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Contrary to popular belief, this series was not copied verbatim from the secret shooting script of the POTC sequel, but is an original work borrowing some not-original characters that actually belong to the Mouse, and does not incur any profit at all.
Visitors
Captain Jack Sparrow was not at all unhappy that he was standing on the beach, in a hidden cove on the Isla de Muerta, in spite of the fact that he was, generally, happiest on the open sea.
Here, in this secluded bay, he could oversee the maintenance of the Black Pearl without fear of attack. One of the things he had always disliked most about being a pirate was the chore of locating a shoal shallow enough to hold the Pearl steady, but not so shallow as to thoroughly ground her. Here, the ship had been dragged up on a sandbar to one side of the cove.
Then, on the open sea, while the lads worked below, he would have to keep a vigilant eye out for other pirates, navy ships or other intruders that might like to take advantage of a temporarily out-of-commission ship. Here the danger of being spotted by an enemy was minimal.
And the lads had always hated the work. But here they had food, freshwater was in plentiful supply from the stream that flowed down from the look out mountain, and if they felt a little waterlogged there was this lovely beach, with fine white sand, to lie on and dry out in comfort. They had never been so cooperative about routine maintenance before. Sure, it was taking a little longer than usual, but the relaxed pace was resulting in a thorough job of it, and the Black Pearl would be at her very best.
The best part of it, of course, was that Will Turner had decided to take an active part in the de-barnacling of the hull. This entailed many entrancing views of dripping wet skin and straining muscles as the water lapped around Will’s chest, much laughter as Will and Bertram joked with each other, and the odd grin from Will when he happened to look Jack’s way. Absolutely charming. Jack scrunched his bare feet in the soft sand, enjoying the feel of the grains between his toes.
Will was wading through the water toward Jack, who was grinning a mite foolishly where he stood on the hot sand.
“Care to join us in a bit of hard labour, Jack?” Will laughed as he began to rise out of nipple-deep water. Moisture flowed down the curves of his chest and waist. The trousers, an old worn pair, a little too tight, clung to him as close as a second skin, gleaming wetly in the sun.
“Hmm,” Jack answered as Will’s bare lower legs emerged from the waves. “I was thinking about some physically strenuous activity of a different sort, actually.” Yes, the feet appeared next. Slim, well-formed, lovely long toes. Not as prehensile as Jack’s, though. Will had proven less adept at handling Jack with his feet, in spite of all the practice. Jack could forgive that; no one was perfect at everything. And what Will could do with his hands and tongue more than made up for his lack of dexterity with his feet.
Will stared down at his own feet. Jack loved to play with them. It made Will a little faint to think of what Jack did to them. What Jack could do to Will with Jack’s feet made Will even more faint. It didn’t seem fair. Everything Jack did to him was better than anything he could do to Jack.
“Hey, you’ve got that look, mate!” Jack smoothed his thumb over the deep crease in Will’s brow. “What’s that about then?”
But Jack seemed to love everything about Will, so Will supposed what he lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm. And he’d always been a very fast learner. Will shrugged. “Nothing, Jack. Time for the noon break. I thought you might like to go for a walk.”
Jack grinned and took Will’s hand, leading him further along the sand until the Pearl fully hid them from the path to the village, and the small gathering of people by the boat beached near it. There was a little pool of clear water, bordered by smooth stones that had tumbled down the mountain over time, and tall reeds surrounding the fresh water. The stream leading away from the pond before it cut through the beach curled around a boulder, so the reeds hid it even from the Pearl. Jack pulled Will behind the tall sward, to a spot where the grass was flattened and covered by a blanket, in the shade of gently swaying palms.
“You seem prepared for this, Captain.”
Jack spread himself across on the blanket. “Aye, mate. A good Captain is always prepared.” He noticed Will picking at bits of algae on his forearm. “You can wash off in the stream if you like.”
Will nodded and squatted by the clear, cold water. He scrubbed his hands with sand and scooped the fresh water over his shoulders and chest. Jack meant to get the food out of the basket on the other side of the blanket, but he was paralyzed. Mesmerized, as it were. The way Will squatted made the waistband of his trousers ride low on his hips, exposing the curve of his hip. The water glistening on his broad shoulders blinked at Jack like signal lights from distant ships at night.
It didn’t matter how many times Jack saw Will naked, or how intimate they were together. He would never tire of the exhilaration of half-clad Will. The way Will bowed in at his waist, and then the gentle swell above his arse, the little indents on either side of his spine. The tease of it, the way the trousers gaped a bit at the back, above where the crease of Will’s arse started, but the shadow cast by the trousers suggested it enough to make Jack’s mouth water.
Will stood suddenly and unfastened the trousers. The salt water had soaked into the linen and chafed him, and he figured they were sheltered enough here to risk exposure. He wanted to be clean all over. He stripped the trousers down, gave them a quick rinse in the stream, wrung them out and flung them over a thicket of sturdy reeds.
Jack was grateful he was lying down. It saved him the bother of swooning. If there was one thing better than the vision of Will Turner naked, it was the sudden vision of Will Turner suddenly naked.
Will squatted by the pond again and scooped up some wet sand to scrub his long limbs. He rinsed quickly, then leaned forward to dunk his whole head in the shallow pond.
Good Lord, when he was bent over like that Jack could see his bollocks hanging between his spread thighs. Jack had to rearrange himself in his trousers to avoid abrupt pain.
Will flipped his head back. Glossy dark curls swept through the air and smacked against his shoulders. The arc of water droplets didn’t extend as far as the blanket Jack lay on, but Jack’s tongue nonetheless extended in a futile bid to taste one of them. Will shook his head and a spray of tiny jewels flew through the sunlight.
Jack clenched his fist. Will had to be completely unaware of what he was doing to Jack.
Will stood up, tall and lean and Jesus, but he had the best arse in the world, Jack thought. High and round and just so…
“Jack?”
“Hmm, luv?”
Will had turned around, so Jack’s admiration of his arse was brusquely interrupted by the sight of his goods. And oh, what goods. He was right. Will had no idea of what he was doing to Jack. The goods lay dormant, soft and pretty. Though, even when at its most inactive, the head of Will’s cock was noticeably, nay, deliciously wider than the rest of it. A reminder of things to come, with any luck. Fat, Jack thought, like a fat, round ball, but not perfectly round so not a ball, he didn’t know what to compare it to. Perfection, even if he couldn’t describe it.
And, he knew, when Will go excited and the length of his cock began to grow, the head would get proportionately larger as well. So much larger that it could be painful when entering Jack, but the pain always went away as soon as Will was inside.
Now, however, it was clear that Will was without intent to enter, as his cock was quite softly quiescent, nestled innocently against his bollocks like that. Lovely bollocks hanging in their loose skin with the incredibly soft brown hair sprinkled over it. Jack’s mouth watered some more.
“I said, ‘you’re wearing different clothes.’”
Jack looked down. His cock was straining visibly against fawn-coloured linen trousers, tied at the waist with a length of bright green and blue woven something, in the tradition of somewhere over the sea, or that’s what Okonkwo’s wife had told him. His shirt was raw silk, pilfered somewhere along the way, a faded rose madder that made his deeply-tanned chest look less tanned than burnished. “Ah,” he said, “Tessie took me clothes away, insisted on getting them washed proper. They’re drying over there, with yours.” He made a vague gesture toward the rocks behind him.
Will could see the clothes spread out over the rocks in the sunshine. He made a face meant to be a pout, but he wasn’t very good at sulking when his eyes glittered so. “But that would mean I have nothing to wear.”
Jack looked shocked. “Heavens, what a terrible turn of events! Perhaps you’d best wait here for your clothes to dry then, eh?” He patted the blanket beside him, and had no sooner said the words than he had Will pressed up against him.
“You’re cold,” Jack said.
Will pressed closer. “We’re in the shade. Without the sun on me, I suppose I’ll have to rely on you for warmth.”
Jack sucked in his breath. That voice always did it to him. Low, but not a rumbling low, a soft low, like fur rubbing over skin, or the taste of a really well-aged rum. The sound of a ship scraping across the sand. He didn’t know why he thought of that. Then he didn’t care, because Will was on him and it was impossible to care about anything else when all that smooth skin was so close.
He brought his arm around Will and slid his hand down to feel the swell just above his arse, the one he’d been admiring earlier. His other hand nestled in the space between the blanket and Will’s waist.
It was as if Will had been built to fit Jack’s hands. “We fit so well,” he mumbled before touching Will’s lips with his.
Will hummed against his mouth and smiled, licked his cheek. Saucy. “I know, isn’t it wonderful?” He licked again, but this time across Jack’s slightly open lips. The very tip of his tongue ran across teeth. “I’m so happy we’re here.”
Jack moaned in agreement and reached with his lips but Will was gone. He’d flung himself back onto the blanket and was gazing blissfully up at the sparkling sunlight where it filtered through palm leaves high above.
“It’s so perfect here,” he murmured.
Jack ignored the palms, the sun, the stream, the bay – everything but the glorious body stretched out beside him. Kissable feet, long lean legs, slim hips and flat belly, perfect goods, not so soft as before, the cock beginning to fill a bit, enough to lift it off the bollocks to one side. Jack forced his eyes up off the cock, past the smooth stomach and broader chest, much as he loved to look at it all. “Perfect,” he agreed when his eyes came to rest on soft lips curled into a smile.
“And Tessie’s going to have a baby!”
Jack failed to see any relevance to the current situation.
“I’m going to have a little brother or sister!”
Bloody hell. Oh, God damn it all to bloody hell! There’d be no getting Will off this island now, not with a bloody little brother or sister here. How many times had Will said he regretted being an only child? How many times, casually, perhaps even wistfully, had he said he wished he had a sibling? Or more than one sibling? How he envied Tessie’s children and their close bonds? How he adored Kay’s children when they played together?
Jack scowled. “That’s months away, luv. You’ve got to concentrate more on the present.”
Will turned on his side, head propped up by one hand, and trailed his other hand over Jack’s chest. Will fingered the ragged edge of the shirt’s collar. “Nice shirt, Jack. A bit worn, but I like the texture. It suits you well.” He splayed his fingers across the nubby material and rubbed it across Jack’s chest, thumb circling a small, hard nipple.
Jack had to agree. The texture was a touch rougher than his other shirt, and went well with the shape of Will’s hand, which was still a bit cool from the stream, but rapidly warming. Jack ran a palm from Will’s shoulder to elbow. The muscles were still hard from work, triceps still bulging, biceps still rounded and hard.
Will rolled sideways, over top of Jack. “Take it off.”
Jack dug his elbows into the blanket and struggled to sit up with Will still lying on top.
Will spread his legs on either side of Jack’s thighs and pushed himself up to sitting. “Want to see you.” His eyes danced, and he licked his lips.
“Since you asked so nicely…” He pulled the shirt out of the trousers and yanked it up his body. Will grabbed at his hands and twisted the shirt around his wrists before Jack had the chance to pull all the way off. Will pushed him down flat on the blanket.
“Will, I…”
“What?”
Jack didn’t know what.
“Is there a problem?”
Jack thought about it. He was half naked, and a fully-naked Will Turner was sitting on his legs, with his half-hard cock pressed between Jack’s thighs. Jack’s hands were thoroughly tangled and being held up above his head, and Will was licking at the hardened peak of one of Jack’s nipples. Jack felt as if the breath was being squeezed out of him, albeit in a delicious manner, and Will was making that little humming noise, the one that often preceded a full-out growl. There was only one problem.
“My trousers are still on.”
“Easily remedied, Captain Sparrow…”
Jack lay still, afraid to even breathe, as Will untied the woven belt and pulled the trousers down over his hips. Images flitted through his mind. That look on Will’s face when he seen the blanket, when he realized how secluded the spot was. The way he’d called him ‘Captain’. And the fact that, lately, the only time Will had used the title was when he wanted Jack to ‘play Captain’, as he called it. But Jack wasn’t playing Captain, he was splayed out on the grass with his hands bound over his head and Will kneeling between his spread legs with a grin that could only be described as wicked, unless you preferred to call it outright iniquitous.
This whole thing was some sort of a trap designed to get him to spread his legs for Will.
As if a trap were needed.
Heat. Hot. Wet. Hot wet heat. Jack felt the mouth on his cock in the very pit of his stomach. Gone. As suddenly as it appeared. Oh, gods no, he’s decided to torture me, Jack wailed inside his head. Tongue rasping on his inner thigh. Little nips and sucks on the soft skin of his hip. Dizzying. Dazzling. Will could torture him this way any time he wanted. The noisy laps at his cock and balls sounded almost like oars dipping into water.
Will tasted all over, sucking on skin and hair. He wished he could swallow Jack whole, did the next best thing, which was to take his cock as far into his throat as he could possible and listen to the deep moan. He ran his hands up and down the sinewy length of Jack’s torso. The way Jack could twist like that, the feel of the muscles and tendons writhing and straining under his hands, the bones seeming to bend under his fingers, it was sinful how exciting it was.
Intent. So intent on each other, the two men didn’t even notice that the sound of a ship scraping against sand was, indeed, the sound of a the bottom of a ship scraping on the sand, on the other side of the cove. And that the sound of oars in the water was made by actual oars in the water. And they didn’t hear the sound of soft leather boots sinking into the sand, advancing steadily. In fact, they carried on quite oblivious to the fact that a slim figure stood not too far away, hidden in the shadow of a palm to their sun and sex blinded eyes, watching every move they made.
And they carried on for quite some time, until the moment of completion, when Will – sitting on Jack’s cock, filled with Jack’s spending cock and still shuddering from his own orgasm, saw the look of complete disbelief on Jack’s face. He craned his neck to see what could have given his lover such a shock, and sat, still impaled and quite in shock himself until a familiar name fell from his lips. Mortified, shocked and aghast.
“Elizabeth!”
Next: Chapter 82 What Elizabeth Saw
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