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

Acknowlegements
Contact us

Title: Power, Once Taken
Author: lolita_stardust (lolita_stardust@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Jack/Will
Rating: hard R
Summary: Power is taken.

Written for: Alex.
What makes Alex happy: darkfic featuring
sadism, masochism and/or BDSM.
What makes Alex sad: AUs, poor English skills.


“You can have power over people as long as you don't take everything away from them. But when you've robbed a man of everything, he's no longer in your power.”  Alexander Solzhenitsyn



“I’ve already told you, Jack, I will not leave Elizabeth for you!”

“You just don’ see it, do you, lad? You’re not for the likes of her. Girl like her needs someone good, someone upstanding, someone her father can give her away to with pride.”

“She chose me, Jack! She chose me because she loves me, and I love her and I’m not leaving her for adventure on the high sees with you no matter how tempting it is.”

“But, Will, you’re not understanding me.” Jack crossed the smithy “This ain’t no adventure – it’s home. Sailing’s in your blood, Will. You don’t belong here in this hot, dusty hell; you belong at sea, on my ship, in my cabin. Just like yer father.”

Either Jack had misjudged the effect of his words or he had seriously underestimated the borrowed strength of righteous anger, but one way or another Will’s fist caught Jack square on the jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. Jack tasted blood before he was hauled up and face-to-face with Will.

Eyes narrowed to slits, right fist pulled back to launch a fresh assault on Jack’s face, the boy snarled:

“Take. That. Back.”

But by now Jack had regained his equilibrium. He twisted to the left under Will’s arm and tripped the boy. They landed in a heap, Jack on top, Will underneath. Already the boy’s cheek was blackening from an encounter with an anvil on the way down, and his face and chest were spotted with blood from Jack’s split lip.

“Can’t. It happened sure enough, whether you believe it or not. William Turner sailed with me for eight years; he shared my ship, shared my battles, shared my whores, an’ he shared my bed. An’ that’s how I know, Will. Since we first met, since I first found out who you were, since we first fucked…”

“You got me drunk!”

“An’ you loved it.”

At this point Jack couldn’t resist grinding his pelvis against his breathless, furious captive.

“That’s not the point, Jack. I have a wife, and in a month or so I will have a child. So however much your offer tempts me, I must decline.”

Will’s voice and his guard had fallen for he believed this to be the final word. Thus, Jack was able to take a searing handful of Will’s hair in his left hand and haul the boy – man now – to his feet and push him against the hot stone wall of the forge. He thrust his right arm before the boy’s face, sleeve pulled back to reveal the silver pirate brand.

“Do you know how this happened, William?”

“You were pirating. They caught you and branded you as such…”

Will’s voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to a strange metal instrument resting in the forge. Certainly it wasn’t a sword, or one of the brands he used on the local livestock. He wondered…and was slapped back to attention by a bitter, percussive laugh from Jack.

“Mate, that’s not what you know; that’s what the brand told you. It’s a pirate brand so you get it for being a pirate, am I right? Actually, I was merely drinking the wrong bottle o’ bootleg rum in the wrong place at the wrong time; I was a merchant sailor Will. No angel to be sure, but no pirate either. But once you got one o’ these do you think anyone will give you honest work? Exactly. Far from my pirating getting me this brand, ‘twas the brand that made a pirate of me. It’s still cause and effect all right, but which is the cause and which is the effect don’t change the end result. I have this brand an’ I’m forever consigned to the underworld; can’t grow it out, can’t make amends, a pirate’s life for me.”

Jack slid his hand from the boy’s exertion dampened curls to press livid bruises against his throat. His eyes darting glances at the instrument in the forge, Will began to realise with a cold, sick certainty what Jack intended to do.

“Jack, I’m a craftsman, a good craftsman – you’ve said so yourself. I married Elizabeth and she loves me enough to bear my child. I spent most of my life trying to find home, my true home, and I’ve finally found it – it’s here, with a beautiful woman and an honest friend. And, Jack, you are a true friend and I want you in my life, but you can’t steal me away from the only home I’ve ever had because of one night in Tortuga.”

“‘One night in Tortuga’? How can you even…  after you drunkenly kissed me over our third bottle of rum; after you pressed your hands against my throat so hard I thought would choke; after you nearly bit clean through my earlobe – before we’d even left the fucking bar; after we nearly pitched over the banister because we couldn’t separate ourselves long enough to get up the stairs; after you left an imprint of the bloody doorknob in my bloody back for bloody weeks; after you ripped half the hair off my head along with my shirt; after my hands left bruises in five colours on your hip;. after you bled because it was your first time an’ after you sobbed that it didn’t matter; after my tears mingled with the blood and seed leaking down your bruised and lacerated thighs and after you said that I’d killed you for little of the old you remained; after I sang you to sleep with songs about the devil and the ocean and you joined in even though you knew not the words nor the tune – after all that how can you say it was just one night?

 “You know it was more than that, more than just sex. That night was a bloody revelation for both of us. Now I suppose you want to be your own man and cut your own path through life – I respect that. But you should have worked out by now that for a man like you your true path won’t take you through wives and children and nights by the bloody fireside. You’ll always be mine. You’ll always be in the dark with me, Will. That’s your true path. An’ that’s where we’re going – back where I belong. Back where you belong, too, an’ I’ve only got to show you for you to realise. The next few months will be quite a journey; you’ll learn a lot about yourself – your true self I mean. Gods, Will, look at you trying to do the right thing, just like her, just like you could make a home for yourself by doing the right thing with the right woman. You just don’t get it, do you? It’s not about right; it’s not about wrong. It’s about you belonging with me, to me, an’ if you can’t see that for yourself, then I’ll just have to make you see. An’ it won’t be about right or wrong or home. It’ll be about power, about cause an’ effect. I’ve got the cause an’ I’m going to use it…”

As he finished speaking, Jack reached out to the forge, leather gauntlet protecting his hand, and pulled out the branding iron, the letter P at its end glowing white-hot.

Will tried one last time with a look of pure desperation to convince Jack to stop, to think, to reason, to anything, but Jack’s eyes, as they met his own, were empty, the depthless obsidian pools of a predator. He twisted in Jack’s grasp, wondering how the pirate had managed to pin him so securely with just one hand, seeing stars as the hand moved to press dizzyingly against his collarbone and throat. He had burnt himself enough times with hot metal to know what was coming, but the more he struggled the less air he received, and the less strength he had to fight. And, in the end, Will could only look away and steel himself as Jack applied the iron to his arm.

His eyes rolled back in his head and his gorge rose in his throat. The agony was immediate, searing; he felt it not so much in the flesh itself as in a column of white-hot, blinding nausea blazing from his throat to the very pit of his stomach. His every nerve from his arm to the centre of his brain sang with pain. As jack stepped back and set the brand down, Will was torn between the twin urges to squeeze his arm tight and at all costs to avoid touching it. Will’s left hand hovered scant inches above the blackened letter, shaking and twitching as if the mere proximity could somehow soothe the damaged skin.

At some point his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. He couldn’t even manage to scream – he could feel his vocal chords working, but it seemed that his body, unable to handle the sudden influx of anguish, had simply failed.

He didn’t remember passing out, nor being conveyed by a silent, grim-faced Jack back to the Pearl, but the sensation of something cooling being applied to his arm startled him awake. He found himself in Jack’s cabin. The pirate had the good grace to remain silent – there was nothing Will wanted to hear from him—but his eyes spoke volumes, full of concern, contentment, defiance, shame. After holding Will’s gaze for a moment, seemingly, Will thought, to seek some kind of bizarre permission. Jack’s hands dropped, pulled aside sheets, applied the remaining paste to Will, slipped two then three fingers in, captured Will’s jaw when he tried to turn away, forcing him to look into Jack’s eyes as the pirate pushed inside—still silent as the grave. Jack’s eyes, as unfathomable as they had been in the smithy, fluttered shut as his hands finally found stiff, unwilling heat and began to pump…

Will jerked his head from Jack’s grasp and stared at the ceiling, thinking about power. As Jack had explained it, as the trading company had taken power over Jack by branding him a pirate, so Jack had correspondingly taken power over Will. But, as he lay there, kidnapped, branded like a common slave, Will heard Jack mutter through his climax, “Mine forever now, Will. Can’t ever leave,” and he wondered who really had the power. More importantly, however, as he arched his back, suffused by a grim contentment and, yes, rightness, as he came in Jack’s hand, he wondered if, perhaps, he wasn’t home after all.



Like this story?  Send feedback to the author!