Fic: "Contradictions 3: Lose" (Part 6)
Jun. 1st, 2011 06:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is a continuation of a POTC fic. See Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
"Bullshite."
Jack paused in his rowing, lifting a brow, then resumed. "I swear it on me own mother's grave," he insisted.
"I don't believe you any more than I did the first seven times you told it, you know."
"I ain' told ye tha' story bef-" Jack stopped and thought it over. They’d been escaped from the Versailles for four days, and he was rather ashamed to admit he’d probably been keeping up a running chatter the whole time – at least while he was awake. "Well, maybe I 'ave. Sorry, mate."
"Just keep better track of your repertoire." Will rubbed at his eyes. “It’s still a long trip.”
Jack threw him an annoyed expression; Will’s quirks could be entertaining, but he was getting tired of the uptight, morally superior attitude the blacksmith loftily waved about. "Y'know, you're lucky you're still 'round to hear me stories multiple times at all," he reminded the younger man. "I seem t' remember someone gettin' his neck stretched out over a chest o' gold because he wouldn't listen t' me."
"Yeah, and you'd be hanging from a noose outside Port Royale as your namesakes pecked at your bones if not for me. You know, if you'd just told me what the damned treasure was and why you needed me, it wouldn't have been so bad, because I would have known what the hell you were up to and wouldn't have needed to fight you on it."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Not enough that I took ye to your bonny lass; no, ye've gotta bitch about how I did it." He stroked a couple of more times, then pitched his voice to deliberately mock Will's. "'I'd die for her …'"
"Do I look dead?" the smith snapped with a pointed look.
"Thanks t' me – no."
Will glared at the pirate. "Oh, uh-huh, right. Yes, you're Jack the Great, nobody can touch you, you make everything come true just by wiggling your magic fingers..." He huffed. "Tell me another one, dammit. I'm not your little lapdog any more than I am hers."
Jack grinned at that. "Ye comparin' me with 'Lizbeth, boy?"
"Well, you both wear makeup, you both make sure you have the prettiest clothes to prance around in, and the delicate hand gestures, mincing little walk ...."
"Whoa!" Jack stopped it, staring. "Makeup?" He scrunched his eyes to display the kohl, then widened them again – then narrowed the dark eyes themselves. "It's not makeup, lad; how many times do I have to tell people that? It's t' keep th' sun out o’ me eyes!"
"It's makeup," Will asserted. "You just look oh-so-pretty to the wenches in town, and some of the men, possibly too; don't know." The smith chuckled to himself for a moment. "That's it – I've figured it out: The women all slap you because you've stolen business from them, isn't it? You show them up and trot off with their fares."
"Aye, tha's me – High Whore o' the Seven Bloody Seas." The good news was that Will had apparently figured out on which side his captain’s bread was buttered. The bad news was that apparently, Jack wouldn’t be hearing the end of it any too soon.
Will shrugged. "Explains why your bunk’s so big."
But not why it's so empty. "S'pose so," Jack mumbled noncommittally. He decided to turn the conversation to other things. "So how's th' whelp doing?" he nodded toward David, slumped against Will's chest, asleep.
Will's hand gentled over the boy's back, and his expression softened as the boy lightly coughed into his chest. "He's fine. Needs his sleep – I'm amazed we haven't woken him already."
"Twas too tired by half when we 'scaped," Jack agreed. "He'll be out for awhile, methinks." He rowed grimly, still bothered by David’s inadvertent revelation yesterday that he’d lied about his age to get aboard the Pearl – the boy was only eleven, instead of fourteen. Explained why Jack had thought him so small.
Will nodded. "I hope so ... It'll make the time pass faster for him if he's asleep. Won't have to be so frightened." The smith looked up from where he was smiling down at the boy and cast his gaze outward, though by the glassy cast his eyes took on, he didn't really see anything. "I know what it's like, and it's something no child should have to go through."
Watching him a couple of minutes, Jack finally sighed, recalling the story of how Will had come to Port Royale. "'S why you don' like not knowing what's goin' on." He released an oar briefly to reach up and rub at one temple, squinting. "'M sorry, Will. Didn't know then about your bein' attacked by Barbossa an' his crew. Would’ve told ye what was goin' on, let ye in on it, had I known."
"Well, it's not like you could have – I thought, when Gibbs was telling me about you being captain of the Pearl, for a moment ..." Will paused, head tilting. "And if he hadn't gone on explaining things, I might have let myself believe it."
"Believe what?"
"That you were the one who ordered the ship I was on attacked and blown up," the smith admitted quietly.
Jack frowned, started to protest, then shrugged. "Natural response, I guess. Fair enough."
"I didn't know you very well then," Will conceded. "I wouldn't think that about you now – you don't kill, maim, or blow things up just for the hell of it." His fingers were absently stroking the boy's hair; Jack watched the fingers move, then jerked his head away when he noticed Will watching the direction of his gaze. "Of course, I still think you're mad."
"Be disappointed, I would, if ye didn't, seein' as I try rather hard t' keep meself as menacing as possible." Jack grinned slyly, rowing. "An' I have to admit, that was some fancy footwork, savin’ me neck from Francois’s stabber."
"My footwork was always impeccable. I've often been told that I had the basis for advanced techniques bred into me, but according to Mum, my father was never that good."
"Not like you, no," Jack nodded. "I s'pect it's 'cause ye've more grace than he ever did. Ye look like him, but he was bigger, stouter; you're more willowy."
Will snorted. "More like you."
"Nay, ye look nothin' like me. Much more fetchin'; my credit with th' ladies is me status as a scalawag. 'S all 'bout the danger, mate."
"You look about as dangerous as a lady’s powder puff," Will shot back.
"I've managed to raid an’ pilfer enough places based on me reputation that I'd beg otherwise," Jack shot back, offended.
"I didn't say your reputation, as you'd know if you'd listened. I said you look no more dangerous than a powder puff."
He’s most likely right, Jack reflected, at least at present. Once far enough out to sea and turned northeast toward land, they’d each taken turns trimming the other’s choppy hair as best they could, and each man had shaved in an effort to disguise should they run into any other vessels. Will didn’t look much younger than usual, but by his and David’s shocked reactions, Jack knew he had to look about half his age with a smooth face. "Which is what most people choose t' believe. How ye think I got me reputation?"
Will glanced up, thoughtfully. "Hiding behind Gibbs?"
"Kiss me arse; I was cleanin' out ships when ye were sucking at your mum's tit." Turning his head to check on his progress, Jack turned back only partway, still rowing, then tilted his head back, gazing up into the sky. He didn't want to think about the age difference – it was yet another reason this man would never consider him any closer than a captain, perhaps a comrade or friend. Something caught his eye, and he lifted his chin quickly. "Shootin' star!" he noted with enthusiasm, trying to catch Will's attention to look. "Don't see those much this late a' night. And in a full moon."
Will flicked his eyes up to see the streak of the burning stardust. "We'll have to make our wishes now," he noised, before closing his eyes and tipping his head back, seemingly offering his prayer to the stars.
"Aye. Pray for land," Jack grunted, working at one oar more than the other, making a slight course correction to carry them more northerly. At least they were making better time now, having dumped off the bodies three days ago and damaged the extra rowboat enough to look like something had attacked.
"Something like that," Will agreed, bringing his head back down and opening his eyes.
They were quietly companionable for the next several minutes, letting the bobbing waves do all the conversing. "I had no idea what I was gon’ do once we found Barbossa," Jack finally confessed, his strokes slow and even now. "I knew ye figured into it ... but not how, rightly."
Will's eyes slid away. "It worked out all right, didn't it?"
"Usually does. Blind luck," he admitted. "The best ones, anyway."
"Except that nothing really does ever work out, you know. It never ends. There can never be a complete ‘out’ to work ... unless that person dies."
"Life's a series o' struggles, young William," Jack reminded the other man. "'S all a matter of if ye can keep up or ahead of them." Jack considered the troubled features of his young friend and cocked his head, trying to discern what exactly might be going on in that recently-shorn head. Jack found many a blacksmith simple and plodding; this one was not. He didn't speak nearly as much as his captain, but enough that Jack had learned long ago not to think him actually stupid – perhaps "impetuous" was the better description. The hurry of youth. "'Course, life has its good points too,“ he added. “Can't always be thinkin' someone’s out to get ye."
"No, not always," Will replied, pulling David closer. "Well, I suppose I can't really say that now – I'm a pirate. I wouldn’t bring in the same kind of bounty you would, but I'm a traitor to the Crown nonetheless, I suppose."
Noting the tremble of the boy and how Will's hands moved over his chest and arms to keep him warm in the slightly chilly night air, Jack paused momentarily to shrug off the uniform coat he'd pilfered from the Versailles and tossed it the short distance to the smith. "Aye, far as th' Crown's concerned, anyone who doesn’t bend down an' kiss his arse is a traitor."
Will caught the coat and wrapped it around the young man, who woke up slightly.
"Hmm? Wha-?"
"Shh, go back to sleep ... Jack's just letting you borrow his coat so you can keep warm." Will's voice was gentle, rolling over the boat like soft silk, apparently soothing the young man back to unconsciousness.
"Won‘t he be cold?" David mumbled.
A small, soft smile graced the blacksmith's lips, and the paternal gesture pulled at Jack‘s heart. Not for the first time, he felt guilty for his part in keeping the elder Turner from his wife and son all those years ago, even though to be fair, Bill had been a grown man and it was his decision to stay at sea for such long stretches of time. "No, Jack's as hot as a forge fire on his own, so he'll be warm enough,“ Will reassured the boy. “Go on back to sleep, now." Strong fingers slid comfortingly over the coat where it stretched over the boy, gentling him back into place.
David dipped his head, inhaling, then gave a little smile. "Smells like both of you, now," he murmured. Jack noticed he didn’t quite shut his eyes, and his breathing was still too rapid to be asleep. It would probably take a few minutes for him to drift off again.
Again the quirk of Will’s lips – almost reminiscent of Norrington‘s, and probably picked up from observing the military officer as he'd grown up in the small port town. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not," Will chuckled, looking up.
"What, unwashed pirate an' woodsy lye?" Jack rolled his eyes at both his passengers and shook his head, but didn't fail to add a grin. "Lethal combination, there; be a wonder if th’ boy wakes up from it – after he gets back to sleep,” he added pointedly, looking at David. The lad merely smiled.
Will shrugged. "You don't smell bad once you've had a bath, though. Spicy. Kind of like cinnamon."
"I highly doubt that,” Jack sniffed.
"I remember once when I was really little, a friend of mine who had dark skin asked me if I tasted like vanilla – I shot back that if I did, he must taste like chocolate,” Will remarked, seemingly out of nowhere. “So, we ended up licking the backs of each other's hands." He shook his head at the memory, chuckling. "He said I tasted like apples, and I told him he tasted like honey. We decided we should try it again after we'd washed our hands from the sweet snacks, but we never did."
"Nutmeg," Jack corrected automatically, shaking his head. "Not apples."
"Nutmeg?" Will asked, sounding confused.
"Just guessin’, mate." The captain shrugged. "You don't seem like vanilla or apples – too bland, th' one, and too common, the other. I figger nutmeg, 's all. Put swag down on it, in fact; more than me an‘ that cinnamon, anyway." He creased his brow and rowed, concentrating on the motions.
Will tipped his head. "You’ve got a wager. Now, give me your hand. Don't look at me like that; you can stop rowing for a minute and Poseidon isn't going to topple us into the sea." At that, David giggled, muffling it into Will’s shirt.
Cursing himself for flushing inwardly at the request, Jack couldn't decide if the prospect of what he suspected was about to happen was the best thing, or the worst. It was difficult enough being around Will without acting on his attraction; he certainly didn't need something far worse than simply gazing to fuel his fantasies. On the other hand ... "What're you going to do?" he asked, slowly, lifting an eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite; no teeth, I promise. Come here. You can taste me afterwards," he offered as an exchange.
Not at all a good idea. Jack wondered if Eros and Ares were laughing over another set of drinks at their mortals‘ expense. "I haven' had a proper bath in a couple weeks or so.“ He continued rowing. "And I hardly think seawater's good for ye, either."
"Curse it, Jack, give me your hand. I'd come over there, but I'm pinned." Will's face drew up in a frown. “Never known you to back off from a bet.”
Jack sighed; it was only a wager, after all. And David was here – what could possibly go awry with a simple bet, with a child present? Jack released an oar, making sure it would stay put across his knees, and thrust his hand forward, palm turned down. "Go on."
Will took the proffered hand in his, smiling mysteriously. His lips quirked wider before he bent down, the flat of his tongue sweeping over the thin flesh of the back of Jack's wrist before his lips came to close over the hand itself. He applied slight suction as if trying to pull the man's essence straight from the delicate, thrumming blue veins into his mouth. He let up, with one final lap to make sure he didn't leave the man's wrist too damp, then released the hand, nodding. "Cinnamon, spiced rum, and the sea," he opined, looking frankly up at Jack. “Had to get a good taste to make sure.”
For a moment, the captain let his curtain slip, his eyes latching onto Will's, blinking under the intense gaze, the sound of the younger man's voice, the thrum to his speech. He wanted to taste him in return – his wrist, his skin, his lips, his hair, the instep of his foot, the top of his thigh, the curve of his clavicle – but didn't dare propose any such thing. "Rum's worked its way through me system for so many years," he offered by way of explanation, glancing down to pick up the oar once again and get back to work. "Not s'prised."
Will looked slightly annoyed, and held his hand out to Jack, tilted to the side, allowing the older man to choose his own method. "Our wager," he reminded him.
His stubbornness on this score surprised Jack; Will wasn't a tactile person. He usually held himself separate from everyone else, at least physically. Jack had even done his best to curb his natural inclination to invade the lad's personal space as he did with everyone else, not wanting to put him off. But he was trying so hard now, it would be a shame to put that to waste. Besides, Jack had to admit he was curious.
Bringing his hand back up, Jack cupped the back of the one proffered, momentarily letting Will decide whether to pull away. When he didn't, he dipped his head and brought the hand forth to meet, extending his tongue to sweep into Will's lower palm, across the heel of his calloused hand. The underside of his tongue registered texture, and he rolled it to get the salt and flavor on top of the pink tip.
"Sweat, woodspice, and th' bloody nutmeg – as I suspected," Jack reported, his smug expression quickly schooling into a broadly uncharacteristic shy grin at Will‘s confused expression.
Will frowned, bringing his hand back up to his own mouth, his tongue innocently tracing where Jack's had been. After a moment, he looked up. "Maybe I'm too used to myself; I don't taste it. I'll have to taste pure nutmeg sometime to see how it compares."
"You should do that." Jack found himself hoarse, unable to speak properly, seeing Will lap where his own tongue had been scant seconds before. And then taste me again, will you? I've been utterly dying to feel that for a good long while, mate. He noticed David was asleep, at least.
“Looks like you lose,” the smith broke into his thoughts. “Of course, we never did specify terms, really.”
Jack paused in his rowing. “How about I buy ye some proper boots and we call it even, savvy?”
“I want nice ones,” Will held up a finger in warning. “Nice as yours. No skimping.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jack took up his rowing again and licked his lips, the taste of young blacksmith still against his tongue. So much for “losing,” he grinned fondly.
"Bullshite."
Jack paused in his rowing, lifting a brow, then resumed. "I swear it on me own mother's grave," he insisted.
"I don't believe you any more than I did the first seven times you told it, you know."
"I ain' told ye tha' story bef-" Jack stopped and thought it over. They’d been escaped from the Versailles for four days, and he was rather ashamed to admit he’d probably been keeping up a running chatter the whole time – at least while he was awake. "Well, maybe I 'ave. Sorry, mate."
"Just keep better track of your repertoire." Will rubbed at his eyes. “It’s still a long trip.”
Jack threw him an annoyed expression; Will’s quirks could be entertaining, but he was getting tired of the uptight, morally superior attitude the blacksmith loftily waved about. "Y'know, you're lucky you're still 'round to hear me stories multiple times at all," he reminded the younger man. "I seem t' remember someone gettin' his neck stretched out over a chest o' gold because he wouldn't listen t' me."
"Yeah, and you'd be hanging from a noose outside Port Royale as your namesakes pecked at your bones if not for me. You know, if you'd just told me what the damned treasure was and why you needed me, it wouldn't have been so bad, because I would have known what the hell you were up to and wouldn't have needed to fight you on it."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Not enough that I took ye to your bonny lass; no, ye've gotta bitch about how I did it." He stroked a couple of more times, then pitched his voice to deliberately mock Will's. "'I'd die for her …'"
"Do I look dead?" the smith snapped with a pointed look.
"Thanks t' me – no."
Will glared at the pirate. "Oh, uh-huh, right. Yes, you're Jack the Great, nobody can touch you, you make everything come true just by wiggling your magic fingers..." He huffed. "Tell me another one, dammit. I'm not your little lapdog any more than I am hers."
Jack grinned at that. "Ye comparin' me with 'Lizbeth, boy?"
"Well, you both wear makeup, you both make sure you have the prettiest clothes to prance around in, and the delicate hand gestures, mincing little walk ...."
"Whoa!" Jack stopped it, staring. "Makeup?" He scrunched his eyes to display the kohl, then widened them again – then narrowed the dark eyes themselves. "It's not makeup, lad; how many times do I have to tell people that? It's t' keep th' sun out o’ me eyes!"
"It's makeup," Will asserted. "You just look oh-so-pretty to the wenches in town, and some of the men, possibly too; don't know." The smith chuckled to himself for a moment. "That's it – I've figured it out: The women all slap you because you've stolen business from them, isn't it? You show them up and trot off with their fares."
"Aye, tha's me – High Whore o' the Seven Bloody Seas." The good news was that Will had apparently figured out on which side his captain’s bread was buttered. The bad news was that apparently, Jack wouldn’t be hearing the end of it any too soon.
Will shrugged. "Explains why your bunk’s so big."
But not why it's so empty. "S'pose so," Jack mumbled noncommittally. He decided to turn the conversation to other things. "So how's th' whelp doing?" he nodded toward David, slumped against Will's chest, asleep.
Will's hand gentled over the boy's back, and his expression softened as the boy lightly coughed into his chest. "He's fine. Needs his sleep – I'm amazed we haven't woken him already."
"Twas too tired by half when we 'scaped," Jack agreed. "He'll be out for awhile, methinks." He rowed grimly, still bothered by David’s inadvertent revelation yesterday that he’d lied about his age to get aboard the Pearl – the boy was only eleven, instead of fourteen. Explained why Jack had thought him so small.
Will nodded. "I hope so ... It'll make the time pass faster for him if he's asleep. Won't have to be so frightened." The smith looked up from where he was smiling down at the boy and cast his gaze outward, though by the glassy cast his eyes took on, he didn't really see anything. "I know what it's like, and it's something no child should have to go through."
Watching him a couple of minutes, Jack finally sighed, recalling the story of how Will had come to Port Royale. "'S why you don' like not knowing what's goin' on." He released an oar briefly to reach up and rub at one temple, squinting. "'M sorry, Will. Didn't know then about your bein' attacked by Barbossa an' his crew. Would’ve told ye what was goin' on, let ye in on it, had I known."
"Well, it's not like you could have – I thought, when Gibbs was telling me about you being captain of the Pearl, for a moment ..." Will paused, head tilting. "And if he hadn't gone on explaining things, I might have let myself believe it."
"Believe what?"
"That you were the one who ordered the ship I was on attacked and blown up," the smith admitted quietly.
Jack frowned, started to protest, then shrugged. "Natural response, I guess. Fair enough."
"I didn't know you very well then," Will conceded. "I wouldn't think that about you now – you don't kill, maim, or blow things up just for the hell of it." His fingers were absently stroking the boy's hair; Jack watched the fingers move, then jerked his head away when he noticed Will watching the direction of his gaze. "Of course, I still think you're mad."
"Be disappointed, I would, if ye didn't, seein' as I try rather hard t' keep meself as menacing as possible." Jack grinned slyly, rowing. "An' I have to admit, that was some fancy footwork, savin’ me neck from Francois’s stabber."
"My footwork was always impeccable. I've often been told that I had the basis for advanced techniques bred into me, but according to Mum, my father was never that good."
"Not like you, no," Jack nodded. "I s'pect it's 'cause ye've more grace than he ever did. Ye look like him, but he was bigger, stouter; you're more willowy."
Will snorted. "More like you."
"Nay, ye look nothin' like me. Much more fetchin'; my credit with th' ladies is me status as a scalawag. 'S all 'bout the danger, mate."
"You look about as dangerous as a lady’s powder puff," Will shot back.
"I've managed to raid an’ pilfer enough places based on me reputation that I'd beg otherwise," Jack shot back, offended.
"I didn't say your reputation, as you'd know if you'd listened. I said you look no more dangerous than a powder puff."
He’s most likely right, Jack reflected, at least at present. Once far enough out to sea and turned northeast toward land, they’d each taken turns trimming the other’s choppy hair as best they could, and each man had shaved in an effort to disguise should they run into any other vessels. Will didn’t look much younger than usual, but by his and David’s shocked reactions, Jack knew he had to look about half his age with a smooth face. "Which is what most people choose t' believe. How ye think I got me reputation?"
Will glanced up, thoughtfully. "Hiding behind Gibbs?"
"Kiss me arse; I was cleanin' out ships when ye were sucking at your mum's tit." Turning his head to check on his progress, Jack turned back only partway, still rowing, then tilted his head back, gazing up into the sky. He didn't want to think about the age difference – it was yet another reason this man would never consider him any closer than a captain, perhaps a comrade or friend. Something caught his eye, and he lifted his chin quickly. "Shootin' star!" he noted with enthusiasm, trying to catch Will's attention to look. "Don't see those much this late a' night. And in a full moon."
Will flicked his eyes up to see the streak of the burning stardust. "We'll have to make our wishes now," he noised, before closing his eyes and tipping his head back, seemingly offering his prayer to the stars.
"Aye. Pray for land," Jack grunted, working at one oar more than the other, making a slight course correction to carry them more northerly. At least they were making better time now, having dumped off the bodies three days ago and damaged the extra rowboat enough to look like something had attacked.
"Something like that," Will agreed, bringing his head back down and opening his eyes.
They were quietly companionable for the next several minutes, letting the bobbing waves do all the conversing. "I had no idea what I was gon’ do once we found Barbossa," Jack finally confessed, his strokes slow and even now. "I knew ye figured into it ... but not how, rightly."
Will's eyes slid away. "It worked out all right, didn't it?"
"Usually does. Blind luck," he admitted. "The best ones, anyway."
"Except that nothing really does ever work out, you know. It never ends. There can never be a complete ‘out’ to work ... unless that person dies."
"Life's a series o' struggles, young William," Jack reminded the other man. "'S all a matter of if ye can keep up or ahead of them." Jack considered the troubled features of his young friend and cocked his head, trying to discern what exactly might be going on in that recently-shorn head. Jack found many a blacksmith simple and plodding; this one was not. He didn't speak nearly as much as his captain, but enough that Jack had learned long ago not to think him actually stupid – perhaps "impetuous" was the better description. The hurry of youth. "'Course, life has its good points too,“ he added. “Can't always be thinkin' someone’s out to get ye."
"No, not always," Will replied, pulling David closer. "Well, I suppose I can't really say that now – I'm a pirate. I wouldn’t bring in the same kind of bounty you would, but I'm a traitor to the Crown nonetheless, I suppose."
Noting the tremble of the boy and how Will's hands moved over his chest and arms to keep him warm in the slightly chilly night air, Jack paused momentarily to shrug off the uniform coat he'd pilfered from the Versailles and tossed it the short distance to the smith. "Aye, far as th' Crown's concerned, anyone who doesn’t bend down an' kiss his arse is a traitor."
Will caught the coat and wrapped it around the young man, who woke up slightly.
"Hmm? Wha-?"
"Shh, go back to sleep ... Jack's just letting you borrow his coat so you can keep warm." Will's voice was gentle, rolling over the boat like soft silk, apparently soothing the young man back to unconsciousness.
"Won‘t he be cold?" David mumbled.
A small, soft smile graced the blacksmith's lips, and the paternal gesture pulled at Jack‘s heart. Not for the first time, he felt guilty for his part in keeping the elder Turner from his wife and son all those years ago, even though to be fair, Bill had been a grown man and it was his decision to stay at sea for such long stretches of time. "No, Jack's as hot as a forge fire on his own, so he'll be warm enough,“ Will reassured the boy. “Go on back to sleep, now." Strong fingers slid comfortingly over the coat where it stretched over the boy, gentling him back into place.
David dipped his head, inhaling, then gave a little smile. "Smells like both of you, now," he murmured. Jack noticed he didn’t quite shut his eyes, and his breathing was still too rapid to be asleep. It would probably take a few minutes for him to drift off again.
Again the quirk of Will’s lips – almost reminiscent of Norrington‘s, and probably picked up from observing the military officer as he'd grown up in the small port town. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not," Will chuckled, looking up.
"What, unwashed pirate an' woodsy lye?" Jack rolled his eyes at both his passengers and shook his head, but didn't fail to add a grin. "Lethal combination, there; be a wonder if th’ boy wakes up from it – after he gets back to sleep,” he added pointedly, looking at David. The lad merely smiled.
Will shrugged. "You don't smell bad once you've had a bath, though. Spicy. Kind of like cinnamon."
"I highly doubt that,” Jack sniffed.
"I remember once when I was really little, a friend of mine who had dark skin asked me if I tasted like vanilla – I shot back that if I did, he must taste like chocolate,” Will remarked, seemingly out of nowhere. “So, we ended up licking the backs of each other's hands." He shook his head at the memory, chuckling. "He said I tasted like apples, and I told him he tasted like honey. We decided we should try it again after we'd washed our hands from the sweet snacks, but we never did."
"Nutmeg," Jack corrected automatically, shaking his head. "Not apples."
"Nutmeg?" Will asked, sounding confused.
"Just guessin’, mate." The captain shrugged. "You don't seem like vanilla or apples – too bland, th' one, and too common, the other. I figger nutmeg, 's all. Put swag down on it, in fact; more than me an‘ that cinnamon, anyway." He creased his brow and rowed, concentrating on the motions.
Will tipped his head. "You’ve got a wager. Now, give me your hand. Don't look at me like that; you can stop rowing for a minute and Poseidon isn't going to topple us into the sea." At that, David giggled, muffling it into Will’s shirt.
Cursing himself for flushing inwardly at the request, Jack couldn't decide if the prospect of what he suspected was about to happen was the best thing, or the worst. It was difficult enough being around Will without acting on his attraction; he certainly didn't need something far worse than simply gazing to fuel his fantasies. On the other hand ... "What're you going to do?" he asked, slowly, lifting an eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite; no teeth, I promise. Come here. You can taste me afterwards," he offered as an exchange.
Not at all a good idea. Jack wondered if Eros and Ares were laughing over another set of drinks at their mortals‘ expense. "I haven' had a proper bath in a couple weeks or so.“ He continued rowing. "And I hardly think seawater's good for ye, either."
"Curse it, Jack, give me your hand. I'd come over there, but I'm pinned." Will's face drew up in a frown. “Never known you to back off from a bet.”
Jack sighed; it was only a wager, after all. And David was here – what could possibly go awry with a simple bet, with a child present? Jack released an oar, making sure it would stay put across his knees, and thrust his hand forward, palm turned down. "Go on."
Will took the proffered hand in his, smiling mysteriously. His lips quirked wider before he bent down, the flat of his tongue sweeping over the thin flesh of the back of Jack's wrist before his lips came to close over the hand itself. He applied slight suction as if trying to pull the man's essence straight from the delicate, thrumming blue veins into his mouth. He let up, with one final lap to make sure he didn't leave the man's wrist too damp, then released the hand, nodding. "Cinnamon, spiced rum, and the sea," he opined, looking frankly up at Jack. “Had to get a good taste to make sure.”
For a moment, the captain let his curtain slip, his eyes latching onto Will's, blinking under the intense gaze, the sound of the younger man's voice, the thrum to his speech. He wanted to taste him in return – his wrist, his skin, his lips, his hair, the instep of his foot, the top of his thigh, the curve of his clavicle – but didn't dare propose any such thing. "Rum's worked its way through me system for so many years," he offered by way of explanation, glancing down to pick up the oar once again and get back to work. "Not s'prised."
Will looked slightly annoyed, and held his hand out to Jack, tilted to the side, allowing the older man to choose his own method. "Our wager," he reminded him.
His stubbornness on this score surprised Jack; Will wasn't a tactile person. He usually held himself separate from everyone else, at least physically. Jack had even done his best to curb his natural inclination to invade the lad's personal space as he did with everyone else, not wanting to put him off. But he was trying so hard now, it would be a shame to put that to waste. Besides, Jack had to admit he was curious.
Bringing his hand back up, Jack cupped the back of the one proffered, momentarily letting Will decide whether to pull away. When he didn't, he dipped his head and brought the hand forth to meet, extending his tongue to sweep into Will's lower palm, across the heel of his calloused hand. The underside of his tongue registered texture, and he rolled it to get the salt and flavor on top of the pink tip.
"Sweat, woodspice, and th' bloody nutmeg – as I suspected," Jack reported, his smug expression quickly schooling into a broadly uncharacteristic shy grin at Will‘s confused expression.
Will frowned, bringing his hand back up to his own mouth, his tongue innocently tracing where Jack's had been. After a moment, he looked up. "Maybe I'm too used to myself; I don't taste it. I'll have to taste pure nutmeg sometime to see how it compares."
"You should do that." Jack found himself hoarse, unable to speak properly, seeing Will lap where his own tongue had been scant seconds before. And then taste me again, will you? I've been utterly dying to feel that for a good long while, mate. He noticed David was asleep, at least.
“Looks like you lose,” the smith broke into his thoughts. “Of course, we never did specify terms, really.”
Jack paused in his rowing. “How about I buy ye some proper boots and we call it even, savvy?”
“I want nice ones,” Will held up a finger in warning. “Nice as yours. No skimping.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jack took up his rowing again and licked his lips, the taste of young blacksmith still against his tongue. So much for “losing,” he grinned fondly.
