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Yeah, I wish this was what would really happen in the POTC sequel. Alas, it is complete, utter and flagrant fiction, which turns not a sou of profit for me or anyone else.
Nothing But The Boots (For Real This Time)
Will Turner. Propped up on his elbows, lying on his back on the captain’s table, knees bent, feet dangling, Captain Jack Sparrow standing between his spread legs, Will had to gaze past the prominent bulge in his own trousers to see the even more prominent bulge in Jack’s.
His eyes raked up across the frayed sash at Jack’s hips, the enticing vee of his shirt, open almost to the navel revealing sun-browned skin, the jutting collarbone that would feel so good under his lips, the hands that hovered over him as if they could not decide what to touch first. Fingers twitched and flitted over his prone form, scratching him from far too far above to make contact. Jack’s face bore a look of intense concentration.
The fact that Jack wanted to touch him so much, and so badly, made him ache.
Jack gave him a wily leer. “You did have something in mind, did you not?” he asked. His voice was rough at the same time it flowed. That might have been the rum. Or it might have been Will.
“I…” Will thought. No, he had no plan. He never did. He just knew that anything Jack had ever done with him made his cock think only of Jack. Jack’s hands, fingers, mouth, tongue, cock, anything he came in contact with made him want more. The lean drape of Jack’s arm around his chest while they slept. The crush of Jack’s thighs when they wrapped around him. Jack’s lips touching him anywhere. Every inch of tanned or scarred or branded or smooth or rough or delicious skin made him yearn. He wished he could have that same power over his lover. He wished he could think of something, anything, to make Jack want him more.
“Not possible,” Jack said.
Will’s eyes widened.
“You know you said that out loud, eh?”
He did?
“About wanting me to want you more.”
Will stared. “I actually said it? You’re sure about that?”
Jack gave the satisfied smirk of a cat lying in the sun and rubbed his hard cock against Will’s left thigh.
Oh, dear. Now Jack knew everything. Would he try to take advantage of it?
“I feel much the same way about you, luv. So now that we’re squared,” he dropped suddenly so his face was inches from Will’s, beads dangling from his beard to brush Will’s chin, “how about we just show each other?”
Show. Each other. What? Will didn’t have time to answer his own question because Jack’s tongue was licking along the line of his cheekbone, soft and firm at the same time, while he made a little purring noise. When had Jack started acting like a cat? Will wondered.
He didn’t bother to ponder the point any further, as the cat-like tongue was making its way down his jaw line to the very center of his chin, were it rasped against his scruffy beard, before starting a straight line down his throat. Jack didn’t stop licking until he reached the open neckline of Will’s shirt, at about his sternum.
“Off,” Jack hissed. Will’s hands flew to his waist where they crossed and grasped the hem of the shirt. He was half sitting up, so the strain of holding up his torso without his elbows behind him pulled deliciously in his stomach. He pulled up, pulled the garment over his head, and found his hands stilled before it cleared his head. “That’s perfect,” Jack purred at him, and grasping hands found his tight nipples, so Will’s purr joined in the chorus. Jack gently pushed him back down, so he lay flat and stretched out tight.
Will felt ridiculous, splayed out on his back on the table like that with his hands tangled over his head and his shirt covering his face so he couldn’t even see what was going on. He could feel well enough, though. Hot breath on his chest, wet tongue on a nipple, teeth nipping at his flesh, a nose nudging under his arm, then the dark hair there being pulled ever so slightly to the tune of a feral growl.
Jack liked to say outrageous things about him smelling like vanilla and nutmeg and tasting like cream or gingered peaches. He wondered, as Jack tongued the thatch of dark hair under his arm, what he really smelled and tasted like? He had to smell like sweat and work and the sea air and, well, like a man. Jack purred again and rubbed his whole face into Will’s armpit.
Jack must like the smell and taste of a man, or he wouldn’t be doing that so enthusiastically, Will figured.
It should have tickled, or irritated him, but the little nips Jack was taking of the tender skin, right there where the hair stopped growing at the front, they just made his cock even harder.
He could feel the linen of his shirt pressing over his face, hollowing where his mouth hung open. Then Jack’s mouth descended on him, lips pressing hard on his, and he couldn’t quite taste Jack through the shirt but the texture of it on his lips was extraordinary.
Jack’s hands fumbled under his chin, peeled the shirt up over his face, out of the way. “Better?” His lips hit again, tongue rammed into Will’s mouth, and Will tried to nod and kiss at the same time. He sucked at the tongue in his mouth and Jack ground his cock against Will’s groin in a slow circle. Will could taste something, something that must have been his own sweat, on Jack’s lips. He liked it. The taste of the rum was strong as well; Jack had been drinking all evening. It certainly wasn’t affecting his coordination. Jack lifted up, slid his hand smoothly between them and yanked Will’s trousers open. But he didn’t touch Will’s cock, no matter how much Will wriggled and tried to get him to make contact. His hands were sliding down Will’s thighs, and then the mouth was gone and he was standing again, looking down at Will with darkened eyes.
Will swallowed hard. He lifted his hands feebly, as if asking Jack to release them from the snarl of his shirt. Jack was breathing hard, and his face was creased into something Will thought might be anger with him, or frustration. Restraint. Denial.
Will had been made breathless by the kiss, helpless from the assault of Jack’s hands and mouth on his chest. He couldn’t find any words, so he arched his back, twisted his hips, anything to encourage Jack to continue. He couldn’t stop now, Will needed it too much.
Jack bit his lip. His hand settled on Will’s stomach, fingers splayed, keeping him down.
“No,” Jack whispered, and moved around the table so he could disentangle Will’s hands without actually having to lean over him.
Why had he stopped? Will twisted around, trying to bring his mouth back into contact with Jack’s lips. Jack couldn’t just stop it there, could he? Jack was shaking his head and cursing under his breath. One of Will’s hands jerked free, and he shoved it down to clutch at the swell of Jack’s cock.
Jack recoiled, and worked to free Will’s other hand, but the sleeve was tangled hopelessly, and his frustrated efforts only served to tighten the knot. “No,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “I won’t do it. I won’t take you like that.”
Take him like what? He thought of himself, lying on the table, bound as it were. And writhing. Pushing his hard cock up at Jack, silently begging him. Far too wanton. Jack must have been appalled. He blushed, shocked at his own lascivious behaviour. Jack must think him some sort of… he didn’t even know the word for it.
Jack dropped his hand, at the end of his patience, so Will’s arm dangled over the edge of the table dripping sweaty, jumbled shirt from the end of it. Jack placed a hand delicately, tenderly on Will’s cheek. Will blinked when Jack kissed him on the forehead.
“What did I do to upset you?” Will whispered, thinking he knew the answer, hoping he was wrong.
Jack kissed him again, on the top of his head. “Not you,” he murmured into the curls. “You’ve never upset me. It’s me. I shouldn’t… I couldn’t… we have to make sure everything is square between us. I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”
Will sighed. Was that all? He was tempted to tell Jack to go ahead and use him. His body wanted it feverishly. But he stopped to think about what Jack said, to analyze the situation.
They had a fight. No, not a fight. They had never actually fought about Jack and Anamaria, or Jack and Anamaria’s baby. Will had felt incredibly hurt and betrayed. And then he and Jack had not talked. For a night and a day, they had not talked. And now here they were. They had talked about it to an extent and he didn’t feel betrayed anymore at all, but he did feel nervousness. Uncertainty. This desperate need to make Jack want only him. He had been helpless on the table, and Jack didn’t want to take advantage of his need and his helplessness, in spite of the fact that he wanted Will so obviously badly.
Oh.
Will launched himself at Jack, dragging the other man on top of him, on top of the table. He wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist and brought their cocks together, hard and hot through their clothing. “Jack, you stopped. Oh, Jack,” he kissed him on the lips, “you love me so much you stopped!” He kissed again, forcing his tongue into Jack’s hot mouth.
Jack was pushing him down, stroking his arms, calming him. Will took a deep breath and tried to still his trembling limbs.
“Much as I would have liked to continue…” Jack looked down the length of Will’s body, “… and your Aocmo-fellow will confirm that one… this isn’t the time. Don’t get me wrong, luv, someday I’m going to tie you up and have my way with you proper. But not tonight. Tonight I just want to show you. I want to show you what I feel, what you mean to me, what I want for us.”
Jack was, inconceivably, blushing. Or he was flushed. Flushed from need and desire and denying himself something. Will had never really, to be honest, thought about being tied up before, not as an enjoyable thing. But the feel of his arms pushed over his head and Jack’s mouth all over him and his own inability to stop him, that had been so arousing Will was embarrassed by it. And Jack knew it.
How easy it would be for Jack to just tie him up and take him, Will mused. Will certainly wouldn’t protest. But Jack didn’t want to take. So Will decided he would have to give.
“Jack,” he said, sultry, or at least he hoped it was sultry. Jack looked at him sharply. Too sultry? He pressed on, undaunted. “Jack, I want the same thing. I want to show you. I want to show you everything.”
Jack shuddered, as if Will’s words had stroked down his back or tickled him somewhere unbearable.
This encouraged Will. He stretched one long leg out to hook his foot around Jack’s calf and coax the pirate back to the end of the table, back between Will’s thighs where he belonged. Will propped himself back up on his elbows, back to where this had all started, except he was naked from the waist up and had a terribly tangled shirt obscuring his left forearm. They could start again.
“So show me.” He hoped, prayed, his voice was soft and low enough to convince Jack. He watched avidly, as Jack trailed his fingers along Will’s thigh, down his shin, to cup a boot at the heel.
Jack laughed nervously. “These boots,” he admitted. “They do something to me. I had a…” His voice trailed off, and he pulled one, then the other from Will’s feet. He smoothed his hands over the stockings underneath, over calf and ankle and foot. “…dream.”
Will held his breath while Jack loosened the ties at the knees of his trousers, rolled the stockings down, peeled them off his legs. He shifted, lifting his hips so Jack could strip the trousers down and well. The planks of the table were smooth from years of wear.
Had Jack ever taken anyone else on this table? Whom had he bent over this table in the past? It didn’t matter. That was before; this was now. And ‘now’ had Jack on his knees, massaging the skin inside Will’s knee with his lips. His hands lingered on Will’s feet, still warm from the boots.
Will had one of those flashes of inspiration that typically lead to a religious conversion of some sort. He slithered down the table and pulled Jack up to his feet again. Silently he stooped to pick up one of the boots. It was heavy, still warm from his foot. He slid his foot inside, relishing the way the leather hugged his naked ankle. Jack’s gasp was loud in his ears as he slid his other foot into the other boot and straightened.
Pitch black, Jack’s eyes were. He was shaking all over, too.
Will was inordinately proud of the fact that he had done the exact right thing. It was possible Jack’s eyes had held that much pure lust in them before, but Will couldn’t remember it. He blushed. He could remember plenty of times Jack had looked at him with lust. With hindsight, he could date the lust back to the first time they’d ever met. But this was special. He just knew that Jack had thought of this before, Jack had fantasized about Will standing like this, wearing nothing but the boots.
He plucked at the loose neckline of Jack’s shirt. “Off,” he ordered.
Jack ripped his shirt off, swore when he couldn’t untwist the end of his sash, and Will had to help him untangle it, kicked off his own boots in a fury and stopped dead still just as he was unfastening his trousers.
Will stared at his lover, gave him a wide smile, and leaned a little further back onto the table as he stroked his hard cock languorously. Jack had stopped because the sight of Will handling himself like that was a distraction, Will thought. He couldn’t stop the smirk. He couldn’t stop relishing the power he felt at that moment. He couldn’t stop moaning when his own fingers tightened around his cock, dragging over the head. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Maybe if he couldn’t see Jack then Jack couldn’t see him, and Jack would find the ability to finish undressing. But he couldn’t stop his own hand on his cock from moving, pulling, stroking, caressing. Not until Jack swatted it away and pressed up close and perfectly naked all over.
“Impatient, William?”
Will shivered. He loved it when Jack called him that. Grown up. A man’s name.
“Perhaps I could help you with that, eh?”
Will breathed a sight of relief. Jack had regained control, regained his control of the situation. He let Jack guide his hand down, taking control. It was so much easier when Jack did that. Took control. He didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to be creative, he only had to respond.
Of course, when he really let go, when he allowed himself to respond naturally, he often did end up taking control. Those were the times he rode Jack wildly while sitting on his lap, or fucked Jack’s throat while the pirate held onto Will’s hips for dear life, or fucked Jack’s arse, so hot and snug around Will’s cock, until Jack screamed.
But not tonight. Tonight he wanted Jack to fuck him.
Jack’s fingers surrounded his hand, wrapping Will’s fingers around his own cock. “Don’t stop, luv, I like to see you do that.” Was he teasing? No, he wanted to see it. Will whimpered a bit when Jack made him squeeze tighter. “God, Will, let me look at you.”
Jack stepped back again and looked. Will kept stroking himself, feet planted wide and solid on the floor, hips lifting with each down stroke. Jack’s eyes swept down to look at his long legs, and the boots. He really liked those boots. Will could tell by the way Jack’s hips answered with a little roll of their own. Will lifted one leg to wedge his arse up onto the table, and kept lifting the foot until the heel of the boot rested on the table as well. He felt terribly exposed like that, even though he wasn’t sure if his bollocks obscured Jack’s view of his arsehole or not. He kept pulling on his cock, waiting for Jack to respond to the invitation.
He saw Jack’s eyes dart over to the bed, to the ledge where the bottle of oil sat. Jack was judging distance, time and the odds of Will changing his mind about this whole thing. Will could see that. He decided to help him make his decision. He slid his hand off his cock and down so he could touch, just touch the dry ring of muscle with his fingertip. And he purred.
Jack leapt across the room for the oil and bounced back, skidding to a halt in front of Will’s spread legs. He dropped to his knees with a thud so loud Will winced. But he didn’t think any further on it, because Jack’s tongue was nudging his finger out of the way and spearing into him, opening him up for Jack’s cock. Will’s head fell back. He leaned on the hand tangled in the shirt, the tangled shirt reminding him of how much Jack loved him, the jabbing tongue reminding him of how much Jack wanted him.
No words now. Will lifted his other leg up, over Jack’s shoulder, exposing himself further, opening. He rubbed the boot over Jack’s shoulder muscles and the tonguefucking sped up. Hmm, Jack really really liked the boots. Will squirmed on the table, tilting his hips, so Jack could fuck him harder with his tongue. Then the tongue was swirling over his bollocks, and Will looked down to see the dark head of his cock bobbing against his stomach and Jack’s lips, wet and hungry, inching up it. He quivered under Jack’s tongue as it licked up his stomach, his chest, his neck. Will sat up and sucked the tongue into his mouth, sharp and heavy with the taste of himself.
Slick fingers pushed into him, not enough but better than nothing, and then Jack’s cock, which Will loved so much, was pressing against him. Everything was happening so fast, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Jack grabbed Will’s cock and held it between shaking fingers, fumbled a moment, and leaned in.
The stretch made Will’s eyes close. The burn made Will’s breath stop. The pain, delicious vital pain, made Will’s legs clamp around Jack’s waist. The pleasure was what made him open his eyes again and look into Jack’s face.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but he hadn’t been expecting that.
Jack looked lost. He looked so very young, and lost and unguarded. His eyes were wide, his mouth slack, his lips swollen. Will touched his cheek, hoping everything was all right, but Jack didn’t seem to be focussed on him. He touched his forehead to Jack’s, which required him to push up and put his weight on Jack’s cock. Jack’s hands slid under his thighs, supporting him and lifting him up off the table. Jack stepped away from the table.
“Oh,” Will said. They’d never done that before. He wound his arms around Jack’s neck and pressed his chest forward so they touched. A sharp nipple grazed one of his, flat belly pressed against his. “Oh,” he repeated.
Jack slid his left hand back along Will’s right thigh and caressed the top of the boot. Moaned Will’s name. Canted his hips just so, to make Will purr. Will nestled his head into Jack’s neck and curled around him, never wanting to let go.
So he said it. “I don’t ever want to let go,” he whispered into Jack’s neck and hair and a sharp, silver-tasting bauble. He could feel Jack smile. Then he felt strong hands lift him up, lift up his arse so Jack’s cock dragged out of him in a slow, steady ache, and then settle him back down again. It was an impossibly difficult thing to do. A ridiculous amount of energy for Jack to have to expend, holding up Will and then lifting him up and down on Jack’s cock like that. Will felt terribly selfish. Until Jack changed the angle just so and Will shouted. Actually shouted.
Everyone must have heard that, he thought.
And everyone should hear it. Because he was the one Jack was fucking. He was the one Jack wanted to fuck. And everyone should know.
Next: Chapter 73 Shore Leave
This fabulous drawing was done by Faith.
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