp jabs to the eye.  Will sees Jack watching the contest, wincing occasionally, his face pulled into ugly grimaces.
It has been two weeks since Jack first kissed Will.
It was in the Captain’s cabin, they had talked of small things, trivialities, and tales from years ago, as they supped on fried bass and grilled turnips and swede, and pickled beetroot that coloured everything a bright magenta.
And as Will stood to leave, wishing Jack a good night, Jack had leant forward and swiftly pressed their lips together.
Then all Will can recall is- …heat…wet…stolen breath…dizzy…

Beyond that he knows there was awkwardness and how their noses bumped and their teeth crashed and he didn’t know what to do and why exactly was Jack’s mouth sliding smooth and soft over his?
And he’d stumbled back finally.
And Jack had smiled at him exactly like he always had.
And he’d nodded goodnight and escaped back to his own cabin.
Will watches pear juice glisten all sticky and damp around Jack’s mouth.  Through the fight, through the blood and sweat and grunts of pain, he catches Jack’s eye.  He gives a slight smile as he sees Jack raise an eyebrow at him and tilt his head in his direction and bite once more into the pear.
Ana yells out directions on where exactly Robinson should hit Big John.  And he sees the very male crew cringe in sympathy.
He takes a long slow sip from his tankard.  And remembers the rum-fired taste of Jack’s kisses.
On the second night, Will sat tongue-tied and clumsy. 
Jack jabbered on about the time he’d robbed the Archbishop, had to hide under his bed, choking on dust and quite intrigued by the wooden paddle hidden there, and finally escaped garbed in vestments and very little else.
Jack jabbered and Will sat motionless.
And he’d thought on he night before and the depth of Jack’s kiss.
And he’d wondered if it would happen again.
And he’d waited until the evening was done, and all the food eaten, and the drink drained, and it was time to say goodnight.
“What is…?”  Will paused by the door, looking back at Jack.
“Don’t you know, luv?”
Jack stood, moving slowly with a swing and a rock to his walk, until he was bear inches from Will. “It’s all very simple, Will.”
“Is it?”
And Jack had kissed him again, and he’d cupped his face, and it had all been slow and racing and laced with alcohol.
Big John goes down with a howl, blood streaming thick from his nose, one eye already swelling shut.  Robinson raises his fist in triumph, before collapsing heavy on his backside.
As Gibbs moves to check on injuries, and Ana goes to collect her winnings, Will edges his way through the crew to Jack’s side.
“Alright, luv?”
“Yes, fine, thanks.”  He sits down, smiling as Jack’s arm settles around his shoulders, tugging him close.  There are three new beads threaded into the thick tangled mass of Jack’s hair, Will raises a hand to touch them lightly, they feel smooth and cool beneath his touch.  “From the haul?” he asks.
“Right you are.  Thought they were somewhat pretty, what do you think, mate?”
“Yes,” he nods, the beads are dark and glint low in the lantern light.
“Do you know what they are, lad?”  Jack moves to touch the beads himself, his fingers brushing light and quick against Will’s.
He shakes his head.
“Well, this one,” Jack runs his thumb lightly over the top bead, it is a deep glossy black, as dark as Jack’s hair or his eyes in shadow.  “This is onyx.”  He moves on to the next, a green with fine red veins, “Bloodstone.”  He strokes the last gently, the small stone slick and almost glowing different shades of brown, the shades reflective and absorbing, “And this last one, mate, is a tiger’s eye.”
Will smiles, “They suit you, Jack.”
Jack grins at him, still sliding his thumb up and down the beads.  “And you, luv?  What bit of shine did you pick out for yourself?”  His voice drops down low, becoming rough and throaty, “I can just see you in silks, a golden choker round your throat, a band of garnets wound around your wrists…”
Will swallows, glancing out to where Big John is still spitting out teeth, and Cotton is counting out money.  “And wearing nothing else?”
“That’s right, Will.”
He takes a long deep breath, letting his eyes close for a moment.  “I didn’t choose anything.  From the haul, I didn’t see anything I wanted.”  He looks back up at Jack, offering a small smile.
Jack smiles back, “Well, we shall have to rectify that, won’t we?”
As Will nods his agreement, the crew call out for song.
On the third night Will let his hands wander over Jack’s back, and let himself taste Jack’s mouth fully, and drank in the warm taste of him, sweet rum and sharp lime.
On the fourth night Will found Jack’s hands gripping his hips, and Jack’s mouth nipping a wet line down his neck.  
On the fifth night Will pressed himself fully against Jack, feeling the hard, narrow body against his own, and he pulled his mouth from Jack’s and placed it close to his ear, whispering “Shall we…?”
And Jack had smiled and shaken his head, “Don’t be in such a hurry, luv.  Let’s just enjoy this.”
Jack stands, “A song?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the crew chorus’s back.
“Hmm,” Will laughs as Jack makes a show of thinking.  “How about…” he pauses, then launches quickly into a song, “ Roll your leg over, And roll your leg over, And roll your leg over, It’s better that way. ”

Gibbs takes up a verse, his voice deep and more than a little slurred with drink, “If all the young lasses were locks on a gate, Then I’d be the key to insert and rotate.”
The crew belts out the chorus again as one.
Anamaria, arms spread wide, sings in her sweet fluid voice, “If all the young lasses were boats on the ocean, Then I’d be the waves and I’d show ’em the motion.”
Jack takes up the chorus again, his eyes fixed on Will, and then throws him a wink before belting out, “I wish all the young laddies were pipes in the yard, After I drained ’em they’d still remain hard.”
Will shakes his head as he sings out the chorus, struggling between laughing and blushing.
Next Mart belts out, “If laddies were watches in shiny gold cases, Then I’d be the hands and I’d sit on their faces.”

The chorus once more, and then Jack nudges Will hard with his boot, giving him a sharply mischievous look.
Will takes a breath, feeling his heart beating a little too fast, and his face a little too warm.  “If all the young laddies were coconuts sweet, Then I’d suck out their juices and chew on their meat,” he offers as the crew fall about in fits of laughter, clapping their hands, and yelling out offers for him to try that on them.
Jack grins, shaking his head, voice quavering as he manages to get out one last verse, “If all the young laddies were needles and pins, Then I’d be cushion to hold their pricks in.” 
“You really enjoyed that didn’t you?” Will asks as Jack pulls him to his feet.
“‘Course, luv.  Nothing like a sing-a-long with the crew.”  Jack strokes his hands through Will’s hair.  “You saying you didn’t enjoy it?”
“No, but it…” he bites his lip, considering his answer. “It takes a little getting used to.”
“Most things do, mate,” Jack takes Will’s hand, starting to lead him back from the deck.  “Now, shall we try to find you something pretty that sparkles?”

Part Three- Consummation

So then, after that first flush of tantalizing scent, and the first sip where you taste heady possibilities, there is that moment when it slips down your throat and seeps into your bloodstream.
There is the point when the warmth spreads through your body entire.
When you become drunk, and laugh with the thrill and exhilaration that courses through you.
And you drown in sensation.
Outside the cabin the rain thunders down.  The window is slick with water, and the view of the harbour beyond is distorted and warped.  Jack watches Will push his face close to the glass, trying to make something out beyond the barrage of the monsoon.
“And the weather is usually like this?”  Will doesn’t turn around, doesn’t turn to face Jack and the rest of the cabin.  “This is normal?”
“This time of year, luv?  Yeah, perfectly, indubitably, drenchingly normal.”
“Every year?”
“Yes, mate.”
“And I thought it rained a lot back home.”
Jack rubs at his face, and surveys the remnants of their meal.  In a port town like this, beyond the local fare, dishes from every sea-faring part of the world are widely available.  They had dined on a mix of noodles, and meat roasted on spits, and fried seaweed.  He kicks the edge of the table lightly, “You had enough supper, lad?”
“What?”  Will twists to look at him.  “Oh, yes, ta.”  He pauses, steps forward, and drops his voice, “Would it be mad to go out in this?” he gestures back to the window.
Jack regards him for a moment.  The boy’s skin glows golden in the lantern light, his eyes wider and darker than normal, hair loose and falling in waves about his shoulders.  “Madness is no reason not to do something, luv.  But you went out earlier.”
“But it was daytime then.”
Jack frowns at this logic, but shakes his head and with a flourish gestures Will towards the door.
The lad doesn’t leave the deck of the Pearl, just stands with his eyes shut and face tilted up letting the rain fall heavy on him.
Jack shelters in the doorway to his cabin and watches the droplets bounce off the wood of his ship.
He watches Will’s clothes start to stick to him, his light white shirt and soft leather breeches.  He watches the exactness of his figure become visible, strong shoulders and narrow waist and hips.  He watches as each and every muscle is encased in damp fabric, and that brown hair hangs in saturated ringlets about his face.
Jack watches then turns away.
Jack is slumped in a high-backed chair when Will returns, rum flask in hand.  Will smiles at him, scraping his wet hair back from his face.
“Don’t catch pneumonia, luv.”  Jack toasts him with his drink.
“I won’t, Jack, don’t worry.”  He plucks his shirt from his chest, wrinkling his nose slightly.  “I must look like a drowned rat.”
“Not at all.”
Will drags a chair opposite Jack and sits.  The boy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.  “Jack?  Is something wrong?”
“No, luv,” Jack shakes his head.  “Don’t mind me, get all caught up in my head sometimes is all.”
“With what?”
“Things of the past, things of the future.”  He takes another long slurp of drink, eyes fixed on Will, “And of the present.”
Jack smiles and touches the icy, wet skin of the boy’s cheek.  “Yeah, you ‘mongst other stuff.”
“Will you tell me?”
Shrugging, Jack lets his thumb trace the lad’s cheekbone again before skimming down to the soft contours of his lips.  “How often do you think of home?”
“Not often probably.  I think about Mum sometimes.”  Will carefully takes the flask from Jack’s hand and has a small sip.  “But I’m here now.”
Jack nods slowly, “And Port Royal?”
“Not at all really.  Why?  Do you often think back to places?”
Jack retrieves his flask and breathes in the scent of it before taking one very long slow mouthful.  “Have you heard of troubadours, luv?”
“Didn’t expect you would have.”  Jack pauses, a droplet is slowly rolling down Will’s neck, and he can still hear the crash from the rain outside.  “My grandmother used to tell me tales of them, all false no doubt, but nonetheless.  She said we were descended from them, luv.”
“And I keep hearin’ one of the songs she used to sing me.”  There is gooseflesh at the open neck of Will’s shirt and Jack has an urge to lathe his warm tongue against that frigid skin.
He takes a breath,
Toute seule passerai le vert boscage,
Puis qu compaignie n’ai;
Se j’ai perdu mon ami par mon outrage,
Toute seule passerai le vert boscage.
Je li ferai a savoir par un mesage
Que je li amenderai.
Toute seule passerai le vert boscage,
Puis que campaignie nai
. ”
“It’s beautiful,” Will whispers.  “What does it mean?”
Stroking one dark lock of Will’s curling wet hair, Jack smiles slightly at him.  “It says, ‘All alone I shall pass through the green woodland, Since I have none to bear me company.  If I have lost my lover through my ill-doing, all alone I shall pass through the green woodland.  I shall let him have a message saying that I will make him amends.  All alone I shall pass through the green woodland, Since I have none to bear me company.’”
Will catches the hand Jack has tangled in his hair.  “You think I’m going to leave, don’t you?”
Jack leans forward and kisses Will.
The rain shows no sign of letting up.  It drums down steady on the Pearl, and leaves the air thick and damp.
Will finds all the little catches and ties and fastenings on Jack’s clothes, his fingers dealing with them swiftly and stroking over the skin beneath.  As he pushes Jack’s shirt from his shoulders he studies all the scars and tattoos revealed.
It is impossible for him to imagine how most of them were come by, what they could symbolise. 
Jack crooks a finger under his chin, and raises his face so he can look him in the eye.  “Don’t think on it, luv,” Jack murmurs.
Not letting his gaze shift from Jack’s face, Will’s hands wander across the span of Jack’s chest, finding raised ragged lines and patches of rough uneven skin.  “It’s a part of you,” he replies.
“But p’raps not a good part.”  Jack stills Will’s hands, “Are you sure, mate?  No need to rush, you know.”
“Jack,” Will’s voice holds just a hint of humour and exasperation.  “We’ve been building up to this for two months.  I would like to do this with you at some point you know.”
Jack smiles and kisses that sweet little spot he has already found beneath Will’s ear.  The spot that makes the lad catch his breath, and make that soft little moan.  “You can’t even say the words.”
“Well, then maybe,” Will gasps sharply as Jack’s mouth sucks and nips at him again.  “Maybe you’ll have to teach me them.”  He scratches lightly down the line of Jack’s backbone, pleased at the shudder it produces.
“Oh?” Jack presses his grin to Will’s flesh.  “And what words should I teach a good boy like you?”  He swipes at the skin with his tongue, tasting salt and warmth.  “Do you know the word ‘fuck’, mate?  Or ‘swive’?  Or ‘bugger’?  Or was you waiting for specifics like?”
He wriggles out of the last of his clothes, his breeches and high black boots, and looks at Will, still fully clothed.  The glimpses of flesh are tantalizing; the triangle as the base of his neck, the bare strong forearms.  The skin is golden and the very epitome of youth, firm and soft.  “I could give you a speech on how I want to lick you all over.  I might start at the tip of your finger, mate, then up your arm, and lathe right across your collarbone…”
“Jack…” Will interrupts.  He steps back, over towards the narrow-ish bed, and starts to strip himself of his clothes.  “Stop talking and touch me.”
“So demanding,” Jack chuckles.  “Don’t you know, good things come to those that wait, luv?”
Will tugs off his boots and starts working on his breeches, he is still wearing his shirt, but it hangs open and loose on his frame.  “Well, if you wait too long, I might be finished without you.”  He bites his lip as he sheds his trousers, he is hard beneath them, and the cool of the breeze as well as Jack’s stare makes him uncomfortable.
Jack steps closer but doesn’t reach out to touch Will yet.  He lets his eyes make a slow and leisurely journey around his body.
“Have you had a long enough look yet?”
“Not quite yet, luv,” Jack smirks.  He has never had the opportunity to just look on Will before.  The lad’s beyond beautiful, all angles and sharp jutting bones mixed with tight muscles.  The boy’s hips are almost mesmerising, the box of them tight and narrow and almost jagged enough to cut glass.
“Jack, please.”
“Sorry, luv, you’re a little distracting.”  He crawls up onto the bed, taking Will’s hand and pulling him along side him.  “Now, what did you have in mind?”
“Just… I don’t know…”  Will runs his hand down Jack’s side, starting at the top of his flank and flowing down to the curve of his hip and the swell of his thigh.  His hand is steady, but his breath is a little too short.
The howl of the wind outside rises and Jack pulls Will into a long slow kiss, tasting him as fully as possible, lips sliding, tongues duelling.  Jack pulls away from Will’s mouth and trails and lick a path down the boy’s chest.
He has been thinking of this, imagining this, for months now.  Will naked and pliant and passionate in his bed.  He doesn’t want to rush, but still it is impossible to wait much longer…
And if Will were to ever leave he must have the memory of this night in his head.
He pauses at the lad’s navel, letting his tongue dart into it, listening to rising groans, while he feels hips jerk and twist beneath his hands.
“Jack…  You have to…” Will trails off as suddenly there is heat, and fire, and he feels as if his soul is being sucked from him.
Jack hums low in his throat and Will trembles.
The wind rises once more and Pearl rocks sharply on the swelling waves.
Will’s head snaps backwards and he makes one long echoing gasp as his body jack-knifes and tenses and dissolves.
Jack softens his mouth, letting Will slip gently from it.  He pets the boy’s stomach and crawls up to meet his unfocused eyes. “Will?  William?”
“Hmm,” Will blinks and stretches.  “Yes, Jack?”
“Alright, luv?”
“Perfect.”  He tugs Jack close and kisses him lightly.  “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Jack nods stroking the now sweat-damp hair from Will’s face.  He can taste the boy in his mouth, and will have the image of him caught in that moment of ecstasy imprinted in his mind always.  “Only if you want it, Will.”
Smiling, and still drowsy, Will nods.  “I want everything you can give me.”
“Right you are, luv.”  There is the usual awkwardness of positioning, and scrabbling about for a pot of slick grease and then Jack is pressing a finger into the tight clench of Will.
Will bites back a noise and keeps his breathing steady. “Talk to me,” he manages.  “Teach me that song.”
Finger sliding gently in and around, Jack begins, “First line, luv, ‘Toute seule passerai le vert boscage’.”  He pushes up to the first knuckle, drawing in a shallow breath.  “You try, Will.”
Toute seule… Toute seule…
Jack gives his finger a slight crook, pleased as Will arches off the bed, eyes squeezing shut.  “‘Toute seule passerai le vert boscage’,” he prompts.
Passerai le vert boscage.”
“Very good.  Are you ready for the second line, luv?”
“I… yes.”
“‘Puis que compaignie n’ai’,” he intones, whispering in Will’s ear as his second finger slowly breaches and enters.  “You try now, luv.  Focus on the words, ‘Puis que compaignie n’ai’.”  He gives that same slight crook again.
Will twists, his breathing going ragged.  “Puis comp’nie ni,” he manages.
“Good enough.”  He presses his mouth to Will’s, licking softly at his lips, tasting the gathering sweat there.  “Third line now,” painfully slowly he inches in his third finger, scissoring and stretching.  “‘Se j’ai perdu mon ami par mon outrage’.”
Se…  Se…  Jack, you have to…”  Will’s voice brakes, his body unable to keep still.
“Alright, Will.”  Jack pulls his fingers back, slicking himself up quickly.  “‘Toute seule passerai le vert boscage’,” he murmurs roughly.  “‘Je li ferai a savoir par un mesage Que je li amendaerai’.”  He places himself at Will’s entrance and pushes.
The grip is almost too much.
Beneath him Will is sweating and writhing, body rising and falling as if with the waves that rock the ship.
“‘Toute seule passerai le vert boscage’.”  One, two, Jack builds himself up into a rhythm, feeling Will rock with him.  His body is beginning to shake with the strain, and Will’s hands are gripping and clawing at his back.
His chest tightens and between gasps he manages, “‘Puis que compaignie n’ai’,” before crying out, motions erratic, and the swell of the passion almost violent.
He comes back down to find Will gently stroking his hair.
“Yes,” he hears a chuckle.  “I’m here.”
“Sleep, Jack.  I’ll still be here in the morning.”
Jack tightens his grip around Will’s waist.
“I’m not going anywhere.  I’m home.”


Like this story?  Send feedback to the author!