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This is not a Disney product. It’s not, technically, a product at all, because it is not intended to be sold. It’s just a hobby of mine, and intends no offence, financially, legally or copyrightly.
Like Father, Like Son
Will Turner looked thoroughly miserable. He sat aboard the Interceptor, head in his hands, waiting for night to fall so he and the unscrupulous pirate scum he had no choice but to cooperate with could go ashore to find a crew. Heaven only knew where Elizabeth was, although the loathsome Captain Jack Sparrow claimed to be privy to that tidbit of information.
He raised his head to study the pirate. Sparrow stood, or rather swayed, in front of him, staring off into the distant sea, ignoring the land off the port side. Will looked him over, top to bottom.
A more pathetic collection of rags, discarded bits of jewellery and disgusting, disreputable, sordid … he couldn’t think of enough distasteful words to describe the sight before him. This filthy wreck of a sailor was supposed to help him rescue his true love, and Will didn’t know if he could even trust him to get them to shore in one piece. And the shore was only a few hundred yards away.
A pirate without a crew. A captain without a ship. A man without honour. Or dignity. The way Sparrow strutted might have been meant to seem impressive at a distance, but up this close it was truly revolting. Or so Will kept telling himself.
Sparrow shifted suddenly and threw a great clump of ratted hair over his shoulder. It fell against his back with the clinking of beads. Really, what kind of a man wore trinkets in his hair? And the kohl smeared around his eyes made him look like a cheap whore.
Cheap whore. Will could picture Sparrow reduced to whoring himself on the street. Take away the sword and the boots, and the hat, and you’d have a ragged slave, waiting to do your bidding. He could see Jack on his knees, serving his masters. That would serve him right for his disrespect. For threatening Elizabeth.
But Jack claimed to have saved Elizabeth’s life. Right, well, a pirate would say that, wouldn’t he? It should have been Will, at any rate. He should have been the one to dive into the ocean and save Elizabeth. If he’d been there, instead of that braggart Norrington, she never would have fallen in the first place. Instead, Jack had, or so he claimed, ripped her dress off to save her from drowning. It should have been Will ripping off Elizabeth’s dress!
Will stood suddenly, shocked at such a thought. He didn’t want to rip Elizabeth’s dress off! He wanted to court her, woo her properly, with respect and decorum. How could he even think about ripping her dress off? He must have been infected by that pirate scum!
Jack turned around when he heard Will clamour to his feet. The boy looked agitated, his cheeks flushed, brown eyes wide. Just the way Bootstrap used to look when he was thinking of something, ah, what was the delicate way to put it? something inappropriate.
The captain gave a small knowing smile. ‘Thinking about your lovely lady,’ he mused. ‘Well, she was quite lovely, and feisty, if you’re into that sort of thing.’
Will began to pace the deck, desperate to get thoughts of ripping Elizabeth’s dress out of his mind, when Jack lurched into place beside him.
“Having a bit of a ponder then, eh, young Turner? Tell me what’s on your mind then, lad.”
Will stopped pacing and scowled at the pirate. “That’s none of your business! Why can’t we just go to shore?”
Jack skidded to a halt next to his handsome shipmate and patted his shoulder, in what he hoped was a more reassuring than suggestive manner. “Patience, boy, we’ll not be leaving the ship alone until we’re under cover of darkness.”
Will looked at the dirty hand on his shoulder. Long, strong fingers toughened by ropes and swords and god knows what else. They curved over the top of his shoulder, and he could feel the heat from them seep through his shirt. Will watched and felt as they twitched a little, gripping his flesh a bit harder.
He could not tell if it was on purpose, or if it was just one more of Jack Sparrow’s unpredictable, irritating tics.
Jack did not let go.
Will looked up into the eyes of the pirate he wanted so much do hate, and did hate being so dependent on. Black heat stared back at him. Something he couldn’t identify, some emotion or thought or impulse, gleamed back at him from above smudged kohl.
Chocolate. Melted, moist, swirling chocolate glared back at Jack. Lingering black lashes, finely shaped brows, and that delectable line of worry getting deeper and longer with every second he stared into the boy’s eyes. Jack loved chocolate.
Jack’s fingers moved of their own volition, crept up the broad shoulder, and one finger reached out to caress the smooth skin on Will’s neck.
Will just blinked. And felt the heat from that one finger seep down, along his throat to his chest and lower. The determined set of his jaw softened, his mouth opened the slightest bit, and a wet pink tongue emerged to catch the single drop of sweat that trickled down from his upper lip.
Jack had to close his eyes. In his mind, he saw Bootstrap the first time they met. It was in Tortuga, the very port the Interceptor was anchored near. Jack had been rounding up his crew for the Black Pearl and had come across Bootstrap, who was on the losing end of a brawl with three hulking buccaneers. Jack dragged the poor man out of the melee into an empty stable.
When Bootstrap splashed his bloodied face with some cold water from a trough, the blood and grime of the fight fell away, and Jack saw the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on. He’d suffered a few cuts to the temple and one slightly swollen eye, but that took nothing away from his beauty. Sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes to die for, a sweet luscious mouth, altogether too good to be true.
“William Turner,” the vision said, sticking out his hand. “I suppose I owe you a load of thanks for that.”
Jack took the hand and pulled Turner closer to him. “Captain Jack Sparrow, and no thanks required, mate. But if you insist…”
Jack knew the minute their lips met that he was in love. Or at least a very healthy lust. Cold water dripped from Turner’s face, heating the instant it met Jack’s skin. He tasted of a very appealing mixture of ale and spices.
Turner jumped back from Jack, shocked at his saviour’s boldness. A lovely scowl appeared, marring the perfect forehead, but in an alluring way.
Jack gave a low laugh and pulled the other man back against his chest. “Now, now, luv, no need to be shy. Just a little thank-you is all.” Then leaned in again to claim his reward.
This time Turner’s cool lips warmed and opened under Jack’s. They spent the better part of an hour just exploring each other’s hot mouths with insistent tongues. Jack wanted more, but he didn’t dare take, for what he was already getting was more than he could have honestly hoped for.
The heat spread throughout young Will Turner’s body and he leaned ever closer to the older man. He could feel hot breath on his cheek, and a lone finger caressing his throat, making it hard for him to think, as if he were under some spell, or curse.
Jack remembered the feeling of Bootstrap’s hands on his chest, after an eternity of kissing and teasing. They yanked his shirt open, pressing against his heated skin. Fingers plucked at his hardened nipples, tender lips followed. Once he’d got started, Bootstrap became more frantic, clawing at any clothing that got in the way.
Now it was Will’s turn to sway. He could taste the rum Jack had been drinking; their mouths were that close. The acrid flavour stung his taste buds, breaking the spell that had drawn him so close to the man he despised. Thought he despised. Was determined to despise.
Will’s hand jerked up onto Jack’s chest, stopping him from leaning any closer. He pushed against smooth, firm flesh with his splayed fingers, wrenching himself away from the pirate, appalled by the lust he felt flaring in his belly.
Jack opened his eyes to see Will staggering back, staring wildly around him as if he wasn’t sure where he was anymore.
The captain smiled, flashing gold in the fading sunlight.
“So, you inherited more than just your name from your father,” he murmured. A little more stubborn, or even a lot. He would take longer to melt. But melt he would.
Next: Chapter 4 The Mocking Moon
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