Fic: "Contradictions 4: Win" (Part 5)
Jun. 1st, 2011 07:57 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.
4 Days to Departure (My Dinner With Sparrow)
Jack slumped in his chair, head tilted over its back and to the side, presumably contemplating clouds in the sky from beneath the edge of the awning stretching out over the small sidewalk café. “You’re going to get a crick in your neck like that,” Will warned, stirring a bit of honey into his tea.
“Funny,” mused the pirate, without changing position. “I don’t remember gettin’ married.”
Will rolled his eyes; it was the comment Jack often made when the younger man warned the other something might be bad for him, referring to it as “nagging.” Sometimes, it was all a matter of phrasing, Will had learned. “Hard to seduce the wenches when you can’t tilt your head to look at them,” he tried again.
Jack raised his head a bit and leveled a neutral look at Will. Long seconds later, he shifted and, compromising, assumed a more comfortable-looking position on the chair. “You’re learnin’, lad.”
“It’s all about the right leverage,” Will quipped, putting the spoon aside.
Something flashed in Jack’s dark eyes that suspiciously resembled regret – but only briefly. “Aye, ‘tis,” he assented. “So, Mr. Turner,” he adopted his proper English speech once again, mindful of people around them, “is this to be one of our last meals together?”
Will lifted his cup and took a slow sip of tea, closing his eyes and letting the spiced steam filter into his nostrils. He hadn’t slept well the night before, either after he and Elizabeth had gotten back to the townhouse or later that same night when he was supposed to be in bed. The two of them had stayed up late again talking about various subjects, but whereas Elizabeth had finally turned in at a reasonable hour, Will had gone out on the back veranda and sat for the next several hours, contemplating the decision Jack had handed him.
Because he’d taken it for granted until a few days ago that he’d be departing with Jack, he hadn’t given much thought to the whys of doing so; after all, he’d joined the Pearl’s crew not necessarily by his own choice, but in a desperate flight to duck the Royal Navy and any association with Jack Sparrow that they might pin on him. That’s what you call ironic, he mused. Did he want to stay on with the eccentric pirate captain, or stake out a life elsewhere, be it on land or sea?
He sipped slower than he should’ve, glancing at his dining companion over the cup’s rim. Elizabeth had hired a barber to come by during their first day at the townhouse, after they’d cleaned up, to trim the choppy mess they had wrought on their hair and beards. Will’s hair was short, only a couple of inches long, and curling at the ends; those curls had always annoyed him because he’d once been small and thin and easily teased for his girlish appearance.
As an adult, there was no mistaking him for anything other than male, but the hair continued to grate at his nerves, so he preferred to keep it long, the weight of the locks pulling most of the curl out of the chocolate-brown mass. He’d reestablished his moustache and goatee, as had Jack; in lieu of being able to grow out his beard for more beads, the older man had opted to stick with a simple bit of hair, Will supposed, until he was once again at sea and able to resume his former appearance. Jack’s hair was just short of shoulder length, and he’d commented to Will that it tended to grow quickly, so that he might be able to pick up more bits and baubles to twine into it in as little as two or three months. Without the dark auburn mass trailing over his shoulders and back, Jack looked years younger. Will wasn’t sure he liked this current appearance, for the simple reason that Jack just didn’t look … well, like Jack.
Why do I give a bloody fig what he looks like? Will pondered.
“I believe I’ve a question on the table, lad.” Jack was speaking again, regarding him coolly. “Or are you just planning to sit there all afternoon staring at me?”
Taking another quick drink, Will resisted the urge to swear, both at Jack and at the ruddy blush he felt seeping from the pores of his entire face. He hoped the steam of the tea would be blamed for his high color. He still hadn’t figured out why he was about to answer as he did, except that perhaps any man deserving of his father’s loyalty, sanity, and very life ought not to be cast aside so soon; Will had already learned a lot from Sparrow, and could likely learn more, as well as see more of the world. And, to be fair, he’d already participated enough to be branded as a pirate should he ever be caught and identified at this point. In for a penny, in for the whole damn treasury.
“I think David and I will be joining you for your trip to England,” he answered, “though I’m not sure how I’m to afford my passage, when I left all my worldly goods back on the Pearl.”
Jack said nothing for a moment or two. Then: “I’ll take care of it.”
“With your magic satchel?” Will smirked. “The bottomless coin pit?”
“No, by putting you on bilge duty when we get back.”
He looked so perfectly serious, so humorless saying it … “You are joking, right?”
“Mr. Turner, I rarely joke about such serious matters as the care of my ship.” Will furrowed his brows. “Especially since after all this time you still insist on playing by the rules.” There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Jack’s mouth.
“Pirate,” Will accused, sotto voce.
“What changed your mind? Why do you want to go now?”
“Who said I didn’t want to go before?” Jack leveled a skeptical look his way. “You were the one under the impression I didn’t want to go, Jack. I never said anything.”
“All right – then why don’t you want to stay? You and Elizabeth have a falling-out?”
“We had no such thing,” Will protested. “We’re great friends.”
The expression of vulpine cunning crept over Jack’s face. “Would you still die for her, then?”
“You’re venturing a bit personal.”
“I make it my business to know the loyalties of my crew.”
“What does Elizabeth have to do with your ship?” Will wanted to know. “Really, Jack … I don’t think even she would commandeer another vessel and try to board the Pearl. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Now if I did that, Anamaria’d have my hide when she captures me in a few weeks, wouldn’t she?”
Will nearly answered, then paused. “So you did send word.” Jack nodded. “What’s your plan?”
The pirate watched him closely for another half-minute, arms crossed over his chest, reserving himself. When he shifted to lean forward, resting one forearm on the table and dropping his voice, Will assumed the same posture so he could better hear. “We book passage on a merchan’ ship out o’ port after me visit,” he slipped back into his old voice; unaccountably, it made Will smile, watching his other hand glide along air as though it were a boat splitting the surface of water. “Big, fat one.”
“A large prize.”
Jack grinned, voice still low. “Always said ye catch on quick,” he nodded. “Pearl attacks, we surrender, swear fealty to th’ bloody rapscallions to save our hides, help unload th’ booty, an’ be on our merry way back to th’ Caribbee … or wherever.”
Will nodded, then leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know, Jack,” he finally said. “I mean, as plans go, it’s all right, but-”
“But?”
“What I meant, is it’s serviceable. But … it lacks your usual panache.” Will affected an air of disappointment. “It’s just so – predictable, non?”
“Predictable.” Jack was stroking his moustache after assuming his proper tone and accent, nodding imperceptibly, looking for all the world like a relaxed gentleman. What nearly set Will to laughing was the slight muscles beneath the jaw tensing and shifting as Jack grated his teeth – he’d learned months ago to look for that little signal, along with a hundred others that would tip him off about Jack Sparrow’s moods. He was annoyed. “I admit, it is lacking in the grandiose-”
“Grandiose? Jack, it’s simplistic.” Will added an appropriately-derisive snort.
“Ah, but ‘simple’ has its place, dear William.” Jack tilted his head and eyed Will sideways. “There’s not always a need for there to be twenty steps to a successful plan – look at the Trojan Horse.”
“I never did understand that – these people come invade your shores, spend ten years trying to kill you, become bitter over the whole thing, and then you’re supposed to believe that one night they just went home peacefully? And, oh, by the way, there’s the matter of a little gift outside the gates, which is really this huge horse, and has no practical value whatsoever?”
“Well, here we are more than two thousand years later, and the right pretty face can still launch ships,” Jack smirked, clearly referring to Elizabeth’s rescue from Barbossa. “Which just goes to show that men will usually put their desires before common sense, mate, a fact I’ve long banked upon.”
“And what would stoke a merchant captain’s desire, do you think?” Will inquired, relieved to see the Captain’s demeanor thaw once again into Good-Time Jack.
“Why, the promise of a generous amount of swag to ensure the safe passage of myself, my brother, and my son to our new plantation in the Caribbean should just about do the trick.”
*****
3 Days to Departure (Past Midnight in the Garden of Good and Naughty)
Will shifted to his back, yawning reflexively, balanced between drowsiness and deep sleep. He kicked off the blankets, too warm by half, having fallen asleep reading by the glow given off by the fireplace and still wearing his breeches and shirt. Stretching his arms, he murmured nonsensically as he tipped into dreamland, his head lolling bonelessly to one side.
Soft, sweet coral lips edged closer, seeking his own. Small hands cradled his face as she kissed him, her bosom heaving against his chest as her mouth spoke his name, pressed to his.
Will’s lips widened sweetly in his slumber; it was a frequent dream, had been for some years, but it hadn’t visited his sleep in months – come to think of it, he hadn’t dreamed much at all since shortly after leaving Port Royale. He shifted on the bed, still asleep, though his hands moved to pull at his sleeves and hem, drawing the shirt off up over his head, letting it fall from his fingers at his side. The slight breeze from the barely-open window reached his skin, cooling the light perspiration.
“Mmm, Will,” she practically cooed, nuzzling him. Now her hands were on his bare arms, fingertips caressing the years of hard-won muscles. “I’ve waited for this too long …”
He kissed her back, stroking her bottom lip between his. “Mmm hmm,” he agreed, hands on her small waist, pressing her forward into him. She was wearing the deep-maroon dress Barbossa had forced upon her, but it was laced up into a delightfully-tied package he itched to rip open. “Tell me what you want.”
She slid a hand down to one of his and pulled his palm to rest on her chest, much as she had when giving him back his medallion. With no coin around her throat, however, she pulled it further down to cup one of her high, pert breasts.
A small, pained sound escaped Will as his lips involuntarily parted. One of his hands reached for his own chest, fingertips resting on his stomach, lightly circling.
“I shouldn’t-” he hesitated.
“Oh, please,” she begged breathlessly. “Touch me, Will. I need it; I need you.”
He squeezed gently, her gasp igniting something deep inside that he’d neglected far too long. Deepening his kiss, he began unlacing her bodice, their tongues gliding past one another’s, small sounds evidence of their mutual pleasure.
His thumb was brushing over one of his own nipples, stroking it to a peak, just as his dream counterpart did the same elsewhere. He circled, then moved to the other one, touching it, feeling even in deep sleep the burn of his shallow breathing, the rush of blood to pool in his groin.
Will closed his eyes, dotting small kisses down the side of her chin to her long throat, tugging open the front of her under-dress to bare her breasts. He covered one with his windburned lips; her fingers dug into his scalp, threading into his hair, as his tongue laved her nipple, sucking it between his teeth. She tipped her head forward and he felt wisps of her long mane brush his forehead.
His fingers worked skillfully at the laces of his breeches, long used to pleasuring himself rather than seeking it in a brothel or tavern. He shimmied the material low on his hips, feeling his erection spring free, suddenly caressed by the light breeze. Will groaned with the way it responded, growing more rigid. “Elizabeth,” he whispered in his sleep, just under his breath – again, long-used to having to keep quiet about this sort of thing, he was now a master of it.
Will straightened, leaning in once again to kiss her, her clothes dissolving beneath his fingers like magic, and his the same way, until nothing was between their skin but a few small pockets of air. Suddenly, there was a bed, and he bore her down on it, feeling her limbs slide beneath his as he pinned her, lips traveling along her jaw as his hips slid between her thighs.
His thumb brushed the taut, sticky head as his fingers wrapped around the rest of his cock. Down and up, soft and sudden, then slow once again. Small moans drifted from his lips as he dipped his fingers to curl around his bollocks, squeezing gently.
Suddenly, Elizabeth got a wicked glint in her dark eyes and rolled him sideways, ending up above him, in control. Far from upset, he grinned at her, closing his eyes as she lowered a kiss to his neck, arching his back so she could reach it better. She sucked gently at first, then a bit harder, harder, until he gasped. “Going … to leave a mark,” he panted, not really caring.
“Mmm,” she noised naughtily, nipping her way back up over his goatee, settling her mouth against his full lips. “I hope so.”
He stroked a bit faster; she’d never been this possessive, this much in charge in any of his other fantasies … and he liked it. Oh yes, he wanted her over him, touching him, doing this to him …
As they kissed, he noted absently for the first time she tasted sweet – not like sugar. Maybe honey? He parted his lips, returning the kiss fervently, trying to determine the flavor therein. No … not honey. Maybe it was sugar – of a sort. He lifted his head up off the pillow and fastened his lips to hers, hard, nearly sucking at them, taking a deep draft of that mouth.
Cinnamon.
Oh, God, it tasted wonderful. He lowered his head to the pillow, the lips and the taste following. Now she was kissing him roughly, and he loved it, the way her tongue stabbed into his mouth, the deep groans coming from her chest, the way her thick moustache erotically tickled the underside of his nose.
Rum.
Will’s eyes flew open, but they didn’t look up into Elizabeth’s soft brown ones delicately outlined with a thin kohl pencil. Instead, they were pinned by a dark, sinful gaze rimmed in black smudge, gold glittering in their depths. He opened his mouth to protest, started to raise up off the bed, but a long, knobby forefinger pressed to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “Don’ be ‘fraid,” the low, familiar voice purred. “I’ve a feelin’ you could develop a taste for this.”
His hand paused, uncertain, as a chill raced down his spine. He was really very close, halfway there – how could this happen? He didn’t even desire men! What was worse was that his cock, far from softening, seemed to jump between his palm and fingers at the abrupt shift in dream imagery.
One finger traced the thick vein on the underside of his penis, wanting completion. His body needed to get off and didn’t seem to be terribly concerned about the inspiration for doing so. Will screwed his eyes shut and concentrated, resuming a slow glide with his fist, bringing Elizabeth back.
She was smiling at him again, then disappeared from view to move down his body. Will sighed in relief, then shut his eyes, setting about to enjoying her ministrations, his back arching into her mouth, his hips shifting slightly as she stroked their sides. He reached down to stroke her hair, fingers sliding between the loose strands, scrunching the thick dreadlocks, tangling-
He froze again, his body going still. She eased up his body and once again, it was someone else’s face in his field of vision. “What’re you fightin’ it for, mate?” he whispered, butting the tip of his nose against Will’s. “Just close your eyes and feel, Will … I promise you’ll like it.”
As his lips closed over Will’s, the blacksmith shut his eyes against his better judgment and tried to ignore the odd sensations, such as the moustache and windburned skin. The longer they kissed, though, the deeper it became, the less odd it felt – Will hesitantly parted his lips, and Jack tilted his head sideways, their mouths fitting together much better from this angle. Those long fingers slid up into his hair, framing his scalp, and Will was surprised to find his hands on Jack’s hips, pulling him closer.
He was stroking faster now, telling himself his mind was far from caring about the stimulus, just as long as he got off, and soon. It was a painful anticipation, and he tried to savor it, breathing ragged, heartbeat exploding in his ears.
Hot, damp breath blown against his ear. Will shivered, his hands sliding down over Jack’s firm, compact backside, cupping. He was rewarded with a groan, and the sound made his erection jump to attention between them. Jack noticed, for he propped himself up and grinned devilishly down at Will. “Why din’ you say so?” he promised, pushing himself backward to slide down the length of Will’s body.
In an instant, the man had Will’s cock between his lips, sliding between his teeth and down his throat. Hands that were definitely not Elizabeth’s small, soft ones cupped his scrotum and roamed the flat of his stomach, their calluses arousing him further. Will propped himself up on his elbows to watch the dark head bobbing, Jack eventually pausing to throw back his hair, then patiently going back to swallowing and releasing, licking, sucking.
He leaned back on his knees at one point and brought his gaze up to Will’s, dark eyes glittering, narrowed seductively at him. As they stared at one another, Jack pulled off, swirling the tip of his tongue around Will’s head, stabbing at the very tip as a trail of saliva threaded between tongue and cock.
His hips bucked up, hips undulating, bollocks drawing in tight. Will tipped his head back, arching his torso, breathing harder than he could ever remember having done while simply self-pleasuring. His hand pumped roughly, jerkily, rapidly bringing him closer as the dream played out.
“Come for me, Will … that’s it, come inside me … wan’ touch you, be inside you … let me fuck you, oh yeah … next time, I promise, love, I’ll move inside you, bring you o’er th’ edge.” He descended again, two strands of beads slapping Will’s stomach with each swallow, and Will parted his lips, letting out a long, pained grunt of release as he emptied into the wicked mouth, adding in words of praise and worship of the older man’s talents.
He came, feeling the hot semen ribbon onto the side of his hand and thighs, and let out only a very small, stifled cry against the back of his other hand, which he was biting down on. “Jack,” he whispered softly, eyes closed, chest heaving as he withdrew the hand, an experimental lick telling him he’d bitten down rather hard into its flesh.
A few minutes later, recovered and horrified at the turn his fantasy had taken, all he could do was screw his eyes tightly shut and pray this memory would disappear the way of most of his dreams. “Oh, God … what’ve I done?” he murmured, shaking his head in self-recrimination.
On to the last part ...
4 Days to Departure (My Dinner With Sparrow)
Jack slumped in his chair, head tilted over its back and to the side, presumably contemplating clouds in the sky from beneath the edge of the awning stretching out over the small sidewalk café. “You’re going to get a crick in your neck like that,” Will warned, stirring a bit of honey into his tea.
“Funny,” mused the pirate, without changing position. “I don’t remember gettin’ married.”
Will rolled his eyes; it was the comment Jack often made when the younger man warned the other something might be bad for him, referring to it as “nagging.” Sometimes, it was all a matter of phrasing, Will had learned. “Hard to seduce the wenches when you can’t tilt your head to look at them,” he tried again.
Jack raised his head a bit and leveled a neutral look at Will. Long seconds later, he shifted and, compromising, assumed a more comfortable-looking position on the chair. “You’re learnin’, lad.”
“It’s all about the right leverage,” Will quipped, putting the spoon aside.
Something flashed in Jack’s dark eyes that suspiciously resembled regret – but only briefly. “Aye, ‘tis,” he assented. “So, Mr. Turner,” he adopted his proper English speech once again, mindful of people around them, “is this to be one of our last meals together?”
Will lifted his cup and took a slow sip of tea, closing his eyes and letting the spiced steam filter into his nostrils. He hadn’t slept well the night before, either after he and Elizabeth had gotten back to the townhouse or later that same night when he was supposed to be in bed. The two of them had stayed up late again talking about various subjects, but whereas Elizabeth had finally turned in at a reasonable hour, Will had gone out on the back veranda and sat for the next several hours, contemplating the decision Jack had handed him.
Because he’d taken it for granted until a few days ago that he’d be departing with Jack, he hadn’t given much thought to the whys of doing so; after all, he’d joined the Pearl’s crew not necessarily by his own choice, but in a desperate flight to duck the Royal Navy and any association with Jack Sparrow that they might pin on him. That’s what you call ironic, he mused. Did he want to stay on with the eccentric pirate captain, or stake out a life elsewhere, be it on land or sea?
He sipped slower than he should’ve, glancing at his dining companion over the cup’s rim. Elizabeth had hired a barber to come by during their first day at the townhouse, after they’d cleaned up, to trim the choppy mess they had wrought on their hair and beards. Will’s hair was short, only a couple of inches long, and curling at the ends; those curls had always annoyed him because he’d once been small and thin and easily teased for his girlish appearance.
As an adult, there was no mistaking him for anything other than male, but the hair continued to grate at his nerves, so he preferred to keep it long, the weight of the locks pulling most of the curl out of the chocolate-brown mass. He’d reestablished his moustache and goatee, as had Jack; in lieu of being able to grow out his beard for more beads, the older man had opted to stick with a simple bit of hair, Will supposed, until he was once again at sea and able to resume his former appearance. Jack’s hair was just short of shoulder length, and he’d commented to Will that it tended to grow quickly, so that he might be able to pick up more bits and baubles to twine into it in as little as two or three months. Without the dark auburn mass trailing over his shoulders and back, Jack looked years younger. Will wasn’t sure he liked this current appearance, for the simple reason that Jack just didn’t look … well, like Jack.
Why do I give a bloody fig what he looks like? Will pondered.
“I believe I’ve a question on the table, lad.” Jack was speaking again, regarding him coolly. “Or are you just planning to sit there all afternoon staring at me?”
Taking another quick drink, Will resisted the urge to swear, both at Jack and at the ruddy blush he felt seeping from the pores of his entire face. He hoped the steam of the tea would be blamed for his high color. He still hadn’t figured out why he was about to answer as he did, except that perhaps any man deserving of his father’s loyalty, sanity, and very life ought not to be cast aside so soon; Will had already learned a lot from Sparrow, and could likely learn more, as well as see more of the world. And, to be fair, he’d already participated enough to be branded as a pirate should he ever be caught and identified at this point. In for a penny, in for the whole damn treasury.
“I think David and I will be joining you for your trip to England,” he answered, “though I’m not sure how I’m to afford my passage, when I left all my worldly goods back on the Pearl.”
Jack said nothing for a moment or two. Then: “I’ll take care of it.”
“With your magic satchel?” Will smirked. “The bottomless coin pit?”
“No, by putting you on bilge duty when we get back.”
He looked so perfectly serious, so humorless saying it … “You are joking, right?”
“Mr. Turner, I rarely joke about such serious matters as the care of my ship.” Will furrowed his brows. “Especially since after all this time you still insist on playing by the rules.” There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Jack’s mouth.
“Pirate,” Will accused, sotto voce.
“What changed your mind? Why do you want to go now?”
“Who said I didn’t want to go before?” Jack leveled a skeptical look his way. “You were the one under the impression I didn’t want to go, Jack. I never said anything.”
“All right – then why don’t you want to stay? You and Elizabeth have a falling-out?”
“We had no such thing,” Will protested. “We’re great friends.”
The expression of vulpine cunning crept over Jack’s face. “Would you still die for her, then?”
“You’re venturing a bit personal.”
“I make it my business to know the loyalties of my crew.”
“What does Elizabeth have to do with your ship?” Will wanted to know. “Really, Jack … I don’t think even she would commandeer another vessel and try to board the Pearl. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Now if I did that, Anamaria’d have my hide when she captures me in a few weeks, wouldn’t she?”
Will nearly answered, then paused. “So you did send word.” Jack nodded. “What’s your plan?”
The pirate watched him closely for another half-minute, arms crossed over his chest, reserving himself. When he shifted to lean forward, resting one forearm on the table and dropping his voice, Will assumed the same posture so he could better hear. “We book passage on a merchan’ ship out o’ port after me visit,” he slipped back into his old voice; unaccountably, it made Will smile, watching his other hand glide along air as though it were a boat splitting the surface of water. “Big, fat one.”
“A large prize.”
Jack grinned, voice still low. “Always said ye catch on quick,” he nodded. “Pearl attacks, we surrender, swear fealty to th’ bloody rapscallions to save our hides, help unload th’ booty, an’ be on our merry way back to th’ Caribbee … or wherever.”
Will nodded, then leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know, Jack,” he finally said. “I mean, as plans go, it’s all right, but-”
“But?”
“What I meant, is it’s serviceable. But … it lacks your usual panache.” Will affected an air of disappointment. “It’s just so – predictable, non?”
“Predictable.” Jack was stroking his moustache after assuming his proper tone and accent, nodding imperceptibly, looking for all the world like a relaxed gentleman. What nearly set Will to laughing was the slight muscles beneath the jaw tensing and shifting as Jack grated his teeth – he’d learned months ago to look for that little signal, along with a hundred others that would tip him off about Jack Sparrow’s moods. He was annoyed. “I admit, it is lacking in the grandiose-”
“Grandiose? Jack, it’s simplistic.” Will added an appropriately-derisive snort.
“Ah, but ‘simple’ has its place, dear William.” Jack tilted his head and eyed Will sideways. “There’s not always a need for there to be twenty steps to a successful plan – look at the Trojan Horse.”
“I never did understand that – these people come invade your shores, spend ten years trying to kill you, become bitter over the whole thing, and then you’re supposed to believe that one night they just went home peacefully? And, oh, by the way, there’s the matter of a little gift outside the gates, which is really this huge horse, and has no practical value whatsoever?”
“Well, here we are more than two thousand years later, and the right pretty face can still launch ships,” Jack smirked, clearly referring to Elizabeth’s rescue from Barbossa. “Which just goes to show that men will usually put their desires before common sense, mate, a fact I’ve long banked upon.”
“And what would stoke a merchant captain’s desire, do you think?” Will inquired, relieved to see the Captain’s demeanor thaw once again into Good-Time Jack.
“Why, the promise of a generous amount of swag to ensure the safe passage of myself, my brother, and my son to our new plantation in the Caribbean should just about do the trick.”
*****
3 Days to Departure (Past Midnight in the Garden of Good and Naughty)
Will shifted to his back, yawning reflexively, balanced between drowsiness and deep sleep. He kicked off the blankets, too warm by half, having fallen asleep reading by the glow given off by the fireplace and still wearing his breeches and shirt. Stretching his arms, he murmured nonsensically as he tipped into dreamland, his head lolling bonelessly to one side.
Soft, sweet coral lips edged closer, seeking his own. Small hands cradled his face as she kissed him, her bosom heaving against his chest as her mouth spoke his name, pressed to his.
Will’s lips widened sweetly in his slumber; it was a frequent dream, had been for some years, but it hadn’t visited his sleep in months – come to think of it, he hadn’t dreamed much at all since shortly after leaving Port Royale. He shifted on the bed, still asleep, though his hands moved to pull at his sleeves and hem, drawing the shirt off up over his head, letting it fall from his fingers at his side. The slight breeze from the barely-open window reached his skin, cooling the light perspiration.
“Mmm, Will,” she practically cooed, nuzzling him. Now her hands were on his bare arms, fingertips caressing the years of hard-won muscles. “I’ve waited for this too long …”
He kissed her back, stroking her bottom lip between his. “Mmm hmm,” he agreed, hands on her small waist, pressing her forward into him. She was wearing the deep-maroon dress Barbossa had forced upon her, but it was laced up into a delightfully-tied package he itched to rip open. “Tell me what you want.”
She slid a hand down to one of his and pulled his palm to rest on her chest, much as she had when giving him back his medallion. With no coin around her throat, however, she pulled it further down to cup one of her high, pert breasts.
A small, pained sound escaped Will as his lips involuntarily parted. One of his hands reached for his own chest, fingertips resting on his stomach, lightly circling.
“I shouldn’t-” he hesitated.
“Oh, please,” she begged breathlessly. “Touch me, Will. I need it; I need you.”
He squeezed gently, her gasp igniting something deep inside that he’d neglected far too long. Deepening his kiss, he began unlacing her bodice, their tongues gliding past one another’s, small sounds evidence of their mutual pleasure.
His thumb was brushing over one of his own nipples, stroking it to a peak, just as his dream counterpart did the same elsewhere. He circled, then moved to the other one, touching it, feeling even in deep sleep the burn of his shallow breathing, the rush of blood to pool in his groin.
Will closed his eyes, dotting small kisses down the side of her chin to her long throat, tugging open the front of her under-dress to bare her breasts. He covered one with his windburned lips; her fingers dug into his scalp, threading into his hair, as his tongue laved her nipple, sucking it between his teeth. She tipped her head forward and he felt wisps of her long mane brush his forehead.
His fingers worked skillfully at the laces of his breeches, long used to pleasuring himself rather than seeking it in a brothel or tavern. He shimmied the material low on his hips, feeling his erection spring free, suddenly caressed by the light breeze. Will groaned with the way it responded, growing more rigid. “Elizabeth,” he whispered in his sleep, just under his breath – again, long-used to having to keep quiet about this sort of thing, he was now a master of it.
Will straightened, leaning in once again to kiss her, her clothes dissolving beneath his fingers like magic, and his the same way, until nothing was between their skin but a few small pockets of air. Suddenly, there was a bed, and he bore her down on it, feeling her limbs slide beneath his as he pinned her, lips traveling along her jaw as his hips slid between her thighs.
His thumb brushed the taut, sticky head as his fingers wrapped around the rest of his cock. Down and up, soft and sudden, then slow once again. Small moans drifted from his lips as he dipped his fingers to curl around his bollocks, squeezing gently.
Suddenly, Elizabeth got a wicked glint in her dark eyes and rolled him sideways, ending up above him, in control. Far from upset, he grinned at her, closing his eyes as she lowered a kiss to his neck, arching his back so she could reach it better. She sucked gently at first, then a bit harder, harder, until he gasped. “Going … to leave a mark,” he panted, not really caring.
“Mmm,” she noised naughtily, nipping her way back up over his goatee, settling her mouth against his full lips. “I hope so.”
He stroked a bit faster; she’d never been this possessive, this much in charge in any of his other fantasies … and he liked it. Oh yes, he wanted her over him, touching him, doing this to him …
As they kissed, he noted absently for the first time she tasted sweet – not like sugar. Maybe honey? He parted his lips, returning the kiss fervently, trying to determine the flavor therein. No … not honey. Maybe it was sugar – of a sort. He lifted his head up off the pillow and fastened his lips to hers, hard, nearly sucking at them, taking a deep draft of that mouth.
Cinnamon.
Oh, God, it tasted wonderful. He lowered his head to the pillow, the lips and the taste following. Now she was kissing him roughly, and he loved it, the way her tongue stabbed into his mouth, the deep groans coming from her chest, the way her thick moustache erotically tickled the underside of his nose.
Rum.
Will’s eyes flew open, but they didn’t look up into Elizabeth’s soft brown ones delicately outlined with a thin kohl pencil. Instead, they were pinned by a dark, sinful gaze rimmed in black smudge, gold glittering in their depths. He opened his mouth to protest, started to raise up off the bed, but a long, knobby forefinger pressed to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “Don’ be ‘fraid,” the low, familiar voice purred. “I’ve a feelin’ you could develop a taste for this.”
His hand paused, uncertain, as a chill raced down his spine. He was really very close, halfway there – how could this happen? He didn’t even desire men! What was worse was that his cock, far from softening, seemed to jump between his palm and fingers at the abrupt shift in dream imagery.
One finger traced the thick vein on the underside of his penis, wanting completion. His body needed to get off and didn’t seem to be terribly concerned about the inspiration for doing so. Will screwed his eyes shut and concentrated, resuming a slow glide with his fist, bringing Elizabeth back.
She was smiling at him again, then disappeared from view to move down his body. Will sighed in relief, then shut his eyes, setting about to enjoying her ministrations, his back arching into her mouth, his hips shifting slightly as she stroked their sides. He reached down to stroke her hair, fingers sliding between the loose strands, scrunching the thick dreadlocks, tangling-
He froze again, his body going still. She eased up his body and once again, it was someone else’s face in his field of vision. “What’re you fightin’ it for, mate?” he whispered, butting the tip of his nose against Will’s. “Just close your eyes and feel, Will … I promise you’ll like it.”
As his lips closed over Will’s, the blacksmith shut his eyes against his better judgment and tried to ignore the odd sensations, such as the moustache and windburned skin. The longer they kissed, though, the deeper it became, the less odd it felt – Will hesitantly parted his lips, and Jack tilted his head sideways, their mouths fitting together much better from this angle. Those long fingers slid up into his hair, framing his scalp, and Will was surprised to find his hands on Jack’s hips, pulling him closer.
He was stroking faster now, telling himself his mind was far from caring about the stimulus, just as long as he got off, and soon. It was a painful anticipation, and he tried to savor it, breathing ragged, heartbeat exploding in his ears.
Hot, damp breath blown against his ear. Will shivered, his hands sliding down over Jack’s firm, compact backside, cupping. He was rewarded with a groan, and the sound made his erection jump to attention between them. Jack noticed, for he propped himself up and grinned devilishly down at Will. “Why din’ you say so?” he promised, pushing himself backward to slide down the length of Will’s body.
In an instant, the man had Will’s cock between his lips, sliding between his teeth and down his throat. Hands that were definitely not Elizabeth’s small, soft ones cupped his scrotum and roamed the flat of his stomach, their calluses arousing him further. Will propped himself up on his elbows to watch the dark head bobbing, Jack eventually pausing to throw back his hair, then patiently going back to swallowing and releasing, licking, sucking.
He leaned back on his knees at one point and brought his gaze up to Will’s, dark eyes glittering, narrowed seductively at him. As they stared at one another, Jack pulled off, swirling the tip of his tongue around Will’s head, stabbing at the very tip as a trail of saliva threaded between tongue and cock.
His hips bucked up, hips undulating, bollocks drawing in tight. Will tipped his head back, arching his torso, breathing harder than he could ever remember having done while simply self-pleasuring. His hand pumped roughly, jerkily, rapidly bringing him closer as the dream played out.
“Come for me, Will … that’s it, come inside me … wan’ touch you, be inside you … let me fuck you, oh yeah … next time, I promise, love, I’ll move inside you, bring you o’er th’ edge.” He descended again, two strands of beads slapping Will’s stomach with each swallow, and Will parted his lips, letting out a long, pained grunt of release as he emptied into the wicked mouth, adding in words of praise and worship of the older man’s talents.
He came, feeling the hot semen ribbon onto the side of his hand and thighs, and let out only a very small, stifled cry against the back of his other hand, which he was biting down on. “Jack,” he whispered softly, eyes closed, chest heaving as he withdrew the hand, an experimental lick telling him he’d bitten down rather hard into its flesh.
A few minutes later, recovered and horrified at the turn his fantasy had taken, all he could do was screw his eyes tightly shut and pray this memory would disappear the way of most of his dreams. “Oh, God … what’ve I done?” he murmured, shaking his head in self-recrimination.
On to the last part ...
