jackxwill - pirates of the caribbean slash

Title: Second Skin
Authors: Veronica Rich and N. Ranken
Email: verthefirst@yahoo.com and spooniekid@yahoo.com
Pairing: Jack/Will
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jack arranges to have Will rescued from a bad date.
Disclaimer: POTC copyright Disney. Not us. We’re just playing with them.
Authors' Note: Written for Blue Buick R. in the J/W Ficathon2. We tried and tried to make a humor fic about Will and Jack being stuck on an island and Will heralded as a god, we really did. It just didn't work. So, at the last minute (Monday) We started this … even our quickie fics aren't short … -_-
Assignment: a fic with a) blatant Will worship and b) Jack unscrupulously fending off a rival.
Restrictions: a) stupid head in the clouds Will and b) The Pearl "speaks" to Jack.

"Do you remember when we used to dance like this, Marie?" the grey-templed man noised as he seated himself beside his wife. "Your hair would fly out behind you as I spun you around the pavilion, and your laugh was so light, just like your feet."

The dark-haired woman smiled as she surveyed the area. "Louie, we will dance again next year. I'm just not fit to it at the moment. William didn't even want me out here, but Jack was so insist-" Her eye was caught by a familiar glint of caramel, and her gaze pulled away from the blue eyes of her husband and out to the pavilion. "What the devil is he doing out there?"

Louie adjusted his spectacles and squinted. "Why, that's Will. And the young lady from the launderette’s across the road." He rolled his eyes as if scanning his brain for the answer. "Sophia! That's her name. Couldn't remember ... damn old age." Looking to his wife, he slipped the spectacles down on his nose and gave her a pseudo-chiding look over the rims. "Really, old girl, I know I call you that, but I figured your eyes were still better than mine."

Marie shook her head with a frown. She knew the young woman with the mousy-brown hair, had heard her yelling and even slapping the young men she met with behind the footbridge when Marie was out gathering arrowroot. "But, that's all wrong. William's ... well, he doesn't deserve someone like that hanging off him." Her eyes tore themselves from the polite young man and fawning young woman, and started scanning the crowd. "Where is he? Where's Jackson?"

"Said he wasn't coming tonight." Louie motioned at a passing serving girl and rewarded her with his customary broad grin for two cups of cider. Handing one to his wife, he shook his head. "Don't you remember? The Captain said he needed to do inventory for the ship, and he'd rather do it now than wait 'til they have to set sail again."

Marie sipped at her cider with a rather dour look on her face, frowning out at the crowd. "I'd bet gold he just doesn't want to have to see William dancing with that woman," she grumped, shaking her head again. "Not fair to that poor boy, and if I know William, he was just trying to be nice. Too nice for his own damned good sometimes. I'd better send word to the ship, make sure Jackson can come back to collect him before that strumpet pulls him off somewhere. The hussy. All that keeps her from the whorehouse is lack of proof." Venom was not normally in the older woman's nature, but when it came to protecting her family – and she did now consider both Will and Jack her adopted sons – she could be a fearsome opponent. Everyone in Milan knew of the young woman's reputation for using men, then throwing them over for a new one, and it irked Marie that Sophia might even consider setting her sights on William Turner.

Surprised, Louie took her cup as she stood to leave. "Now, now, Marie, you just sit right back down, there." This time, he handed her the cups. "If there's any fetching to be done, I'll be the one doing it. Besides," he added, winking at her as he got up and turned to straighten his waistcoat, "someone needs to stay and keep an eye on the boy. I'll be back in just a bit; don't go anywhere ... and don't take up dancing with that Marcus Serpia." Louie frowned, curling his lip a bit in thought of the septuagenarian widower who came to all these parties. "He's after a lot more than your homemade pies, no matter you've a husband already."

Marie harrumphed, but smiled at her husband. "And what would I do with him anyway? He can't sew, can't cook, and can't sing ... sometimes, I wonder if he isn't from Greece," she joked, setting the cups on the small table. Hearing the rustle of his clothing grow faint, she cast her eyes back to the pavilion, eyes picking out the familiar caramel ponytail as William moved so gracefully in the crowd.

Squeezing the muscle beneath her small hand, Sophia calculated the overall strength of Will Turner's shoulders. Their breadth was easy to discern from cursory inspection – indeed, that had caught her eye the first time she'd spotted the young pirate from the back, bent over old Mrs. Ciotta's kitchen counter repairing the gears of some utensil or other. She didn't remember, and couldn't care less now – she was dancing with the object of her starry-eyed affection, his large, strong hand cupping her waist, those dark, mysterious eyes smiling down into her own. He reminded her of Michelangelo's "David" – it was well known all Italians had a wonderful eye for a fine form, and Will's was strapping and graceful, wrapped in one mysterious package.

So what if he didn't speak much Italian? She didn't figure he had to talk to fuck.

"You're a natural dancer," she complimented slowly, so he would understand the gist, peppering her speech with the occasional English to make it more understandable for the foreigner. "Do you do it much?"

Will smiled and shook his head; he hadn't much danced since he was a small boy, when his mother had twirled him about the small sitting room, humming to them both, her blonde curls tumbling about her in cascades. Elizabeth had occasionally slipped away from her father's parties when they were just barely past twelve, and he would lead her through steps, faltering at first, but becoming more sure of himself as they continued. However, they'd almost always been discovered by a cook or kitchen maid, and separated so the young woman could be shooed back into the party and he could resume his potato peeling or whatever other menial chore he'd taken on to help earn a little extra.

The young woman in front of him was nothing like his friend – for all her posh upbringing, Elizabeth Swann was much like Jack and himself, lean and firm, with a very no-nonsense attitude to cover her piratical daydreams. This girl – Sophia, his mind supplied – she was all round and soft, hips and breasts, and it took a great deal of concentration to know where to move since he was unable to see past her chest the very few times he glanced down to check his feet. "Do you dance often?" he hummed back in passable Italian, remembering the conjugation of the verb.

"Oh ... not very much at all." She felt the opening, a gap between their bodies, and pressed to fill it while continuing in a broken English far worse than her actual command of the language; she hadn't gotten this far by being stupid enough to let on that she wasn't a dumb commoner. "At least not with men. By myself, between bouts at the washtub, I confess ... but that's hardly like dancing with someone, now is it?" She offered him a shy smile and dipped her eyes to his chest in demure subservience.

The young woman had an excellent point. "It's better to have a ... a ... partner, to practice with," he finished in English, not knowing the words. Indeed, he found he was much better prepared for actual fights when he was able to practice with the crew, and, to a much greater degree, with Jack. The bite of steel on steel was more real, and prepared the wielder for the force behind a true blow than just halt-motion practice on one's own.

Watching the young couple make their way around the open space with the other pairs of dancers, Marie snorted softly on the settee. Earlier that morning, she had shared her concerns about Will's naiveté with Jack, with respect to Sophia, and the pirate had reassured her that Will was smarter than he seemed at times. Well, she had no doubts about his intelligence – it was something more than that, that life experience might not have yet taught the boy in its entirety, that troubled the baker. Jack Sparrow called it savvy; she supposed that was as good a definition as any. She'd prodded young Jack, and he'd finally growled something about fixing the situation – or rather, having a friend who owed him a favor do so – if it would make Marie feel better.

Marie wasn't the only one who'd feel better about Sophia being parted from her newest young swain, she wagered. This was the pirates' second visit to Milan within a year’s time, and the baker had quite fallen in love with her newest adopted "son" from the moment they met. Will reminded her so very much of Louie at that age, except she could regard Will Turner with a fond eye for the charms of his youth, instead of the rising heat she'd felt at one time every time a dashing Louie Ciotta had crossed her threshold with another invitation to a dance or for a walk. She recognized a similar heat in Jack's eyes every time he looked toward Will, or spoke of him when he wasn't around – it was the first time in her many years of acquaintance with the scalawag that anyone had affected him in such manner.

She recognized that Will, being what every good young man thought he ought to be, either ignored Jack or simply didn't notice him as such – after all, he was supposed to be a suitor, not have one of his own. Marie wanted to box both their ears for foolishness, for longing and in not taking what was offered. It was a catch-22, but then again, Marie never professed to be easy to figure out, to which Louie could, but politely would not, attest.

Trying as she was to figure what malady she would use to lure Will away from that dreadful girl and back to the house, should the need arise, Marie's face was tilted away from the crowd toward the main entryway. Her eyes traced the archway, trying to put an architectural, artsy name to it, when they caught a slash of breathtaking blue from lower within. The old woman straightened and adjusted her spectacles, blinking to get a better look.

Stately and tall, the latecomer stepped into the hall amid a few murmurs – she was, by all appearances, unescorted. Her gown seemed at this distance made of a fine indigo blue silk, falling and draping in a manner fitting to that type of fabric. Her square-cut bodice and long, tapered sleeves framed a small waist and, above them, a generous expanse of pale, powdered throat, broken only by a wide, jeweled choker. The woman lifted her skirts not daintily, not scandalously, but enough to get the job done of descending the small flight of eight steps to the main ballroom floor. Most of her curly, lustrous midnight hair was pinned to the crown of her head, but several locks tumbled just past her shoulders and flowed over her ears; Marie should have liked to see if she could glimpse fine jewelry on those lobes that would go with the rest of this obviously well-to-do woman, but couldn't, so she simply guessed as much. The woman's chin was lifted with a touch of haughty, but certainly not so much as to put off suitors – in fact, every breathing male in the place was beginning to catch the message that they should stop what they were doing and give her attention. Women were watching, too; some in awe, some with open jealousy at the stir she was creating.

Marie had never spotted this woman in the town, at least not at market or out in the street of a day. Perhaps she was visiting? Or from the brothel – those women didn't mix with polite society much.

Will noticed the falter in his partner's step, the annoyed expression that crossed her face before he paused and turned to look behind him, taking note of the silence of the crowd around them. Deep, twilight eyes blinked in disbelief as the dark woman made her way through the crowd, and he pulled back himself, guiding Sophia out of the way so the mystery woman could pass.

By the moon, she is beautiful, Will thought as the woman – he couldn't determine her age – moved closer. She moved like someone of nobility, her carriage and manner that of one accustomed to giving instructions. Her glossy black hair gleamed in the moonlight, shades of auburn and dark brown flickering in it, picked out by the torchlight. Her eyes, at first glance, were the same jet as her hair, but as she drew closer, Will could tell that they were really a thick, midnight brown, outlined in thin kohl not unlike Elizabeth wore.

Fire was the only word that bounced through Will's mind for a moment as he noticed how the torchlight and lamps flickered off her dusky skin. He noticed her berry-stained lips parting over white, even teeth as she smiled at some of the men, both young and old, who tried to solicit her interest in a dance. As she began to pass, Will's eyes cast down out of habit; he'd been taught early that one did not look nobility in the eye if one wanted to keep living.

Once the newcomer reached the other end of the room, she turned in slow sweep and cast her eyes about. Marie wondered what she might be doing, but it then occurred to her that she was selecting her pick from the available – and probably, the not-so-unattached – men. Her dark shawl fell from a shoulder as she looked about, and it was in that moment that Marie decided she was a harlot, albeit a well-bred one. No proper lady would survey a room in such brazen fashion, not giving a hang about convention and politic required for these sorts of functions.

When the woman openly approached Will, showing little hesitation, a wry smile stole across Marie's lips as she stood from her settee to get a better view. "So that's his game," she murmured to herself. Jack said he had a plan, and it was no secret he was well-acquainted with many of the local prostitutes. Here was one he'd obviously talked into attending and taking Will's mind off Sophia. Well ... as long as Will didn't find out it was a setup, things might go smoothly. After all, she appeared well-bred, and Marie doubted Will had enough experience with the aristocratic female class to see the difference between true manners and those affected for a purpose. I do hope you instructed her not to take things too far, Jack, she prayed. Could be frying pan into the fire, otherwise.

The woman's accent was thick and dark, just like her hair, and though Will wasn't able to completely make out the smooth, contralto Italian, he understood that she was asking him for a dance. He hesitated, thinking of his date; it would be rude to cast her aside for another woman. On the other hand, little could be more rude than the way Sophia was glaring at the woman, on the verge of a pout … or the way the woman tilted her chin up and narrowed her dark eyes coolly in return. She was not as slight as Sophia and didn’t look at all shy about starting – or finishing – an argument.

Finally, Will turned to Sophia, beseeching at her with large, brown eyes. "Would you mind awfully? I don't wish to be rude. I won’t keep you waiting long, and I don’t want anyone angry …"

"Of course," she replied in tight English, though her lighter eyes glared cold daggers as Will released her and offered his arm to the lady. For all that he was offering his support, she was the one who led him out to the center of the pavilion.

Someone called for the orchestra to start up again, the thick sound of music filled the air once more, and he fell into the lead stance his mother had taught him so long ago. Step up, then back, around and again; the woman felt like she wasn't even stepping, so smooth were her movements. "You're amazing," he noised a few minutes into the dance.

She said nothing at first, only eyeing Will with a detached friendliness. Finally, in English: "Was it so easy to leave your lady friend, then?" There was the gentle hint of reproach in her tone.

Will blushed a bit, and executed a fancier step, taking her out, then back in again. He could understand her well now, and her accent was much less pronounced. "I do not wish to be rude to anyone, ma’am. I'm here aiding an ill friend of mine, and she insisted I come to the festival to relax." He chuckled a bit at the thought of this size of a crowd ever relaxing him. "I've no claim on Miss Inverno, and she has none on me."

It was a simple explanation, and true. He was bound to none living in this town. The only bond he might have had was if his captain would consent to looking his way for more than five minutes.

"Ah, a polite one, you are." She gifted him with a full smile, then, and pressed a bit closer as they moved. "And might I know the name of my fair partner, then? Or shall we remain a grand mystery to one another for the evening, hmm?"

Will dipped his head a bit as the moved. "William Turner. Might I ask yours?" He pulled his head up as he pulled back, turning the smaller woman under his arm, bringing her back to face him as his other hand resumed its post at her waist.

"Jenife Renard." She closed her eyes briefly in a version of a curtsey that she couldn't execute while they danced. "I prefer Jenna, though, monsieur." She examined him warmly. "But you cannot be from around here, much like me, no? I hail from France; and you? England, perhaps?"

"I did once live in England, yes," the young man replied. "Many, many years ago. What is it that brings you to Italy, if I may ask?"

"A ship." She smiled wickedly, parting her lips enough to show a glimpse of even front teeth.

This pulled an answering laugh from Will. "Beauty and a sharp wit. I am truly blessed this evening."

The song ended, and Will bowed to his partner, taking in her delicate curtsey before the soft round of applause broke in for the musicians. However, it was brief, and another piece started up, and the smile in Jenna's eyes prompted Will to take her up on the silent invitation for another dance – especially since a quick scan of his immediate area didn’t locate Sophia.

When Louie returned nearly an hour later, he found Marie's attention caught up in the dancers. He sighed, wishing she were well enough to hop up and be part of the circle, but knew there'd be a next time if he could keep her still now. "Well, I went," he spoke, sliding back onto the settee beside her. "Just like you asked – he wasn't there. But I did leave word." Marie said nothing, didn't even look his way; intrigued, Louie's eyes followed her gaze. The blacksmith, it seemed, had found a new dance partner, a woman whose nose came to his chin, who glided gracefully and was making him laugh. Well, it was good to see the boy not so damned stiff with social convention ... though Louie did wonder where Sophia had gotten off to. She didn’t seem to be in the place. Then again, his eyesight wasn't what it used to be.

"They've been dancing the past five compositions," his wife supplied softly, leaning over a bit to speak conspiratorially. "She just came in – swept into the place, really, and picked him right out. One of Jack's doxies, I'll wager."

"Well, then," Louis noised, “your worries are solved. The lady shall capture the attention of your darling young man, and then promptly hand him over to Jack when the night is ended."

Midnight, Will deduced from the position of the Great Bear. Midnight, and she's going to leave. "Is there somewhere I can walk you back to, Jenna?" he asked. "I'd hate to think we spent all night talking, and not even do you the courtesy of seeing you safely back to your room."

"You are extremely kind, and gracious," Jenna purred. "But I've a carriage that will be waiting to take me to my quarters." She looked a bit wistful, then pressed closer as Will tightened his arm around her waist, turning her dark eyes fully upon him. "You dance divinely," she murmured genuinely. "Come, where did you learn? Surely a former sweetheart taught you; or perhaps your father?"

"My mother," Will admitted, dipping his gaze again, then dragging those liquid brown eyes up her face once more. "When I was still very young."

"My mother taught me, as well," Jenna nodded. "From when I was a wee b- babe." She frowned. "Really, a girl, though. Babies don't dance very well, do they?"

Will smiled. "You remind me of someone I know," he laughed, not at her, and stepped back. "He's forever making odd statements like that, too."

"He?" She crossed her arms. "I remind you of a man?"

Will nodded. "It's not a bad thing, trust me. You remind me of my captain, is all."

"How?" She fell into step beside him, and slid her hand through his arm as they moved toward a small table of light refreshments. "In what way, I mean?"

"Well, it's a bit hard to explain. Jack, he's been everywhere, to Asia and Europe, and America ... he's picked up things from all over the globe. The way he walks, talks, and moves, it's just obvious that he's picked it up from all over. Some of the way you move, your patterns of speech, they're a lot like his. I know he's good with the French language, spent a lot of time there, so I'm guessing he must have picked up a lot from your country." They reached the table, and he picked up a cup, handing it to her. "Cider?"

Jenna took the cup, an insouciant smile playing across her lips as her eyes held Will's. Taking a long, quenching drink, she separated the cup from her lips and licked the traces of cider from them. "Well, it's not island rum," she observed casually, "but I suppose it'll do."

This caused the young smith to pause and blink. "I wasn't aware that noblewomen were allowed access to bootleg liquor," he hummed, his posture shifting slightly. His eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded her, trying to take in what kind of threat she might now represent.

"Noblewomen aren't." Now Jenna openly cast about for her earlier rival, trying to spot her in the crowd. "Looks like the mousy leech knew what was good for her and took her leave." She returned her eyes to Will's – and smirked.

Will stilled at that, then closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "How much did Marie pay you?" he asked, tone suddenly flat and noncommittal. "I apologize for her overprotectiveness, Jenna. I must admit, you are an excellent conversationalist."

She dropped her voice – a lot. "Well, I ought t' be, seein' as ye tell me ever' day I donnae know how t' shut up, for Chrissake."

"Madre de Dios... Jack?" Will's face was unshuttered in disbelief, and he pulled back to look the woman – no, man – over. "Jack, what in the name of God are you doing?" he demanded in a whisper.

Keeping a smile pasted to his lips, Jack motioned silently toward the dance floor and stood expectantly until Will reluctantly took his arm. "Was engaged in a bit of espionage at the gentlemen's club earlier," he explained softly, sweeping alongside the smith. "Thought I'd make use of the disguise and stop by to see if you were still saddled with that dreadful bitch, afterwards."

Will's feet automatically guided them to the music; the festival wouldn't last much longer, but the band had a few more songs in them. "And so you came to trick me into thinking ... Wait a minute, how is it you're so good at this? Why didn’t I recognize you?"

Leaning in close, Jack whispered, "Pirate," letting warm breath glide across Will's jaw. Then, pulling back and again in Jenna's voice: "And yes, I do think I'll be needing that walk home, if you don't mind, good sir. Not much room to store a sword in all this frippery, savvy?"

"Are you talking about back to Marie's, or back to the Pearl?" Will asked, trying to ignore just how much his heart was being tugged. Jack had stayed trussed up in that uncomfortable clothing just to keep Will’s attention … for whatever reason, it didn’t matter. What gave him pause was how good Jack looked in it, and how well Will had responded to it.

That Will was agreeing to this without getting angry or anything about Jack sticking his nose into the smith's business made Jack a bit nervous – but also emboldened him further. "Where would you rather go?" he posed, making no effort to disguise the curiosity in his eyes.

Rather than answering right away, Will flicked his eyes about. "Why is it you have to look so good like this? It's almost frightening." It was almost a pout, yet not, a soft grouse with an undercurrent of frustration. "At least now I know why you wear the beard."

"Just the way I'm made, I s'pose." He took pride in mixing his accents now, enjoying the flush it brought out in Will's cheeks. Boldly, Jack pressed closer, tightening his grip on the hand that curled around his for the dance. "Course, I'm not sure I want to look too good, you understand; pirates are generally better suited to sashes and swords than dresses and doilies."

"I like the way you normally dress," Will replied, finding it rather hard to breathe, though not for Jack's grip. "It's much …" He fumbled, trying to find a phrase that would suit, but not able to come up with anything that adequately described Jack's dashing mishmash of clothing that suited him so well. "I like your normal clothes better," he settled, cheeks pinking a bit, still off-balance.

"They really seem to have taken to each other, don't you think?" Marie questioned her husband, elbowing him as she nodded toward Will and the mystery woman. The young man was laughing, as was the woman who seemed to be entertaining him so. "So familiar, though ..."

Louis nodded. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a relative of your foundling, my dear. It's the same hair, the same chin. All she'd need would be some flopping boots and raccoon-marks, and she'd be fit to captain a boat alongside Jack."

Halfway through the song, Jack brought a halt to their waltz. "As good a dancer as you are," he explained, "these bloody shoes are killing my feet. What say we leave?"

Will winced; he could only imagine how small shoes could affect even Jack's feet, which were accustomed to the room of a square-toed boot rather than a pointed, buckled shoe. "Well, where to, then, Jack? Marie's or the Pearl?" He paused, looking down. "And are you all right to walk?" Jack's steps had faltered in the past few minutes, and the slight look of pain that had taken over his sharp features gave Will concern.

"Once we get outside, I can take these off," Jack reassured him, leaning a bit more into Will's arms. "Let's get outside, then we'll decide – but I'm votin' for Pearl. More privacy, and I won't have to answer questions in case Marie an' Louie get home soon."

Will nodded. "It's a longer walk, but that makes sense. But, do you really want to be walking in the streets in your bare feet? You do know what horses do while they're trotting, don't you?"

"Not like I've never done it before," Jack pointed out. "You're not carryin' me – I’m not a lass, nor am I helpless." He steered Will to face the entryway. "Get me out of here, love, eh?"

"Whatever you say, Jack." Instead of following orders, he bent and scooped the corseted man in his arms, heading out, a rather self-satisfied grin on his face.


“You can put me down any time, ye know,” Jack informed his blacksmith. “I promise I’ll wash me feet once we get t’ the water, Mum.”

“We’re almost there, now.” Will was having none of Jack’s nonsense, though maintaining annoyance did distract him from highly inappropriate musings on the nature of said man. “Besides, if you’re giving that dress to Anamaria, you don’t want to get it dirtier, do you?”

“Who said I’m givin’ th’ dress away?” Off Will’s wide-eyed expression, Jack shrugged, keeping his other arm around the back of the man’s shoulders. “It did come in handy tonight. Might again.”

“Why would you keep it?” They were on the docks, and Will finally heeded his captain’s restless squirming and bent, letting Jack’s feet hit the boards to get his balance before turning him loose completely. “And would you mind explaining to me why you're in a corset and dress?" Another set of blinking, and Will looked him up and down in confusion. "And how you can breathe?"

"'S not that tight, really. I don' really feel th' need t' truss m'self up 's tightly as your young missy," Jack pointed out, looking around to make sure nobody else was close, and motioning to Will to follow to a rowboat. "I told ye, I'm spyin'. Heard there's a bounty on th' Pearl an' her crew, wanted t' know who we're lookin' to deal with this time."

"As a woman? And why is it you make such a good one?"

“Acting, love. Th' great thespians of Europe an' th' Orient – got t' spend time with 'em." He remembered to carry himself as a woman as he approached the boat, then gathered his petticoats, revealing the cuffs of breeches beneath, and stepped down as solidly as any sailor. He gestured for Will to follow and take up oars. "Think, Will: Who'd suspect a skirt?"

"I understand ... at least I don't feel like such an utter lech now." Will sighed.

"Aye, I've noticed ye givin’ me th’ eye all evenin'. But that’s fine; ye thought I were a woman, an’ that’s th’ effect I was aimin’ for."

Will blushed and ducked his head. "I still feel odd about it."

"Ahh." Jack only smiled at him as Will began to row.

Fifteen minutes later, they’d boarded the Pearl and made their way to the captain’s cabin, Jack grateful he’d not posted a watch for the night, which would make necessary some sort of explanation to get aboard. It was bad enough Will was probably still not satisfied with his reasoning.

“Ye mind comin’ along?” he asked back over his shoulder up on deck. “Could use a bit o’ help strugglin’ out of this thing.”

Will rolled his eyes and moved forward, heading into the cabin with Jack. "Do I even want to know where you got all this stuff?" he asked as he shut the door behind them.

“What, are ye thinkin’ I peeled ‘em from a dead lady?” Jack teased, yanking gloves from his hands and fingers scrabbling at the width of lace at his throat to get it off. “Mind getting’ the lamps, mate? Like t’ see what I’m up to, here.”

Familiar with the cabin from his frequent book-borrowing expeditions, Will was able to locate the matches and lamps with a minimum of fumbling, and soon the room was lighted with the warm glow of flickering fire as Jack's deep, indigo dress sparkled. He couldn't for the life of him understand why he found Jack so appealing, moreso since finding out that the person who'd made him laugh all night was his captain ... in a dress. A dress. WHY the dress? He didn't know if he should be relieved that he reacted to what he thought was a woman, or disturbed that he reacted to Jack.

Annoyed with the fastenings of the dress, Jack’s thick fingers reached around and scrabbled at them, not quite finding a purchase that wouldn’t rip the blasted thing. He happened to catch Will’s frown out of the corner of his eye. “Out with it,” he ordered. “What’s th’ matter?”

"You don't think this is even a bit odd?" Will noised, reaching with uncertain hands to help Jack undo the hook and eye catches. "I mean, masquerading as a woman, and doing a bang-up job at it, then pulling me in your cabin to help you out of it all – it doesn't seem the least bit strange?"

“Well, I figure it’s not your first choice for how t’ end an evenin’, but I assure you I’ve donned silks before t’ gather information.” Noticing the widening of Will’s eyes, Jack shrugged and pulled at the dress’s shoulders, shimmying out of the garment as Will finished unhooking the back. “Not on a reg’lar basis mind you. Couple o’ times.” He grinned at the man’s obvious discomfiture. “Uncomfortable, are we?”

"Yes!" His outburst did not still his hands, though they did move with halting slowness over the catches. "It's damned odd for a bloke to run around in a skirt!" Odd ... strange ... just like Jack, he thought. Goddamn, why does the man have to be so odd? It's getting to the point where the only thing that's normal is the eccentric!

"This, from th' man who makes fun o' me kohl as makeup?" Jack rebutted, letting the dress slide down over a couple of layers of petticoats. "Really, Will – if you can handle one, why not th' other?" he demanded in a playful tone.

"Jack, making fun of your makeup and eye-paste is just that – picking at you for wearing women's makeup in men's clothing. This ..." He gestured at the black corset underneath the indigo dress and gulped. "This is much, much different."

“Aye, you’re tellin’ me – hurts like a sonofabitch,” Jack winced, plucking at the laces.

"Do you, um, need any help?" Will offered.

"If ye wan' take a crack at this piece o' frippery, I would not stop you." Jack presented his back to Will and reached up to begin pulling pins from his hair. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Jack realized Will was going rather slowly. "You can yank," he pointed out, turning slightly to look back over his shoulder. "I'm no lass; I'll not bruise tha' easy."

"Hmm?" Will's quick mind had slowed and felt light, spacey. He was watching the garment slowly unlace and slip off Jack's body, fascinating in its own weird sort of way. Despite his crabbing, he found this Jack disturbing in his beauty.

As Will tugged off the corset, Jack released a big sigh. “Thank Jesu ..."

"Feel better?" Will asked.

"Almost." Jack kept working at his hair, reaching around as strands fell intermittently. "Help a mate out, would ye? I'm tryin' to track down all th' pins in this mess."

Will's fingers twitched, reaching up to comb through the glossy, dark locks, locating the pins, combs, and clips that kept it all in place. Not by design – at least he didn’t intend it as such – he massaged the hair as he worked. It fell in heavy waves, having been curled before being pinned up, and smelled heavenly of conditioning and scrubbing. He'd never felt anything quite like the thick waves that slipped though his fingers, reminding him of how the sea slid around the hull at night when the water was stripped of its blue and left only black – purest jet with the sparkles of the moon and the sea dancing off it, much in the way the dancing flames of the lamps did now.

Strong, work-toughened hands slipped past the thick silk, sliding over Jack's scalp, massaging it. Whatever conditioning oil had been used on the man, Will blessed it, for as he worked the skin, its scent grew, filling the small cabin.

Jack paused, letting his eyes slide shut, savoring the touch of the hands he’d longed to have upon his skin for the past year. Calluses stimulated the roots of his hair, which he’d initially recoiled from pulling out of its dreadlocks and freshening to the point of femininity – while it was still something he’d prefer to avoid, this made the experience more than bearable. “Will,” he murmured, turning his head just enough to speak to his own shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

"'M checking for ... pins," the younger man replied with a low, slow voice. He was concentrating on his fingers, just enough of his mind left to note the way highlights in those ebony locks shifted as his fingers moved under it. "This way, if I find any, I'll stick myself, not you."

“Mighty thoughtful of you.” Jack was alarmed to feel his pulse kick up as those fingers delved deeper, became more intimate with his hair. He couldn’t resist adding a quiet, “Sure it’s not somethin’ more’n that?”

"Don't like it? Mrs. Brown used to say it helped restore circulation. She had long hair like yours, but not as thick." The memory pulled a smile from the young man, as he recalled how the small woman could sit for almost an hour as a very young Will had worked her scalp with his oversized hands, hands he'd eventually grown into. "Was terrified of losing it, and she said this helped build muscle in my fingers, as well."

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Comparin' me to th' master's wife – thankee, William."

"Knock it off," Will grumbled, pulling his fingers away, the moment spoiled.

Without conscious thought, Jack spun and caught the wrist. "It wasn' a criticism," he clarified, inexplicably panicked at the thought of losing that particular touch, the unfamiliar emotion producing words he couldn't control. "I ... don't, Will."

The sudden, longing look in Jack's eyes gave the young man pause, and the hand on his wrist fairly burned. "Don't what, Jack?"

“Don’t quit.” Pushing his advantage, Jack inched closer, easing against Will, lowering his forehead to tuck against the bridge of his nose. “You're makin' it dif'cult t' get dressed ‘gain," he breathed, trying not to mouth and kiss Will’s chin.

"I'm sorry ... I truly am. It's just so ... gods, I didn't know your hair was this beautiful." Will's tone was awed as he tilted Jack’s head back and looked into the delicately-lined eyes. "You're just so damned beautiful, and I'm almost ashamed of myself for wanting you."

Jack kissed him. Hard, tongue pushing past Will's lips. "Then take me," he managed between caresses, harshly breathing.

Will's insides double-clutched at that. "Don't ... don't tempt me." He paused before kissing back, and it was harder than Jack's, one hand around the back of the pirate's neck, the other about his waist, pinning him in place before Will pulled back a bit, breathing raggedly. "Don't. I've been tempted all night, and I have precious little restraint left."

At that, Jack reached up and loosened Will's leather thong, freeing his hair from the base of his skull, noting it was a few inches longer than when he’d first met the blacksmith. He played with it, spreading it out ... and grinned. "You've a pretty face too, ye know," he hummed, stroking Will's scalp. "'Nother wench ‘round the taverns wouldn' hurt th' cause, ye know ....”

“You've forgotten one thing," Will murmured, rolling his head about Jack's, noses and lips brushing, passing, meeting and sliding away as he arched his neck to press into the touch. "My nose is a dead giveaway."

"Nah, we'll jus' say you're me ugly sister, 's all." There was a light in his eyes as he grinned, keeping his arms around Will's head.

"I'd have to be your ugly, mute sister. I can't do voices like you can. We should probably both just skip it, and hire some of the local children to listen in on the adults.” Will pulled in a deep breath and stepped back, trying to distance himself from the compact, delicious-smelling man in front of him. This was not like him, not at all. He simply didn't do things like this, especially not with strange-

Strange what? Women? Men? People who call themselves Jack Sparrow? Be careful how you answer that one, Will. He cleared his throat, shaking his head in coltish manner. "Besides, if I dress as your sister, I'm likely to blow our cover and get us into a brawl when someone tries to pat my arse."

"Yeah, it'd be curious if th' only one you didn't launch off an' smack for doin’ it was your 'sister,'" Jack smirked, reaching for the damp cloth he’d snagged earlier off the washbasin and wiping the powder from his face and chest.

Will gave Jack a look, but felt warmth rush through him again at the delighted challenge in the set of the man’s chin and the spark to his gaze. "And who said I wouldn't? After all, siblings aren't supposed to have their hands all over each other like that." Will felt his voice falling into that low, tenor rumble as he met the man's eyes.

Jack tossed his head, sending the hair back off his shoulders. "Too bad," he sighed, tossing aside the rag. "Watchin' you all night, knowin' I couldn' have you ... That’d really put me in somethin' of a state." He closed the distance and lowered his hands along Will's sides, pouting. "Does this mean I'll have t' take m'self in hand now?"

"If you really want what you're asking for," Will warned, his eyes darkening, "you may find it a bit hard to move in the morning.”

“You'd be nice to a lady, wouldn' you?"

“What lady?" Will ran his hands over Jack's chest. "No bosom ... and I bet if I slid my hand lower ..." He pressed down Jack's torso, pushing the petticoats off the captain’s hips, turning one hand to cup the erection he’d felt earlier. "I knew I'd find something no lady should have on her."

"Aye, or in 'er," Jack parried slyly, purring and arching, eyes half-closed. "Go on an' tell me how irresistible I am, 'gain."

"Dammit, Jack, I didn't even know it was you, and I wanted to touch you all night!” Will paused, considering how the accidental admission sounded; Jack only cocked his head and studied him thoughtfully. “Or, maybe I did, somehow, know it was you, and I wanted to rip those men’s eyes off you and bring you back where you belong."

"You've a keen eye, mate." Jack reached down, and his breeches soon fell around his ankles. Raising lightly-outlined eyes back to Will's, he squared his chin in challenge. "Go on," he offered with a half-grin, pulling Will's hand back to his hair as he stepped out of the pooled garments. "Let's find out if ye'll still respect me in th' mornin'."

Given permission, Will dipped in once more, lapping until Jack opened to the touch and he felt the light tap of Jack's tongue. It was the only spur Will needed to take in more, harder, as he tangled with the pirate. The pressure was almost punishing, hand tight on the back of that long, lovely neck, holding the dark-maned man in place.

They nipped at each other, open-mouthed and panting as they pressed together. Will seemed to be trying to consume the man, wanting to pull Jack's dark, rich essence inside, absorbing until he couldn't tell himself apart from the pirate. He couldn't get close enough, pulling Jack harder to him with bruising strength, noises becoming growls as they tangled together, Jack's skin sliding against the loose cloth in their motions.

Jack alternated between fighting back and surrendering, even when Will tumbled him to the bed and began kissing, licking, one hand everywhere and the other tangled in his dark, wavy hair. He was drowning, trapped just beneath the surface, but not protesting; is he always this aggressive in bed? Jack wondered as the man tasted and stroked him, and he silently offered thanks for being able to sample this side of the blacksmith. "Don' stop," he murmured, as Will pulled away and sat up on his knees, resting on either side of Jack's hips.

Will chuckled, a dark sound in the barrel of his chest, and he slid one hand over Jack's thigh, massaging as he went. "If I don't stop, your skin will break. I don't really intend to use your own blood to ease my way." He shook out his own hair, still kinked a bit from the club that had held it, and slid off his lover. "Besides, it's rather hard for me to do much more while I'm still fully dressed." A smirk, and he reached down to fist Jack's erection once, twice before letting go, smiling at the captain’s strangled noise. "Don't you think?”

Jack closed his eyes and grinned. "Oh, you're creative; you’d find a way, I've no doubt." With a long sigh, Jack opened his eyes and turned onto his side to watch Will undress, gaze never leaving the man's graceful curves and subtle muscles. "Mmm ... exquisite, love," he breathed, sliding a hand down to wrap around his own member. "Hurry."

Will's shirt hung open in the front, all buttons undone, fancy waistcoat doffed and tossed on a chair. He caught sight of Jack grasping his cock, and closed the short distance, batting the hand away. "Didn't say you could do that," he snarled before resting one knee on the bed, and bending over to take the thick shaft into his mouth, pulling a heavy suction that forced him down further onto it.

"Will ... God, oh ..." Jack shook his head, drowning further, dizzy with need and intense passion for this man. "Fuck, more...

Bracing himself on the bed with one hand, Will used the other to cover the base of Jack's shaft, taking time every few strokes to dip down and roll the pebbled sac beneath. He allowed his mouth to concentrate nearer to the top, using lips, tongue, and the occasional careful scrape of tooth to keep Jack gasping. This was no gentle lovemaking, no teasing play. Will's pace was heated and intense, demanding Jack's response.

Bending nearly double, Jack arched, bowing his head beneath him, smooth chin sharply thrust into the air. "Son of a bitch, ah, YES. Need you-" He felt Will's tongue delve into the wet slit as his teeth fastened with light pressure to the head. "In me, Will – God damn it, split me 'part ... shake me, rattle me ... touch it all ..." Jack dissolved into heated groans and sharp hisses, sitting up halfway and bracing on one hand to watch, the other reaching possessively into Will's caramel locks. "Take 't all up inside there," he rumbled, lifting his hips in erratic jerks. "Take it! Oh, Jesu ..." His head fell back, but he held and strong hips pumped mindlessly.

This can be dealt with. From the first intense push against his epiglottis, Will knew he wasn't in control any longer, but was determined to see it out. He kept up the suction as much as he could while focusing on keeping his throat relaxed and open. The hand that had been working in tandem with his mouth slid lower, brushing outside Jack's entrance, circling, tapping, but never pushing in, wanting to see how this small torment would affect his lover's ardor.

Jack gasped when Will touched him, his hips momentarily stilling. Lightheaded and dreamy, Jack twisted his head and arched again, though not as roughly – wanting only to give Will better access. "Do that 'gain," he growled, beginning to lift his hips in jerky motions.

Had his mouth not been full, Will would have smirked as he drummed his fingers around the sensitive skin, raising his head to suction his way down once more, a possessive growl leaving his nose. Fingers wound into Will's hair harder, squeezing and clutching. "That t-tongue," he gasped. "Oh, God, where'd ye learn t' use that TONGUE, Will?" Jack's hips were still bucking in circular motion, his mind almost completely gone, soaring far off among the stars beginning to sparkle behind his eyes. "Uh ... give it t' me, yeah ... give it ..." He trailed off into rhythmic grunts, long, thick hair flying as his head tossed, chin up, then down, then up.

Come on, Jack, come on. Will refused to enter his partner, wanting to take him over from this alone. He stopped the circling, the tapping, and started to massage just under Jack's bollocks, pressing up and rolling as near to the prostate as he could get from the outside. Taking his cue from Jack's insistence, the smith worked his tongue more, squiggling the flat of it from side to side as he sucked down, scribbling the tip over the pulsing flesh as he came back up. Every so often, he applied his teeth in the gentlest manner he could to slide over the ridge of the head, not biting hard, but adding a bit of friction.

Playing sharply in the forefront of Jack's mind was a scene he often looped subconsciously at the back of it, almost daily. He and Will were in the cave at the Isla de Muerta, Elizabeth trembling over the chest, Hector pontificating ad nauseam, and Will was accusing him, snidely, of being opportunistic and self-centered. Angry, Jack turned on the smith and challenged him; he didn't remember exactly what he said that day, but what stuck in his mind was the haughty tilt of Will's chin, revealing the slender elegance of his throat, the flare of nostrils, the high flush in those cheeks, slits of narrowed brown eyes staring him down – in short, not backing off even in the face of indignant pirate.

It was, as far as Jack could discern, the single sexiest thing he'd ever seen close up. Will, taut as a bowstring, poised to snap, barely restraining himself; that had been Jack's initial realization of his lust for the man. And now, as that same spitfire swallowed him whole, adding some bite every so often, he thought back to that day That, perhaps more than the pressure of tongue on cock, jerked his release and tumbled him off the edge. Jack thrust up hard, driving, demanding completion with a piercing, brief cry.

That's my Jack. Will nuzzled the wilting flesh, lapping tongue removing the traces of Jack's spurts, helping him down from the high before letting go, crawling up Jack's body. The cloth of his breeches rasped against the pirate's legs, and the light ends of his open linen shirt brushed Jack's torso just on the edges of where their flesh touched. "I take it that met approval?" His tone was smug, with a touch of smirk underneath.

Opening his eyes lazily – only halfway, with dark lashes curtaining his smoldering gaze – Jack rolled his head toward Will. He examined his lover's face carefully, and leaned in to lap a lingering droplet from the corner of the man's moustache, while pulling one of Will's hands to his scalp to feel the thick, dark hair he knew the man wanted to touch. "Keep it up, an' you'll be th' one with ambulatory problems on th' morrow," he murmured, a bit hoarse.

Will allowed his fingers to dance in that soft, soft hair, petting and stroking as if touching some exotic animal. Lord knows it feels like it belongs on some beautiful, wild creature who hunts in the jungles. "If I keep doing that, you'll be spent, and unable to impale me," Will taunted.

"Oh, you want me in you?" Jack grinned, his body gloriously spent and thrumming all at once, wanting to stretch and be boneless. "Funny ... I was thinkin' th' other way 'round, actually."

Will chuckled. "I must really have taken your mind with that." He leaned in, kissing by not kissing, rubbing foreheads as he spoke. "You see, if I touch you like that constantly, you won't have the energy to impale me, so my only recourse will be to have you writhing against me, begging me to go faster." His voice dropped to a low hum.

"Mm-hmm." Jack shifted to his side to face Will, sliding a forefinger inside the edge of his shirt, beginning to push it further open. "All night, I watched you," Jack purred, pushing the material off Will’s shoulder, down his arm. "Trying so hard t' ignore me ... ignore what you so obviously wanted." He was breathing rapidly, mouthing Will's chin. "Thinking what it'd be like t' break tha' impenetrable front you put up, get ye t' shed all an' take me right there ..."

Strong arms slid out of the linen fabric, rasping over lightly-furred skin. "I wouldn't have done it, Jack. Even if you'd climbed onto my lap and slid yourself against me I couldn't have done it ... it wasn't you, then, it was her, and she's not you." He slid off the bed, away from Jack's grasp, letting the shirt fall from his body. Will caught it and tossed it over onto the chair where Jack's normal clothing was draped. Turning his eyes back, his hands slid down his own sides, traveling in a maddening, slow glide inward toward the buttons of his breeches. "You wanted to make me shed everything, did you?"

Jack sat up to watch, leaning back on the heels of his hands, shaking the tangles out of his hair. "All of it."

He began to pull at each button, letting it come undone before he hooked his thumbs in the waistline. "You wanted me to grab Jenna, in front of everyone, and claim her for my own? To squeeze my media naranja for so much juice, leaving the rind to the pigs?"

Will shook his head, reaching down to unfasten the cuffs of his breeches, allowing the legs to open enough to slip over his dove-grey boots. He stepped out of the pile with precision, stalking back up to the bed before leaning forward to place his fists on the bed, intense gaze boring into Jack's. "Never. But now that you're you ... " He broke off to run a lascivious gaze over Jack's lithe, tanned body. "Now that you're you and not someone else, I can claim you, take you, and wear you out ... and when you see me tomorrow, you'll know that I could, if I wanted, pull you close at any time and drink from your lips like they're coated in so much honey."

All evening, the rustle of silk and linen brushing his body had highly sensitized Jack's skin; the sight of Will for the past few hours hadn't abated it. As he pulled the smith onto him, savoring the slide of skin, his eyes flicked to the man's feet, then back to Will's, sparking with humor. "Leavin' th' boots on, are we?"

Will leaned in sharply, though not covering the full distance, hovering just in front of Jack's face. He reached out, nibbling on those plump, delicious lips, avoiding Jack's attempts at connection. He just wanted to taste, and he did, sucking and lapping until they became swollen and red. "I like them like this much more than any pigment you could apply to them," the smith purred.

He'd worried about going to the dance and trying to pull off the stunt in the first place, but concern for Will at the hands of that man-eater Sophia had won out – not to mention a healthy portion of jealousy toward the girl. Not knowing how he'd take having his captain in a dress, Jack intended never to reveal his identity.

And then he'd spotted Will watching him out of the corner of his eye as they walked to the refreshment table. For a few heartbeats, when their eyes met, he was sure the man had figured him out, his game of playing at being female, and Jack’s strategy had always counted upon the best defense being an outrageous offense of some sort.

So, he’d spilled the beans – never dreaming this would be its consequence. Jack mused on revising his opinion regarding honesty being the best policy, after all. Will's hands on his sides, his hips, rubbing his back as he rolled the smith over ... he closed his eyes and reveled, feeling the weight of his hair fall around them, smirking as he gained his knees and felt the telltale hardness wedged against his inner thigh. "Why?” he murmured.

Will chuckled, the undertone of a lion's roar as his eyes closed, allowing him to roll his face against the dark curtain around his head, and he was spoiled forever with the softness of it. "Why would I ever want any but you, Jack? You're everything I need. Maddening in your challenges, arrogant in your bearing at times, perfect in your heart ... you are my heaven, Jack Sparrow. I'm not going to let you get away from me."

Jack lowered his chest and belly to Will's, gifting him with one perfect, deep kiss before lifting up again and twisting his body partway to reach behind and slide his fingers along the underside of Will's cock, down over the silky scrotum, cupping it to roll along his slender fingers. "Your turn, pet,” he grinned. “You, deep up inside me." Few words were often the most effective, Jack had learned. “Think ye can handle it your first time out?”

Will dry-swallowed, face tilted up, fixing Jack with a disbelieving expression. He knew what Jack was asking, he'd read enough and heard stories that were most definitely not meant to travel more than two or three feet. The smith just never expected to have a heated, lusty pirate leaning back against his own knees and purring at Will to shaft him.

Another thing from the information he'd absorbed on the sly nagged at his memory. "Um, Jack, don't we need ... I mean, something to ... I don't want to hurt you."

Agile, Jack swung a leg back, limber from years of practice doing this while making mast repairs and trying to balance all at once high in rigging. He crossed to the small desk on which were many of his personal effects, and dug through a bit before tracking down a small vial of oil. "Success!" he chuckled, swaying back toward the bed. A few feet away, he paused, cocked his head, and moved around to the end, instead.
With a running start, Jack leapt and landed on his hands and knees astraddle of Will's shins, sending the mattress sagging a little. He quickly crawled the distance to Will's torso and lowered himself against that beloved body, nestling their pricks together as he pressed a kiss to Will's chest. "Here," he chuckled, pressing the vial into the man's right hand. "Go t' town."

A true laugh, if a short one, this time without any dark undertones. "You make it sound as if I'm just being given free rein in the market with a purse full of gold." His shoulders bunched as he angled himself up to place a kiss on Jack's nose. "How dare you present yourself so cheaply?" Will's smile was genuine, and he was not harsh. The stopper in the vial came away with the flick of a thumb, and Will reached back, running a soft hand over Jack's bottom, just stroking for the moment.

Closing his eyes, Jack turned his head, pressing his cheek to Will's chest, his hair rubbing the man's chin. "Cheap, nothin'," he murmured. "Free t' you ... an' no price for anyone else." He controlled his breathing, the molecules of his skin gathering beneath Will's hand, racing beneath the blood, responding to that possessive, gentle touch.

Will could feel Jack's hips jerk as the cool oil trickled over his skin, sliding down the valley of his backside, and each jerk bumped Will's flesh and drove him a little closer to the edge of his control. Having emptied the small tube, Will tossed it aside and allowed the fingers of one hand to dabble in the liquid, until he realized he wouldn't be able to prepare Jack from this angle. "I think we might have to shift a bit."

“Aye, I was waitin' for that." Jack pushed himself up, feline grace, and reached back to tap one of Will's legs. "Knees up, love." When Will braced the bottoms of his feet against the mattress, slightly apart, Jack leaned back against the support of his upper thighs, lifting one of his own feet to place flat on the bed to better brace himself. Pushing up, he balanced, inviting Will to take advantage of better access this way.

"Resourceful, too ... innovative." Will’s fingers dipped in, working magic on the man, and his eyes drank in Jack's every quiver with obvious hunger. "You are so beautiful, Jack. Too much so, it seems sometimes – are you a fox-spirit, come to steal my soul?"

"Aye ... in return for stealin' me heart," Jack panted, trying not to move and impale himself on the fingers alone. He threw his arms back, hands grabbing onto Will's boot-sheathed shins for support. "Anytime, Will ..." he encouraged, wriggling his hips a bit.

Tormenting Jack further would only serve to frustrate them both, so Will coated his cock with the excess oil on his hand, guiding himself with it and Jack's hips with the other, letting Jack's own weight impale him in slow increments. A growl left his throat at the exquisite tightness of his lover, his head dropping back once more as he savored the sensation.

"Somethin' ... you'll never get a woman t' 'gree to, I'll warrant ..." Jack grunted as he folded his foot back under, balancing once again on two knees, body bent back, still leaning against Will's thighs. He slid along them, up and down, going slow for now. "Can't like this sort o' thing ... not like a man." He groaned, tilting his head to capture Will's eyes as he slid down on a stroke.

"Wouldn't need to with a woman," Will pointed out, a guiding hand still on Jack's hip. His control was slipping by the moment, and soon he wouldn't be able to keep from just pulling Jack down on him, sliding his hand over Jack's awakening shaft as he pumped. "You own me as it is, as much as one person can own another."

"Fuckin' right ... part of me, now." Jack deliberately tightened his muscles around Will and moaned as the man gripped his flaring hips. "Ev'ry inch of you's mine t' touch, to feel."

The grip turned into a pull as Will thrust up into Jack's warmth. His mouth was open, panting, and his eyes were only partway open, holding Jack's gaze through those long, golden lashes. "Say it again," he commanded, wrapping a hand around Jack's shaft. "Tell me again who I am."

Sliding his hands up to Will's knees, Jack leaned forward, gripping them for balance so as not to fall on his lover as he moved. "You're mine," he purred. "Mine and nobody else's ... mine to fuck, mine to touch, mine to spoil an' service an’ worship."

The words tore into Will’s mind, touching the rawness that was all the more sensitive for the iron control that usually shielded it. His movements became shorter, shallower, but with more speed. He could feel Jack swelling even more in his hand, a tightening in his body as more blood rushed to the center. He wanted Jack to go off again before he came.

Jack pitched his head forward, then followed with hands and body, stretching himself above Will, hands beneath the man's arms, fingers pressed into the mattress, angling his body back to ride the smith. "What're you tryin' t' do to me," he marveled, more of an acknowledgement than a question. "Drive me crazy? Crazier?" he added, knowing Will's answer would likely point out he was already half-insane.

"I want you obsessed. I want you in such a state that all you can think about is me. If you want someone to kiss you, you should want me. If you want someone to touch you, I don't want you to think of anyone else. I want you for my own. Mine alone." The words tumbled out as they moved together, and Jack's position forced Will to loosen his grip and change the nature of his motions to roll Jack’s prick between their bodies.

"Ah, but you've already gained your goal, love." Jack shook his head, a chuckle bubbling up through the panting. "Should set your sights higher – like takin' over th' ship or somethin' ... somethin' you don' already 'ave. Because I already think o' ye constantly, even when you're not around."

“Don't want to take over," Will ground out, whimpering. "Just ... want you – God, Jack!" He felt himself spilling, unable to wait for Jack to climax again. Jack was his, and Jack owned him, and it went in a circle that kept one from being in complete control over the other – an eternal balance, the yin and the yang, onyx and ivory in the same setting.

Unlike earlier, Jack came this time with a blissful moan and whimper, gyrating against Will, gradually slowing his movements. Their heartbeats thudded together through two thin walls of flesh and bone, their bellies breathing in and out against one another, trapping Jack's half-flaccid shaft in a contented rest. He made no move to lift up and release Will, either from his body or inside him, instead smiling with exhausted dazzle up into that handsome face.

"Now tell th' truth, mate," he cajoled, "was it th' dress?"

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