Will was glad to be sharing a room with Jack, though he didn't care to admit it to anyone. The other patrons of the Faithful Bride had seemed friendly—overly friendly, indeed!—but Will had seen the looks they cast at his companion, and suspected that Captain Jack Sparrow's reputation was better protection than the good blade at his hip.

Not that the good blade was at his hip, any more: it was leaning against the wall next to the bed, where he could reach it in case of need. Jack's effects were on the floor beside the bed, and Jack himself—

Well. Why should he care where Jack Sparrow was? Captain Jack Sparrow, and his dubious friends and acquaintances, and his talk of Will's father ... and 'leverage', whatever he'd meant by that. Will hadn't pressed him for an explanation yet. He was uneasily aware that he probably wouldn't like the answer. He was safe for now, at least, what with Captain Jack Sparrow having a purpose for him. Better not think too hard about what Jack might be trying to move; better not think at all about what he might interpret as the 'proper application of strength'.

Will shifted restlessly. He could have brought a book. Archimedes on physics. The Bible. (Will chuckled, imagining Jack's face if he found Will reading that. Could Jack read? Probably not.) He was too awake to try to sleep, and images flitted through his mind like sparks from the forge: Elizabeth; the pirate who he thought he'd killed; that man, Gibbs, among the pigs; the red-headed ... woman ... who'd slapped Jack.

The thought made him grin: and on cue the door opened and Jack Sparrow backed through it, bearing a covered jug in one hand and a plateful of something in the other.

Will eyed the plate doubtfully. "Is that all you could find?"

"It's stew," said Jack helpfully. "So they say. And it's that or hungry-to-bed."

"What sort of stew?" said Will.

Jack shrugged. "Don't want none?" He settled himself next to Will, leaning back against the wall behind the bed, and put the jug down between them.

"Rum?" Will said, eyebrows raised.

Jack chuckled. "Getting a taste for it, are you?"

"Never," said Will. "Thanks." He took the plate from Jack and helped himself to a spoonful.

"That's...!"

Jack offered him the rum, and he swilled away the burn of spices. "Bloody hell," he managed at last. "That's powerful stuff."

"It is?" Jack said enthusiastically, reaching for the rum bottle.

"I meant the stew."

Despite the spices, they finished off the stew between them, and by the time the plate was empty they were well on the way to finishing the rum too. No doubt Jack would have more somewhere. Will found himself quite well-disposed towards his companion, despite ...

"Despite what?"

Damn, must've said it out loud. Will tried to remember what he'd been thinking.

"Despite everything," he decided at last, waving a hand in a gesture that was, hey, just like Jack's.

Jack laughed, and relieved him of the rum bottle. "Seems to me we're runnin' low," he observed, weighing it in his hand. "Best get some more."

"More rum!" Will echoed happily.

"Maybe I should find us a girl," Jack teased. "Just to make sure you're—"

"No girls. No." Will, eyes firmly shut, waved his hands so emphatically that Jack had to sway back out of range. "They ... get in the way. Com ... confuse things."

"Even Elizabeth?" Jack enquired, setting the rum bottle down on the floor by the bed. It was empty now, anyway.

"'Lizbeth's different," Will argued. "Not like that."

"Course she is. She's a woman, ain't she? All the same. Oooh. Sorry," said Jack, leering, "you wouldn't know, mate. Bein' a eunuch an' all."

"Am not," said Will without heat, giggling slightly.

"One of these days I'll ... never mind."

"What?" said Will, blinking. "One of these days you'll what? Find out? Make me one?"

He hiccuped.

Jack smiled wickedly at him—gold teeth all agleam in the candlelight—and said nothing.

"Maybe that's why they all slap you!" Will said joyfully, as though he'd cracked a riddle.

"Why what?"

"Maybe you're..." Will giggled again, and let the sentence trail away.

Jack's smile grew broader and more dangerous. "Maybe I am."

"You're just saying that," Will accused.

"Come and find out, then," invited Jack, arms wide. That wicked, wicked grin ... For a moment, Will was sure he was joking; another breath, and he decided that Jack was deadly serious.

Either way, he was drunk enough to call Jack's bluff. He lunged across the bed, ending up sprawled across the other man. There was something stopping him from falling off the edge of the mattress; it turned out to be Jack's braced arm.

For a moment Will was almost sober; then he looked down at Jack, who was gazing at him calmly, and lost it all over again.

Because he'd thought of this—earlier? Last night? The first night on the Interceptor? Didn't matter. Didn't matter at all. He'd thought of those dark, witchy eyes—but Jack wasn't a woman—staring up at him, just about this close. Maybe closer. He'd thought, dreamed, worried about wanting to kiss Jack. It wasn't right or natural or proper. Elizabeth wouldn't approve.

He congratulated himself, giddily, on being too drunk to care.

Jack was still looking up at him, patiently, as if it were a challenge. Will found himself staring at Jack's mouth. Briefly, he worried about the moustache.

Not that Jack was kissing him. Why wasn't Jack kissing him? But he hadn't rolled away, either, hadn't pushed Will off him, and his hand against Will's hip was ever so warm and friendly. Will wanted it to move. Quite a lot of him was feeling unsteady now.

Jack wasn't kissing him, and that was a waste of a situation. This situation. Maybe he was waiting for Will to start it. Maybe it was a test to see if Will was a eunuch after all. Or to see if Will had pirate blood. Did pirates do this sort of thing? Will thought they probably did. He defied anyone not to, with Jack Sparrow around.

The moustache felt strange. Will had never kissed anybody with a moustache before. He'd never, he reminded himself, kissed a man before. But oh, Jack was kissing him back, not at all half-heartedly, tongue and lips and teeth against his own, and the damned moustache tickling his lips ... So this was how it felt for Elizabeth; except different, of course, because he'd never lain on a bed kissing Elizabeth, never lain on top of her—half on top—with his hands braced on either side of her head for balance, never kissed her the way Jack was kissing him, all thrusting tongue and drawn-out licks and teasing and torture and hunger ... the way he was kissing Jack in return, hungrily, unreasonably excited by the way that Jack's mouth was bigger than Elizabeth's, the way Jack's teeth nipped at his lower lip, the way that Jack's tongue was pushing hungrily into his mouth and their hips were pressing together, grinding with the same rhythm.

Will went red and pulled away. He had an idea that it would be bad-mannered to wipe his mouth.

Jack opened his eyes and looked up at Will again. There might have been a hint of mockery in his gaze, his smile, his stillness. His lips were redder than before.

"Rum?" Will managed, between incredulity and explanation.

"Don't think you need any more, mate."

Will drew breath at that, taking it for a rebuke, but Jack wasn't moving away, wasn't fighting him. Clearly wasn't a eunuch, either, but then neither was Will. Hah! Lying half across Jack, he was left in little doubt as to the response the kiss had sparked in both of them.

Will blushed darker, and wondered if he should apologise. But Jack's mouth was tilting up to taste the curve of his throat, and it was comforting as well as arousing; and Will wanted to kiss him again.

"Rum," he repeated, and did kiss Jack again, because it would be a waste not to.

This time Jack's free hand went to Will's shoulder and he pulled the two of them closer together. Will ran his hands over Jack's chest, exultant when Jack gave a little shiver and arched up against him. This was easy. This felt wonderful. Who needs leverage when you've got rum? thought Will, and congratulated himself on his discovery.

Jack's tongue pushed up against his, sliding along his—Will thought, incongruously, of swordplay—and pressing briefly against the corner of his mouth. Will's eyes drifted shut, and he could feel Jack's hand tracing patterns on his back, each one translating into a separate little burst of light behind his eyelids.

His eyes flew open when Jack writhed beneath him, not breaking the kiss, and sighed into his mouth as he settled into a more comfortable position. More comfortable, but more frank, too: now Will was lying between Jack's legs, his erection pressing next to Jack's, and Jack's hand was splayed in the small of his back, fingers pushing under his belt to touch bare skin.

Will blinked, and moaned into the kiss. This was happening, really happening, happening faster than he'd thought of—not that he'd thought of this happening at all. His thoughts had never been this detailed, and—

"Wha'?" said Jack, leaning back from the kiss just enough to speak. Will could feel his lips moving.

"I don't—" Will began, and dropped his head to Jack's shoulder, sighing in frustration. Jack didn't move, and Will could hear his heartbeat.

The smell of Jack's sweat on the warm linen of his shirt was almost pleasant.

"It's too much," Will said finally, frowning. "I've never done this. With a man, I mean," he added hastily.

Jack turned his head and said softly, "No worries." His breath tickled Will's ear. "Not going to make you do anything else. Not makin' you do anything."

"But you want to do more," Will said, raising his head just enough to look at Jack.

Jack was smiling, and his eyes were witchier than ever, narrowed and midnight-black in the candlelight. "But I want to do more," he agreed.

Watching his mouth moving as he spoke, watching the gleam of gold in that enticing mouth, was fascinating.

Will blinked, and said, "I've never—"

"I know," Jack said, and shifted slightly. His smile widened when Will couldn't help pushing back against him. "Must say, you're takin' to it very nicely."

"It's the rum," Will said faintly. Damn! He hadn't meant it to sound quite so much like an excuse.

"Course it is!" Jack said cheerfully. "Wonderful stuff!"

"But —" Will began. Then Jack was kissing him, kissing him and rolling him over, doing something with his knee so that Will ended up on his back with Jack's legs twisted around his own. He thought that probably counted as the proper application of strength. He was kissing Jack Sparrow, being kissed, and Jack's hands were stroking all over his chest, as though he was trying to feel his way in the dark. It had got darker in the room. After a while Will realised that Jack's hair was falling around them like a strange-smelling black curtain, a curtain that chimed faintly as Jack's mouth moved over Will's throat. Each little nip and lick made Will's breath catch, and he felt himself writhing against Jack, pushing their hips together, rubbing his aching hardness against Jack's. It was undeniably pleasurable. More than pleasurable. Jack's hand slid slowly under Will's shirt, across his chest, brushing his nipple, and Will swore. His body wasn't his own any more: it wanted to get closer to Jack, bucking up against him—oh, lovely sound (or was it a feeling?) of Jack moaning against his collarbone—and if Jack was going to carry on like that, Will couldn't blame his body at all.

His hands were braver than he was, too. Without any conscious decision, his left hand was opening an expanse of bare skin between Jack's shirt and his breeches, while his right hand pushed itself up under Jack's hair, pulling him close. Will hadn't felt this adventurous even when they were stealing—commandeering—the Interceptor. Maybe Jack was commandeering him?

Maybe the rum was wearing off. Will started to wonder what would happen next, and his hands slowed.

"Thinkin' again?" Jack murmured, lifting his hot mouth from a sensitive place on Will's neck. "What now?"

"I don't think I'm ready for this," Will confessed.

Jack grinned wickedly, and shifted his hips slightly. "Feel ready enough to me," he said, sliding a hand between them. Will groaned when he felt the warmth of Jack's palm cupping him through his breeches.

Will swallowed and tried to pretend that this wasn't his body after all.

"I—I mean—" he said breathlessly, "I can't—that is, I don't—"

"Shhh," said Jack, and he kissed the corner of Will's mouth.

It was so tender a gesture—so unexpected, here, from Jack—that Will just lay there and stared up at his companion.

"Not going to make you do anything you don't want," Jack murmured soothingly.

Will felt stupid. "You said you wanted more."

"Course I want more," said Jack, and now he was grinning again. "If you could see yourself ... That don't mean I'm all set on ravishing you, Will."

Will was aware of a spark of disappointment.

"It—it doesn't?" he managed.

"Nah," said Jack. "I reckon—" He pulled suddenly on Will's shoulders, reversing their positions, so that Will was on top and Jack was looking up at him again with that wicked, wicked smile. "I reckon I fancy some ravishin' meself."

Will knew his mouth must be gaping, because Jack arched up and kissed him wetly, open-mouthed, wrapping one arm around Will's waist to brace himself as he ground his hips against Will's.

"I—" said Will, panting, as the kiss ended. Then his body caught up with him—with the image of Jack naked underneath him, their bodies sliding together—and he found himself unable to speak for sheer lust.

"I thought you'd want ..." he said at last. Jack's throat looked so inviting, and his skin tasted delicious.

"Nah," said Jack, slightly breathless. "It's late, and I ... Anyway, not for your first time, eh? Not like this. Nah, I want you to do me."

"Guh," said Will, thinking about it all over again.

"Same principle as women, really.—Don't tell me you haven't had a woman?"

He looked so appalled at the idea that Will chuckled.

"I've—there was a girl at the tavern," he confessed. "We—I—"

Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm happy for you, mate. Stay there a moment," he added, as though Will were capable of moving away from him. He twisted under Will, reaching down to the floor where his coat lay in a crumpled heap.

Will didn't move. He lay sprawled over Jack and enjoyed the feeling of Jack's muscles tensing and stretching underneath him. The rum was obviously excellent leverage, and he'd ended up on top of the situation. On top of Jack. He wriggled, enjoying the sensation.

On the other hand, maybe Jack had planned this. Maybe he'd intended all along for Will to do the—the ravishing. Maybe—Will sighed, head spinning with lust and with the futility of trying to second-guess Jack Sparrow.

"That's all right, then," said Jack, slightly breathless. His hands slid back underneath Will's shirt, and Will moaned. Jack's hands were hot and rough-skinned, and they found all the places that made him squirm. Some hazy notion of revenge set his own hands wandering, exploring Jack's chest under his soft, threadbare shirt, and he laughed breathlessly when Jack writhed under him.

Jack was pushing him away—no, rolling him so that he lay on his side with Jack pressed against him, Jack's knee pinning his legs and Jack's arm sliding around his waist. And Jack kissing him again, slowly and appreciatively, watching him from half-closed eyes.

Will had preferred it, he thought, when Jack was underneath him, safely in one place. But he had to admit the advantages of lying together like this, touching each other freely—he gasped and pushed into Jack's hand—and kissing face-to-face, eyes open, like equals. Not like being with a girl at all. And no girl Will had ever known was as bold with her caresses as Jack Sparrow.

He let Jack strip off his shirt, and got Jack's own off him without tearing it much more. Close to, Jack smelt more enticing than before, and Will kept tasting him—throat, mouth, nipple, the crook of his elbow—to find the source of that musk-salt-spice aroma. Maybe Jack smelt the same as ever, and this was just a rum-soaked dream, like the pictures he saw in the shadows. Didn't matter. Jack twitched and shuddered and pushed into every kiss, every touch; shameless, Will thought, wishing that the girls he'd known had been half as responsive as this. And Jack's mouth, Jack's hands, Jack's eyes—that black gaze practically palpable, eating him up as Jack explored him—felt like promises. Nothing tentative about the way Jack was touching him, unbuttoning him, holding him.

"I'll tell you a secret," Jack whispered, drawing back from another hot, slow kiss. His hand on Will's cock was quite still, and he was staring—so close—into Will's eyes.

Will felt dizzy. He was scrabbling at the fastening of Jack's breeches, had been for ages, and trying not to push into Jack's hand too fast, in case it was all over in a moment.

"What secret?" he whispered back, suddenly on guard.

"I like you," said Jack slowly, and ran his tongue along Will's top lip. He was grinning.

"Good!" said Will with relief, grinning back.

"There's a trick to this," said Jack, narrowing his eyes. "An' a trick to that, too," he added, and Will felt clever fingers slide over his, unhooking Jack's breeches. His fingers brushed flesh, and he curled his hand around Jack's erection, squeezing slowly, fascinated by the look on Jack's face. Had to kiss Jack again, now, and try to do what Jack was doing with his hand, and moan into the kiss just the way Jack was moaning.

"'S a trick to it," Jack said again, slightly breathless, when that kiss had finished.

"Trick to what?" said Will, trying to slide Jack's breeches, one-handed, down over his hips.

"Doin' it with a man," said Jack, with a helpful writhe. He kicked off the rest of his clothes and pulled Will close again. "Thing is, you need to ease the way."

Will swallowed. He'd never been this close to a naked man before; never seen another man's hard cock, gleaming with ... gleaming where he'd been touching it, he reminded himself with a sort of awe. He wanted it, though he didn't know how, or where, or what—

Jack's hiss of breath as Will touched him again made him grin triumphantly. It was so easy to get response after response out of Jack. And Jack liked him. He'd said so. Jack wanted him, too; which he hadn't said, but Will was quite sure of it now.

"Makes it easier," Jack said, close and conspiratorial. His hand was back on Will's cock, suddenly slick and wet and cool, and the sheer shock of it made Will gasp.

"Wha'—"

"'Twas in me coat pocket," said Jack, possibly misunderstanding him. "You never know."

Will didn't bother thinking about that one. He moaned when Jack removed his hand, and Jack kissed him again.

"My turn, love."

The thought of Jack touching himself sent Will's hand down after Jack's. Familiar territory, though the angle was wrong. Jack's cock leapt against his hand. Jack's fingers ... oh, thought Will. That's where—

Jack was looking straight at him, eyes very dark, daring him to pull away. His mouth was slightly open, and Will could see the tip of his tongue.

"Let me," he said, sliding his hand over Jack's.

Jack blinked, and his mouth twitched. Hah! thought Will. Not as shy as you reckoned, eh?

Jack's free hand reached up and retrieved a greasy leather pouch from the other side of the bed. "By all means," he said, not quite steadily. Then his slick clever hand was back on Will's cock, and Will was slicking his own fingers and pushing, harder than he'd meant to, biting his lip at the feel of Jack's body dragging against his skin.

And, Holy Christ, the look on Jack's face made him swallow hard and order his own body to be calm. Jack's head was back and he was breathing loud enough to drown out Will's own racing heartbeat. His grin showed off all the gold in his mouth, and it glittered in the dim light. Will leant up to kiss him, and felt Jack push against his fingers while his tongue snaked around Will's and his free hand caught the back of Will's neck, pulling him into the kiss.

They were both moaning by the time they drew apart for breath, and Will thought he'd die if he didn't have more of Jack immediately. And the way Jack was looking at him, heavy-lidded and smiling that wicked smile, and ...

Will moved his fingers again, and Jack sighed and groaned and said, "Oh, please, Will."

And that was nearly enough, too. Thank heavens for rum, Will thought hazily. Rum takes the edge off.

Somehow, between pulling and pushing, Jack was underneath him again, and both their hands were on Will's cock, and it wasn't working, but Jack said "Harder!" and bucked against him and—

"Oh God," said Will, much louder than he'd meant, and shut his eyes against the heat and the pressure and the tension. There was light all across the insides of his eyelids, bright and burning as molten metal, and Jack's breath furnace-hot against the hollow of his shoulder; Jack's hands all gentle again on his body, and Jack whispering his name as though Will had pulled him from the sea.

"Elizabeth," he said, swallowing.

Jack's hand came up, and Will flinched; but Jack stroked his cheek, and turned his head until their eyes met, and said, low and intense, "This changes nothing between you."

Will could feel Jack's body rippling around him, pulling him deeper.

"Nothing to do with her. Nothing to do—" Jack's breath caught, but his eyes held Will's. "—with how you want her."

He thought of Elizabeth again, but now it was as if she were a long way off, in the distance. Nowhere near ... nowhere in reach of this, and he wouldn't be here anyway if it weren't for ...

"How I want you," said Will, like an echo. "Jack." He bent his head to kiss that enticing mouth, and Jack slid his hand down Will's throat to his chest, thumb grazing his nipple, and arched up into the kiss.

Will groaned again. This was like ... like nothing, really; but like pure malleable metal, like perfect balance or the reflections of a new blade as he saluted his own shadow, like ... like the vice, he thought, grinning, as Jack's body tightened around him again.

"Penny for 'em, Will," said Jack, narrowing his eyes.

"Just thinking about working metal," said Will lightly, thrusting hard.

Jack gasped, and his eyes closed. "Oh good," he said faintly.

Will hadn't expected, even when they were kissing, to feel so simply fond of Jack. He notched his thumb in the corner of Jack's mouth and slid his fingers under Jack's long, tangled hair to pull him into another kiss. Jack's tongue circled the tip of his thumb, and Will shivered and drew his hips back, teasing in return.

"Oh, now, Will ..."

Will kissed Jack's throat, ignoring his protests, and held still.

"Will" Jack's eyes widened, and he tried to pull Will deeper again. Will held him down, tracing a rivulet of sweat with his tongue, trying not to show just how good it felt to have Jack writhing under him, muscles clenching and pulling at Will's cock, Jack making those breathy little sounds of want and protest and Will's name ...

This wasn't about leverage, or scheming, or double-dealing. This was sheer desire, as paradoxically pure as anything Willl had ever done, and it drove everything else away.

If he let himself think about Jack, about what they were doing together, it was going to be over very quickly. That'd be a waste. Instead, he thought carefully about how much it was like being with a woman. Hotter and tighter, of course. The body under him was all muscle and sinew, far stronger than any woman, straining against him as Jack tried to take what he wanted. But Jack's lips were as soft as a girl's; Will tested this, lingeringly. No girl had ever bitten him while he was kissing her, but the small pain was exhilarating. He went slow and deep, a couple of strokes, and Jack's cry—Jack moaning his name—made him dizzy again.

And no one had ever looked at him the way Jack Sparrow was looking up at him now, all challenge and affection and laughter and desire at once. Jack was hiding nothing, still; every movement of Will's showed itself on Jack's face. He hitched his knee higher around Will's waist, and this time they both gasped. Will pushed deeper than before, watching Jack's face as he thrust. Wonderful, to be able to surprise Jack like that. Will felt triumphant. He wanted to do this again and again, make Jack's smile blur like that, make Jack's eyes lose focus until Will could just fall into ...

Wanted to be where Jack was.

Wanted Jack to do this to him, to make Will feel the way that Jack was feeling now.

The thought of reversing it all made Will giddier than ever. He hung above Jack, balancing with a hand on Jack's hip and the other next to his face, quite still. Jack's body flexed around him; Jack stared up at him, eyes unfathomable, breathing shallowly. Not quite ready to plead, Will thought.

"Want you," he whispered, swallowing. "Want this."

Jack shivered under him, and Will knew he'd understood. When he smiled, though, it was the same taunting smile as the day they'd first met.

"Take what you want, then," Jack invited with a smile, tilting his head back to give Will another of those sultry looks.

"And give nothing back?" said Will, pulling back ever so slightly.

Jack's eyes narrowed, but his smile was like a salute. "You take what you want, and I'll take what I want," he said, and pulled Will down until their lips were almost touching. "And we'll settle up at the end, savvy?"

Will groaned. He kissed Jack hard, and slid his other hand between their bodies until he could wrap his fingers around Jack's hot, slick erection. Jack groaned too, hips rocking up against Will's grasp, and then both his hands were on Will's hips, pulling him closer.

"Take me, Will," he said breathlessly, breaking the kiss. "If you reckon you can."

Will laughed out loud, and kissed Jack again, messily. He worked his hand on Jack's cock in rhythm with his own hard thrusts, determined to make Jack lose control before he lost it himself. Jack was pushing up, opening up against him, blazing hot, breath all ragged, muttering curses and Will's name and desperate pleas. Will reckoned he couldn't help it, because Jack's name was mixed in with the taste of Jack's kisses in his own mouth, and he was drowning in Jack, wanting more, not holding back, not—

Jack muffled his cry on a mouthful of Will's shoulder, twisting against him so hard that Will was afraid he'd hurt him. Jack's breath hitched and stopped, and for a moment he was a dead weight against Will. Then sudden heat hit his stomach and spilt over his hand, and Jack said "Will" in a way that no one else had ever said it, more than enough to spill him too.

They lay there afterwards trading lazy kisses, fond and satisfied. There was a pitcher of water in the corner, and eventually Will washed the worst of the stickiness from them both, ignoring Jack's sleepy protests.

"You're disgusting," he said affectionately.

"Pirate," muttered Jack, turning obligingly so that Will could swipe the damp cloth (one sleeve of Jack's shirt, torn free at some time in the last hour) across his belly.

Will looked at Jack Sparrow as he sprawled across the width of the bed—naked, half-asleep, one surprisingly dark-skinned arm thrown up above his head—and his breath caught. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

One corner of Jack's mouth curved.

"Pirate," he whispered back.

-end-