|
If this sort of things really happened in a Disney movie, we wouldn’t need porn videos. Alas, this is all made up by me, has nothing to do with the actual pirate products, and is strictly not for profit.
Will’s Apology
“Tlazolteotl,” Will Turner murmured.
“Bless you,” Jack responded.
Will laughed. “No, Tlazolteotl.”
Jack looked at him blankly. Then he realized that Will had laughed, for the first time since… Jack fiddled with the edge of the map on the table, realized he was looking at it upside down, sidled around the table in a show of great dexterity.
“She’s a goddess. Aocmoilhuicpa said she would like you.”
Oh no, he wasn’t going on about that bloody randy heathen god again was he? It was fine enough, Jack thought, to be kidnapped by this shameless deity and have to bare his soul to him. But why did Will keep having to talk about it?
“Your patron goddess,” Will added helpfully.
“What, she’s the goddess of pirates?” Jack scoffed.
“No. Licentiousness.”
Licentiousness. Aocmoilhuicpa thought that was what Jack was. Licentious.
Fair enough. Smart old pagan god, that one was.
“He likes you too, you know.” Will smiled. Not laughing at Jack. Smiling. Gazing at him. Fondly, even. With his head tilted to the side, just enough to make curls tumble down on his shoulder.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“That’s why we were spared.”
Jack coughed. “Luv, he didn’t like me. He liked my taste in men. That’s why we were spared.”
Will blushed. Perfect. He blushed because a god was attracted to him. That made Jack smile for the first time since they’d got back to the village.
“He said he probably wasn’t allowed to harm you because the Goddess of Licentiousness likely had you under her special protection.”
“Oh, really,” Jack smirked. “And when did Aocmowhat’shisname tell you this?”
“When we couldn’t find our way out of the labyrinth. The second time we ended up back at the cave.”
Jack felt a hot stab of jealously. “You were talking to that randy god?”
“For a bit. You and Matthew were arguing about which way to go, and Alphonse was trying to get you to cooperate. I felt cold air around me and then whoosh! There he was.”
How the hell could Jack have missed that?
“It was only for a minute or two, and I was around a boulder, you couldn’t have noticed it anyway.” Will looked down at the floor, scuffed his boots on the floor. They still suited him perfectly. Jack looked down at the leather-clad feet, the way the leather hugged Will’s ankles, and how, at the very top, Will’s calf muscles strained against them. “He told me not to tell you.”
“But you just did.”
“Well, his point has been proven, hasn’t it. About the licentiousness.”
Jack was silent. He rolled the top layer of map and traced his finger absently along the coastline showing on the map below. It bowed out gracefully into the ocean, a clean smooth line until it turned direction toward the south, where a series of ridges in the shoreline reminded Jack, painfully as it were, of Will’s ribs when he had his back arched. He looked lower on the map, and a little outcropping of land was the exact shape of Will’s chin when he pressed it out, just like that, when he was coming close to pouting. And that island, that one just off the coast, was the spitting image of Will’s left nipple, Jack’s favourite, when it had been sucked and pinched to its very peak.
Who the bloody hell had planted this map on his table?
“I honestly don’t remember.” Jack said it so quietly, so low, Will had to lean forward to hear the rest. “I was so bloody drunk, I don’t know, I must have… I don’t remember.”
Will stepped forward. One step only. But one step closer to Jack, so Jack wasn’t about to complain.
Jack took a deep breath, readying himself, and looked up. He expected to see that same look of shock, or confusion, or betrayal or hurt. He expected the eyebrow crease to be firmly entrenched, and the mouth he so wanted to see smiling curled down in disgust. But what he saw was a little sad and somehow soft.
“I know,” Will said. “Anamaria told me.”
Jack stole a quick look at the rum bottle. It was the same one he’d started on, and not nearly enough was missing to make him imagine something like that. He stumbled to one side and sat hard on the chair. The dull thud and the smack of wood against his arse reminded him that he’d been that last one on the receiving end during his and Will’s ever so lovely round of switching places. He cringed a little, but looked up at Will nonetheless.
Will was standing with one hand on his hip, which only served to emphasize the graceful length of his waist, and the other one fidgeting with the edge of Jack’s map on the table. He was looking down at the map. Jack wondered if Will could see, in the cartography, what Jack had seen. Or had Jack just imagined it all?
“Before we came on board, she took me aside and explained everything. She feels bad about it, Jack. She hopes you’ll forgive her.”
Forgive her? What the hell?
Will looked into Jack’s eyes. “I know you didn’t really want to do it.”
“I didn’t?” Jack asked.
Will shook his head and took another step toward Jack. Two more and he would be practically in Jack’s lap. One could only hope.
“No, you were both drunk, both upset, and she started to cry. She told you she didn’t think Charlotte would get pregnant, and that she wanted a baby, so you told her she should have her own baby. So she dragged you into her cabin.” That didn’t sound much like it was Jack’s idea, did it? “And then she told me how you told her ‘no’, that you only wanted me, and she told you it wasn’t really sex, it was just making a baby.” Ha, but Jack knew that was a lie. “And you told her that was a lie.” See, he knew it all along. “But she said that’s what I was doing with Charlotte, so why couldn’t you do it with her.” Sounded like pirate logic, to Jack. “But then you couldn’t…”
Couldn’t what?
Will took another step forward. Always a welcome development. Will touched the top of Jack’s head unsteadily. “Just like me. You couldn’t get hard for her.”
Well, that would be the fault of the rum, wouldn’t it? Jack was deathly soft right now, but if Will kept stroking his hair like that things might change.
Jack looked at the dangerously low level in the rum bottle and fretted, perhaps not.
“She said you had no interest in her. She had to talk about me.” Will’s voice dropped an octave and took on that breathy quality that made Jack ache. “She told me about sitting on your lap and whispering in your ear. Telling you about when she saw us together, two years ago. The first time we were ever together.”
Will stepped forward one more time. His knees were pressed up against Jack’s and his hands rested on Jack’s shoulders. Anamaria saw them on the Interceptor? He knew he should have locked the door. But then, from the way Will’s voice shook a bit when he said that last bit, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He wished he could remember Anamaria telling him this first hand, because it was proving to be bloody exciting third hand.
“And she saw us behind the tavern, the morning after I met my father. Do you remember? Under the willow tree.”
“We didn’t do anything under the willow tree, did we?” Jack gasped as Will’s fingers tugged on the beads in one of his braids.
Will spread his legs and sat down on Jack’s lap, all in one movement. “You tied my hair up in a string, and you kissed the side of my neck.”
Jack could hear the rustling leaves around him and smell the tang of Will’s hair. No, wait, the hair was right in front of him. That’s what he smelt. They hadn’t done anything overt under the willow tree, but it must have been obvious from his actions what he’d done the night before, and how he felt. And it was certainly obvious, at least to Jack, how he felt now, even if he couldn’t remember what happened that night when he was drunk on the Pearl.
But he could. He could vaguely remember. He could remember Anamaria crying, so it must have happened that night when Will was with Charlotte, because he knew he’d never seen Anamaria cry any other time. She’d wanted to make Charlotte happy. She wanted Charlotte to have a baby, but she couldn’t stand the idea of Charlotte sleeping with Will, or anyone else for that matter. She knew how much Charlotte would enjoy Will, and she didn’t think it was fair. And she was urging Jack to give her a baby, so Charlotte would never do anything like that again.
“I remember,” Jack said. “Then she told me to think about you.”
“Hmmm,” Will wriggled on Jack’s lap, “you and me together.”
Jack’s cock couldn’t help stir at that. He nuzzled Will’s neck, felt soft curls tickle his nose. “She grabbed my cock and told me to imagine it was you, to think about your hand on me, and your lovely arse.” He couldn’t resist reaching around to cup Will’s arse in his hands, so firm and round. “She said Charlotte told her it was the only way to get you to fuck her, to tell you to think about me fucking you… and so I did, I thought about you. But then I thought about you fucking Charlotte,” Jack groaned, “and about how perfect your ass would look while you fucked her.” Round arse tightening and pushing and fucking. Rolling hips and thrusting over and over. Jack licked Will’s neck, since it was right there in front of him. “And I thought about what you said, about me fucking you while you fucked…”
Jack couldn’t talk anymore because he had Will’s tongue in his mouth. He certainly wasn’t about to complain. He sucked the sweet tongue he’d feared he’d never taste again, and it tasted even sweeter for it. Will spread his legs more so his cock came into contact with Jack’s belly. When he pulled back he didn’t look sad anymore. But he looked worried again.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry I ever agreed to get Charlotte pregnant. I didn’t see the harm in it then, but now I do. When Anamaria said that she was pregnant, I thought about you and her. I thought you’d taken advantage of her when she was drunk. But I shouldn’t have thought that. I should have realized it wasn’t your idea. I’m sorry.” He kissed Jack again, softer this time.
Jack was flabbergasted. Moments ago he’d been sitting there quietly drinking himself into oblivion because what he’d done was unforgivable. Now he had six luscious feet of Will Turner sitting on him, apologizing for what? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he liked the way Will was peppering his face with little kisses and licks. And his cock seemed to have bypassed all the drink and was rock hard.
“That night, on the cliff…” he muttered.
Will nodded. “Guilt. You felt guilty about what you did with Anamaria.” The boy seemed relieved by this.
Jack ran his hands over Will’s back, tense and corded, with the muscles standing out. He’d been overworking himself again. He did that every time there was a problem between them.
“I think maybe… I don’t know… I was afraid that you might think I was…” Will took a deep, shuddering sort of breath. “It makes sense now. You were thinking about Anamaria and you. But when you had trouble… I was worried you might be tired of me.”
“I could never be tired of you, luv. You are endlessly,” he kissed Will’s cheek, “forever,” he kissed Will’s chin, “and infinitely interesting.” Jack wrenched Will’s shirt out of his trousers and slid his hands up across warm, smooth skin. “I couldn’t tire of you if I locked you in this cabin and had my way with you for fifty years.” His fingers lingered at the waist of Will’s trousers, feeling the hitching of Will’s breath as much as he heard it. “Relentlessly fascinating, you are. Here, help me get this shirt up off you, ah, yes, much better.” He lapped at Will’s left nipple. No, the map had it wrong. The nipple was so much more complex than the island, with a delicate shape and subtle flavour all its own. “But I swear to you, that night on the cliff, I couldn’t remember what I did with Anamaria.”
Will reached between them and wormed his hand past his own cock with a moan. He pressed his fingers around Jack’s erection. “But your cock did.” He squeezed enough to make Jack shut his eyes.
Now he remembered Anamaria hissing in his ear while he had his cock inside, desperately trying to keep him hard and fucking her. How long had it been since he fucked a woman? Since long before he’d fucked Will Turner. After meeting Will he’d lost his taste for women altogether. He’d only been to a few harlots, and then only for their mouths. He didn’t like the feel of a woman anymore, but he could imagine the mouth belonged to Will, if he kept his eyes shut and didn’t breathe in anyone else’s scent.
With Anamaria it had felt all wrong, but the wench kept talking about Will and what it must be like to fuck Will’s tight arse, and to have those endless legs wrapped around his waist, and the noises. She’d heard the noises, so she talked on about those at length, about Jack making Will groan and shout and howl. She only got him to spend in her by telling him to think of the noise Will made the first time Jack fucked him, that purr that started so low and deep and just kept growing. The way Will panted and tried to talk but he couldn’t make sentences. The exact way Will pronounced the words “more”, and “please”, and “I love you.”
Will purred as he rubbed Jack through his trousers. The back of his hand bumped against his own cock. “So perhaps,” he breathed right into Jack’s ear, “perhaps I should do something to make your cock forget all about Anamaria, and make sure it remembers only me.”
Jack growled, let go of Will’s arse and grabbed the edge of the table. He pushed with all the strength in his legs and stood up, with Will still lodged firmly against him. Maps and rum and the remains of a dinner he didn’t eat tumbled onto the floor as Jack swept his hand across to clear the surface. He tilted forward so Will sat on the edge of the table and pushed him back to lie on the heavy smooth planks, with Jack hovering over him.
“And just what did you have in mind, Mr. Turner?”
Next: Chapter 72 Nothing But The Boots (For Real This Time)
|
