veronica_rich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
veronica_rich) wrote2009-01-03 01:10 am
veronica_rich) wrote2009-01-03 01:10 am
New (?) ... um, really OLD POTC fic: "Sweat"
Title: "Sweat"
Pairing: Turrow (J/W) PotC
Rating: Definitely M (no kiddies!)
Disclaimer: I do not make a profit off these characters, nor do I own them.
Summary: A PWP in the finest tradition of the word.
Note: Completely unbetaed, even by me! Blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
joey112 for the idea.
A/N2: Apparently I wrote and posted this on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pirategasm sometime in 2005. I completely forgot about it until somebody pointed it out the other day somewhere else. Just adding it to this journal so I don't lose track again.
Will Turner sweated ambrosia.
It’s the best way Jack Sparrow could think to describe his blacksmith. He’d discovered it quite by accident, as Will usually loathed climbing into bed filthy and would insist on a good douse and rinse before a tumble or slumber with his captain. Will had come into the cabin, face dripping, peeling off his vest and shirt and kicking off his boots, soaked hair tied limply back.
Jack had watched with interest as his fingers went to his breeches – and frowned when they paused. “Hell,” the smith swore, pushing out a sigh, turning back toward the door.
“Where ye going?” Jack asked, getting up from the table where he’d been drawing.
“Clean off. Almost forgot about it.”
Impulse crossed the room for Jack and closed around Will’s upper arm. “Nay, I can handle that.”
“Huh?” Will turned, confused. “There’s no water-“
“Quiet.” Jack leaned in, nostrils flaring at the scent of salt and sweat and fresh iron. There was loam in his earth-man, too, and turned dirt and green shoots. Tentatively, he licked at Will’s shoulder, raising his eyes to the man’s, daring him to pull away.
“Jack, that’s disgusting.” He did make an effort, but Jack’s pencil-smudged fingers left slimy black streaks on his damp arm as he tightened his grip. Jack’s tongue flattened against the olive skin, licking a wide swath across the broad shoulder to juncture of neck and clavicle. Even the rough bristles of Will’s chin made him shiver.
“My favorite flavor,” Jack growled, deep back in his throat. Off the lad’s odd look, he rolled his eyes. “You clean up so often even your sweat’s pure,” he reassured Will. “No worries.”
“It’s dirty.” But Will’s voice was pitched lower, weakly protesting, and he allowed Jack to hold both arms as he moved behind the smith, pressing the bottom of his tongue-tip to the nape of Will’s neck. He licked down that long, sloping spine, catching droplets of perspiration on either side, pushing Will’s arms forward when he made it to material. Fortunately, the younger man was a quick study and cooperated, unfastening the breeches so they slid off his wet, slim hips – Jack pushed them along with his chin, trailing tongue over one high, tight, round buttock.
He dropped his hands, running up and down the sides of Will’s legs, gripping every so often, swirling dripping circles of sweat through thick, dark hair as he licked at the crease on the underside of Will’s arse. The lad twitched forward, and Jack angled up to bite gently at his hip. One hand snaked between his legs from the back and curled palm-up, cupping Will’s heavy, loose bollocks, also damp and fiery with work and body heat and exertion.
“Shit, Jack.” The breathy expletive was followed by Will going up almost on his toes, balancing on the balls of his lovely feet, as Jack rolled the furry satin with calloused knuckles. He swayed, having worked several hours, and Jack presumed the head rush is what made him stumble, trying not to fall backwards.
Instead of helping him stay in place, Jack wrapped his other arm around Will’s midsection and pulled him down, until the lad was sprawled against his chest, on his arse, long legs spread, knees up out in front of him. “Talk about dignified,” the smith tried to snort, a catch in his breathing.
“There’s no such thing as dignity in fucking,” Jack whispered, stroking the outside of Will’s thighs again, chewing at his earlobe. “You taste like heat and life, an’ I wan’ take you t’ bed like this, William.” Will moaned, head falling back. “That’s it … be my little trollop, gorgeous. Respond t’ me.”
“Christ God, Jack …” Will trailed off as Jack’s hands pressed inward, cupping his inner thighs near his penis, and he cocked his head sideways to look at Jack. He was rewarded with a mouthful of tongue, the kiss dripping with saliva and softly wet sucking sounds. “Do it,” he hissed, as Jack’s hand closed around his cock.
Jack angled his eyes down, pulling out of the kiss, drawing back to make a show of settling his dark gaze on that lovely purple-flushed root. A finger trailed up the underside; he was aware of Will’s eyes on him, glued to the way his eyes burned on its object of affection, the way he was aware of the man’s hips lifting into the tugs and strokes of his lover’s smudged, artistic grip.
Finally, Jack flicked his eyes to Will’s, burning amber flecks in hazel. He licked the perimeter of his open lips slowly, then the bottom of his front teeth, his fingertips playing with the tip of cock. He knew the moment Will was going to come – his eyes rolled back into his lids, his head fell back, and he thrust his chin up just before burning, sticky strings of semen looped sloppily across Jack’s knuckles.
Will thought to rest, leaning heavily into Jack, head turned sideways and forehead tucked against Jack’s chin in rare vulnerable display. Jack turned his hand and smeared the back of it across Will’s navel, coating his abdomen with his own issue. It smeared with the sweat and sparse dark hair, and Jack thought he would shoot off from the feel of hot skin trembling and contracting beneath his wet touch.
“Up.” He gained his feet and pushed Will as the man tried to get his feet beneath himself once again. The two eventually stumbled to a vertical position, leaning on one another as Jack peeled off his shirt and shucked off his threadbare work breeches. He nudged Will to the side of the bed and murmured, “Knees, love.”
“I’m filthy now, you know,” the smith announced as he crawled toward the foot of the bed, sounding very put out but assuming his position like a well-practiced whore.
“Was sort of countin’ on that,” Jack informed him, climbing in behind Will. He positioned his knees just inside the man’s thighs and parted them further, running his hands up and down over that perfect, drenched backside and thanking God for sultry summer humidity and closed-up rooms; not even the portholes were open tonight to allow breeze. Not yet. He wanted the man to sweat as long as possible; he was doing his fair share of it, he realized, licking his salty upper lip beneath soft moustache. “Why are we facin’ the foot of the bed?”
“Look, Jack.” He raised his head and blinked to stare directly into the large wall mirror bolted across the small cabin above a bureau. Will’s eyes met his in the cracked glass, narrow and mischievous and heated.
Wasting no time, Jack coated his fingers in sweat and pushed into that little puckered hole, wiggling and stretching in looping rolls counterbalancing the sway of Will’s tight hips. “Like that, blacksmith?” he growled.
“Get in there,” Will practically snarled. “Need more-“
Reaching around, Jack swiped his coated fingers through the semen and sweat of Will’s belly and used it to lather his prick before rubbing the excess between the man’s arse cheeks. Gripping one in each hand, he eased in an inch or so, then drove hard, burying himself. “Yeah,” Will groaned, lurching forward from the force, then slamming back as Jack withdrew. “Fuck me, Captain.”
“I give th’ orders here,” Jack reminded him, slapping one open palm to the side of a buttock.
“Fuck you do,” Will panted, trying to twist to buck Jack off, playing.
“Fuck I am,” Jack agreed, stinging the other hand on the other side, then gripping hard as he drove in twice, clean and straight. “Such a tight little sheath, after all this time,” he mused.
“Despite your … better efforts.” Will grunted at the exertion of shoving back, pulling up enough to brace a hand each on the cherry wood bedposts. Jack watched the veins on his forearms tighten, stand out, as he gripped the furniture, pulling at it, rattling it as he moved with Jack. “Are you going to just ignore me this time?”
“No – just make ye sweat more.” Droplets rolled down Will’s back, sculpting his strong shoulder blades, and eventually into the valley where Jack’s cock was disappearing again and again. “May never get enough of th’ way you smell like this. Better ‘n those baths ye keep takin’ constantly.”
“Oh, no.” Will shook his head, the ponytail flying side of side; Jack reached up and tugged at the leather strip, yanking it away and combing his dirty fingers through the straggling locks, watching curls tighten and stick to skin in the humidity. “Feels too dirty all the time.”
“Yeah, but ye wear it so goddamn well,” Jack informed him, slumping forward to press his belly to Will’s lower back, hips now pistoning. “Almost as well as I wear you.”
Will laughed raggedly at that. “If you need to distract yourself, old man, quit taking me down with you,” he grunted, flaring his hips back to take the wicked, pleasurable piercing.
“Thought ye liked goin’ down with me. Sure do it enough.”
“Only when you’re washed and reasonably clean.”
“Then it’s a ver’ good thing I’m doin’ the tasting tonight, aye?” Jack reached around and curled his hand around the base of Will’s cock, squeezing gently, holding it in a snug ring as he closed his eyes and rested his chin on Will’s shoulder, bringing himself to the edge deliberately now.
“Jack – no, don’t, please.” Will begged, hips gyrating. His voice was low and needy, his breathing hard in-and-out. “Let go …”
“Sure thing, gorgeous.” Jack’s thrusts were shorter, harder now, as he fucked himself closer to climax. “Soon as I’m done.” Will nearly cried out when his lover spent himself and he remained unsatisfied, Jack’s hand tightening even more to cut off blood exchange.
Jack didn’t even take a moment to recover. He pulled out and wrestled Will to the covers, turning him on his back. The man breathed hard, staring daggers of blood and desperation at his bedmate, flushed all over with heat and sweat and seed and indignation. He was naked, a strong scent rising off his heated skin, infiltrating Jack’s nose and drawing him low, supine, as he leaned back and opened his mouth over Will’s swollen prick. He sucked hard and fast, only a few throat-strokes into it when Will bucked and emptied violently into Jack’s throat – then dropped, twitching and liquid, to the bed, one long leg falling to the side as Jack nursed the softening organ.
They fell asleep like that, Will flat on his back, exhausted, and Jack on top, chest to belly, his head turned sideways on Will’s chest. His long raven hair spilled across a nipple and arm; Will combed his fingers through it until he finally passed out, his other hand twined with Jack’s grimy fingers on the bed beside them.
And his last conscious thought as he fell asleep stuck to the body of his lover was that Will Turner sweated ambrosia, for the taste of it certainly made Jack Sparrow feel like a god powerful to have such a rare creature.
Pairing: Turrow (J/W) PotC
Rating: Definitely M (no kiddies!)
Disclaimer: I do not make a profit off these characters, nor do I own them.
Summary: A PWP in the finest tradition of the word.
Note: Completely unbetaed, even by me! Blame
joey112 for the idea.A/N2: Apparently I wrote and posted this on
pirategasm sometime in 2005. I completely forgot about it until somebody pointed it out the other day somewhere else. Just adding it to this journal so I don't lose track again.Will Turner sweated ambrosia.
It’s the best way Jack Sparrow could think to describe his blacksmith. He’d discovered it quite by accident, as Will usually loathed climbing into bed filthy and would insist on a good douse and rinse before a tumble or slumber with his captain. Will had come into the cabin, face dripping, peeling off his vest and shirt and kicking off his boots, soaked hair tied limply back.
Jack had watched with interest as his fingers went to his breeches – and frowned when they paused. “Hell,” the smith swore, pushing out a sigh, turning back toward the door.
“Where ye going?” Jack asked, getting up from the table where he’d been drawing.
“Clean off. Almost forgot about it.”
Impulse crossed the room for Jack and closed around Will’s upper arm. “Nay, I can handle that.”
“Huh?” Will turned, confused. “There’s no water-“
“Quiet.” Jack leaned in, nostrils flaring at the scent of salt and sweat and fresh iron. There was loam in his earth-man, too, and turned dirt and green shoots. Tentatively, he licked at Will’s shoulder, raising his eyes to the man’s, daring him to pull away.
“Jack, that’s disgusting.” He did make an effort, but Jack’s pencil-smudged fingers left slimy black streaks on his damp arm as he tightened his grip. Jack’s tongue flattened against the olive skin, licking a wide swath across the broad shoulder to juncture of neck and clavicle. Even the rough bristles of Will’s chin made him shiver.
“My favorite flavor,” Jack growled, deep back in his throat. Off the lad’s odd look, he rolled his eyes. “You clean up so often even your sweat’s pure,” he reassured Will. “No worries.”
“It’s dirty.” But Will’s voice was pitched lower, weakly protesting, and he allowed Jack to hold both arms as he moved behind the smith, pressing the bottom of his tongue-tip to the nape of Will’s neck. He licked down that long, sloping spine, catching droplets of perspiration on either side, pushing Will’s arms forward when he made it to material. Fortunately, the younger man was a quick study and cooperated, unfastening the breeches so they slid off his wet, slim hips – Jack pushed them along with his chin, trailing tongue over one high, tight, round buttock.
He dropped his hands, running up and down the sides of Will’s legs, gripping every so often, swirling dripping circles of sweat through thick, dark hair as he licked at the crease on the underside of Will’s arse. The lad twitched forward, and Jack angled up to bite gently at his hip. One hand snaked between his legs from the back and curled palm-up, cupping Will’s heavy, loose bollocks, also damp and fiery with work and body heat and exertion.
“Shit, Jack.” The breathy expletive was followed by Will going up almost on his toes, balancing on the balls of his lovely feet, as Jack rolled the furry satin with calloused knuckles. He swayed, having worked several hours, and Jack presumed the head rush is what made him stumble, trying not to fall backwards.
Instead of helping him stay in place, Jack wrapped his other arm around Will’s midsection and pulled him down, until the lad was sprawled against his chest, on his arse, long legs spread, knees up out in front of him. “Talk about dignified,” the smith tried to snort, a catch in his breathing.
“There’s no such thing as dignity in fucking,” Jack whispered, stroking the outside of Will’s thighs again, chewing at his earlobe. “You taste like heat and life, an’ I wan’ take you t’ bed like this, William.” Will moaned, head falling back. “That’s it … be my little trollop, gorgeous. Respond t’ me.”
“Christ God, Jack …” Will trailed off as Jack’s hands pressed inward, cupping his inner thighs near his penis, and he cocked his head sideways to look at Jack. He was rewarded with a mouthful of tongue, the kiss dripping with saliva and softly wet sucking sounds. “Do it,” he hissed, as Jack’s hand closed around his cock.
Jack angled his eyes down, pulling out of the kiss, drawing back to make a show of settling his dark gaze on that lovely purple-flushed root. A finger trailed up the underside; he was aware of Will’s eyes on him, glued to the way his eyes burned on its object of affection, the way he was aware of the man’s hips lifting into the tugs and strokes of his lover’s smudged, artistic grip.
Finally, Jack flicked his eyes to Will’s, burning amber flecks in hazel. He licked the perimeter of his open lips slowly, then the bottom of his front teeth, his fingertips playing with the tip of cock. He knew the moment Will was going to come – his eyes rolled back into his lids, his head fell back, and he thrust his chin up just before burning, sticky strings of semen looped sloppily across Jack’s knuckles.
Will thought to rest, leaning heavily into Jack, head turned sideways and forehead tucked against Jack’s chin in rare vulnerable display. Jack turned his hand and smeared the back of it across Will’s navel, coating his abdomen with his own issue. It smeared with the sweat and sparse dark hair, and Jack thought he would shoot off from the feel of hot skin trembling and contracting beneath his wet touch.
“Up.” He gained his feet and pushed Will as the man tried to get his feet beneath himself once again. The two eventually stumbled to a vertical position, leaning on one another as Jack peeled off his shirt and shucked off his threadbare work breeches. He nudged Will to the side of the bed and murmured, “Knees, love.”
“I’m filthy now, you know,” the smith announced as he crawled toward the foot of the bed, sounding very put out but assuming his position like a well-practiced whore.
“Was sort of countin’ on that,” Jack informed him, climbing in behind Will. He positioned his knees just inside the man’s thighs and parted them further, running his hands up and down over that perfect, drenched backside and thanking God for sultry summer humidity and closed-up rooms; not even the portholes were open tonight to allow breeze. Not yet. He wanted the man to sweat as long as possible; he was doing his fair share of it, he realized, licking his salty upper lip beneath soft moustache. “Why are we facin’ the foot of the bed?”
“Look, Jack.” He raised his head and blinked to stare directly into the large wall mirror bolted across the small cabin above a bureau. Will’s eyes met his in the cracked glass, narrow and mischievous and heated.
Wasting no time, Jack coated his fingers in sweat and pushed into that little puckered hole, wiggling and stretching in looping rolls counterbalancing the sway of Will’s tight hips. “Like that, blacksmith?” he growled.
“Get in there,” Will practically snarled. “Need more-“
Reaching around, Jack swiped his coated fingers through the semen and sweat of Will’s belly and used it to lather his prick before rubbing the excess between the man’s arse cheeks. Gripping one in each hand, he eased in an inch or so, then drove hard, burying himself. “Yeah,” Will groaned, lurching forward from the force, then slamming back as Jack withdrew. “Fuck me, Captain.”
“I give th’ orders here,” Jack reminded him, slapping one open palm to the side of a buttock.
“Fuck you do,” Will panted, trying to twist to buck Jack off, playing.
“Fuck I am,” Jack agreed, stinging the other hand on the other side, then gripping hard as he drove in twice, clean and straight. “Such a tight little sheath, after all this time,” he mused.
“Despite your … better efforts.” Will grunted at the exertion of shoving back, pulling up enough to brace a hand each on the cherry wood bedposts. Jack watched the veins on his forearms tighten, stand out, as he gripped the furniture, pulling at it, rattling it as he moved with Jack. “Are you going to just ignore me this time?”
“No – just make ye sweat more.” Droplets rolled down Will’s back, sculpting his strong shoulder blades, and eventually into the valley where Jack’s cock was disappearing again and again. “May never get enough of th’ way you smell like this. Better ‘n those baths ye keep takin’ constantly.”
“Oh, no.” Will shook his head, the ponytail flying side of side; Jack reached up and tugged at the leather strip, yanking it away and combing his dirty fingers through the straggling locks, watching curls tighten and stick to skin in the humidity. “Feels too dirty all the time.”
“Yeah, but ye wear it so goddamn well,” Jack informed him, slumping forward to press his belly to Will’s lower back, hips now pistoning. “Almost as well as I wear you.”
Will laughed raggedly at that. “If you need to distract yourself, old man, quit taking me down with you,” he grunted, flaring his hips back to take the wicked, pleasurable piercing.
“Thought ye liked goin’ down with me. Sure do it enough.”
“Only when you’re washed and reasonably clean.”
“Then it’s a ver’ good thing I’m doin’ the tasting tonight, aye?” Jack reached around and curled his hand around the base of Will’s cock, squeezing gently, holding it in a snug ring as he closed his eyes and rested his chin on Will’s shoulder, bringing himself to the edge deliberately now.
“Jack – no, don’t, please.” Will begged, hips gyrating. His voice was low and needy, his breathing hard in-and-out. “Let go …”
“Sure thing, gorgeous.” Jack’s thrusts were shorter, harder now, as he fucked himself closer to climax. “Soon as I’m done.” Will nearly cried out when his lover spent himself and he remained unsatisfied, Jack’s hand tightening even more to cut off blood exchange.
Jack didn’t even take a moment to recover. He pulled out and wrestled Will to the covers, turning him on his back. The man breathed hard, staring daggers of blood and desperation at his bedmate, flushed all over with heat and sweat and seed and indignation. He was naked, a strong scent rising off his heated skin, infiltrating Jack’s nose and drawing him low, supine, as he leaned back and opened his mouth over Will’s swollen prick. He sucked hard and fast, only a few throat-strokes into it when Will bucked and emptied violently into Jack’s throat – then dropped, twitching and liquid, to the bed, one long leg falling to the side as Jack nursed the softening organ.
They fell asleep like that, Will flat on his back, exhausted, and Jack on top, chest to belly, his head turned sideways on Will’s chest. His long raven hair spilled across a nipple and arm; Will combed his fingers through it until he finally passed out, his other hand twined with Jack’s grimy fingers on the bed beside them.
And his last conscious thought as he fell asleep stuck to the body of his lover was that Will Turner sweated ambrosia, for the taste of it certainly made Jack Sparrow feel like a god powerful to have such a rare creature.