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This is harmless and for fun. It merely borrows a bit from Pirates of the Caribbean and the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and The Pirate Way. I don’t know how Disney and Tolkien would feel about it, but I wrote the Pirate Way, and I heartily approve - one out of three ain’t bad.
This is an alternate ending,
for anyone who wishes to skip the last 88 chapters of The Pirate Way...
Note: As if the idea of two characters played by Orlando Bloom weren’t enough, I’ve paired them up
with two characters played by Johnny Depp. Because Johnny would make a terrific Bard. Because Jack reacts in such a delightful way to an Elf who reminds him of Will. Because the perturbation score would be off the scale,
resulting in loads of yummy forehead creases from Will.
Dedication: for Theresa Green
Beta: Sundew
Also note: English is not spoken in Middle Earth, and the universal translator will not be invented until
sometime around the time Captain Kirk will be captaining the starship Enterprise, so the people
in this particular crossover cannot, magically, understand each other.
Barrels
Part 1 - That Was Unexpected
Will
The water seemed to grow colder as Will Turner drifted in the current – the current that would take him safely to the shores of the island he’d looked at from the safety of the deck of the Black Pearl. How long had it been? an hour? two? since he’d been standing in the captain’s cabin in front of Jack, admitting to the most embarrassing and pivotal moment of his life, frantic and strung tight with desire, but unable to proceed until he confessed.
The approach of the navy had been sufficient to dampen his physical desire, that and the discomfort of folding his not insubstantial frame inside a barrel, of all places. But he remained anxious, not aroused but anxious. After all they’d been through, after finally accepting that what he wanted was really Jack Sparrow, he knew he could wait a little longer if need be, but the fear of losing Jack plagued him. Anxious because he’d wanted for far too long.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted so badly. He liked the idea of touching and holding and stroking and petting. He liked kissing Jack too, far more than he would have admitted or predicted two years ago.
Beyond that, things were a little hazy. He knew that it involved him, Jack and some privacy. The sort of privacy a deserted tropical island might afford.
The barrel spun wildly and came to an abrupt, jarring halt.
Jack
Captain Jack Sparrow wriggled his shoulders to make space for his sword. It was dreadfully cramped in the barrel, and the floury smell was almost enough to make him sneeze, which would be most un-piratey.
This was taking far too long. He should have reached the shore by now.
Stupid idea, this whole barrel outing. He was too old, and far too piratey, for this sort of nonsense. Time to go topside and have a look about.
He clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, so it rose straight up between his fully-bent knees, and thrust it up at the lid.
Nothing happened. The ‘loose’ lid was not, in fact, loose. It was quite solidly jammed onto the barrel.
That bloody harlot! She’d done it on purpose. When he got out of this barrel, and onto the island, and then back to his ship… if he got out of this barrel and onto the island. If he got back to his ship. That was a lot of ‘ifs’. Especially for someone crammed into a barrel that was bobbing on the water and drifting. Possibly drifting out to sea.
He should have made shore by now. Why hadn’t he made shore yet? And the water around him had changed. He could feel the cold seeping through the weathered wooden staves. Cold and fast-flowing. He was caught in some kind of current.
He jerked the sword up and down rapidly, in a vain attempt to free himself.
Not unlike, he had to remember, his attempt to loosen Will’s blade from the door of the smithy two years before.
Just about anything would remind him of that day; that’s how special that day was to Jack. He took a moment to remember the most enjoyable parts of his swordfight with Will, most of which had nothing to do with the swordfighting and a lot to do with the long, lean lines of Will’s thighs.
Where was Will? He was out there drifting around in a silly barrel too!
Jack heaved his sword up and the lid of the barrel burst into fragments.
Legolas
On any ordinary day it was not unusual for Legolas Thranduilion to be seen walking the shores of the lake. After all, he was currently responsible for patrolling the area, and for maintaining cordial relations with the residents of Laketown.
None spoke openly of what he might have done to warrant such a dubious honour. There were barely heard whispers among the townsfolk that it had something to do with a pilfered cask of ale and a certain, wandering wizard.
If the assignment had been meant to be punishment for some transgression, the casual onlooker would not have been able to deduce it from the conduct of the Elf. Legolas, as always, assumed his customary serene expression, which was, as always, enhanced by his natural beauty, a beauty only heightened by his keen interest in his surroundings.
Sharp, azure eyes took in every colour and shadow, every shape and contour that presented itself. He listened carefully for signs of disturbance, any alteration in the natural rhythms of life. He sniffed the air as if sampling the scent of the finest flower.
Legolas stopped walking.
The scent in the air was not that of cold, clear water, or the majestic trees of the forest and flowers of the meadow, or even the somewhat dubious smell of Laketown; it was earthier, yet at the same time much less wholesome. The sounds of harsh words in some broadly-accented foreign tongue were loud enough to startle the creatures of the woods. And the sight of a splintered, grounded barrel on the bank of the river was shocking enough without the tattered mess that was crawling out of it.
“Yrch!” Legolas exclaimed at the sight of a mass of ratted, gnarled black clumps of hair.
Bard
It was not highly unheard of to find a barrel wedged between two pilings. The barrels sent downriver by the Elves of Mirkwood were often caught on the edges of Laketown’s foundations. Not at all exceptional, thought Bard.
Nor was it unusual for the residents of the town to see the handsome, if somewhat dour, King of Dale out for a walk on the pier at sunrise. Old habits die hard, and whenever Bard visited his old home he felt the long-standing, almost instinctual need to patrol the perimeter.
Bard knelt on the pier, with the goal of dislodging the barrel to allow it to float further along and join a group of other barrels bobbing close to the surface near the shore.
Kneeling on a pier might seem an unusual thing for a king to do, but Bard was no ordinary king. He had not been brought up in a fine palace, with a court and servants and kingly graces. He grew up as a warrior, the finest archer, or at least the finest non-Elven archer, in the land. As much as he was entitled to be the king of Dale from birth, he’d had to earn the position.
His kingdom was flourishing, but these trips downriver were still necessary. Constant negotiations and the odd threat were required to keep the flow of trade smooth. He did not mind leaving his home for periods of time. A trip to Laketown was not all business, not since a certain wandering wizard had caused a fair bit of trouble for a certain son of the Elven king, and said Elf was currently doing penance for an allegedly wild night in the woods by assuming responsibility for the peace in this neck of the woods.
Bard would do his good deed, free the trapped barrel, then cross over to the shore in search of Legolas.
But a king, especially a king who came to power by virtue of his brave deeds, unflinching dedication and unerring aim, tends to be observant. And the first thing Bard observed was that this barrel, the one wedged against the pier, was different from the ones floating across the water. Larger, and of a different wood, with indecipherable yet clear words on its side, not Elvish script.
His second observation was that the lid of the barrel was moving.
Next, he noticed a mop of rich, chestnut-coloured hair, a pair of alarmingly wide brown eyes and the most exquisite quirked eyebrow he had, perhaps, ever seen.
All this belonged to a young man, a truly beautiful young man, who was alarmed by the sight of Bard to the point of incoherence. He babbled his nonsense, but he took Bard’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled onto the dock.
Bard, of course, noticed the sword at the young man’s side, and also that the young man did not appear to remember its presence. He was looking about frantically repeating, over and over, the same syllable. ‘Jack’. What did that mean? he wondered. Was it Sindarin? Rohirric? Orcish?
It sounded a bit Orcish, a little like what they yelled when you thrust a fiery brand in their faces.
Bard knew that sort of thing, because he hadn’t always been a king.
The man stopped babbling and started staring at Bard. He lifted his hand to Bard’s face and stroked his cheek. He started babbling again.
Bard stood perfectly still, ready to draw one of his many weapons if necessary, not wanting to startle the poor lad, wondering why he felt the need to touch Bard’s face, attempting to decipher the torrent of words and loving the feel of rough fingertips on his skin.
Part 2 – Not Argue with Fate
Will
“Jack! Jack! Where are you, Jack!”
This was the most confusing thing Will had ever encountered, cursed pirates notwithstanding.
He was not, at all, on the beach of a deserted, tropical, private island. He was on a dock, or maybe a sidewalk, of an inhabited town built on stilts in the middle of a lake.
Obviously, his barrel had strayed further than he could imagine.
And the man who had just helped him out of the barrel looked alarmingly, frighteningly, and uncannily like Jack.
But he wasn’t Jack.
His hair was shorter, coming to just below chin length, and was quite well-brushed. Its dark waves reflected the light and showed highlights not unlike the glow of polished ebony. There were no trinkets woven into it. In fact, he was plainly dressed all over in sedate, dark hues, utterly trinket-less but for the silver buckle of his belt. And his beard was neatly trimmed as well, not braided or beaded.
But his cheek, his eyes, his lips…
He spoke the strangest language. It was not the King’s English, nor was it French or Spanish. Will would have recognized those. It sounded a bit like the language he’d once heard some country folk use, while he was journeying in the south west of England before he went to sea.
The man seemed to be trying to calm Will. Will noticed him glance at his sword. Will raised his hands to show he had no intention of using the weapon. Which he did not, in fact, intend, because waving a weapon around would only make matters worse.
“Jack!” he called again. If only he weren’t alone!
But he wasn’t alone, because the man who looked a lot like Jack was right beside him.
Jack
“Bloody… um… what in the name of… what are you?”
The beautiful creature on the shore answered with a few, musical words. At least, Jack assumed they were words. He didn’t recognize any of them. Jack had no idea what was being said, but he loved the soft yet resonant way it sounded. He spoke beautifully. He? She? Jack couldn’t tell that either.
Luckily, Jack was very piratey in his tastes. He, she, something in between - he didn’t much care.
Jack scrambled out of the barrel and swayed unsteadily a foot or so from the bank. He tossed his sword on the grass for safekeeping. The water was cold, and deep enough to flow into his left boot.
Jack swore. Loudly. Profusely.
The creature on the bank stared at him.
Lovely to look at, thought Jack. All that long, golden hair and smooth skin, and the piercing blue eyes. Pretty, really pretty, even with the pointy ears. Jack studied a finely shaped eyebrow as it curved up in surprise.
Jack had seen that curve before.
Oh. Yes. He had.
Darken the hair, let it fall loose and grow some scruff on the chin, make the eyes a beautiful, rich, chocolate, brown…
“Where the hell is Will?” Jack shouted violently.
The creature drew an arrow in response to Jack’s sudden outburst, and had it pointed at Jack’s head in the time it took Jack to blink.
Jack raised his hands. “Look, mate, no fuss, savvy? I’m just worried about me friend. Nice looking fellow, about your height, a bit broader in the shoulder, darker, but the same general shape. And his legs – ”
Jack looked at the legs. They were encased in something soft and tight, tighter than anything Jack had ever seen off a harlot’s legs. Smooth grey hugged lean thighs that looked exactly like Will’s thighs. Or at least, what Jack had seen of Will’s thighs, so far as he could recollect.
“I’d like to find my friend,” he said, hands spread wide, nonthreatening-like. “I’m unarmed, ‘cept for that sword.” Jack gestured at the weapon, which lay on the bank where he’d tossed it after he extricated himself form the barrel. Now he regretted throwing it so far from reach.
Or not. That arrow was awfully steady. Maybe it was safer to be unarmed. Jack was not dealing with an amateur here. This was an experienced archer.
He continued, as was his wont. “But it’s on the bank and I’m in the water so that’s no harm to you, eh?” He was trying to be diplomatic, but he kept getting distracted by the legs. It was too bad the tunic came down so far. He’d pay a lot to see the goods on that one.
The creature glanced down at his own legs and back at Jack.
Legolas
The horrid, filthy, bedraggled man who had come out of the barrel kept staring at Legolas’s legs. What sort of fool would stare at an Elf’s legs when that same Elf had an arrow aimed at his head?
He was either planning to throw Legolas off balance, or he was a complete idiot.
The man grimaced and pulled his full boot from the water, balancing with the other foot in the air. There was a hole in the toe of the madly waving stocking. He dumped the water out of the boot.
Was he staring at Legolas’s boots? Did he want dry boots?
He was talking violently. He was upset. He was staring around him and shouting something. A name. He was looking for someone.
Legolas lowered the arrow. This man was not dangerous. He was lost. And cold and wet and, it appeared, frightened.
He reached a hand down to pull the man from the water.
The man took it gratefully and soon stood, dripping wet, next to Legolas. What a disreputable sort!
He even smelled disreputable. Legolas could not identify the precise spirit, but the scent of alcohol was undeniable. And the man’s clothes were odd, mismatched and ornate, at the same time they were somewhat threadbare. Flamboyant. There were cheap, gaudy beads in his hair and jewels woven into his hair. Legolas found the colourful beads woven into two braids in his beard particularly fascinating. He wondered if Bard’s beard was long enough for that sort of ornamentation. Not yet. In time it might be, although the beards of men rarely grew as long as those of wizards.
But Legolas would not think of wizards, not when he had to keep his wits about him. Wizards tended to distract him far too much.
The man sneezed.
“Would you like to dry yourself by a fire?” Legolas asked politely. He would offer hospitality. It was the right thing to do for a lost, wet gentleman, no matter how odd.
The man did not understand him. Of course, not. He was obviously some sort of imbecile, the way he was pitching and swaying and gesturing randomly, hands pointing shapes in the air - delightful, if a tad grimy, hands, with long tapered fingers and sparkling rings and calluses in interesting places.
And in spite of his oddness, the strange clothes and the Orcish hair, he looked disturbingly familiar. The dark eyes and high cheekbones. If the moustache were not drooping down so much, Legolas could have a better look at the mouth, which he was sure looked almost exactly like Bard’s.
There could not be two mouths like that in Middle Earth, could there? Were the Valar really that wonderful?
Bard
Stunning. That was Bard’s analysis of the young man. Stunning and charming, even though Bard could not understand a word he said. But he liked the way he said it, whatever it was. Round tones, warm and low, soft. Never harsh, not unlike the way Legolas spoke.
In fact, the young man’s resemblance to Legolas was putting Bard off balance. He found himself talking, trying to make himself understood. Bard almost never talked unless it was official business, except to Legolas.
There was something about the Elf that made Bard relax, let down his guard. And this man possessed that same something.
Bard was eager to make himself understood. Through repetition, he made his name known and learned that the young man’s name was Will. Through gestures and expressions, he could tell that Will was rather confused about where he was, and how he’d travelled this far, since he was from somewhere far from here, somewhere warmer and more open.
Will was shivering, so Bard decided to take him somewhere warm and dry, where he could get washed clean in the hot spring and dry by a blazing fire. Bard would, of course, prefer it if Will chose to be naked as he dried by the fire, but if he insisted on clothing himself, as Bard suspected he might, since he seemed a humble and shy sort, that would be fine. Bard could get a look at him naked when he was in the spring.
Bard desperately wanted to get a look at Will naked. He’d been in Laketown for two days and had not yet connected with Legolas. That wasn’t unexpected, since Legolas had a long shoreline to patrol and Bard had spent much of his time taking meetings with the insufferable mayor and merchants of the town. Now that his business and social obligations were satisfied, he had been hoping to find Legolas. Instead, he’d found Will.
One should not argue with fate, Bard told himself, as he watched Will step over a fallen log across the path, watched his trousers mold themselves to lean thighs and a devastatingly well-formed arse.
One should accept fate graciously. Or even help it along.
Part 3 – Some Sort of Magic at Work
Will
The cabin was warm and dry, which Will appreciated as he was a bit chilled from his time in the barrel and the climate of this strange place was considerably cooler than that of the Caribbean. It was impossible, to have travelled so far, in such a short period of time, that the weather was significantly different. There was some sort of magic at work. He could sense it.
But while he appreciated the safety and warmth of the cabin, but he did not particularly want it. He wanted to find Jack. He needed to find Jack.
But the friendly man - Bard he said his name was - insisted that Will follow him across the water and up the river to this cabin in a clearing. The cabin was small, one room with a large fireplace. There was little else within, save for the enormous bed.
Will had never seen a bed that big before.
Actually, will hadn’t seen all that many beds, period. He slept on a rough mattress on top of some old planks. This was a real bed.
He wondered why hunters would need such a large bed. Perhaps groups of them huddled together for warmth on cold winter nights. But the fireplace kept the cabin quite warm. There had been coals glowing faintly in the hearth when they’d arrived, and now a merry blaze was making the cabin almost uncomfortably warm.
Bard was boiling water over the fire and crumbling some sort of herb into a pot.
“I need to find Jack,” Will said, slowly and clearly, as one might speak to a very old or very deaf person.
Bard nodded and gave him something close to a smile. Not quite a smile. Bard did not seem to smile a lot. He seemed rather serious, which was a pity, as Will thought he would look quite nice smiling. He would look even more like Jack.
Jack with no gold teeth, probably.
Will had wondered, over the last two years, what Jack would look like cleaned up, respectable, and without the metal in his mouth.
Now was his chance to find out. If only he could find a way to make Bard smile.
Jack
This Leggio fellow is quite nice, Jack thought, once he puts the bow and arrow away.
Jack followed Legolas through the woods, roughly following the path of the river, cursing the length of Legolas’s tunic all the while. If it were shorter, Jack was sure he would be getting a prime view of what would, in all likelihood, be an arse second only to Will Turner’s own.
As he walked after Legolas, he noticed that the hair and smoothness of face weren’t the only differences between Will and this chap. There were the ears, of course, and the paleness. This Legolas was frightfully pale. He carried himself differently, too. Jack had seen people before with this sort of gait. Smooth. Graceful. Not a wasted movement. Effortless, it seemed. Like a cat.
So, it wasn’t only the tight leggings Legolas shared with some of the denizens of the finer brothels in the world. Not that Legolas acted as if he were for sale, but Jack had only seen people put that much effort into seeming effortless if they were selling something, and nine times out of ten they were selling themselves. Legolas wasn’t unseemly, though. He was right proper.
He barely seemed aware of himself at times, though he was always aware of what was happening around him. Sensitive to noises, he was. More than once he looked back at Jack with a slight scowl, when Jack made a particularly loud noise. It wasn’t easy to walk through thick woods in wet pirate gear. Legolas appeared to be made for this sort of enterprise; Jack would have been far more comfortable on the deck of a ship. Preferably the Pearl.
Speaking of which - or rather thinking of which, since Jack had not spoken a word for some time, it being obvious that he and his companion did not understand each other at all, so what was the point? – Jack wondered where the Pearl was. Which led him to the question of where he was, which was even more perturbing, because this wasn’t like any place he’d ever travelled before, and he’s been around the known world more than once.
And then the answer came to him. He was in a forest, in a clearing, facing a small cabin, which had smoke coming from the chimney, and none other than Will Turner sitting on a stump, facing a rather funereal looking gentleman, who was watching Will’s face intently.
And why wouldn’t he be? Will had never looked better. He was gesturing madly, telling some story or other, a funny story, it would appear, and it became clear he was trying to impress the other man, or at least get him to laugh along with him.
Jack jumped a bit when Legolas let out a sharp whistle. Will and the other man looked up.
Jack had been right. Will had never looked better. He was a bit dishevelled, a look Jack always appreciated on Will, because it accentuated his beauty perfectly. Chestnut locks curled about his forehead, and his sleeves were rolled up, shirt gaping open.
More open, Jack wished. But it was not to be. Will got up and straightened his shirt and gave the broadest smile Jack had ever seen him give.
“Jack!” Will exclaimed.
Legolas
Legolas had been pleased to watch the reunion of the Orcish man and his friend. ‘Jack’, the Orcish man called himself. What an unusual name, Legolas had thought at first. It had taken several attempts before he could pronounce it properly. He was finally able to do so by copying the movements of the other man’s lips.
The other man, Legolas had soon learned, was Will. Will and Jack were friends. Very good friends, judging by the way Jack kept putting an arm around Will and pulling him closer. Bard was no more able to make out their strange language than Legolas, but after the drawing of several pictures in the dirt, it became clear that the two of them had been on a large ship.
How they could had ended up in Laketown after being on a large ship was beyond everyone. The only large ships Legolas knew of were far south, or in stories of the West.
Legolas did notice that part of the smell that came off Jack, which Will did not seem to share, a smell that lingered even after the two strangers bathed in the warm spring further upstream, was a salty tang that Legolas knew, somehow, as the scent of the sea. It gave him a dull tug in his chest, not painful but definitely yearning.
Will did not carry the same scent. He smelled of fire and metal, which is what Legolas would have expected of the one who looked a little like an Orc. Both of them were men, not Elves, that was certain. Will was younger, and more discreet as well.
Jack had ripped off his clothes and plunged into the spring without a care for who watched. Will gestured at the others until they looked away when his turn came, although Legolas noticed Jack peeking.
Jack looked even stranger without his clothes. There were pictures and markings on his skin, and all manner of scars, including two very frightening wounds in his chest, and one on his back, as if he’d been run through with a pointy stick, but the skin around the holes was not torn, as one would expect with an arrow or spear. And he was brown, all over. Not the bluish brown or an Orc, but a warm brown, such as the face of a Ranger who had been in the sun a long time.
Jack must have been out in the sun naked for a long time to turn that colour.
Will, on the other hand, appeared to have not received many major wounds. He had small marks that looked like burns, but nothing that had ever gaped or gushed. His skin was a lovely golden tone, similar to the skin on Bard’s face and hands.
Both Will and Jack had scars on their hands, Legolas noticed. Matching scars, on their palms. Legolas wondered if they had received them in some sort of bonding rite.
He had noticed all this through the course of the day. Bard had insisted that the two men stay at the cabin and rest. Bathing was essential, as was a meal, so Legolas had gone to hunt dinner for four. He returned with several rabbits and soon Bard had made a delightful stew.
After the meal, they retreated to the cabin and now sat on the floor, in front of the fire. It was a cool night, but the cabin was warm enough for Bard to peel off his shirt.
Legolas watched Will stared at the smooth, bared chest, fine-lined with the faintest trail of black hair in the centre, a line that grew thicker as if flowed down his torso. Will was so young, Legolas thought, so inexperienced. Legolas could smell it on him. Fear. No, not fear. Trepidation. Anxiety. Will was anxious about his inexperience. Anxious about losing that inexperience. And anxious to lose that inexperience.
Bard smiled at Will. A gentle, small smile Legolas had only seen when they were alone, inside this cabin. Legolas held his breath. It never ceased to amaze him, Bard’s beauty. He was so different from other men, so delicate, almost Elven, but not quite.
Legolas wanted to leave Will and Bard alone. He knew that Bard would be able to overcome the young man’s shyness. But that would have left Legolas with Jack, and he did not relish the prospect of being alone with that one. And Jack would not have agreed. As soon as he noticed Bard smiling at Will, and the way Will smiled timidly back at him, Jack had moved closer to Will.
Will was startled by Jack’s sudden nearness. He took a sharp breath in and his eyes widened. He didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind.
And how could he be expected to do such a thing? Cleaned up, wearing a pair of Bard’s trousers and a loose shirt so his clothes could dry thoroughly, Jack was quite alluring. The gold teeth glinted in the firelight and appealed to the Elf’s inherent love of shiny things. His hair, still bizarrely knotted and adorned, gleamed now that it was clean, and the way his limbs draped casually about him spoke of a comfort with his body, a confidence that would surely translate into physical pleasure, if one were so inclined, without anxiety or awkwardness.
In comparison, Bard had a perpetual wariness about him, not unexpected in one who had grown up in the shadow of a dragon. Here, in this cabin, was the only place Bard let down his guard, and even then, he never let it down entirely.
And this cabin was also the only place Legolas ever lessened his constant surveillance and vigilance.
This was turning out to be a very interesting evening indeed.
Bard
Bard doubted that Legolas had even noticed how much he and Will resembled each other. Legolas had certainly noticed the way Will looked. He had a great appreciation for beauty. He had not, however, noticed what Bard and Jack had noticed.
And it was obvious Jack had noticed the resemblance. All through the day and evening he stole glances between the two of them, marvelling at the similarities. Legolas hummed a tune as he skinned the rabbits, much like the song Will had been humming as he split the firewood, and Bard would swear he saw Jack’s ears twitch. Will and Legolas both reached for the bread at the same time, and gave each other identical apologetic smiles, and Jack cleared his throat noisily to hide the whimper he’d involuntarily made. And now, as he looked at Legolas and Will sitting side by side, warm glow of the fire on their fair faces, Jack was rocking a little, biting his lip, trying to calm himself.
At least, that’s what Bard assumed Jack was doing, because that’s what BARD was doing.
The decision to remove his shirt was an easy one. Someone had to do something, or they would spend the entire night pretending to look at the fire while sneaking looks at each other.
It was delightful, to see Will looking between Jack and Bard as if he couldn’t decide which one he wanted for dessert. Bard hoped he would be the chosen dish, but could tell the lad wouldn’t know what to do with his dessert unless it was laid out for him, clearly and unmistakeably. And Bard had always found that a bared chest was the best way to lay oneself out for someone, clearly and unmistakeably.
Will licked his lips.
Oh, his tongue was as pretty as Legolas’s.
Bard watched Jack move closer, proprietarily.
No, Bard thought, you may think he’s yours, but he isn’t. Not yet. He wouldn’t be looking at me like that if he were yours.
Bard looked up into Legolas’s eyes. The Elf, in an entirely, as far as Bard could tell, Elven fashion, was surveying the scene intently and with great curiosity. He appeared to be calculating all the possible angles and permutations. He also appeared to be silently urging everyone else on.
So like an Elf. He wouldn’t start things; Legolas never started things. He always acted so surprised when things happened, always a bit startled, as if to say “How on earth could that have happened?”. Dreadfully, maddeningly, seductively coy, Legolas liked to be. At least with Bard.
But he always participated fully and enthusiastically.
Bard studied Jack’s face, the way Jack’s eyes narrowed when he looked at Bard. Would he fight for his treasure? Bard expected not, not once it became clear Legolas would be involved as well. Jack had openly stared at Legolas more than once.
Bard suspected, although he wouldn’t say this to Legolas, for the Elf would not be understanding about such a thing, that Jack was not only a seafaring man, but a seafaring man of the most disreputable sort. Legolas would not approve of such a livelihood. Bard couldn’t imagine what Will saw in Jack – a scoundrel and, most likely, a pirate. Other than his obvious handsomeness, of course.
As that sort of a seafaring man, it would follow that Jack would not be the sort of man to demand fidelity under all circumstances. Not when there was another option, and when especially not when the other option was as beautiful and tempting as Legolas. But the placement of Jack’s hand on Will’s arm belied that assessment. Curious. Could this be a pirate in love?
Part 4 – A Fine Old Party
Will
Will felt a bit dizzy. It must have been the heat of the fire. Or the pressure of Jack’s hand on his arm, fingers curling around his bicep firmly. Or the reflection of the firelight off Bard’s bare chest. Or the way Legolas’s pink tongue kept flicking out to lick his lips.
Legolas had the prettiest tongue Will had ever seen.
Bard stretched out beside him, and Will had to fight the urge to press his body against those lean limbs, the way he’d pressed himself against Jack’s body in his bedroom back at the smithy.
Speaking of Jack, he was leaning against Will now. Had he had too much rum? Impossible, they didn’t even have rum in this place, wherever this place was. They had wine, and Will had drunk a glass or two worth of it, so that would explain the dizziness.
But it didn’t explain the unbearable tightness in his trousers, or the way Jack’s breath on his shoulder went straight to the core of his chest, or the way the fan of Bard’s eyelashes across his cheeks made Will want to rub his own eyelashes against them, or the way Legolas was looking at him. Hungrily. They had already eaten dinner, and Legolas did not appear to need much food, so it wasn’t that kind of hunger, either.
“It’s hot in here,” Will said nervously.
Six hands appeared instantly to help him remove his shirt.
Jack
Once Will’s shirt was off, Jack felt compelled to remove his own. He then looked eagerly at Legolas.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable…” he prompted. If this was going to turn into a fine old party, everyone should participate, Jack thought.
He had mixed feelings about that. It would be shocking enough for Will to have a party with one other man, he suspected, without him having to contend with two others. Well, one other man and one whatever this Leggio character turned out to be. But he very much wanted to find out what that might be. And Bard, serious though he was, seemed a right sort.
He obviously liked Will. That was the other thing mixing up Jack’s feelings. He didn’t particularly want Bard to touch Will. At the same time, he did like the idea of seeing Bard touch Will very much. What a dilemma.
Jack was distracted from his musings by the appearance of a pale, almost glowing, completely hairless torso.
Legolas had removed his shirt, and both Bard and Will were openly staring. Jack was staring and panting at the same time.
Bloody hell, it was magnificent. He wanted to touch it, lick it, squeeze it – the firm chest, hard as but smaller than Will’s, the smooth skin, silky as but paler than Will’s, the pink nipples, lighter than Will’s… he had to see them together.
Jack pulled Legolas down to the floor beside Will. Next to each other, both the similarities and the differences were emphasised.
Legolas pushed Jack next to Bard and Jack could feel Will and Legolas staring at them, devouring them. All the bare skin was fast removing Will’s inhibitions, it was clear.
Bard said something Jack couldn’t understand. Legolas nodded and rose, repeating the word, pulling Will up to his feet, then Jack. He said the word again and pointed.
All day long, Jack had been listening to the words Legolas and Bard said to each other, trying to decipher their strange language. Or rather, languages, for Legolas often spoke in the language he’d used on the bank of the river, and while Bard never replied in it, he seemed to understand it. Legolas both understood and spoke Bard’s language, so that was the one Jack had been concentrating on.
And now he knew the word for “bed”.
Legolas
As the four of them tumbled to the bed, writhing to remove trousers and leggings, it occurred to Legolas that someone ought to be keeping watch over the cabin. There had not been an Orc sighting for some time, so that was not what worried him. There was, though, a slight chance of another Elf on patrol coming to the cabin. He was due to be replaced soon, and news of an indiscretion of this magnitude would surely result in his father assigning him this dreary patrol for another six months.
Another six months of being exiled to the border, forbidden from attending court functions, forced to find companionship among those of a less than Elven nature. Bard. Will. Jack.
Will and Jack could not get back to their sea without a vessel. It would take weeks, perhaps even six months, to procure transportation to Gondor. They would have to stay here, in this cabin, for the duration. Bard would surely agree to stay to keep them company, or at least manage regular visits.
Legolas threw caution to the wind. He even got up off the bed for a moment to throw open the shutters. Six months with Will and Jack and Bard, that was worth a little disgrace at court. And, when he stopped to think of it, if one wizard had earned him six months of patrol, what would the King of Dale, a delightfully virginal blacksmith and an Orcishly-coifed handsome seafaring stranger earn him? A year? Maybe even two?
In a tangle of lean limbs and freely flowing hair, the four of them soon found comfortable, or at least workable, positions.
Will was shy. Jack had to whisper to him and stroke his hair gently, while Bard teased his nipples with his full, pink lips and Legolas murmured in soft, soothing Sindarin, before Will would allow his trousers to be fully removed. Bard immediately set about exploring every inch of the young man’s delightfully golden skin.
Jack, surprisingly, did not seem to mind this, as long as Will was looking into his eyes or kissing him, which Will was doing. This suited Legolas, for while Will stared at Jack, or had his eyes closed in blissful, well-kissed content, Legolas was free to do his own exploration.
Legolas chose to explore Jack. Not as smooth as Bard, and not as reserved in his reactions to the exploration. Jack’s body responded to Legolas’s touch unreservedly. He made growls when Legolas stroked his arms. He moaned into Will’s mouth when Legolas rubbed his chest up against his back. And when Legolas reached around Jack’s body to stroke his chest and belly, Jack pressed back eagerly.
Will made a loud, keening sound. Jack and Legolas both looked down to see that Bard had taken Will inside his mouth.
Jack said something, by way of explanation, and Legolas could have sworn he was saying that it was Will’s first time.
Well, this would be Jack’s first time as well. Because Jack had never been with an Elf before.
Bard
Bard would have been amused by the look of sheer bliss and vacuous satiation on Jack’s face, if it weren’t for what he was sure was his own less than staid expression. As things had progressed, it had become more and more obvious that Will was close to completely inexperienced.
Bard had been happy to provide him with several first experiences. Jack had stopped him at a few points, preferring himself to be the first to perform a few, choice manoeuvres. It was Legolas who had been allowed to bestow upon him the ultimate first time.
That was not, Bard was sure, what Jack had intended at first. But then, Jack had never been with an Elf before. And once Jack had been with Legolas, he gladly gave up first rights to Will, just so he could lie beside the two of them and watch as Will arched off the bed and wordlessly screamed his approval of the arrangement.
It WAS stunning to watch.
The wonderful things about Elves is that they do not tire easily. Legolas had plenty of energy left after pleasing everyone on the bed. At the moment, he had finished his second round with both Jack and Bard, and was now licking his way up Will’s slender, endless legs, while Bard and Jack watched with glazed eyes.
The poor boy. A first time experience with only one other would be draining. This much variety must have been breathtaking. And as for the Elf – one of the finest Elves in Middle Earth – that must have been awe-inspiring.
But Will was coping well, taking regular breaks to watch and learn, making sure to drink plenty of water to keep himself hydrated, twisting and turning to take in all he could at once without overlay straining himself. The boy really was a natural.
Bard trailed his fingers over Jack’s wiry arms. His own, paler tone contrasted with the tanned, scarred and inked skin of the pirate. Jack grabbed his wrist suddenly and brought his hand to Jack’s mouth. Bard gasped when Jack kissed each fingertip gently, and said “shhhhh.” Jack jerked his head to the side, indicating the couple beside them.
Ah, Will was experiencing yet another first. And the look of ecstasy that graced the delicate features of Legolas indicated that the boy was possessed of many hidden talents.
Bard found himself praying for a freakishly unseasonable blizzard that would bury the cabin and prevent any of them from leaving for at least six months. Dale would get along fine without its king. There hadn’t been an Orc sighted on the shore in over four years, so there was no need for Legolas to go out on patrol. In fact, there really was no reason for Legolas to be there at all, unless it was so Bard and Jack could hear him moan and watch his throw his head back when Will did that to him.
Will rubbed his whole body against Legolas and, for the tenth or eleventh, Bard had lost count, time that night, began to make a low, rumbling purr from deep in his throat.
Words were not required. The purr said it all.
Jack growled and slid closer to Legolas and Will.
Bard followed.
For at least the next six months.
End
You may stop reading here, or you can go on to Chapter 21 Stranded, pick up where we left off with Jack going over the side of the Black Pearl in a barrel, and read the Pirate Way right to the end...
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