?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

{fic} Lost at Sea 2/4 | Pirates

See headings in part 1 post

 

~ * ~

 

“You’re ignoring me, Jack,” Elizabeth complains, hurt coloring her voice. He doesn’t deign her with a reply and instead busies himself with checking the knot-work of one of his men. “Jack, please. Won’t you listen to reason?”

 

“Christ!” He whirls around, hands up in surrender. “What reason? You tied me to me own ship like I’d leave ‘er to die alone! All this after tryin’ to kiss me senseless an’ singin’ out me suppos’d virtues. What the hell’s the matter with you, lass? I’m beginnin’ to feel bad for William.” He sees the slap coming and moves an arm to block its path. He grins at her disappointed expression. “You’ll not be slappin’ me for the truth.”

 

“You’d ‘ave gone wid yer Pearl, Jack?” Tia Dalma steps around him and moves to Elizabeth’s side. “You spent all dat time runnin’ ‘n let Davy Jones take on dem souls – would you really give up?”

 

With a snarl Jack returns, “I don’t bloody know! Didn’t get the chance to find out, now did I?”

 

“You came back,” the murderess says quietly, wide eyes shining with sadness and admiration.

 

Tia stares at him, gaze penetrating his skull and soul. “You knew whad you wanted.”

 

He ignores her in favor of accusing, “Yer bloody compass weren’t helpin’ a wit! If it worked I could’ve avoided this whole mess! I wanted – want – to live.” He stabs a finger at Tia. “Stead of leadin’ to how I could rightly save meself, the cursed thing whirls every which way.”

 

Elizabeth spots the compass on his belt and eyes it wearily. “It wasn’t working for me, either,” she says, casting Tia a sullen glance. “What’s wrong with it?”

 

Jack cocks his head, curious what the lass means. Tia Dalma grins at them both. “Is hard to t’ink on whad one wants most.” She adjusts her shawl and places a hand over her heart. “Do you really wan’ yer life back, Jack?” Her smile is full of dark promise, danger.

 

Turning away from them, perhaps an unwise move, he flips open the compass and glares at the spinning arrow. He concentrates on escaping this cursed place and returning to the living. If only to bloody well be rid of the both of you, he thinks. The arrow slows and eventually stops, pointing behind him and to his left. With a frown he turns. At first he notes that the women have vanished and only a handful of his crew remains – the Sparrows taking on the characteristics of his more faithful crewmembers.

 

Still frowning, he takes a few steps forward, then to the left. Then turns again and walks the other way. The arrow changes to match its initial heading with every pace. Jack moves in the correct direction this time, looking about to see what might have the slightest possibility of interesting him. He has to climb the quarterdeck before he sees something unusual. He doesn’t understand why the compass would be pointing there, but the man walking across the sand below the Pearl is the only thing out of place.

 

Jack shuts the compass with a snap and turns away. He curtly orders the diminished crew to their duties and storms into the hold. He has never found a drop of rum on his ship – which does not seem like his imagination, though he supposes the lack certainly fits in with a form of Hell – but he is determined to search again… Especially since there should be no reason for William Turner the younger to be approaching his ship.

 

He needs to light a lamp in the hold and when he reaches for the flint he keeps on his person, his palm brushes against the knife Tia gave him. He freezes, shock running through him as an idea skitters through his mind. “Cut ou’ him heart… Bu’ ken you do id?”

 

~ * ~

 

He never did find the rum, but he feels drunk when he wakes up to the feel of a naked arm shifting over his chest. Jack blinks groggily and comes to the realization that he and his bed partner are starkers without a thread between them. Unlike his previous visitors, this body is all firm planes and bony hips. No soft breasts flatten against his flesh. Instead he can feel the heavy weight of a man’s genitals press into his thigh and the coarse hair of a beard rasp against his shoulder.

 

For a long time Jack doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but stare up at the ceiling that is still too bright even with curtains drawn tight over the windows. He is fairly certain he does not want to confirm the identity of the man next to him, the one who probably holds all the answers if his other visitors are to be believed. It is one thing to discuss bartering someone’s soul in stead of his own and quite another to personally deliver said soul on knife-tip.

 

The head on his shoulder shifts, nose pressing into the hollow of his collarbone. Against his better judgment, Jack’s hand smoothes up the other man’s bare back. He’s surprised and horrified to feel half-healed welts stretching crisscross the expanse of skin.

 

When he glances down a dark brown gaze captures him with little effort. There should be anger in these eyes, he thinks, and instead there is pain and uncertain trust. Jack remembers the first time he met the younger Turner. In particular he remembers the confused hurt in the boy’s eyes at the end of their duel – You cheated.

 

“You don’t belong here, Jack,” Will says with certainty. His arm tightens around Jack’s chest and he tilts his head to kiss the nearest shoulder.

 

Feeling dazed, Jack mumbles, “You don’t know the half of it, luv.”

 

He lays silent and still as Will shifts position and crawls further on top of him, laying so that a leg brackets each of his. A stiffening prick hangs heavily next to Jack’s and the pirate bites back a gasp, a sudden fear clawing his heart even as ministrations from Will’s mouth and fingers melt most of his body. In the back of his mind he hears the voices: his phantom ladies, the slicing comments from an ex-commodore, self-righteous anger from the man sucking his chest right now, and hatred dripping from Davy Jones’ tentacle mouth.

 

Jack nearly yells when Will simultaneously bites Jack’s nipple and inserts a finger into his hole with astonishing ease. Will finds the pleasure spot quick as an expert and rubs it just right, making Jack buck his hips and scramble to take hold of the body above him. He groans as Will travels up his neck, leaving aching, damp marks where his mouth has been.

 

Between suctioned kisses, Will murmurs encouragingly. “Wanted you, Jack... Always seen you looking. You should have just asked...” His chuckle sends an overwhelming tingle of desire down Jack’s spine. “You should have just taken. Take what you can, give nothing back! Or was this,” and his finger circles inside, “what you wanted?” Will’s mouth travels Jack’s ear, tongue and teeth sensitizing the flesh.

 

Jack manages to wrap one leg around Will’s waist and moves his hands down to clench the man’s arse. The voices in the back of his mind grow louder; he counteracts them by shouting and throwing himself into the sensations driving him higher. Delicious, filthy promises fill his ears from Turner’s lips and he refuses to let himself think about any of this now.

 

Will’s fingers are suddenly gone and then there’s the pain of a spit-slick cock delving inside, and he latches his mouth to Jack’s as he begins to thrust. Jack can hardly breathe but is grateful for that fact as his oxygen-deprived mind is unable to do little more than operate the most vital brain functions. Will makes a keening noise, desperate, as their hips meet. After a few moments of struggle, Will pulls away and kneels on the bed, tugging Jack’s legs until they’re over his shoulders and Jack’s in a position more vulnerable than he’s been in for a long, long time. Will gazes down at him with half-lidded eyes, smile a little nervous despite his seeming expertise.

 

“Move, damn it!” Jack shouts. When Will complies, the pirate claws at the bed sheets and holds on for all he’s worth. The voices in his head blessedly don’t make any sense now; he knows they’re saying nothing good. Right now he needs this.

 

“Jack,” Will’s head dips forward, his chestnut hair curling with sweat as he continues to drive in. “Jack. Did you want me?”

 

Christ, what a ridiculous question at a time like this!

 

“Jack... God, please!” Will moves up just a bit and Jack’s hips tilt further to accommodate. “Did you – do you want me?”

 

Jack isn’t entirely sure whether he answers, he’s distracted by Will’s hand milking him to completion and the overwhelmingly blissful oblivion that embraces him.

 

~ * ~

 

The next time he sees Turner is two nights later when he walks into his cabin. The blacksmith is laying sideways across the bed, looking for all the world like he’s been there for hours, bored out of his mind. When he sees Jack, he smiles lazily. One of his hands slides down his naked side and disappears behind him. The thrust of his hips makes sure that Jack knows exactly what the implications are.

 

~ * ~

 

After the fourth time Jack finds himself gasping Will’s name, he decides to leave Tia’s knife on a crate out on deck. He fights the voices lurking in his head every second from the moment he steps outside his cabin to the moment he goes in again and grabs Will.

 

His determination to block out both the voices and the reappearance of Elizabeth or Tia Dalma holds up for a time. For days he is able to find some bizarre form of sanity as he lays with Will, fucking or being fucked. He comes to believe it is real and not all trapped in his mind. He convinces himself that Elizabeth and Tia were the dreams, mere flights of fancy that are safe to ignore. He refuses to fit the knife into his equation.

 

~ * ~

Continued in next post