Author: Blue Buick R (email@example.com)
Summary: Jack's living a life of luxury and quite happy about it. That's the problem.
Notes: Weird this one. It was for this week's challenge, and supposed to be a piece mainly dealing with imagery. That it is, but it kinda turned moody and angsty for some strange reason. You can actually pinpoint the exact moment things start to loose their light quality. Also because of its strange turn I couldn't fit in the line of dialogue included in the challenge. Sigh, oh well chalk it up to a failure. Feedback is still welcome though.
It was said that pursuing the pleasures of the body made a man soft. Jack did not agree. Living one's whole life in the lap of luxury might very well make a man soft; but living it and pursuing it were two entirely different things in his book. Spending one's life pursuing pleasures, chasing them until they were caught for that one brief shining moment, before one stumbled and had to begin the chase again made, in Jack's estimation, a man hard. He and many a pirate were living proof of that. A starving animal giving the opportunity to glut itself seized such a pleasure readily, anticipating the lean days to come, and such an exercise made them the stronger. So was the quest for pleasure.
Bacchus giveth and Bacchus taketh away, so to speak.
Thus being the state of affairs in the world of nature and debauchery Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl, was in mortal danger of becoming soft. And. It. Was. All. Will. Turner's. Fault! Silly, oblivious, gorgeous Will. Who without realizing it condemned Jack to a slow and inexorable death by luxury by simply giving in to the pirate's desires and consenting to bed down with him. The inconsiderate little bugger, he should have done exactly what was expected of him and save Jack from himself by refusing his advances. But of course that is not how things turned out! The boy had to go off and do something rash and stupid like falling into a tangled sweaty mass of limbs and skin and heat and sex, following Jack all the way. Will was happy. Jack was deliriously happy. The entire situation was really quite disheartening.
A life of continuous pleasure. Debauchery without a struggle. Ecstasy at one's fingertips. These things made a man soft; this point had already been established. Will. Will was pleasure, and debauchery and ecstasy, and with his capitulation, with his desire to be at Jack's side, he had provided a continuous and ready source of such things. Jack unfortunately had the willpower of a three year old when it came to the man; and with that his fate was sealed.
Morning noon and night he supped on the richest of foods, a young body consumed, Will's flesh between his lips and under his tongue like the finest caviar, or fresh ripe peaches in heavy cream.
He drank the best drink, sweat and spit and pearly white essence bursting and sliding across spoiled taste buds and down a ravenous throat until rum and wine and brandy tasted like bilge water.
He slept surrounded by the finest cloth, skin gliding under his hands unmarked but with a speckle of burns like embroidered flowers on a sheet of stretched silk, velvet warmth surrounding tongue or cock.
He was adorned with the most precious of jewels, one day a drape of red rubies about his throat, sucked and bitten into his very flesh, or a band of sapphires blooming blue around a forearm a perfect match for a strong loved hand.
And he fucked, fucked to exhaustion three people at once though there be only one, coy and intense and spontaneous and steady, an orgy beginning to confuse itself with love.
Oh yes, yes indeed Jack was going to go soft and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not have the strength or desire to stay away from Will and even less to send him away. It was, therefore, inevitable.
And come to think of it, if it was inevitable, Jack might as well throw himself into the venture and enjoy his decline with all gusto. No point trying to push back the tide as they say. Perhaps Jack being at the point of his life that he was, and having spent most of it striving for that flash of short-lived pleasure before starting all over again, perhaps he was hard enough, toughened enough that he would be an old man in his grave before Will ruined him completely. After all Will could be hard enough for the two of them; for ask any man, ask Jack, and he would tell you that pleasure itself could be an unbreakable, unyielding, and pitiless thing.
A brief nip of pain near the juncture of his leg and torso pulled him from his reverie, a new gem for his collection no doubt appearing, followed by a swipe of warm silk to sooth the acquisition.
"Pay attention or I shall be insulted," a voice rumbled pitiless.
"I'm going soft," Jack replied as if it were the answer to everything in this moment.
A mink sleek eyebrow rose, a tropical breeze purposefully ghosting across the damp head of Jack's clearly straining arousal.
"That's you, not me," Jack explained.
There was a confused silence.
"I chased something until it caught me," Jack tried again.
"You're making less sense than usual," a short laugh through lips barely touching his sensitized skin vibrated through Jack's nerves.
He shuddered with pleasure.
He ate and drank his fill and swathed himself in luxury once again.
He surrendered to the inevitable.
He shuddered with Will.
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