A blacksmith walked into a bar.

Will Turner considered the possibilities of the joke that would follow the line, but not for long. He was here for one purpose only, and as soon as he found someone suitable, by God, he wouldn't be in here long. At least not on the lower level.

His sharp, dark eyes scanned the room for a likely candidate; there weren't many. Unlike a lot of lower-class men he knew, he wouldn't settle for bedding some toothless, grimy whore with greasy hair and—

Hello! What was this? Will narrowed his eyes and wove slowly through the crowd, using his wiry, rock-hard body as its own weapon, parting aside obstructions in a way that would've done Moses proud. His eagle gaze zeroed in on the person—long, black, wild hair, angular jaw, dressed carefully in colorful silks and linens, gravelly voice, gestures and expressions flowery but certainly not wispy. Will finally stood before the table, blinking when he discerned the facial hair and realized it was a man. Well, he'd been searching for one of those, oddly enough. "You, there!" he nearly barked, trying to be heard over the crowd.

The man paused in his conversation with a highly-painted wench on his right and swiveled his gaze to meet the smith's. "Eh?"

Will let his gaze travel as much of the man as he could see, which was only to the waist, hidden behind the scored wooden table, and back up. Slowly. "How much?" he asked with a confident lift of his chin, his eyes upon the fellow's.

The man's dark, careless eyes shifted, narrowing into predatory slits, accenting the thick lines of kohl ridging them. "'Ow much you 'ave?"

"Enough."

"You're awfully confident o' that." The man—pirate, Will was guessing, for that was the only type of lowlife to patronize a quality establishment such as the Horny Beetle—removed his arm from the wench and leaned forward. "Gimme a figure."

"That's your job."

The pirate raked him over. "No, my job, 'parently, is t' fuck ye senseless."

Will smirked, heat blossoming in his gut. "Not quite in that order." He was pleased at the surprised lift of the man's bushy brows. "How much?"

Leaning back again, the man examined him further, as a specimen under one of those magnifying glasses, and snorted. "Fifty shillin's. Worth ev'ry farthing."

"Agreed." Will leaned forward on his palms, planting them hard and loudly on the table, with a perverted satisfaction at the open shock on the man's features. "Now."

Will followed the weaving, flighty fellow up the stairs, deliberately keeping his hands to his sides. Once inside the room Will had demanded of the bartender, though, he reached out and yanked the man's threadbare slate-blue coat from his shoulders, tossing it to the floor. "Get it all off," he ordered as the pirate whirled, lifting an indignant brow at him. "Except for the boots—you can leave those on."

"Now listen—"

"No." Will rounded the man and backed him against the door with his body. "YOU listen. I'm doing the paying, and what I say goes. Understand?" He reached up to toy with the end of a ribboned dreadlock, yanking it sharply but not hard. "Get out of your clothes, get on your knees, and suck me off. Now." He stepped back to give the man room to disrobe, but just far enough.

With dark, hard eyes, the man tugged his long ivory shirt from his waistband and yanked it up and over his head. His torso was littered, crossed with tattoos of all sorts, mangled scars, a prominent pink-fleshed brand, and even a couple of what looked like ash-packed bullet holes. It was also hard and chiseled, and Will's lips broadened in anticipation. "What's your name?" he asked as the elaborately-wound sash dropped to follow the unlaced leather belt.

"What's it matter?" The man unbuttoned his breeches and began sliding them down his slim hips.

"So I know what to call you when I'm buried about twenty centimeters up that tight arse," Will snapped. "Or not so tight, by the looks of you. And don't forget about those boots."

The man smirked as he lifted each leg and tugged his pants down past the tops of his heavy, folded brown boots. "Just call me Jack," he finally answered, leaving the material on the floor as he straightened. "Yours?"

"You don't need to know my name." Will pointed at the floor in front of him, then replaced both hands on his hips as he waited for Jack to get to his knees. He stepped closer, bringing his pelvis even with the man's chin, feeling how hard he was without even yet being in the man's long, knobby fingers. "All you need to know is I found my wife with another man, and I'm going to make her know what it feels like to find her husband inside his own whore."

"An' how's your bonny lass t' know what you've been doin' with ol' Jack, then, eh?" the man asked, deftly unbuttoning Will's breeches, tilting his head back and to the side to give his customer a calculating look.

"Oh, I've arranged for her to be here in about half an hour," Will informed him. "Which means you've got quite a bit of time to stay busy, Jack."

By this time, Jack had palmed Will's curved organ and was hefting it experimentally. "Looks like I've plenty t' keep me occupied, mate." It was the first time Will had blushed, and Jack caught it soon enough, grinning predatorially from back on his heels. "You don' use whores much, do ye, lad?"

"Shut up and suck."

"Customer's always right." Leaning forward, Jack took the smooth, shiny cock into his mouth. Will watched the head disappear between his lips, beneath the man's thick, well-maintained moustache, and shivered at the deliciously dirty thoughts of watching Jack swallow the consequences of his actions in a few minutes. Will's flesh was so sensitive, jerking inside that hot, wet mouth—he'd never gotten Elizabeth, or anyone, for that matter, to do this to him. Jack lapped a bit, then swallowed the whole length before backing off and licking his lips. "Got a right good taste, mate. Clean, but interestin'." When Will didn't speak, he went back to work.

Letting his eyes fall briefly shut, Will mused on how the naked man had first appeared to him. Well-muscled all the way down, though subtly, his thick half-erection as tan as the rest of him—it confirmed Will's suspicion about him being a pirate, and he pictured this Jack resting on the deck of a ship, spread out, eyes closed, letting the sun warm and color his lithe body. He wondered at a tan line where those boots stopped, if Jack were to ever sun himself wearing only them and the beads and baubles threaded into his thick, ratty hair.

Will looked down, reaching over to rest a hand on the crown of Jack's head, scrunching his fingertips into the mat of hair held in place by a faded red scarf. Bringing both hands to bear, Will managed to gather a few brain cells in one place long enough to find the scarf's edge and tugged it up and off Jack's head. Heavy locks of long, thick tresses fell forward against Will's bare thighs, gems and metal jingling in small, cold darts against his flesh, and he sucked in a breath at the feel and sight of it. "Look at me," he demanded.

Without pausing, Jack slouched just enough to allow him to tilt his head back and aim his face toward his partner's. Breathing jaggedly, Will took in the sight of the base of his cock between Jack's lips, his bollocks brushing the man's twin beard braids, and the mass of long black—no, not black; shot through with auburn highlights—hair, tangled and spread across Jack's shoulders. He lifted one side of the hair and pressed it to Jack's head so he could look down and see the flat curve of the man's arse balanced against butter-soft suede boot. "God, you're sinful," he breathed harshly, moving his eyes back to Jack's.

In response, Jack only drew off the engorged member and licked at the underside, tilting it up with his fingers to do so. He closed his eyes and did it again on the downstroke, then extended his tongue to curve around the side of a furred, silky ball. Grasping the penis in his hand, he stroked slowly while tonguing Will's scrotum, his other hand coming up to disappear beneath them between the legs. Will felt him fingering the smooth flesh behind his balls and his knees trembled, nearly giving way. He nearly lost his resolve to be the one on top—he wanted Jack to fuck him, hard and furiously and without mercy.

Maybe there was time for both...

Will shivered at the thought, and at Jack once again engulfing him. Those dark, curved eyes were framed above by long, silky lashes, and Will couldn't look away. Response built deep inside his body in response, and in answer to Jack hollowing his cheeks to apply suction to his cock as he bobbed along it.

With a swift gasp, Will tipped over the edge, emptying himself into that tight, wet mouth, Jack's teeth lightly grazing the flesh and dragging curses from him. "Jesus, Jack! Good Christ, yes!" His fists tightened in Jack's hair as he thrust, his bollocks slapping the man's chin, his buttocks clenching and aiming into that mouth. "Damn, you're so fucking GOOD at that," Will swore as he finished, lightheaded and still horny despite feeling worn.

Jack cleaned him gently with his tongue and lips, then pulled off, shaking his hair back off his shoulders. "Lots o' practice with good lil' port lads like yourself," he taunted. "What you wan' now?"

"On the bed." As Jack stood gracefully, smoothly, Will unfastened his vest and shrugged it off, then pulled his shirt up over his head. He kicked off his shoes, let his breeches fall to the floor, and lifted each leg to peel off his stockings.

"Should I leave th' boots, boy?"

Will narrowed his eyes reflexively at the diminutive, then blinked at Jack. He stood there, arms loosely at his sides, relaxed yet completely erect, his calves and feet still encased in those beautiful boots though everything else was naked and on display. Jack had a graceful throat, shoulders less wide than his own, and hips that flared just slightly, like a woman's, defining his waist. His body was slender and marked, exquisitely pretty in a masculine way, hair falling almost to his waist. "Leave the boots," Will agreed.

Two minutes later, he had Jack on his back, atop the ratty bedclothes, kneeling between the man's spread thighs—Will was pushing them apart with his hands, gripping the flesh as Jack planted his booted feet on the bed on either side of Will, his knees crooked up. "Touch yourself," he instructed.

Jack lifted his head a bit and gave Will an odd look. "Eh?"

Sighing impatiently, Will reached up and pulled one of Jack's hands toward him, settling the man's fingers around his own prick. "Like that. Bring yourself off."

"You don' wan' touch me?"

"I'm paying YOU. Why should I do any more work than I have to?" Will smirked.

"Can see you're used t' hard work, though." Jack grasped himself more tightly and began stroking, experimentally. Will could tell it was far from the first time the man had used himself in this fashion, and it made him groan to picture the pirate alone on that ship deck, sunning and pleasuring himself. Jack's eyes traveled him, touching every part of his torso. "Such muscles... wha' do ye do, carry rocks?"

"I'm a blacksmith." No harm in giving the man that much, Will thought.

"Ahhh." Stroke up, stroke down. Stroke up again. "What d' ye make?"

"Mostly swords. Daggers, blades. Weapons."

"Mmmm." Jack squirmed a bit under his own ministrations, closing his eyes and fantasizing aloud. "Poundin' those blades flat all day, I bet. Long, slim, hard blades—you strokin' 'em up an' down t' test for flaws, polishin' an' shining... tell me, smith—do ye stroke 'em slow an' nice-like, or fast, hard... painfully?"

Will's throat was thick with desire, his own cock jutting once again with need. Jack was fluid, hot, pretty beyond words like this, and Will was tempted to push his hand aside and settle over the man. Maybe he should—he wondered how that thick, bronzed prick would taste, feel quivering against the roof of his mouth, shooting hotly down the back of his throat. "You'd ask me that, knowing how hard I want to fuck you?" he managed. "I can make it hurt, Jack—ream you so hard you won't be able to move for a couple of days."

Jack's lips parted, his eyes closed, and he arched his hips as he released a heavy, hitching moan. "Mmm, yeah..."

"You want that?" Will licked his lips, brain clouding with lust. "Me in you? Pushing, shoving, filling your tight little arse? Shafting you hard as I can?"

"Oooh, tha's it," Jack nodded quickly, eyes popping open to fix on Will, deep and dark and sin-inspiring. "You, in me. Fuck me proper, blacksmith."

Breathing erratically, Will leaned forward, pushing Jack's thighs back and apart more, exposing the cleft of his backside. Blinking, he eyed the entrance. "How'm I supposed to fit in there?" he wondered aloud.

"Use your tongue," Jack advised, gasping as he continued to pump himself. "Use—oh God—lick your 'and..."

Understanding, Will slathered the palm of his hand with ropy saliva, fixing his eyes on the glistening tip of Jack's darkened member as he tugged at his own cock, coating it in moisture. Then he prepared his fingers similarly, raising his eyes to Jack's, lowering them slowly to the cleft, where he began massaging.

It didn't take but a few minutes to prepare Jack, and then Will eased his head inside. Firmly ensconced, he clenched his buttocks and balanced the heels of his hands on either side of Jack's torso, easing and wriggling his way inside the man. It was really nothing like fucking a woman—for one, Jack was tight beyond anything Will had ever had from a female, and he groaned at the heat of it, the way the man's muscular arse clenched around his cock, massaging it on entry. For another, no woman had ever been bringing themselves off when Will buried himself inside her, and the motion of Jack's jerking hips nearly undid him. "Hold still," he hissed, easing the rest of the way inside.

"God, aren' you in yet?"

"What... you have somewhere... to be?" Will hitched the words out and, to his surprise, Jack laughed with a nervous lilt. He, too, began chuckling at his own comment.

"Was jus' wonderin'... Jesus... th' pressure of it... there's a lot of ye t' take in, 's all."

"And you'll take every bit of it," Will promised, finally feeling his balls brush the man's taut skin. "There you go, Jack," he purred. "Right there—I'm all the way inside you. How's that feel?"

"S' full... you're enormous, love," he groaned in response.

"That's right." Will swelled with pride and power at the way he had this obviously-experienced man practically begging for it. "And I'm going to pull out—" he began pulling his hips back, feeling the tight channel push him out, then paused when it was only his head inside. "And ram right back into you again. Over and over, and over, Jack. Without stopping."

Putting action to words, Will clenched himself powerfully and drove hard, burying himself inside Jack. A few thrusts later, Jack responded with pained moans, his hand moving faster along his own cock. Will lifted one hand long enough to grab Jack's hand and pulled it away, pinning it at his side. "I want to see you come without that," Will told him, panting through his words. "Only because of me, Jack. Come because of me."

"I... need..." Jack's head bowed back, then twisted side to side, his hair shifting in dark waves, eyes closed prettily. "M' hand..."

"No, you don't," Will corrected him, shifting angle to ram into Jack's g-spot deep inside. "All you need is me—I might even jerk you off, you ask nicely—you're so tight and hot. And gorgeous—Lord, Jack, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Prettier than the most sinful whore I've ever laid eyes on, Jack."

Will's overuse of his name had the desired effect. He groaned, arching, and began pounding back, thrusting his body so his backside thumped up against Will's scrotum. "Give—give it to me, blacksmith. Get me off."

Will reached a hand up to place Jack's erection between their hard abdomens as he leaned forward and thrust harder, trapping it for sensation. "Hmm... jack off Jack. I like that," he teased, briefly cupping the man's bollocks and stroking through the dark, bristly hair.

"Just fuck me, goddammit!" Jack cried out in a frustrated growl, his hands going back briefly to fist in his hair before coming up to grab at Will's upper arms. He held on for a couple of thrusts, tightly, then moved his fingers to the sides of Will's head, burying into his dark curls. "Tha's it... harder... rougher, dammit!"

"You like it rough, Jack?" Will gasped, fiery eyes boring down into the other man's.

"Goddamn, yes," Jack gruffed, chest heaving rapidly.

Will threw his head back and slammed into Jack, his thrusts hard and shallow, each one wringing a grunt from his own throat and a loud gasp from Jack's. "Take it," he ordered. "Take it!"

The bed itself was rocking hard by this point, the metal headboard bouncing off the wall behind it. For the first time, with his eyes closed, Will was aware of the harsh sounds they were making, the rough softness of Jack's boots against his backside as the man gripped him closer with his feet, the sweat rolling off his own hairline from beneath chestnut curls. He glanced down at himself momentarily, surprised to see a light sheen of perspiration on his chest, sweating as surely as if he'd been standing over a forge for the past half-hour. His eyes raked Jack, smirking in satisfaction at the moisture on his skin, as well.

Will felt the hot explosion of Jack's prick between their bodies, sudden and violent. The man groaned with each spurt, his body spasming, rattling off a musical string of curses both damning and praising Will. With a few final thrusts, Will's lips parted and he gasped as he climaxed inside Jack, each driving motion robbing him of semen and energy, until he had to finally withdraw and move off rather than collapse on Jack.

Resting on his side facing away from Jack a few minutes later, Will closed his eyes and sighed, exhausted and sated. His muscles trembled and he knew when he woke up later, he'd be sore—but not as sore as the pirate, and for that, he grinned to himself. He felt the other man press against his back and rub his moustache on Will's shoulder.

"Good Christ, Will—when I invited ye down to th' Beetle for a friendly game, I was thinkin' mebbe cards o' some sort," Jack chuckled.

"What, now you object to being picked up and thrown about the bed?" the pirate-smith murmured sleepily.

"Jus' don' do it on Pearl's deck an' it's fine. Hard on me back."

"I just want to be hard on your backside, is all, Captain."

"Thank God."