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No harm, no foul. I don’t make profit. No one gets hurt.
Shore Leave
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair and Will Turner in his line of vision. Will was lunging forward to deliver a stunning counter-riposte to Shimura, with whom he was practicing. Will had never been kidding about the three hours of practice a day, and Jack had never been happier about it.
Nothing could be more perfect, he though to himself.
Except for that, he added to himself with a smile.
That particular lunge had involved Will’s arse being encased by his tight trousers in a stunningly suggestive manner, and the curve of his outer thigh being highlighted by what could only be described as a sublime angle of the sun on his long, left leg. Stunning. Shimura yielded and Mr. Bertram took his place opposite Will.
Bertram had never been much use at swordplay. Very handy in close quarters with a knife, Jack had witnessed for himself over the years, but less adept with a long blade. Will had taken it on himself to teach Bertram the basics. Will would demonstrate a few moves, Bertram would go off on his own to practice them while Will engaged a few of the pirates in mock battle, and then Bertram would return for a lengthy spar.
Today’s lesson, apparently, had to do with fighting in the same close quarters in which Bertram was used to wielding a much shorter blade. Will and Bertram were inches apart at times, sharpened steel rasping across steel between them, very dangerous. But not half as dangerous as what the whole spectacle was doing to Jack.
Will, as was his habit, wore a loose shirt, rather open at the neck, and tucked in at the waist, but not as neatly as when the training session had begun. His sleeves were rolled up, always delightful to view. His hair was tied back with a scrap of leather, wild curls escaping at random intervals and creating all manner of interesting effects when they clung to Will’s sweat-dampened cheek, or plastered themselves against the cords of his neck. His snug trousers featured a panel laced across the front and fastened with the same knot every time, a knot Jack was now capable of unravelling in seconds. In his sleep.
All very well. However, Jack’s eyes followed the graceful line of Will’s extended leg, the one he was leaning back on and pivoting on just so. His arse went all tense, the way it did when he was thrusting his hips forward. Jack followed the leg down and his heart almost stopped.
He was wearing the boots.
The boots.
The.
Boots.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, holy heck and hellfire, son of bloody damnation. He was wearing those boots in public, where anyone who cared to look could see them!
Jack pulled himself together. Nobody seemed to notice. And why would they? They were just an ordinary, everyday, very nicely made but not fancy pair of boots, weren’t they?
Oh no, they bloody well were not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. They were the boots Will had worn three nights before. When he was wearing nothing else, mind you.
Jack rubbed his hand absently over his right lower back. That spot had absorbed the brunt of the action, from the boots anyway. The skin was still a little tender there, chafed by the seam above the heel, when Will’s legs had been around his waist, while Jack’s cock was so deeply up Will’s arse the boy had almost passed out.
Screamed, he had, screamed when Jack went all the way in. Never heard anything like that before, Jack hadn’t. He didn’t think anyone could make that much noise just from being fucked.
Oh, even Jack had howled a few times. Especially that time in the tent, their last night in the tent. Will had taken Jack from behind, only Will was lying on his back and had pulled Jack on top of him. Jesus, what an angle of penetration. Jack was arched back with his head hanging upside down over Will’s shoulder, and Will’s hands didn’t stop for a second, pinching at his nipples and gliding over his stomach and snaking around Jack’s cock. Jack was grinning just from the memory.
But Jack had not screamed, not quite like that.
Two nights ago, Will had fussed and cooed over the marks on Jack’s hips and back. He kissed them tenderly. He licked at them; short, sweet tentative licks. Then he’d licked around the front of Jack and erased even the hint of any pain by giving him the softest, gentlest, most loving kisses and licks and sucks Jack had ever experienced, until Jack felt like he’d lost all his bones and melted into a puddle on the mattress.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I should have thought… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” All hushed and breathless, after Jack had spilt into his mouth and Will had snuggled up beside him.
Jack had rolled Will onto his back and brought the lantern close, so Will could see the faint finger marks from where Jack had held his hips, even though he had to twist something awful to see the ones on his arse. He couldn’t, of course, see that his arsehole itself was still a little swollen from all the activity. He must have felt it, though. Tender sweet hole. Jack kissed it reverently, and licked everywhere else Will could possibly be tender, and then licked where he was decidedly not tender, and in fact was quite rigid. And Will tasted as sweet as ever, or even sweeter, because of the way he was purring in contentment and making those little scritch scritch noises against the sheets with his fingers when he filled Jack’s mouth with his seed.
Jack’s eyes narrowed as Will’s swayed above Mr. Bertram. Bertram was jammed between the mast and a barrel of shot. The way he leaned back to avoid Will’s sword pushed his hips up almost obscenely. The way Will bent over him made it look as if…
Jack took a deep breath. They were only sparring. Bertram didn’t even like boys. He’d been caught with that little strumpet, after all. But that didn’t change the fact that Will’s thigh was wedged between Bertram’s legs and his chest was heaving and they were sweating on each other.
“A word, Mr. Bertram.”
Jack didn’t even know how he had managed to descend to deck level that fast.
Will unbent his frame and stepped back. He held out a hand to Bertram and hauled the other man up to his feet. “Excellent,” he said to his opponent. “You just have to work on pulling your elbow back further, so your blow will hit me directly, rather than glancing off as it did then. I’ll clean your weapon for you.” And he took both swords with him below deck to polish the hilts and oil the blades.
Mr. Bertram shrugged. “He’s too kind, y’know, Captain. If that was all I needed to work on, I wouldn’t have been bent over with him on top o’ me, like that.”
Jack winced.
“You wanted something, sir?”
Jack looked at Bertram. He was a pleasant looking man. Handsome even. Even, rich dark skin and shiny black hair twisted into rows, almond-shaped brown eyes, strong straight nose and lips perpetually curled into a pleasant smile. Not entirely African, he might have had a bit of Indian in him. Younger than Jack. A bit taller. Possibly broader in the shoulders, but he didn’t dress with quite as much style. Nice looking man, though.
Who didn’t like boys, Jack had to remind himself.
“I, uh, don’t know if it’s really such a good idea to be sparring like that, on board. Practice is one thing, eh, but that was a little too….”
“Close? Sir?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt. Fighting so close, savvy.”
“So close to Will, you mean, sir.”
Jack made a face. A wince combined with a frown combined with frustration and puzzlement and a bit of resentment that he’d been that transparent.
“I understand, sir, but rest assured. I don’t like Will.”
What?
“Not like that.”
Jack couldn’t understand why not. He was grateful for it, but the idea of Will bending over him like that, and Bertram not liking it, like that, was absurd. How could the man not like Will, like that?”
“He’s a very nice man, mind you, and I’m sure he’s very attractive, sir. But…”
But what? Whatever could be possibly wrong with Will?
“He’s got the wrong goods, for me, sir.”
Jack nodded. So, Jack was right. Young Bertram did not fancy boys at all.
“Good to know, Bertram. Wasn’t what I wanted to speak to you about though.” Because you don’t get to be a pirate captain without excellent skills of recovery. “I would like you to stay on board with Shimura during shore leave. Keep an eye on the Pearl. Make sure none of these rapscallions comes back drunk and decides to take off with her. There’ll be a bit something extra in it for you, Mr. Bertram.”
“Aye, sir, I’d be honoured. She’ll be in good hands, sir.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Jack nodded and turned to go back to the helm.
“Captain Sparrow, sir?”
Jack spun back to face the man.
“I just wanted…” Bertram shifted from one foot to the other. He looked nervous, which made him look younger, and Jack wondered just how young Bertram had been when he signed on with the crew. “I just wanted to thank you, sir. I had nowhere else to go, and I didn’t have all that many skills, and you let me on your crew. I never had a family before, sir, and I’m not saying we’re a family on board, but it is the closest thing I’ve had. That may make me a bad pirate…”
Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Not at all, lad. That’s why I trust you. You aren’t in this only for the swag. You’re in this for a place to belong. Can I tell you a little secret, Mr. Bertram?”
He nodded.
“I got into the pirate business for the swag, but I found far more than that.”
Mr. Bertram smiled. No one had ever called him “Mr.” until he signed on with Captain Jack Sparrow. No one had ever treated him like a regular member of a crew before. He’d be happy to serve under his captain for as long as he was welcome.
Later that evening, as he watched the boats row to shore, he stood at the helm beside Shimura.
“Fine man, Captain Sparrow is,” he murmured.
Shimura nodded. “No one ever treated me so decently ‘til I came aboard the Pearl,” he agreed.
Jack sat in the fading light of dusk, unable to see the expression on Will’s face as he and Mr. Gibbs rowed them to shore. Will had barely talked to him since the incident with Bertram, but he didn’t seem angry, more distant. Jack hoped he hadn’t insulted him.
Will hopped out of the boat and tied it off on the piling. He held out his hand to haul Jack up onto the dock. They stood face-to-face, hands still joined. Will looked stunning, with his hair untied now, his shirt neatly tucked in again, his sun-bronzed skin showing stark against the white of the linen under the open neck, enough of the eyebrow crease to make Jack’s heart thump but not enough to throw him completely off balance.
“Jack, do you not trust me?”
Jack just stared, unable to answer.
“You can trust me, you know.”
Jack nodded.
“Besides, Mr. Bertram doesn’t even like men.”
Jack might have said that Will didn’t even like girls but that didn’t stop him from fucking Charlotte. Twice. But Jack was far too savvy to bring up that topic. He just smiled and led Will off the dock and up through the winding streets of Tortuga.
Ah, Tortuga had not changed at all since Jack’s last visit. The brawling drunks, the outrageous strumpets, the fierce freedom. He’d missed the place, and couldn’t wait to sample the entertainments. They’d run out of decent rum a while ago. The other entertainments he wasn’t interested in, now that he had Will.
The crew went off in different directions with the agreement that they would meet at the boats in the morning, and he pulled Will along with him down a disreputable looking street.
“I really hoped you’d let me stay on board, Jack. I’m not really interested in this place.”
A colourful strumpet done up in reds and greens slunk to Will’s side. “Haven’t seen you here before,” she purred in his ear and pressed her body against him audaciously.
Jack extended one hand and pushed her off. “And that’s all you’ll be seeing of him, savvy?”
She looked Jack up and down, then flashed a knowing smile. “Suit yourself, mate. Just let me know if you want a little fun later on. I’m not opposed to two at once.” She winked.
Will was shocked. Then he rebuked himself. This was Tortuga. He should be shocked by nothing.
The harlot seemed to understand precisely what was going on between him and Jack. He wondered if everyone in this place would be so blasé about two men together. He and Jack hadn’t spent much time in public since this whole thing started. He didn’t really consider the Isla de Muerta or the ship public. Everyone there knew and accepted them as they were. He guessed that pirates, on the whole, wouldn’t have a problem with it. He shuddered when he thought of how Elizabeth would react. He didn’t think he would ever see her again, but surely word had gotten around when Norrington returned.
All he’d heard about Norrington was what Jacob reported. His nearly-naked return to port with a ship full of unarmed and similarly half-clad sailors had not been taken well by the authorities. His stature as son-in-law of the governor had saved him from a court martial, but he had been stripped of his rank. Demoted back to captain. Elizabeth would not have appreciated that.
Now that he thought back on it, Elizabeth already knew about Will’s feelings for Jack, or at least his desire for Jack. She’d made a big, public show about preferring a man with a real future, and never mentioned the incident in the garden again. He wondered if she’d ever told Norrington.
But Norrington knew. He had to, after Jack dove off the Pearl to Will’s rescue and that incident in the brig. He might have told Elizabeth that he’d seen Will, that Will was with Jack, and that Jack was most decidedly with Will.
“Will, luv, where are you?”
Will focused his eyes and saw Jack standing in front of him.
“Million leagues away, eh?”
Will shrugged. “Jack, I don’t really want to drink a lot tonight.”
Jack grinned. “Just ale, luv. I’ll have me rum later. Have a pint and relax, eh.” He guided Will to the entrance to a tavern. “Look around you, Will. This is the closest you’ll ever get to freedom on shore.”
Will looked around at the brawling pirates, the swooning harlots, the listing drunks.
What was the point of freedom if this was how it was to be spent?
Next: Chapter 74 Two Pirates Walk Into a Bar
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