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Hah! Like I own anything… except the numerous OCs, the lengthy convoluted and somewhat meandering at times plot and some of the locations. But hey, we’ll make a deal. I won’t make any profit from this, and Disney won’t steal any of my original ideas…
Warning: slashy frustration that will be completely nonsensical if you haven’t read any of this story before… and may not make any sense anyway…
Frustration
Captain Jack Sparrow’s eyes rolled back as he let out a low growl. Will Turner, having covered the entirety of Jack’s chest with tiny kisses and gentle nips and wet licks, and having then spent a good five minutes tongue-fucking his navel, now had his nose buried in the glossy black curls at the base of Jack’s cock and was laving the loose skin of Jack’s bollocks with a flattened tongue.
Jack could, under the right circumstances, be an articulate man. There were some things Jack could describe in great detail, with witty flourish. This was not one of them. The sheer supremacy of this experience could only be communicated by the rolling back of the eyes. And the growl.
Will finished his meticulous tongue bath of Jack’s balls and started in on that oh, so sensitive spot where leg met groin, where the light dusting of black hairs tickled his lips as he worried the skin with them. The quivering of Jack’s thighs gave him a heady sense of achievement.
Jack reached down to touch Will’s smooth cheek. Funny, he hadn’t really noticed until now. Will was clean-shaven. Will had shaved himself clean. For the harlot? Now that Jack thought about it, Will was almost clean-shaven on the beach that morning. There was the slightest shadow on his chin, a little bit of roughness on his upper lip, but his cheek was so very smooth.
Jack’s fingers slid down Will’s cheeks as Will moved up, until they cupped his jaw line. Sharp, clean lines under his fingertips. When Will was tense, the line of his jaw sharpened, jutted, cut through the air with indignation or anger. He held it in front of him like a weapon. Jack caressed the line, moving his hands with the jaw. He could feel it drop when Will opened his mouth to take the head of Jack’s cock between his lips. Such a heavenly mouth, so warm and welcoming.
It had been shy at first. Tentative. But now there was nothing tentative about it. Will swirled his tongue around the head of Jack’s cock with his lips clamped around the shaft. Jack struggled to lift his head and felt dizzy when he saw Will staring back up at him with wide, wicked eyes. It always made him dizzy when he saw that. Will always made him dizzy. How lucky could a man be?
Jack dropped his head back down on the ground. There was a soft, pillowy quality to the grass their blanket was spread over, and Jack was grateful for the softness of it, in spite of the fact that he hated to sleep in a tent. Especially a tent perched on the edge of a cliff like this one. He tried not to think about the drop about ten feet to the left and concentrated on the slow, deliberate scrape of teeth along the underside of his cock. Not painful at all, no, just enough pressure to draw out that somewhat embarrassing high-pitched noise. Then it was all softness and tongue and pressure from Will’s hollowed cheeks.
But that cliff was there, and there was no telling what waited at the bottom of it. Rocks, most likely. And Jack had a flash of a vision, a snatch of a nightmare, and then Will flew up next to him and was kissing his cheek.
“What’s wrong, Jack?”
“Nothing at all, luv.”
Will trailed his hand over Jack’s flat belly and ran a finger down his warm, wet and inexplicably soft cock. Now, how was that possible? It was right there, inside Will’s mouth, and Jack had been enjoying it so much. But it was soft, limp even.
“Are you still worried about the cliff?”
Jack just shrugged.
“Are you still drunk?” Eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“’aven’t had a drop, I swear it, since last night.”
“Well, then, what’s wrong?”
Jack lay perfectly still, willing the question away. He’d dreaded it since the beginning, that this might happen. Why it happened now he had no clue. But happen it did, and Jack feared he might have to break it to his young lover that Jack was not, in fact, a young man. He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young either. And he was not perpetually hard, as much as Will might desire it.
Will draped a long leg over Jack’s thighs and pushed a clump of hair off his forehead. “Your hair, it’s starting to gather itself into braids, all by itself.” Will naively? absent-mindedly? tactfully? yes, tactfully was ignoring the situation. He toyed with the twining hair, ran his fingertips through the black strands, straightened it out. “Has a mind of its own,” he murmured softly. So softly it stirred something inside Jack.
Jack pulled Will to him for a kiss. He wanted a single kiss. But before their lips could meet he held Will close to him, just tasting his breath. “Your voice,” he whispered. “I can feel it so deep inside me. It’s like…”
He couldn’t finish because Will was kissing him. Not really kissing. More like licking his lips. And all Jack could do in response was let his lips fall open, so Will could lick deeper. Will’s tongue traced the opening carefully, surrounded by hot breath. He stubbornly refused to touch his lips to Jack’s, and kept up his licking. He stuck his tongue in and let Jack’s teeth graze him.
Up to that moment in time, Jack had not been aware that his teeth possessed the ability to feel. Or perhaps he was imagining it. He dug his heels into the ground and pushed his hips up to grind against Will’s ever-hard shaft. The boy was insatiable and Jack was going to suffer for this, he knew it, but didn’t care. Let the lad fuck him to an early grave. As long as he could get closer, somehow closer, to the heat of him.
Lips came crashing down on his and Jack moaned around the slick tongue in his mouth. Nutmeg and vanilla and sweetness and Will all whirled around in his head. Jack’s cock did not just stir. It leapt. It danced. It demanded satisfaction. Jack pulled Will fully on top of him, crushing his arms around Will’s back.
They hadn’t had the chance to do more than embrace on the beach that morning before separation was imposed. There was unloading of ships and study of charts and news from the outside world to be had. Jacob had learned much about the doings in Port Royal. The fact that a highly wanted mutinous captain had been able to move around the city without alerting the authorities impressed Jack. Until he took a close look at the man.
Jacob’s hair was twisted into neat rows, not unlike Matthew’s. And he was distinctly darker than Jack remembered him. In fact, he didn’t look white at all. Somehow he’d disguised himself as a black man. Perhaps by spending large amounts of time under the hot sun. But it wasn’t a disguise at all. He really was. Partially.
Jack remembered Will saying something about Tessie telling him that Jacob had a different father than the other DeMaurier siblings. Brief fling after her first husband died somewhat tragically. All of the siblings had Tessie’s regal bearing and handsome features, but Jacob’s father had to have been a white man. Yet now, now that he was part of the family again, he seemed to be reclaiming that part of him. And it changed his very looks. It…
“Jack?”
Oh. Will. Lying on top of him. Wearing nothing but a pair of sinfully tight trousers which were getting tighter by the second. And Will’s hard cock pressed against Jack’s in the most wicked manner.
Except Jack’s wasn’t hard. It was sort of semi-hard. Drooping a little, if you wanted to be specific about it.
“What? What.. Is. Wrong?”
Jack closed his eyes and sighed. “I suppose I’m rather distractible. I did drink quite a bit last night. Enough to forget the last half of it, at any rate. I don’t know how I got from ship to shore.”
“You swam. And you could have killed yourself.”
Jack gave a weak smile. “Oh, yes. That’s it. I must have done myself some sort of damage. Hit myself on the head, as it were.”
Will looked immediately anxious. “Are you alright? Are you in any pain?”
He pressed his fingers gently to Jack’s temples and began a slow, steady search for bumps. Jack arched his back and pushed into the fingers. Will’s fingers on his scalp were heaven. Especially now that his hair was sorted out, more or less. Will could run his fingers right along the surface without any obstacles.
“I’m fine, luv, just don’t stop, whatever you do…” Jack moaned.
Soon they were locked in another embrace and Will was wrapping himself around Jack, all long limbs and eager kisses. Jack ground his hips and was delighted to feel his re-hardening cock meet Will’s with an electric jolt. He had to think of some way to get those pants off the boy.
“Jack, oh, you feel so good,” Will panted. “I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t want you to suffer, I was just trying to help Charlotte. Jack? Oh, damn. Not again. I didn’t mean to remind you, honest…”
Jack kept a tight grip on Will, refusing to let him retreat, refusing to admit defeat. “Stay right where you are, luv. I want to feel you against me.” He would not let a mention of the harlot destroy his fun. He would move on, rub against the tight, hard body, that was it… yes, he could stay focused.
He knew about Will and Charlotte being interrupted the night before, knew about him going back to the ship with Jacob and getting drunk, knew Will had been saving himself up for the wretched harlot, knew that two days and nights without sex was actually quite a bit for young Will Turner. And the evidence was rubbing against him in a frenzy. Jesus, but the lad writhed like some abandoned wild thing.
Just what had Will done back when Jack was at sea? How had he managed? He remembered the shy confession, after Jack and Will had dressed after their bath together. “I touched myself,” Will whispered. “I touched myself and thought of you.” How a man could be shy like that after the wanton display in and out of the tub was beyond Jack, but Will pulled it off with aplomb. Whatever could make him shy about touching his cock, when a few hours before he’d been shamelessly fucking his arse with his own fingers?
That’s the image that did it for Jack. Cock raging hard he pushed Will to the side and neatly pulled the boy back under him, narrowly but purposefully missing the lantern swinging from the ridgepole. Maybe Captain Jack Sparrow wasn’t used to tents pitched on the edge of bloody precipices, but he damn well knew how to make love in tight quarters. He pushed Will’s hands up over his head and feasted on the golden flesh displayed before him. Absolutely lovely.
But his ribs were visible. Parallel crests and long, dark hollows. They began just below the rounded chest muscles, made an inverted vee above the rippling abdominals. Jack held Will’s hands with one hand, and let the other glide over the ridges.
“You haven’t been eating enough, luv,” he murmured.
“Who cares about that, Jack?” Will twisted his hips in a futile effort to gain friction against his straining trouser front. “Please! Stop stalling!”
Jack stared down at him seriously. “Will, I need you to take care of yourself when I’m not around. I noticed it before, too. I’m not stalling. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself when I’m not here.”
Will looked up at him, eyes moist. “I will, Jack. I promise. But you have to take care of me. Now!”
Jack grinned. “Aye, that would be my favourite task of all.” And he bent to take Will’s mouth. The moan vibrated Jack’s teeth, which were again showing an alarming sensitivity.
He traced down the proud jaw, lithe neck, across sharp collarbones, swept down to the hard nipples with his tongue. He pinched and stroked and licked and found himself licking along the edge of the lower rib. How could he have let this happen? Wasn’t anyone looking out for the boy in his absence?
“Matthew,” Will mewled.
What was that?
“Matthew,” Will repeated.
Jack looked up, stunned.
“He was trying to take care of me, while you were gone.”
Was Jack thinking out loud again? Only Will ever made him do that.
“He tried to get me to eat more.”
Eat more what? So Matthew had been taking care of Will. Jack felt something hot and twisted deep inside. He didn’t trust that man. He was wily. And devious. Too good looking. And entirely too tall.
Will buried his fingers in black hair and hauled Jack up to eyelevel once again. “Jack, don’t get that look on your face. He’s entirely, utterly in love with Alphonse.”
Jack had to agree. That did seem to be the case.
“And I am entirely and utterly in love with you. Don’t look so surprised, Jack. You know it. So stop being silly and kiss me.”
Gladly. Jack busied himself by plunging his tongue into Will’s eager mouth. Too too sweet. He wanted something more substantial. He slid down, ripped the pants down and took Will’s hot length into his mouth in one easy motion. He’d missed this every night he was away, and the whole time he wasn’t allowed to have it. Except for the parts he couldn’t remember. And he most probably missed it then too.
Will whimpered beneath him, hands fisted, pulling on his hair, but Jack didn’t care. He flattened his tongue and licked up and down the shaft while taking it as deep as he possibly could. His beard beads pressed into the hairy sacs below. Will whimpered louder.
And abruptly softened. Jack, wrapped up in what he was doing, took a moment to connect the sudden tempering of Will’s ardour with their immediate surroundings.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Matthew coughed from the door of the tent, “but the lights have appeared in the distance, and you said you wanted to see them.”
Will sat up quickly and pulled his shirt over his exposed cock. “We’ll be right there, thank you.”
Damn.
Next: Chapter 62 Investigating
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