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This isn’t quite the way the movie ended, but there may still be time to lobby the studio and have the sequel start this way… oh, forget it, Disney has no sense of humour. Many of the characters remain their property, and I make no profit, nor do I seek any.
Lost His Will
Captain Jack Sparrow sat on a godforsaken spit of land in the middle of the ocean, head in his hands, while a five hundred foot high signal fire blazed before him and a boat full of the royal navy’s best rowed towards him. Dejected. His ship was gone. The rum was gone, his pride was gone.
He’d lost his Will.
Oh, and she was going to be incredibly impossible now!
How could he have gone from such heights of ecstasy to this foul pit of despair in such a short period of time?
He closed his eyes and recalled the sublime taste of Will Turner. Such heavenly sounds he’d heard as he brought the boy to the peak of pleasure. His fingers itched to feel that smooth skin under his fingers again.
He’d tried, the night before, to roll with the punches. Tried to make the best of a decidedly bad situation. But that sadistic wench had lured him into a drunken stupor with her flirtatious actions, her clever song, and her seductive words. All she really wanted was to get Will back, and that’s all Jack really wanted too.
Alas, it was too late.
Will had stood quaking by the side of the bed, chest slick with sweat and belly glistening with a mixture of his and Jack’s seed. The tantalizing narrow line of dark hair had been black and matted against his taut stomach, his hair was wild around his face, and the little crease between his lovely brows deep with fury.
“Bloody pirate!” Spat it out with venom.
The look on Will’s previously innocent face, when he realized that Jack had been the lover of dear departed Bootstrap - such an expression of utter betrayal.
And now, even if he could find a way to get back to the Isla de Muerta in time and save the whelp’s life, well, the pirate knew he would never be taken back.
When that oar hit him across the face, all Jack could think was that he’d deserved that. He uncategorically deserved that. He’d completely and unalterably cocked it up by invoking the name of the boy’s father.
It was torture, sheer and complete torture, to stand in the cavern surrounded by heaps of glittering swag, the promise of freedom and the Black Pearl so close Jack could almost taste it, and to be unable to revel in it.
Because there stood Will Turner, defiant and fuming and breathtakingly beautiful in a shaft of pale moonlight.
With his hands tied behind his back.
‘If I had the lad tied up like that, he certainly wouldn’t be standing,” Jack found himself thinking. ‘He’d be lying on the ground, writhing in rapturous delight, while I finally got to taste his seed from the source, drawing it from the root and swallowing it like a fine champagne, that’s what I’d be doing.’
Will glared at him, blissfully unaware that his righteous anger only served to heighten the pirate’s desire for him.
When the fight finally began, Jack felt the thrill of battle course through him.
Elizabeth was safely tucked away on the Dauntless, and would be rescued by the ridiculously upstanding Commodore Norrington, who would no doubt whisk her away to safety as soon as he conquered the soon to be un-cursed pirates. She would marry the pompous stuffed shirt, as befitted a stuck up prude such as herself. And Will would not, in fact, have to die. All would be well.
Will would sail off on the Black Pearl with Captain Jack Sparrow, where they would have much larger and more luxurious quarters in which to pursue altogether more satisfying activities.
It’s hard not to be optimistic when everything seems to be going in your favour.
He would have been doing a better job of hacking Barbossa to bits - after all he was a far superior swordsman - were it not for the damnable distraction of young Mr. Turner battling not one but three cursed pirates.
The way he lunged and slashed at them, leaping from rock to plateau, all flying hair and clashing blades, long lean limbs and flexing muscled, it was poetry in motion.
In fact, Jack thought he might actually have to write some poetry for the lad. Something strong and manly, not flowery. Something that starts out noble and pure, and ends in a good, hot, sweaty roll in the hay.
Then that damned wench showed up. Again. Rowing to the rescue, intent on saving her fair Romeo. She had this incredible knack for spoiling everything.
As for Will, he was so relieved to have her in front of him again, and to not have to deal with his real lover, he was happy to forget all about Captain Jack Sparrow.
Of course, Will came through with the daring if ill-thought-through rescue attempt. It warmed Jack’s heart to think that the lad was willing to suffer the hangman’s noose for the sake of a contemptible rogue such as himself.
And there was no small satisfaction in knowing, as he took one last glance over his shoulder during his swim to the Pearl, that there was no way in hell the lad would have kissed his fair damsel quite like that had Captain Jack Sparrow not taught him how to do so in the first place.
At least he was back on the Black Pearl. Life was back to normal.
Jack staggered down some seedy street in some godforsaken port he couldn’t remember the name of, remembering all that had passed some two years before. He still couldn’t bear to think of the lad without prior consumption of at least enough rum to down the average man. Fortunately, he was not an average man.
He was Captain Jack Sparrow.
And the infamous pirate captain squinted and swayed in the dull light of a waning moon, and beheld amidst the haze of the night, a figure most familiar, right there at the end of the lane.
Tall and lean, with a head of thick wavy hair. Broad shoulders, long limbs, a shaft of light falling at just the right angle to highlight his lovely arse. Standing erect and making Jack erect at the same time.
The man turned in Jack’s direction, and recognition dawned in wide chocolate eyes.
“Saint’s alive, if it isn’t Captain Jack Sparrow,” a musical voice exclaimed.
Jack dropped his half-empty rum bottle on the cobblestones and gasped.
“Bootstrap!”
Next: Chapter 13 The Tale of Bootstrap
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