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We didn’t actually get to see inside Jack’s head much in the Disney version of his adventures, so in a way I’m doing them a favour. But try and tell that to a bunch of suits. No profit, ergo no harm.
Sense and Senses
Smell
Tantalizing. Salt air. The sea. Freedom.
It’s the sheets. Jack remembers being opposed to the sheets being hung to dry on deck. Hardly adds to the pirate image, having the linen flapping about on board. Now he’s happy he was ignored. He burrows deeper into the bed, burying his nose in the pillow. The smell of the ocean air is comforting, although he can’t fathom why he would need comfort.
Taste
When he licks his lips there’s the faint taste of something even more comforting than the smell of the ocean. Very faint but undeniably in attendance. Spice and warmth and sumptuousness. Sweet as well.
That would be Will. Jack remembers now. Will tucked the crisp, clean sheets around him and kissed him on the lips. Closed lips, but Jack didn’t mind. It was for comfort, after all. But why the devil would Captain Jack Sparrow be desiring comfort, especially when Will Turner’s lips, as he well knew, could offer so very much more?
Sound
“Leave him be. He’s earned the rest. Hasn’t taken a minute to take a breather in days. When he’s not sailing the ship he’s caring for the boy. Don’t worry about me, my leg’s better now. Do me good to be out on deck anyway. Besides, it’s his bed. He should use it.”
Damn right, Jack thinks. He should use his bed. But there’s only the faintest taste of Will and he hasn’t the foggiest idea where the rest of him is.
Touch
There’s a cool, gentle hand on his brow. Too small to belong to Will. It’s not terribly soft, but the touch is light and practiced. Rasp of a bandage against his skin. Must be Kay, so motherly and soothing. Jack enjoys the feel of it. Until the fingers creep under his scarf, and meet the scar there. The fingers pause, hesitate even. They know they’ve touched something they shouldn’t. Should they follow the scar or retreat? Jack’s hand moves up of its own volition and grasps the arm, just above the bandage, no sense in causing pain. Only to tug it away from his forehead. The hand cooperates, lowers, takes a moment to stroke his cheek lovingly, then slides down to take his hand between strong fingers and raise it.
Now there’s something Jack hasn’t felt in a long time. The gentle touch of a woman’s lips on the back of his hand. It’s so very comforting it makes Jack wonder why he’s craving all this comfort.
Sight
The light from the windows makes the inside of Jack’s eyelids glow. A warm golden glow, like Will’s skin in the light of a setting sun. The skin on his back, tanned and supple. When the light intensifies, lightens, Jack thinks it’s more like the skin on parts of Will that aren’t exposed to the sun so often. Still golden, but a lighter gold. Still supple. Always supple. The skin on the back of Will’s legs is much the tone of the light that seeps into Jack’s closed eyes.
Jack would very much like to see some of that skin now.
Desire
He starts at the knees, he tongues the gentle hollows slowly, loving the way Will squirms because he’s just the slightest bit ticklish there and Jack knows it. And he’s never seen anything so extravagant and magnificent as naked Will Turner lying on the warm sand of a beach while Jack tongues the backs of his knees.
Jack slides his hands up firm thighs. The muscles tense and relax under his knowing fingers. When Will bends his knee the muscle bulges under Jack’s palm. Jack makes a sound when Will bends his knee, not meaning to but who wouldn’t? He slides his hand further along, loving the heat and the soft dark hairs, sparse here, just a little curly.
They tickle his tongue as he runs it up the back of Will’s thigh. Up to the delightful crease where thigh meets arse. He runs the very tip of his tongue along the dark line and appreciates the shiver that runs through Will’s body. Sensitive there, isn’t he?
Jack brings his hands up to cup Will’s arse, really the nicest arse he’s ever seen. The flesh is firm under his fingers, it resists just the right amount when he squeezes, and yields just the right amount as well. Covered in the finest down, you wouldn’t even notice it unless you were looking for it. It doesn’t tickle his tongue when he licks, it just adds to the satiny joy of it.
Jack kisses and licks until Will is close to squealing. Making a grown man squeal - really, Jack has no shame. His mouth comes to rest at the small of Will’s back, where he places a wet, noisy, smacking kiss, which makes Will giggle. There is nothing quite like making a grown man giggle to make one feel alive. Especially when it follows squealing.
The scent rising off Will is thick and spicy. He’s sweating, the sun is hot, the sand feels even hotter, and Jack’s hot mouth is planted on his tailbone which probably makes Will nervous, and that makes Jack more excited. He licks down to the dark cleft and tastes pure sweat, pure lust. Pure because it’s so concentrated and pure because it’s so virginal. This makes him pause - but only for a second - before he delves lower, feeling thicker, coarser hairs on his tongue, tasting thicker richer sweat. Will moans and shifts, and Jack can tell it’s because his hard cock is pressing into the warm sand.
Jack places his hands firmly on the backs of Will’s thighs and pushes them apart. Will hesitates, then lets his legs be spread. Jack’s tongue never leaves skin, it tastes and feels too good to move away, even though he’s crouching awkwardly and his back is starting to smart. He manages to crawl between Will’s spread thighs, and slide his hands up and under, so they are wedged between sharp hipbones and abrasive sand. He nudges his hands upward, lifting, encouraging. Will complies, lifting his hips off the sand, putting weight on his knees.
It’s a terrible dilemma. To stay put, to feel that delicious cleft opening a little as he raises up on spread knees, or to disconnect and move back, so he can see his favourite arse ever, finally open and exposed. Jack tongues his way down the crevice, opting for taste and touch over sight.
And smell. Oh, the musk here is strong, and mounting. Will is breathing hard, Jack can hear him taking in huge gulps of air, but he’s not sure why. Could be excitement, could be nerves, most likely both. Jack can’t wait any longer. He slides his tongue down and swipes it across tense, puckered skin.
Will jolts under him, but doesn’t bolt. He digs his knees a little firmer into the sand and does this maddening roll with his hips. It brings the furrowed opening back under Jack’s tongue, so Jack obliges the unvoiced request and laps at it a few times, waiting to see how Will responds.
Purring.
Jack presses harder, licking deftly at first, then desperately. The taste hits him right in the groin, his cock gets devastatingly hard from it, a rich, dark, tangy musk he tastes and smells at the same time. He has to have more. He spears his tongue and stabs at the little hole, bringing forth the lowest, rumbliest purr yet. He knew Will would like this, but knowing and experiencing are two entirely different things, and the experience is heady. He worms his tongue in as far as he can and feels the muscles twitching around it, tight and thrilling.
The sounds coming from Will have to be made with an open mouth, round like an ‘o’, with the breath whooshing through rapidly. There’s no other way to make noises like that. They widen and deepen, the further Jack’s tongue insinuates itself inside the musky opening, inside the velvety tunnel. So tight and small, it seems as if there’s no way Jack’s cock could fit in there. The ring of muscle is putting up a losing battle against just a harmless tongue, and then the battle is lost.
Now it’s Jack who is moaning, because he has his tongue extended as far as it can, and his lips are touching puckered skin, and the muscles clenching beneath his mouth are opening and loosening, as he fucks with his tongue. And Will is making a low, breathy sound of surrender.
Smell
Nutmeg and vanilla and something very tasty. It’s the vanilla custard smell he fell in love with. Wait. Who said anything about falling in love?
It’s closer now, but it’s not the musky, sweaty, heady odour in his mind. This is real. It’s fresh and bright and close by. Hovering over him. Jack takes a very deep breath. Through his nose.
Taste
His mouth, his whole body, is flooded with a sweet taste. Not just a lingering aftertaste on his lips. This is actually in his mouth, so much so he’s brimming with want. It’s that peach tart taste, and that salty vanilla custard taste, and that simply Will Turner taste that makes him ache.
The taste is in his mouth, on his tongue, wrapping itself around his tongue, sinuous and sinful. It is smeared over the inside of his cheeks, and running smoothly over the surface of his teeth.
Sound
Shallow, careful breath in his ear. Low, careful tones. Are they not alone? “I know you’re awake. I saw you move.”
Jack’s eyes twitch under closed lids.
Breathy words, spoken but so soft and rounded they sound like a whisper without any hiss. “I saw your hands clench. I saw you lick your lips.”
He licks them again.
“I saw you move your hips, the way you move your hips when you get hard.”
Touch
Will’s tongue, in his mouth again, without warning. It could be a deadly weapon. No, not deadly. A non-lethal weapon that would paralyse the target with lust. It scrapes under his teeth and darts all over his mouth. It circles his tongue like a shark and then withdraws to lick along Jack’s lips.
Armies would surrender, just for one more kiss.
A hand is on Jack’s shoulder, large and warm with strong fingers that have rough edges. He can feel that through his shirt. The hand squeezes his shoulder gently, restrained. Jack lifts the arm to similarly hold Will’s arm. The bicep under his fingers is hard. Will has been working at something. Doing his share of the work on the ship.
Trust Will to do something like that. Jack had kept him immobile ever since pulling him from the ocean, forcing him to rest and recover. As soon as Jack is asleep, Will’s out there, probably doing the work of three men. But that’s not important. It’s not important because…
Sight
Jack opens his eyes to see chocolate eyes and blushing cheeks and tumbling locks and all the things he ever wants to see. There is a smile playing around the full, slick lips that just kissed him. And the smile knows. The smile plays. The smile is the one he wants.
Desire
Everyone else is gone. It’s just him and Will and a bed with clean sheets and fresh sea scent and Will’s lanky limbs draped over him.
“You scared me.”
Jack thinks about this for a while.
“I was scared you were hurt. You just keeled over for no reason.”
Jack blinks. Keeled over for no reason. He closes his eyes to remember. He was on a deck and he was annoyed because people were keeping him from what he wanted to do, which was hold Will in his arms and kiss him. But he couldn’t do that; there were too many people to see it, too many children, and a boy with an angry, ugly brand on his shoulder.
How could anyone do that to a child? To anyone? The brand on his own arm itched.
He was on a beach, a deserted beach. It was deserted but for the two of them, Will and Jack. They didn’t need clothes or a bed or sheets. Will was on his knees, Jack remembered that without difficulty. When Jack looked down he could see the impression in the sand, blurred from all the wriggling but clear enough, of Will’s hard cock. Knowing how it leaked when he was that hard, Jack imagined there might be some grains of sand stuck to the delicate head, and that Jack would have to brush them off before he could suck it into his mouth.
Will was on his knees, and Jack was crouched behind him. Will on his knees, arse in the air. Jack nuzzling him, licking him, making him moan and growl and beg for more.
“Jack, Jack!”
He blinks again.
“Your eyes were glazed over, what’s wrong?”
“Why nothing, luv. Everything is as it should be.”
Will frowns. “If everything is fine, then why did you faint?”
Jack thinks it over. He had indeed fainted. And the Black Pearl was still at sea. There was no way he’d been on a beach. Damn. He groans. “You mean we weren’t just on a beach together? Naked?”
Will laughs. “Not for quite a while now.” He ducks his head down, ever the shy virgin. “Although I wouldn’t mind that again.”
“Then I didn’t…” Jack’s hand wanders down the curves of Will’s side, and settles further back on the swell of Will’s backside. He squeezes, then works his fingers down into the crease with the seam of the trousers under his fingertips. Heat radiates through the linen.
Will blushes furiously. “No, you didn’t.” He pats Jack’s hard cock gently through the layers of blanket and clothes. “But I want you to.”
“No, you couldn’t. You’ve never...” Jack’s throat aches. He needs the sweetness of Will’s kiss to ease it. “You can’t even imagine, but I hope you will. I know you’d like it.”
Will arches against him, cock hard through the sheets, eyes half-closed. Hair messed in the same way as that night, when Jack found him in the brothel, with that woman.
Charlotte. Who left her father because he was violent and hateful. And was never satisfied with the efforts of his children. And was cruel to the point of hatred. And used to have fits of rage, in which he would throw things and grab fists full of hair. And beat with sticks and belts and whatever was handy. The poker from the fire. The teapot.
“Jack, Jack!”
But Jack doesn’t hear Will because he’s fainted again.
Next: Chapter 42 Sins of the Father
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