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This didn’t happen in the movie. If it had, I’m sure you would have noticed. I know I would have.
Since I didn’t see it, I made it up, but I don’t get paid for this.
Day 8 (Rescued)
Captain Jack Sparrow could see the rising sun through his closed eyelids, felt the rays beginning to warm his chilled skin, but saw no reason to open said eyelids.
Will was not talking to him. Not much, at any rate. He was maintaining a safe distance, while still tending Jack’s injury and changing bandages but without the little kisses, still preparing whatever food he could manage in spite of low supplies, still gathering firewood and taking care of the camp. But the pants were back on, and there was no sign of them coming off again at any point in the near future.
Jack tried, for a while, to explain. Tried to convince the boy that what he wanted was not dirty or wrong or demeaning. But he had no luck with that. Will claimed he understood that it was something Jack found desirable, but that he had no inclination to participate in such acts and would he please stop talking about it.
Will spent most of the previous day exploring the island, looking for a spring or some source of fresh water. It was not to be found. He returned, hot and sweaty and thoroughly delectable, but with no fresh water. He spent a good deal of the evening staring into the fire and edging away when Jack tried to get close to him. He looked angry, but he wasn’t directing it toward Jack.
Jack wished he would. The poor boy looked miserable, and Jack hated to think he’d caused it. If Will wanted to insult him, yell at him, strike him, even, Jack wouldn’t mind. If it would only make Will feel better.
Will had every right to be in a bad mood. The fresh water was all but gone. And if Jack were Will, he might place at least some of the blame on the ridiculous amounts that had been wasted cleaning Jack’s torn shoulder. Jack wished his shoulder had been left to fester. Then Will might not be licking those chapped lips with a less than fully hydrated tongue. If he’d left the wound alone, Will would still have a shirt to protect him from the sun. Maybe Jack would even be dead, and then Will might be happy.
Blame me, he thought. Go ahead, I can handle it. As long as you let me handle you again, some day.
He tried desperately to imagine what was going through Will’s mind.
All right, the boy was a virgin, that much was obvious. And Jack was definitely the only man he’d ever been with. The only woman he’d ever been with had thrown herself at him so shockingly - well, that experience was no help at all. And the boy had been so surprised, he must have never conceived of anal sex in any way at all. For him a bum was for sitting on and shitting out of, and nothing else at all.
Jack must have scared him half to death! And if he really really tried, he could understand that someone inexperienced, such as Will, might think it inappropriate to go ahead and touch some else’s arse, unexpected like.
The logic fell apart there. How could he not want his arse touched like that? They touched each other everywhere else.
Will didn’t mind having his nipples touched. In fact, he quite liked it, and purred wonderfully when Jack gave them a little nip, just with the dull edge of his teeth, not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make the lovely dusky little bump grow nice and hard.
Will certainly didn’t object to having his cock touched. Or licked. Or suckled on. The taste of Will’s semen flooded Jack’s mind. No, he didn’t object to that at all, not anymore.
And he didn’t object to having his bollocks fondled or nuzzled or kissed, once he got used to it.
Ah, there’s the rub. He just had to get used to the idea. Jack smiled to himself as he lay in the light of the rising sun. It was only a matter of time, and then he would teach Will how wonderful it feels to have someone, someone who knows what they are doing, touch his arse properly, with respect and dignity. And passion.
Then Jack would give Will a real treat. He would pet him gently at first, prodding the little hole open with care, run the pad of his finger around the puckered skin, until Will was itching for more. He’d have to find some kind of lubricant; maybe a bit of the oil he used to sharpen knives.
Jack’s cock started to harden and grow as he imagined how tight the virgin arsehole would feel when he pushed his finger inside for the first time. How Will would tremble beneath him, vulnerable but oh so trusting. He would look up at Jack with those wide brown eyes, silently begging him to proceed but be careful. Delicious.
Jack would be cautious, slowly penetrating the lad until the smooth walls closed around his finger, and Will’s cock twitched that way it did when it was just about to start leaking. Jack would lick the tip of his cock, press his lips reverently against Will’s flat stomach to feel the fluttering under his mouth. Then he would ever so slightly curl his finger, find that elusive bulge and stroke it softly. Then Will would understand. He would be begging for it.
Something blocked the sun, and Jack hesitated to open his eyes. He didn’t really want to open them, to see Will standing there wearing only those damned trousers, naked broad chest gleaming in the morning sun. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was lying there smiling with his cock straining to escape the confines of his own trousers.
Someone cleared his throat. It wasn’t Jack, so Will must have been trying to get his attention.
Jack let his eyelids slide up slowly. He did not see luxuriant soft curls falling to broad, proud shoulders; he saw somewhat stiff short dreadlocks sticking in every which direction. And he did not see slick, smooth honey-toned skin; it was more of a rich coffee colour. And he was not gazing upon rosy peaked nipples on sculpted pectorals. This chest was most definitely covered in a thick black shirt. And the delicious hollow at the base of Will’s long throat, where sweat pooled so tastily, was nowhere in sight. This neck was covered by a stiff white collar.
“Ah, Captain Sparrow. How good of you to join us.” This voice was deep and booming, none of that maddeningly soft throatiness Will was so very adept at. This was the voice of a preacher. “I’m here to deliver you to your sanctuary.”
What was that, some kind of priest code for throwing him in the brig? He saw a small, well-maintained ship floating offshore with blindingly white sails. Then he saw Will, gathering up their meagre belongings, wearing an equally blinding white shirt, a little short in the arms and snug in the chest. So. The preacher had convinced Will to be on his side.
The preacher extended a hand to help Jack up. Jack flinched from the contact, eliciting a low chuckle from the man in the collar. “If you can’t trust a man of the cloth, who do you think you can trust, Captain?”
Jack shrugged.
“Don’t fear me, man, I’m here to help. We’re heading to an island not far from here, to the homestead of Sister Kay, where the two of you can rest and recuperate from your ordeals.”
“Sister Kay? You’re taking us to a convent?”
The chuckle turned into a rumbling laugh. “No, my good man, I don’t think Kay would appreciate the comparison to a nun. She’s a happily married woman with many children. But she’ll give you a clean bed, hearty food and the time you need to regain your strength.”
Jack allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “And why would she do such a thing for a pair of miscreants such as ourselves?”
“Miscreants? Lord, oh lord, such a low opinion of yourself. We are all brothers and sisters, and must help each other as God loves all his children.”
Jack lost interest. Religion held no fascination for him, even if it did mean he would be the recipient of some much-needed charity.
He looked up to see Will haul the neatly folded canvas, their tent, to a little rowboat on the shore. He seemed perfectly calm, perfectly at ease with the changing situation, perfectly perfect, as always. Jack sighed.
The preacher looked over at the blacksmith. “Yes, I can see what you like in the boy. He’s quite delightful.” The preacher’s lips made a little pursing move, as if savouring the air, when Will bent over the boat. “Most delightful.”
Jack’s eyebrow rose to the point of disappearing under his headscarf, bringing on more of the rumbling laughter. “And exactly what in the blazes kind of a preacher are you?”
And who did he think he was, making suggestive comments about Will Turner?
The preacher adjusted his collar with a rueful look on his handsome face. He was young, for a man of the cloth, with smooth skin and a really quite lovely face, all pretty lips and large black eyes and finely shaped eyebrows. He looked disturbingly familiar, but Jack couldn’t place him.
“I,” said the man, “am the kind of preacher who is rejected by the church for not being the exact kind of preacher they want. I am, as it were, an independent. Just me and my ship, and whatever good deeds I can perform to make this world a little more of a heaven on earth.”
Jack stared at him, slack-jawed. A rebel vicar?
“And it would be in order for me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “I am the former Reverend Alphonse DeMaurier, now humbly referred to as Brother Alphonse.”
Jack’s head spun. “Alphonse. DeMaurier?”
“Yes, my sister asked me to retrieve you. Seems that a certain Commodore has been tracking your ship’s every move, and Anamaria did not want to lead him to you. She managed to get a message to me, and I came as soon as possible. I was not about to see my new step-brother come to any harm.” He smiled fondly at Will. “Nor his lover.”
Could it be that Jack felt a blush creep into his cheeks? He hoped his rather messy hair and untrimmed beard would hide it.
“That might, in light of recent events, be somewhat of an exaggeration,” he muttered.
“On the contrary, Captain Sparrow. The boy and I had quite a talk when I landed. Seems you vexed him something fierce, but I explained a few things to him for you. He’s a little bashful. Give him time, dear Captain, and he’ll warm back up to you.”
Jack was once again staring, but the good Brother paid no heed. He busied himself picking up the last few things around the camp and making sure the fire was properly extinguished. Jack pulled on his almost shredded shirt. He winced as he pulled it over his shoulder, and Brother Alphonse helped him with his vest and belt. They trudged down to the water’s edge, where Will waited at the boat.
Jack didn’t know what to say to Will, although he was rather curious as to how much detail the boy had gone into. Whatever he’d said, the preacher was taking it in stride. They rowed out to the ship and were underway shortly, with Jack sitting on a box while Alphonse cleaned his shoulder and smeared a foul smelling but cooling mixture of herbs onto the sore wound.
“You did an admirable job of caring for this,” he told Will. “Shows how much you care for our fine Captain, I believe.”
Will blushed and looked at Jack from under lowered eyelashes. Perfect, long, thick feathery lashes hovering over warm chocolate eyes. Once Alphonse went off to deal with sailing the ship, Will sat next to Jack.
“Let me help you with your shirt. And here, drink this water. I know you don’t like it but you need it. Are you hungry? No, we can eat later. Are you feeling better?” Will asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Much, thank you.” Mostly due to the fact that Will looking at him with those eyes, and talking to him with that voice soft and low, like a caress.
Jack leaned toward Will, and came to rest with his head against Will’s shoulder. Will slid his arm around Jack and squeezed lightly. “Imagine, a couple of weeks ago I was all alone, an orphan. Now I have a father, a step-mother, I’ve met my brother, two of my sisters and we’re on our way to meet my third one.” Will smiled. “And I have you. What could possibly make me happier?”
Jack kissed Will’s neck softly. He kept his mouth shut though. He was reasonably certain that blurting out ‘my cock buried to the hilt in your arse’ would spoil the mood. And this was enough for now. The last thing he wanted was the mildly lascivious preacher ogling his step-brother while Jack took him on the deck.
He could wait a little longer.
Next: Part IV Jack Woos Will Some More
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