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The only place this was ever true was in “Claustrophobia – The Pirate Way 6”, and I didn’t make any money off that either. Disney owns these characters and some of the setting and plot,
but the sex parts are all mine. (sigh)
In Dreams
Will Turner was in a deep sleep, sprawled on an uncomfortably hard bed in the hold of a stolen navy ship, cold and uneasy but able to be so fully asleep because he was exhausted by his many and various labours. He was dreaming of being somewhere warm and comfortable, with no worries or cares. He was dreaming about being safe with the love of his life.
Will had been dreaming about keeping the ship on course, but then he remembered the ship was anchored, so he allowed his mind to slip into a more agreeable place.
He noticed a hand on his hip. How bold of Elizabeth to touch him so. He waited to see if she would touch him further. He didn’t dare move, for if he did he might frighten her away. Or worse, he might wake up.
He didn’t dare wake up. He knew if he woke up he would once again be at sea, on a stolen navy ship, with only that loathsome pirate for company. He would be lying on an uncomfortable wooden pallet, chilled to the bone, and wondering what sort of impropriety Captain Jack Sparrow was planning next.
He had never in his life imagined a place quite so disreputable as that tavern Jack had dragged him to. Fights going on all over, women grabbing him and wanting him to pay them for the favour, drunken revelry. It was filthy and disgusting, and why was he wasting his time remembering that horrid place when he should be spending every moment he could enjoying this dream?
Yes, that was better, the hand was on the bare skin of his waist now. Warm and comforting. Comfort was what he really desired. To be somewhere safe and comfortable.
The hand slid up along his ribs, caressing his skin. The fingers were a bit rough; he hadn’t thought Elizabeth’s hands were so rough. But they were comforting, nonetheless. He tried not to moan out loud, it might scare her away. The hand wasn’t moving, he must have moaned.
It moved again. Good. He reminded himself he was only dreaming, but it felt so good to have someone touch him with such tenderness and care. Now the hand rested in the center of his torso, reaching around him and creating a sounding board that amplified the pounding of his heart. Wanted to feel it more, feel it tighter against his skin. He took a deep breath, pressing out against the hand. He let the air out in a rush.
He tried to imagine the body behind his, all soft curves and pale tender skin. But he couldn’t get a clear picture. Almost as if the hand that was now sliding down his belly wasn’t attached to anyone at all. A disembodied hand giving him comfort when he needed it most.
The hand was making slow, careful circles now, sliding over his flat stomach muscles with agonizing care. And nothing had ever made him feel so good before. This was how a cat must feel when it’s being petted, he mused. So luxurious. So decadent. Only for pleasure and not other reason.
Will pushed into the hand, figuring if it felt good, it would feel even better if there were more pressure. And it did. He tried to convey his approval, somehow, by making a noise, wanting to encourage the mysterious hand.
What came out of his mouth, his throat really, was a bit shocking. He wondered where it came from. Never made a noise like that before.
Not true; he had, but only when he was alone and doing things he was quite sure were improper.
The hand pressed more, fingers curling. It dipped lower on his belly, trailing through the hair there. Heat grew in Will’s trousers.
He wasn’t entirely naïve. He knew the direction his dream was taking now. He’d had dreams like this before. As much as he enjoyed them he always woke embarrassed, with an achingly hard cock and often without the nerve to do anything about it. He’d fallen into the habit of staying asleep as long as he could, of willing himself to stay asleep so the problem could be taken care of in a safe place, in a dream world. It was too embarrassing to take care of it in the real, waking world.
He didn’t have enough privacy to be comfortable taking his cock in his own hand. Anyone could walk into his little room off the blacksmith shop. If he were caught with his hand in his pants, it would be mortifying. And he could never go to one of those women to take care of it. That would be improper in the extreme.
A few times, when he’d woken in the middle of the night, he’d slipped his hand down under the covers and taken the hard column into it. He’d held his fist around the hot flesh and stroked it, and it felt very good indeed.
On those occasions, he’d let his cock dictate what his fingers would do. He varied the pressure, the length of stroke, the direction, until he swelled to unbearable proportions. The release of his hot seed on his fingers the first time was a shock. He remembered lying very still, panting in the dark, panicking about soiling the bed linens, which weren’t due to be washed for some time. The second time he did it he made sure to have an old rag to catch the sticky, hot liquid before it made a mess.
He’d started to do that more often of late. But only late at night when no one else was around. It wasn’t only a matter of someone walking in. There was the matter of that noise he tended to make, something between a purr and a growl when he finally touched himself.
He thought about doing that now, thought about taking his cock in hand, wrapping his long fingers around it. His hands were rough, but he would be careful with himself. He would slide up and down the shaft, rub his thumb over the engorged head. Maybe there would be a few drops of moisture at the tip. That’s when if felt extra good to stroke himself, he knew from experience. He wondered how hard his cock was in the real world. He wasn’t touching it, but the mere thought of touching it made him growl in anticipation.
Then the image of Captain Jack Sparrow invaded his lustful thought. How ridiculous. Why would he think of the hated pirate when he should be thinking of his precious Elizabeth?
He could see the pirate gazing down at him, silent for once; with a look of such tenderness it had to be in Will’s imagination. He didn’t look drunk of dazed or sly of any of the other things Will associated with Jack. He looked a little surprised, very calm and utterly absorbed in what he was doing. Which was rubbing his hand with infinite tenderness, in slowly growing circles on Will’s naked belly.
That’s when Will realized his eyes were open.
Next: Chapter 7 The Nature of Desire
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