jackxwill - pirates of the caribbean slash

Title: Tell Me When You're Sober
Author: kHo (khohen1@bellsouth.net)
Pairing: Jack/Will, Jack/Bootstrap
Rated: PG 13
Summary: Most of the time the resemblance was scarce enough for Jack to forget. Most of the time, William the First and William the Second were two wholly separate entities that only shared the same name. And eyes. And mouth. And hair.
Series: to fall directly after Marianne with the Nasty Tongue
Notes: Hopefully this doesn't suck. And sorry for the ending, I couldn't end it completely happily. Didn't try to rob you of 'le sex' intentionally.

Perhaps I shall write a sex scene just for you people of the list. To not be shared with anyone off it. I got like, no response to this fic on LJ, so they don't deserve it as much as you guys do.

As a matter of fact, yes, I will write a sexy scene for the list, and the list alone. Give me a situation, line, or particular... scene or what have you... and I'll see if I can't come up with some kind of smutty goodness for you lovely feedbackers, kay?

There were many nights that Jack still remembered sharing with William Turner the First. Nights in taverns with drinks a'plenty and smiles abound. Nights of drunken lust with a woman between the two to share in the games. Nights when they decided to forego the women's needless presence and allow themselves what they truly wanted.

It had started truly one night in Tortuga with a woman named Marianne. Drunk on ale and spirits galore they'd both wooed the same woman, and neither of them had been denied. They'd shared a woman or two before that night, but that had been the first time they'd lain with her at the same time.

It had started out in awkwardness, Jack sidestepping as Bootstrap's hand landed accidentally on his waist. Bootstrap's laugh ringing too loudly in the small room as Jack's hand had wondered over his breast as Bootstrap's had done the same, knuckles brushing together. Both drawing back as they'd gone to kiss the same shoulder, apologizing and nearly backing out of the room.

But Marianne had been as unvirginly as they come, and she'd drawn Bootstrap into a kiss and Jack's hands to her waist. She'd wound Jack's hands around her and then Bootstrap's as well, and held them together till they stopped trying to pull away. She'd drawn them closer until it was impossible for their naked skin to not touch, and she'd smiled as their eyes met with mixed fear and arousal.

She'd had magical fingers that knew just how to move them into a trance, and a tongue that was velvet soft and hot as the blazes. She's raked it across their naked flesh and confused them with so much lust that neither had realized that the hands gripping Bootstrap's thighs behind him were Jack's. She's lowered Bootstrap's lips to Jack's neck and when he'd bitten Jack's hands had clenched into his thighs and they'd both groaned.

Women had been superfluous after that point. They'd still sought them out, but it became a game of cat and mouse. Each man tried to draw the other one out into a fit of jealousy by wooing said woman first. They'd retreat to her room, and always wound up making the woman pout with dissatisfaction as they explored each other more than her.

Jack had been the first to say that perhaps the women were no longer needed, or wanted. He'd done so after they'd split three bottles of wine between the two of them, and his eyes had pleaded with Bootstrap to agree without argument. He'd brought his fingers to Bootstrap's neck and pulled him closer and said if he never felt the touch of another woman he'd be happy as long as he felt Bootstrap's hand in their place.

Bootstrap had grinned and immediately turned his attention back to the bottle of wine, talking about the day's loot they'd gathered. Jack had sat back, utterly defeated, and continued to drink himself into as much of a stupor as he could. It had been the next day when Bootstrap had found him sober and angry that he'd told him he would need to hear that again. That if Jack couldn't say it sober, then he couldn't echo it.

But though Bootstrap echoed it, his love of women never quite dissipated. Jack's hadn't either, but his heart never became involved. Bootstrap had a wife and a child, though, and while he left them home without him, he was never truly away. When Jack would speak of love Bootstrap would smile and kiss him, but never utter the words back. He said he loved his wife and son, of which only Jack knew, and never explained it further than that.

Jack had the feeling that if Bootstrap had been honest, his feelings would have been returned though, so it was enough for him.

And now he was faced with his son, and most of the time the resemblance was scarce enough for Jack to forget. Most of the time, William the First and William the Second were two wholly separate entities that only shared the same name. And eyes. And mouth. And hair. And gloriously tanned sinewy muscles that were hidden under too long sleeves, with fingers that spoke of a delicateness that was almost feminine.

And the same soul. They had the same dedication and stubbornness, and intestinal fortitude to follow through on what it was that they believed was right. The same look of passion in their eyes when they set sight on what it was they truly wanted, and the same indignation when they saw an injustice.

But yes, two wholly separate people.

For they didn't share the same personality, not by a long shot. Where Bootstrap was closed off, Will was open as the sea. Where Bootstrap was reticent to tell anything of himself, Will was ready at the slightest hint of interest from Jack. Where Bootstrap was a lusty fellow who never went more then a fortnight without sex, Will had remained celibate in the last six months since sailing aboard the Black Pearl. Where Bootstrap let out a string of curses and explosive laughter, Will rarely said an improper word and laughed only in the confines of close friends.

And yet, still similar enough that when Jack was inebriated he had to keep himself from reaching out to touch the boy as though he were his father.

And then there was the attraction that Jack felt for the son. He was hard pressed to figure out whether it was Bootstrap's ghost he found attractive in Will or Will himself, though. He tried not to think about it, but it stared him in the eyes day in and day out, and had just left his side with humiliation burning his cheeks.

Because tonight he'd had too much Rum, and he'd let his heart do too much of the talking. He'd reminisced with an absent party about a night he'd never forgotten, and done it in too close proximity. He'd spoken to Will as though he were Bootstrap himself, and then touched him with the same intimacy. He'd kissed his unfamiliar throat in a too familiar way, and he'd caused Will to fly away like a bat out of hell when he'd realized his mistake.

As he prowled the cabins in his search for Will he contemplated the look in Will's eyes as he'd abruptly cut himself off from his outburst. A look of fear, and shock, but most unexpectedly of all, sadness. And, beneath all that, a look of something almost like jealousy, perhaps. But perhaps that was wishful thinking, or once again the alcohol lacing his senses with falsity.

"When you look at me like that, or talk to me with that tone in your voice--its actually him-"

It was an hour before he found him huddled into a pathetic corner of a never used room, his head buried silently into his knees. The boy didn't even look up when Jack squatted before him, nor did he when he laid a hand on his neck. "I'm sorry, Will," Jack said softly, running a finger over the back of Will's neck.

"Stop," Will said softly, his voice harsh and cold. "Don't."

"Will," Jack tried again, his other hand coming up to brush softly through Will's hair.

"Stop," Will yelled, jerking his head up and glaring at Jack. "Don't touch me, not any part of me!"

Jack found himself backing up awkwardly, flinching as his back came to rest on the sharp edge of a wooden carton. "I'm sorry, Will," he said, holding his hands up in innocence. "Never meant to touch you unwantedly. Was a mistake--"

"Don't you get it Jack," Will yelled, hugging his knees to him tighter as his mouth twisted in anger. "It *is* wanted! I *do* want it!"

Jack frowned. "I don't--"

"No, of course not," Will said, laughing bitterly. "Why would you, it's my father you want."

Jack let himself sink into a sitting position, his fingers floating in the air above Will's leg, aching to clamp down on it. "I hate to see you so upset, love, but I haven't a clue what--"

"I *want* you to touch me, Jack," Will hissed, his eyes flashing in the dim moonlit room. "I want you to touch me, to kiss me, and to do all that stuff you did on deck not an hour ago," he whispered, making Jack's heart clench as a tear fell down his cheek. "But I want you to do it to *me.* Not my father."

Jack inched his hand forward, clasping lightly onto Will's knee as he rose. "You do?"

Will nodded. "But all you see in me that's desirable is my resemblance to my father, aye?"

Jack shook his head. "Tonight, Will, tonight I saw your father. I was, am still, drunk, and yes. I saw your father. And I remembered your father." He settled on his knees, grabbing both of Will's knees with his hands. "And I loved your father, Will. Dearly. Greatly. Perhaps more than anything in my life, aside from the sea and this ship itself."

Will nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "I know,' he said sorrowfully. "And it's not right of me to be angry Jack, but I can't help it. I think it best you leave me be for the time being."

"But," Jack said, lifting Will's chin with a light touch. "I see you for you, Will. There are moments, true, when I see your father, but you are your own."

Will smiled slightly, looking down quickly. "Leave. Please. Just for the night, Jack," he said softly. "I'll be better in the morning."

"I'm not done, love," Jack said softly, leaning in closer to stare Will in the eyes. "What I was sayin' is this-- You yourself have your own merits that I'm attracted to."

"That's nothing to do with my father," Will asked hesitantly. "That's nothing to do with my cheekbones that are his, or my eyes that are his, or my hair that is his?"

Jack frowned, looking the boy over. "I'm not sure I've figured that out, Will. But I do know there are things that you have that your father did not that attract me. And there are things that you don't have, that your father did, that attract me further still to you."

Will looked about to protest as Jack lowered his mouth to his but he acquiesced easily enough once they'd descended. Jack's hand wound in his hair and he felt his heart flutter as the boy's tongue flicked against his.

This too was different from Bootstrap. Will's father had been a leader, and rough at the helm. He'd hurt Jack, in the most delicious of ways of course, when he crushed his mouth to his. He'd yank Jack's hair in two directions as he plundered his mouth with his tongue, and low gutteral growls filled Jack's head as he'd knock them against the wall.

Will though, Will was sweet and soft. Masculine, yes, but sweet. Earnest, and easy, and endearing. Softly winding his tongue against Jack's, sighs of contentment filling his ears. A hand hesitantly winding it's way into Jack's shirt to slowly pull him closer, a question hovering in the air.

And when Will broke their kiss, Jack smiled and rested his forehead against the boy's, feeling as though a few questions he hadn't known he'd been asking had been answered. The questions were still in Will's eyes though, and Jack rested his fingertips to Will's cheek, kissing his forehead softly. "Yes," he said softly. "Differently entirely from your father."

Will nodded, backing up a bit and putting a bit of distance between the two. "Do you mean that, or is that the Rum?"

Jack frowned. "Will, I mean it."

Will nodded. "I know you think you do, I know you're not lying," he said, standing slightly unsteadily. "But I have to know for sure, Jack."

Jack reached up to grab a hold of Will's hand, frowning as the boy slipped easily past him. "Will, I'm telling you I love you."

Will smiled, leaning against the door. "Tell me when you're sober, and I'll believe you," he said, leaving quickly.

"So," Jack said to himself with a rueful smile. "Not entirely dislike your father after all."

Like this story? Send feedback to the author!