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Ahem. Well, obviously this isn’t quite what Disney intended. But that’s okay, it’s just for fun!
There It Shimmers
Breath held. Body entirely taut. Will has never been this still before. When he was knocked unconscious he didn’t lie this still. It’s unnatural. Preternatural.
Jack grits his teeth to keep from screaming. His eyes are glued to the incredible sight before him and time itself stands even stiller than Will. He watches closely, pretending he isn’t actually participating, because if he thinks about how it will feel, if he gives any consideration at all to the intense heat and pressure he is about to breach, the breaching will be over all too soon.
One hand flows in long, soft strokes down Will’s back, soothing and grounding him, gliding over sweat slicked velvety skin. The other grips his own slippery cock, the slick head poised, skin stretched tight over a million nerves, brushing, only brushing, tiny folds of skin. Heat transfers back and forth freely. He can see the oil shining and the laxness of the ordinarily clenched muscle, but his cock still seems impossibly huge in comparison. He doubts if this is really worth the risk.
If he hurts Will, if he causes him pain, he risks losing his trust – him - forever.
Then Will leans back.
Jack hisses and watches, mesmerized, as skin stretches around the head of his cock, as his cock sinks into that perfect arse. He grips Will’s hip with his oily hand, velvet smooth skin under shaking fingers, trying to keep upright as the wave washes over him. When the head passes through the first ring of muscle a vice grips him, yet Will keeps on pressing back, the rest of him not moving, not making a sound, not even breathing.
Jack can hear the sound of his cock sliding past stubborn skin, the movement smooth but so slow it goes on forever. Then he is buried to the hilt, the smooth curve of Will’s ass matching the concave of Jack’s groin to perfection. Nestled. Where it belongs.
He’s never experienced anything this intimate before. He’s in so deep he’s never been in this deep before.
Jack takes a deep breath. It’s where he’s always wanted to be but he can’t tell if he can enjoy it. Long, graceful back laid across the bed, rising to paler globes split almost obscenely – no, most definitely obscenely – by Jack’s thick cock, and pink skin stretched around him so tight it pains him to look at it no matter how much he can’t stop looking at it. Will’s arms are at his sides, bent so his muscles stand out, fists clenching the sheets but not moving. His head is down, forehead touching the bed, so all Jack can see are rich, thick curls, twirling around his ears and twining down his neck, grazing his shoulders, golden highlights in an ocean of chestnut.
The black of Jack’s wiry hair stands in shocking contrast to the delicate pale of the underside of Will’s arse, upturned and exposed to him as never before. He lets his moist hand trail across, to trace the faint line there, glide over silkily.
Then Jack leans back, pulls out so slightly. He watches that shiny pink skin cling to the darker hardness of his cock, as if it doesn’t want to let him go. When he sinks back in again, only having retreated an inch or so, that same pink skin follows, as if it is fused to him.
He finds his hand reaching to the side for the uncorked bottle, brings it close, tilts it just so, and watches the oil drizzle down the dark cleft of Will’s arse, wend down through soft hairs, slide around the stretched opening, around the very base Jack’s cock. There it shimmers. He could do just this forever.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
And it starts low, from deep inside, a place perhaps a few inches from where the head of his cock is buried inside the miracle that is Will Turner. It rolls around inside, echoing around Will’s chest, rumbling like a cannon ball rolling across a deck, and rises up through his throat, releasing into the air just as Will’s back arches, hair falls back onto hard shoulder blades. And the vice loosens around the base of Jack’s cock, only to be replaced by a surging grip from within, from stem to stern.
The feral purr slams into Jack like a tidal wave. Time starts up again.
Jack is grateful for that. He could have gone on like that forever, but Will couldn’t. Will has to move, so move he does.
Jack’s hands fly up, inexplicably, off the dangerously undulating form in front of him. He wants to be touching that golden skin, feeling those flexing muscles, but instead he’s reaching to grip the low wood beam, fingers pressing the worn texture. Holding on for dear life as it were.
Will arcs, thrusting his hips back to take Jack’s cock in and out of his tight hole. He growls, slams back with enough force to make Jack lose his footing – only his grip on the beam saves him from tumbling to the floor. The purr grows to a growl and a voice breaks through, desperate and guttural. “Jack, please… it’s so… I need…”
Jack can only moan in response. His brain races frantically. Will needs something, but Jack is paralyzed so he can’t deliver. Will grinds his arse back against Jack’s pelvis, taking the cock, which really is too big, to impossible depths and then rises back up off it, trailing hot oil along its length. The air smells like spice and Will and sex and Jack. Tastes the same too.
“Jack,” he pants. “I have to see you.”
Jack just can’t grasp how that’s possible. He couldn’t be more immobile if he were encased in cement. The only movement from Jack’s body is the bobbing of his cock, deep inside Will, as Will pistons his body back and forth around it. Jack tries to articulate this, but finds his words choked clean out of his throat when Will twists to one side. Jack’s mouth drops open uselessly when he realizes what’s happening.
Ridiculously flexible, the boy is. One long leg draws up under Will’s still prone body before the whole body begins to roll, and then that leg, absurdly long and lean, stretches up, and the other leg still on the floor, now between Jack’s slightly spread legs, rotates as well, and the next thing Jack knows he has a perfectly formed ankle with a pale scar around it resting on his shoulder, nestled against his neck, and a mile of long leg bent at a heartbreakingly perfect angle extending down to the juncture of thigh and hip, where Will’s cock rises from glistening soft curls. Leaking onto his flat belly. Plastering soft dark curls to golden skin.
Jack’s eyes whip up, past the shining chest, past the graceful neck arched back, past the determined jaw, open swollen red lips, and dive into wide open chocolate pools. No, he was wrong before; this is far more intimate.
Jack’s fingernails dig into the salt air softened wood of the beam. One hand breaks free and grips the ankle on his shoulder. The other leg starts to rise and Will’s weight is, for a moment, half-suspended from Jack’s cock, excruciatingly painful at the same time it’s perfect. And finally Jack is standing with Will’s ankles on either side of his head, and one hand sliding down, or up depending on your vantage point, ruffling leg hair against the grain, and his cock is simply gone. Because he is jammed so tight against Will you can’t tell he has a cock. Jack’s flat stomach could just continue down with no appreciable change in topography and no one would be the wiser. Except for Jack.
Jack has to speak. Has to say something. Will’s heart beats around his cock and he has to tell Will that this is the most ideal thing on earth. Only random words surface in his mind. So he tries a few out loud.
“Perfect,” he starts with.
Will wriggles, maddeningly, and Jack bends his knees to shift back and tilt his hips, and then his cock feels something different inside, unyielding, and Will’s eyes glaze over, no longer focussing on Jack. Which is a good thing, because they’d been threatening to burn a hole in Jack’s retina, and what kind of a pirate has burned out eyes?
“Sublime,” he croaks out next.
Will rolls his hips and brushes Jack’s cockhead in the exact right spot, which makes his own cock leap and slap back against taut stomach muscles. His eyes scrunch shut, little wrinkles at the corners deepen.
“Over…fucking…whelming.”
Will drops his legs. Jack winces as splinters ram into his fingertips when they drag off the beam. His arms are flung back by the force of Will’s descending calves and then those legs wrap around his waist. Around his waist. Will’s endless legs surrounding his torso, ankles hooked at the back, bollocks squashed against Jack’s belly.
In the single instant it takes for him to realize that his mouth has been hanging open somewhat stupidly, which can be forgiven under the circumstances, Jack bends and licks across the inside edge of Will’s collarbone, through a little pool of sweat. It tastes of Will and salt and something new. Will is exuding something new. Or Jack is perceiving something new. Whatever it is drives him to embarrassingly new heights.
Oh, there it is. In Will’s mouth too. Jack’s new favourite flavour. The taste of Will Turner being right and properly fucked.
Will jerks his head and is breathing right into Jack’s ear, trying to make his own words with little success. Jack can make out a few choice syllables.
“More.”
Jack angles and thrusts and makes Will cry out when he sucks on a hard pink nipple.
“Please.”
Jack slides a hand between them and closes his fingers around Will’s cock, slippery with sweat and oil and everything that is still dripping from it.
“I love you.”
They both stop moving. Everything stops. The Pearl stops. The world stops turning.
Jack pulls back, keeping the fingers wrapped around the cock, keeping the legs around the waist, but looks into Will’s eyes.
Will opens his eyes, keeps the ankles locked behind the back, keeps the cock buried as deep as possible inside him, deeper than anything has ever been and hotter too, and keeps looking into Jack’s eyes.
“I…” Jack starts.
“Shhh.”
And time suspends for a while longer.
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
How long can two men stay connected like that, connected in the most intimate way, with out moving?
“Me as well.”
“I know.”
I know. I know. I know.
Will twitches elegantly and his cock starts to pump out searing hot cream over Jack’s stomach. The burn makes Jack shudder. His cock explodes when Will’s body closes around him, making his release that much more intense.
Later, between collapsing on the bed and falling asleep, after licking the salty wetness off each other’s bellies, but before settling in for a long, thorough open-mouthed kiss during which they will fall asleep, breathing into each other, Jack rubs a thumb over Will’s slightly creased forehead. He’s not upset, or worried, or even confused. The little crease is there because he has trouble comprehending.
“Is it always like this…?”
“How should I know? I’ve never fucked you before.”
Will woke with the sun in his eyes and Jack shrugging into his waistcoat beside the bed. He blinked, dazed. “I overslept?”
Jack turned to face him and grinned. “Don’t be vexed, luv. It’s to be expected.” He fished around in his pockets until he found the object he sought, tossed the compass in the air and caught it deftly. “Best be getting this ship on course.”
Will sat up, sheets falling to his waist.
Jack raised an eyebrow, naughty smirk washing over his face. “Now, lad, I’ve got duties to perform, savvy?”
Will blushed. Good to see the whelp still had it in him after the rather spectacular deflowering of the night before. Jack leaned over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
Will slid out from under the sheets, and Jack had to grab the table to steady himself. Lord, naked Will Turner first thing in the morning, what that did to a man.
Will reached for his discarded trousers. Pity, that. “We’re stopped.”
“Nonsense,” Jack drawled, “You’ve just found your sea legs, is all.”
“No, the ship is anchored.” Will pointed out the window. “We’re near an island.”
Jack peered out at the lush green shoreline. “That’s not where we’re headed. What is that Anamaria up to? Leave the wench in charge and see what happens?” That town in the distance looked familiar. Too familiar. Hmm. Frown.
Anamaria flung the door open at that very moment, looking very dashing in her new red wool jacket, acquired from Okonkwo in exchange for Charlotte’s bottle-green dress (which looked quite smashing on Okonkwo’s wife).
“You won’t be needing that compass for a while yet, Jack. We’re making a social call.” She grinned wickedly when she saw Will’s dishevelled state. “Get yourself pulled together lad. You’d do well to be properly dressed when you go meet your dad.”
Next: Part VI Jack Is Irked By Will's Family
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