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I wish this was the way it worked in the movie. Alas, it did not. (I make no profit, either.)
Spitting Image
Captain Jack Sparrow squinted at the lean figure behind the steering wheel. The tall, dark man held onto the wood firmly, trying to hide his misgivings by plastering a courageous expression on his handsome face. But he was betrayed by the line between his eyes, tension and uncertainty showed clearly.
“Spitting image of Bootstrap,” Jack muttered to himself, studying the thin crease. William Turner’d got that very same look when he wasn’t sure what he was sailing into.
Will Turner turned his eyes away from the horizon to regard the captain who swayed before him. “Am I doing something you disapprove of?” he asked imperiously.
Jack shook his head and moved unsteadily toward Will. “Not at all, my dear boy, just taking in the view, tha’s all.” He lurched to one side and took a good look at his new shipmate from head to toe.
Same hair, long, thick and wavy. Jack wondered if it would feel the silky same, smell the spicy same. Same fine bone structure, same scowl. Jack wondered if he could make the scowl go away the same way, by running his tongue over that strong jaw line and nuzzling that same scruffy little beard, dark but not coarse. And the lips, oh god, the boy had his father’s lips.
Jack licked his own lips self-consciously, remembered the tangy taste and indescribable softness of his former lover’s lips. Will shifted uncomfortably under the lecherous scrutiny of the notorious pirate captain.
“Keep her steady, lad. You’re doing just fine…” Jack barked out as he listed to one side and stepped behind the younger man.
Jack leaned against a barrel for support as he took in the back view.
Those stockings and shoes. On anyone else Jack would have thought them ridiculous, but on this boy they were absolutely sinful. Jack felt the need to adjust himself, thankful his trousers were somewhat baggier than the tighter leggings the younger man sported. He traced the curve of Will’s left calf with his eye, the back of his knee. Lovely. Lean strong legs and, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the kid had his father’s arse! The most perfect, fuckable arse on the Spanish Main.
Will frowned further, trying to concentrate on keeping the ship on course as Jack had taught him to do. But the man was positively leering at him, and for the life of him, Will could not figure out why.
Jack leaned forward unconsciously, wanted to get close enough to reach out and grab that superlative ass, but Will turned his head abruptly, looking in Jack’s direction, so Jack was forced to pitch himself toward the hatch to cover up his indiscretion.
Jack hurried to drop into the hold. In the cooler, dark air below deck the roar of his blood subsided and he could think clearly. This wasn’t Bootstrap Bill Turner; it was Bill’s son - a kid, and a kid in love with the governor’s daughter. “I gotta get a grip on m’self,” Jack drawled. Couldn’t just force himself on his former lover’s young, innocent son. That was just bound to be against the code, somehow. Even if said son did have a body built for sin and the most exquisite arse on the whole ocean.
Jack’s hand snaked down to the bulge in his trousers. “Yeah, def’nitely, a grip on m’self,” he grinned as he stroked his rapidly stiffening cock.
The real advantage of dreadlocks is that when you throw your head back in ecstasy, the object of your affection only hears a muffled thud instead of a full-out bang when said head hits the wall. Jack bit his lower lip to keep his moans quiet as he imagined his old lover’s hand on his cock instead of his own.
Jack pictured Bootstrap’s face next to his, with that adorable line between his dark brows.
“Relax, Mr. Turner, no one’s about to barge in on the captain’s cabin this time of … ahh!” His breath hitched as Bootstrap’s slender fingers reached into his trousers and grabbed the smooth hard flesh inside. Jack wriggled his pants down to allow freer access and hissed at the rough grip on his staff.
“Sorry, Captain, got a bit carried away.” Bootstrap withdrew his hand, causing Jack to let out a grunt of frustration. He raised the hand to his mouth and spat into his palm. “That’ll ‘elp, sir.”
Jack settled back with a sigh when the moist palm covered his cock. “Aye, that’s it, luv.”
He worked his hand up and down his own shaft, recalling the slick feel of his lover’s hand on him. Now his hips were rising up to meet his fist. Jack pumped his cock in a brutal rhythm, lips to help remember the taste of his own seed when Bootstrap raised his wet hand to his captain’s lips. Jack’s tongue had slithered out to sample a taste of himself, then darted into Bootstrap’s waiting mouth. Bootstrap moaned; he loved the taste of his captain more than anything, except for the taste of his captain from his own lips. Their tongues danced together as Bootstrap picked up the pace, and Jack reached down to grasp his lover’s shaft.
Bootstrap’s cock was leaking steadily as his captain and lover stroked it firmly. The line between his eyebrows deepened and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Jack leaned up and licked the crease. The touch of his tongue shot sparks straight down to Bootstrap’s groin and sent him over the edge.
Jack clenched his teeth when he came, hot cream spilling over his fist. He groaned loud enough for young Will Turner to notice from his position at the wheel.
Will made a derisive snorting sound. Damn pirates, they were an insane lot. He absently licked his lips, tasting the salt of the sea air on them.
Next: Chapter 3 Like Father, Like Son
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