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This sort of shmooshiness is closer to what happens in movies than anything I’ve ever written before,
but it’s still pretty far from the “real thing”.
As with the absolute smut, I make no profit from this undertaking.
Nothing But The Boots
Long, elegant feet sliding into silk stockings. Lean fingers unrolling and smoothing the fabric as it encases slim ankles, hiding inch by glowing inch of golden skin, sliding up a curved calf, covering dark hairs up to scratched knees. Really, the stockings were going in the wrong direction, but that didn’t make the sight any less tantalizing. Not for Captain Jack Sparrow.
He watched, rapt, as Will Turner tucked the stocking under the bands of his trousers and smoothed the bone-coloured silk one last time. He was assaulted by the image of those long legs, sheathed in silk, wrapped around his waist. And had to stifle a groan.
Now Will pulled thick leather boots over the stockings. And those lovely feet and ankles and calves Jack had been privileged to stare at for hours on end for the last few weeks were gone from sight. The sense of loss was tangible. Jack closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, not an easy thing for him, on dry land.
When he opened them again Will was standing, hands on hips, deep crease between his brows. “What is the problem, Jack?”
Jack looked down at the boots. They were fine boots, brand new. Alphonse knew someone on the other side of the island who owed him a big favour. He’d taken a tracing of Will’s foot with him a few days before and returned late in the night with an assortment of treasures. Nothing Jack would risk limb for, but they were the sort of mundane treasures that meant a lot to Kay and her family. A great new iron cooking pot, bolts of cloth, paper and ink and a slate for the little ones, hinges for the gate in the pasture (a little late, Will had managed to fashion a pair the day before but, as Franklin said, you can never have too many hinges) and a lovely carved comb for Kay’s hair.
And the boots. Heavy, rich dark brown leather with a wide cuff, moulding to Will’s foot perfectly, hugging his ankles, with a thick enough heel to do some real damage if required. No buckles or bows, proper pirate boots these were. Jack had to amend his previous fantasy to include Will wearing nothing but the boots with his legs wrapped around Jack’s waist. It would chafe a bit, but it would be worth it.
“No problem at all, luv. Just admiring the boots.”
An elegant eyebrow arched up, a gesture Jack was well familiar with now. He couldn’t lie to Will any more, not at all. Nor did he want to. He stepped forward to wrap his arms around his lover.
“Lovely boots,” he nuzzled Will’s neck. “Even lovelier legs. I was just thinking of your legs, Will. I can not stop myself from thinking of your legs.”
Will checked to see if they were alone, then bent his head to kiss Jack’s shoulder through his shirt. “We have time for that later. We must help Alphonse prepare to get sail.”
Jack sighed and nodded and pulled away with regret. That was the only way he could pull away from Will, especially after last night. Their last night on the little ship.
Blessed by a warm dry evening with just a hint of a breeze, the perfect weather for sleeping on deck, they had rowed out at sunset after an excellent dinner of stew and bread and laughter with the family. And the application of the kohl. And Kay’s words of warning to Jack.
Jack spread the folded sail out on the deck while Will filled two cups with some of the wine Kay had slipped to him after dinner.
“For you and Jack,” she’d whispered with a wink. “Tell him how you feel.”
Will was a little nervous, wondering what Kay meant by that. Surely Jack knew how Will felt. But no, that was impossible, because Will didn’t know how Will felt. Will stood still in the twilight, holding the two cups in front of him, searching his feelings. At first, when all this started, he’d focussed on his fear, his shame and his indignation. Then he’d focussed on his shyness and embarrassment. After that it had all been lust and desire. Quite irresponsible, actually.
“Will?” A cup was lifted from his hand. “Are you with me, luv?”
Love. Jack called him that all the time. Luv, actually. Will didn’t know if they were the same thing.
Jack studied Will. The eyebrow crease was deepening. Offering an opportunity to lick it, and distract Will from whatever was vexing him. Excellent. Never one to pass up an opportune moment, Jack extended his tongue for a delicate swipe across furrowed skin.
Will looked stunned. Adorably stunned. No one ever looked better, in Jack’s opinion, whilst muddled or taken aback. He did care what the boy was musing about, he did want to clear up whatever uncertainty had placed the crease there in the first place, but licking the crease was enough to dissolve it, so discussion would wait for later.
Will kissed him, eagerly. “Jack,” he mumbled against a tanned neck as he fumbled with the scarf tied around Jack’s waist. “Jack, you make me want to…”
Jack smirked. That was the Will Turner he liked to see. “You can do whatever you like, dear boy, you should know that by now.”
Will wrestled the cloth free of Jack’s waist and pulled the shirt up over the finely muscled chest. Hands everywhere at once, lips following them, tongue dancing over browned skin and scars and inked shapes and soft black hair. Will nipped at Jack’s flat belly, tugging sparse hairs with his teeth, licking noisily. He was on his knees now and Jack was looking about in a bewildered fashion, wondering where he was supposed to put his cup down.
He crumpled to the ground beside Will, balancing the cup deftly as he fell. “Will, dear, take a moment to breathe. Where is your wine?”
Will retrieved the miraculously upright cup from the deck.
“A toast,” Jack pronounced. “A toast to us.”
“Us?”
“Us.” Jack drank long and deep of the wine. It was milder than his drink of choice, but it was sweet and refreshing. He leaned forward to kiss Will tenderly on the cheek. “To you and me and all that we enjoy together. May it last a good, long time.”
Will blinked.
Oh dear, Will had that look. That watery, emotional look. The kohl was smearing a bit. Perhaps it was the wine. He wasn’t used to spirits, however mild.
Will stared into the pirate’s black eyes, trying to read them. Jack’s body was tensed, leaning toward him. There was no doubt Jack wanted him, nor was there doubt about how he wanted him. And Will wanted that too. But he found himself searching for more.
An inexperienced sailor, naïve to the ways of the world. What could possibly make a pirate captain want to keep a boy around, especially a boy unwilling to do what the captain so obviously wanted him to do? He knew Jack thought him beautiful, but that would not be enough to make him want to keep Will with him forever.
Jack watched the return of the crease with trepidation. What was troubling the boy? They wanted each other, they had each other, the wine was sweet, the air was warm, and they were alone on the water. Jack couldn’t see anything missing.
“I want it to last too,” Will whispered. Then looked away.
Realization dawned. The boy thought it was all about the sex. He thought Jack just wanted to keep him around as some sort of a sex slave. Not that Jack didn’t want Will to be his sex slave. But Jack was categorically opposed to slavery of any kind. Unless it was reciprocal, of course. So they would have to be each other’s sex slaves. That was worthy of an accord.
Jack would have to retire, naturally. Can’t be traipsing around the ocean plundering and pillaging when there’s a sex slave to be had. And to be. They would find a quiet place to settle and spend eternity. Naked. He would lavish attention on Will’s cock and legs and feet and chest and hands. He would suck his fingertips to wake him in the morning, and lick him clean whenever he got sweaty. Will would make those lovely purring noises late into the night, and whenever he got tired or sore, Jack would massage him and relax him and they would melt together in the moonlight.
Will sighed. Jack snapped to attention.
Jack couldn’t deny that the sex was a strong motivating factor, but that wasn’t all of it. No. Jack wracked his brain as to how to rectify the situation. It wasn’t all that dissimilar from the problems he’d had, at times, long ago and he would never mention them to Will, with women. How did one reassure them? Ah, yes, not with sex.
No sex? Preposterous. Jack raked his eyes over Will’s long limbs and torso. Impossible to not want sex with Will. But if it would restore confidence in him, Jack would just have to be a man.
He drew Will into his arms, turning him so Will’s face lay against his naked chest. He laid them both back on the sail with his arms loosely around his lover. “Shh, luv. Long day. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He pulled the edge of the sail up over them, a comforting, salt-scented blanket.
Will lay perfectly still in Jack’s arms. Sleep. Jack was content to just sleep with him. They’d never really done that before. Not when they were alone. Not since that first night on the beach. When they were both injured. He smoothed his fingers over Jack’s shoulder. No longer bandaged, the wound was healed over, bright pink in some places, the tender skin puckering and brand new. He let the relief that Jack was healing, almost all better, wash over him. He cared more than he should.
But then, Jack was here with him. Not demanding anything.
Jack stroked Will’s hair idly, letting the curls slip and slide around his fingers. Felt a strong heart beating against his. He wasn’t even hard, he was relaxed all over. This was nice. Better than nice. It was comfortable. No, comfortable wasn’t the right word either. It was…
Right.
It felt right to hold Will, gentle and warm, and fall asleep. He could do this every night. Not every night. He would want to do other things on some nights. But on any given night he could be satisfied with just this. He murmured something to Will, but he was so drowsy he wasn’t sure of what he said.
Jack didn’t want him to do anything. Will just had to lie and sleep and be happy. It had a dreamy quality to it. Will was tired, and it was easy to fall asleep like that.
When he opened his eyes again it was the dead of night, but he felt refreshed as if he’d slumbered for days. Jack still lay with him, cradling him. He breathed heavily in his sleep, not quite snoring. Will studied his face. He’d never really watched Jack sleep before. He’d seen him dozing on the veranda, resting on the beach, but never in a deep full sleep. Jack’s face was relaxed, eyes thickly smudged top and bottom lid with kohl. His moustache curled up at the edges a little, and his beard braids lay curved against the underside of his chin.
Will ran a gentle finger up the side of Jack’s face, up to the ragged scar on the side of his forehead. It must have been a wide cut, must have taken a long time to heal. Will traced it up to the hairline, into the thicket of wild black tresses, keeping his fingertip on the unnaturally tight skin, the scar widening at points, then closing to almost nonexistent and widening again, to the top of Jack’s head.
Jack stirred against him, and Will pulled his hand away carefully. He placed it on Jack’s chest instead, and felt a steady pounding under his palm. Jack’s heart.
He slid it down to the flat, soft belly. So alive under his hand. He remembered, so long ago, waking to the feeling of Jack’s hand on his stomach. Rubbing. In circles. His body remembered the feeling, the comfort it gave him. The desires it woke in him. His hand moved of its own accord. Slow soft circles, fingertips trailing through fine dark hair.
Then Jack’s eyes opened.
Next: Chapter 35 Taking His Time
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