Continued from Part 1

When Jack wakes some time later, and realises that he is alone, he feels first faintly offended, and then, slightly mortified, which is a very unfamiliar sensation for him, and does not sit well. So he rapidly translates it into irritation, and would probably redirect that irritation to his hapless crew, if he could only bring himself to leave his sheets... he rolls to one side, and can breathe deep of the leftover scent of Will. Enough time to find him—he's nowhere to go, he must be within a hundred feet of Jack, somewhere safe in the circling arms of the Pearl.

Jack stretches, and lets his mind treat him to a replay of the previous evening. By Christ, that was worth waiting for. He enjoys the rush of blood around his body as he recalls particularly delicious moments, and is mildly surprised to note that some of his favourite moments were more about the expressions on Will's lovely, angular face than about his own pleasures. Not a lot more, but still. 'Od's teeth, but the boy's reactions were strong, and fearless too—Jack still can't quite believe that Will had taken the initiative, and taken him in his mouth. Did a reasonable job of it too, although there are a few things that Jack would have liked to show him in return, had he not fallen asleep so quickly. Delightful whelp! Perhaps he has gone for food. Or perhaps his head was paying him back for all the rum last night. His irritation is fading, replaced by his usual insouciant good cheer. He looks forward to a day of sailing fast before the wind, of seeing what he's sure will be a shy smile on Will's face, and to a night in which he will once again turn that smile to a bawdy grin, and then to a moist, open mouthed, panting... oh, lord, where is Will?

Jack lurches from his bed, pulls together his scattered raiment, and goes in search.

But Will is not in the galley, or down amongst the off-watch crew; he is not on the main deck, the upper deck, the poop deck or the fo'c'sle. It takes Jack some hours to determine this, because he is frequently interrupted by his crew, and really, he has let his captaincy duties lapse quite terribly lately, being otherwise obsessed. So he and Mr Gibbs do spend some time determining their course. Which, as the crew had obviously made clear to his good first mate, had better involve booty, and plenty of it.

Luckily, Jack was firsthand when Norrington's men had reclaimed Barbossa's (Jack's!) haul from the Isla de Muerta, and he knows full well that they would have been lucky to get a third of it that first time without sinking their ship. And he also knows that, without his sweet and special compass, they are never going to find it again. And thirdly, he knows that right now he has no stomach for threatening, fighting, or pillaging (although he is far, far too canny to let the crew in on such a terrible admission). So, the obvious solution is to sail for the Isla, to reassure his men that they are in fact the masters of some of the best booty on the Main, and they can all take a wee bonus, and have some fun with it. And perhaps along the way something interesting will happen, an adventure will find Jack, because, somehow, they always do.

This determined, and a course set with a compass that doesn't point north, Jack returns to his original quest (and is only briefly delayed by bread and ale). Eventually, he remarks that, whoever the poor sod is up on watch in the crow's nest, he's been there a damn long time. And, yes, wouldn't you know it, enquiries reveal that young Will was up there like a robber's dog early this morn, and hasn't seen fit to descend yet.

Jack looks up, and considers the climb. It's, quite frankly, a fucking long way up, and there's a good breeze blowing—Will is probably suffering badly up there, why in hell hasn't he come down? He suspects at this point that he will not find a shy smile on the blacksmith's face. Probably easier to let well alone... but damn, if the easy route appealed, he probably wouldn't be Jack Sparrow. So Jack shucks off his coat, pulls off his boots, unstraps his sword, removes his hat, and begins to climb.

To get to the first yardarm is easy. It's close to the centre of the boat, and the movement isn't too excessive; also, there are rope ladders, not merely ropes. The second becomes a little more adventuresome, even to an accomplished rigging-monkey such as Jack knows himself to be; the wind picks up, and the roll of the ship is exaggerated more and more by the height of the mast. Jack stands on the second yardarm, arm around the main mast, and shouts into the wind. "An impressive watch, dear boy, but more than required! Come on down, before you fall down!"

There is no response from the hunched silhouette above him, so Jack continues to climb. Actually he's quite enjoying it, hasn't been up in the Pearl's sweet rigging for so long, and her snapping white sails are truly lovely. But as he nears the tiny platform at the top of the mast, Will seems to notice his approach, and turns, clutching the mast. His face, peering down, is a picture of queasy, frowning misery. Jack's optimistic grin of greeting is quelled further when the boy cries down, "Go away, Jack, away from me. I just want some solitude. Damn it, is that so unreasonable a request?"

"Not normally, no," agrees Jack, continuing to climb. "But on a ship, it's a rather treasured commodity, usually reserved for the captain. Who, in this case, is an inquisitive creature who will only approve requests for solitude whose provocation he fully comprehends, savvy?"

Will decides to ignore the excessive language and resorts to begging. "Please, Jack, don't come up here, there's no room, it's a pinhead up here. It'll collapse, please, just go down, and I'll follow... later."

But his entreaties fall on deaf ears, and Jack is right there, shimmying up onto the platform, forcing Will to one side. Will shifts, clutching the top of the mast for dear, dear life. Jack arranges himself, legs dangling, on the square foot of wood that is his share, and in a masterly performance appears to be totally at ease. His back is to the bow, and as the ship lifts and falls, the wind of their movement alternately reveals and hides his face with a tangled veil of black hair. Will should have known that there was no place on the Pearl to hide from Jack. Yet, hide is all he wants to do. He is silent, focussing past Jack's intent gaze, to the horizon.

Jack fears that this is a conversation he's not going to find quite as delightful as expected, but he launches into it anyway. "So, what has sent you scurrying up here with such determination?"

Will takes a deep breath. "Well... obviously... I need to get back home. Immediately."

"So, in order to achieve this, you thought you'd climb the mast?" enquires Jack, on whom the non sequitur is a useless tactic, since he is more or less the king of that concept. Silence. Jack watches Will's knuckles whiten every time the sway of the mast reverses. It must be horrifying for him up here, and clouds are gathering. How to get him down most rapidly?

Although there is no sign of it in his deliberately indolent expression, Jack is torn. He wants, wants, wants what he had last night, and more, and all; but he does not want to inflict this misery on Will. He cannot gauge the depth of the younger man's resistance. Is it just a civilized faade, that can be broken as easily as it was in the night? Or more? Jack is selfish, certainly, but not at the expense of another. He wants his own pleasures, but not if they are not the pleasures of his companions also.

"I take it," says Jack in a slow drawl, barely audible against the wind and the creaks of the rigging, "that the events of last evening are troubling you and your overzealous conscience." A tiny dig. Make this boy angry, and he loses his fears. Jack knows him that well, at least.

"Overzealous? I hardly think that's the term," retorts Will, reliable as clockwork. "It was far, far from an ordinary turn of events... for me, at least! You lured me here, used my friendship for you,"—righteous indignation is building now—"and made a mockery of my love for Elizabeth, and a mockery of me!"

He glares at Jack, but Jack does not glare back. He is looking at Will with something approaching sorrow, and something approaching affection.

"Last night," says Jack simply, "I asked you which version of my story you wanted. And you said, the right one, the real one, the true one. And there's no word of a lie, when I tell you that the story your body told mine last night, was the right one, and the real one, and the true one. Which I would have it tell again, and more. I did not take you, Will. I showed you a path, and you came to me, and it was good. Were I a wickeder man, I could have taken much more. But that's not what I want."

And with that, Jack blows a kiss—a kiss!—to Will, and slips down from the crow's nest. Will looks down at his retreating head and shoulders, and hears, faintly on the breeze, "Come down soon, Will, it's all safe."

In a minute, just a minute, thinks Will. He is dazed, once again, from Jack's proximity. His body betrayed him the moment it saw the pirate, slipping in and out of glimpsed memories of heated flesh, gold teeth, wicked black eyes... and this when he has spent all morning in misery, wallowing in clean untouchable images of Elizabeth. And Jack was right, he is a liar if he says to himself that it was not what he wanted. And if Jack had wanted to, he could have... Will has a blackly unfond memory of the blacksmith, pawing at his youthful arse, before he grew tall enough and skilled enough to fight back properly. He knows, in a vague and unpleasant way, what Jack was alluding to. But didn't Jack say that's not what he wants? Or did he merely mean that he didn't want to... take it? If only Will could see into Jack's heart, but that's a shadow cloaked in mystery, wrapped in an enigma. His mouth salivates at the thought of Jack's, just as his body twitched at its mention in Jack's low drawl. I won't be here for long. Surely, just to find out, to feel it again, just as an experiment, that wouldn't be so wicked?

Yes, it would! Listen to yourself, man! You love Elizabeth, and against all the odds, it seems that you may have won her, and you would risk your heart's desire for a lustful hour with a grimy buccaneer?

Where is the risk? Jack would not tell her. And he's not grimy, well not very... in fact for a man, he's rather beautiful. Feel the rush in my blood... it wants to touch him again. I did something unthinkable last night, something which, had you asked me beforehand, I would have thought base and vile, but I am still here and still me, and I cannot see the evil in it!

Evil? The sins of Sodom are now no longer an evil to you? Listen to your thoughts, Will, and recognise how he has poisoned you. You know what he wants to do to you, don't you? Hmm?

Well, obviously, I'm not going to let him bugger me, am I? That would be... savagery. And that's not what we were doing at all.

Isn't it?

Will climbs, slowly and shakily, down the rigging. He's never going up there again. But he thinks it helped. He thinks he can see a path through this.

From the helm, Jack watches Will's slow descent, but doesn't approach him. For the rest of the day's sailing, the two men avoid each other, casually but carefully. Will attaches himself to Mr Cotton, one man on the ship who can be relied upon to show him the ropes without asking awkward questions, or requiring any type of conversation. Jack spends the day re-ingratiating himself with his officers. He's pretty good at it, but has been lax lately, so he gives them some of the old Sparrow charm to keep 'em happy for a while. Luckily for Jack, the old Sparrow charm also involves a quantity of rum, so by sundown, he's feeling no pain, and in fact, feels almost ready to relinquish his claim on Will—really, if the boy's so squeamish, Jack's no desire to coerce him.

That evening, Will eats in the mess, and Jack in his cabin. So Jack doesn't see Will's deliberate and conspicuous grog consumption. Doesn't hear the crew ribbing him about it.

"In preparation for an evening with the Captain, are we?" cries Great Jake, at three and a half feet tall still a head shorter, standing, than the seated Will. "Need a bit of dutch before we're ready for..." and his short wide pelvis completes the sentence for him, to the laughter of the others. Will feels hot blood rush into his face. Sweet Jesus, what must these men think of him? The only relief is that they seem to at least believe that he is the Captain's boy, and don't attempt anything themselves.

But, Will muses, even the fact that they laughed... they were not angered by the suggestion that their captain might do such a thing. Not noticeably disturbed by the idea. Just... amused at his nerves, his innocence. He waits until the subject is changed, then says, quietly but rather slurrily, to Jake: "Why did you think that of me? And of Jack?"

Great Jake, who is no stranger to taunts and is as a result feeling slightly guilty about his earlier jest, decides to take pity on the boy.

He sighs, then leans into Will's ear and says, "Should we think elsewise? We, who spent a long week ashore at Tortuga, waiting for you to come and calm our Jack? Who watched him sigh and drink and do nothin' else but wait for you? D'you know how many whores' hearts he broke in that week... can you think that no-one wants him but you? Open your eyes, Will. There's no-one like him, he's..." Jake's voice trails off and the two men sit silently with their own thoughts completing the end of that sentence.

Then Jake takes a sudden deep breath, raises his tankard to Will, and says with a grin, "You should be glad, mate. Glad! And any rough words you might get from this half-scurvied collection of bilge rats come only from envy!" By the end of the sentence his voice is loud, and Will looks around the table nervously, but, no, they're only laughing again at that one, and one or two are not only laughing, but nodding, and raising their cups to him.

This is truly a world in contrast to his own. Here, it seems, he will be feted for having captured the lascivious glance of a pirate captain. What's one to do, in a world that functions so differently to one's own expectations?

A voice sounds, small in his head, and he knows it's the same advice he used to give himself when calling on Elizabeth up in her grand mansion. When in Rome! it whispers.

"I am glad," says Will to Jake, and he is surprised to learn—as the words come out of his mouth—that it is the truth. "And you be glad for me too, my friend!" Will claps a hand on Jake's shoulder and levers himself upright, narrowly missing striking his head on a beam, and a roar of approval comes from the crew, a full bottle of rum is pressed into his hands, and he is pushed out of the mess, in the direction of the Great Cabin.

Will makes his way along the ship, through its narrow passageways. He sways and stumbles with its motion still; the wind has come up, and the sea is playing with the Pearl like a cat with a ball of string. As he approaches Jack's cabin, he can hear voices. He stops, leans on the wall, slides down it, and finally sits in the tiny passage, listening. His heart is racing and he can't quite believe that he's walked down here, and has no idea what to do, or to say. What does one say in this circumstance?

The conversation from inside is muffled, but he can hear if he strains. There is a sharp gust of wind, and the Pearl bucks. He hears Jack curse, then say, "Mr Gibbs, I think it might be prudent—Holy Mary, did I say prudent?"'" laughter—"to take in the mainsail, don't you? My bones say we're in for a rough one tonight."

"I'll go and help," says another voice, and Will hears someone—Gibbs?—stand, push a chair back, say "No, stay here and keep the Captain company, I'll manage the men."

Footsteps. The door opens, and Mr Gibbs stands silhouetted against the lanternlight, filling almost all the doorframe with his bulk. He sees Will, leaning against the wall, with his bottle clenched in both hands. They look at each other for a long moment.

"On second thoughts," says Mr Gibbs, addressing those in the cabin, but looking very directly at Will, "I think the boys have been having some good crack tonight, I may need a little aid to persuade them of their duties."

Sighs, a mild protestation, then the sound of two more rising from their chairs. Gibbs looks over his shoulder, waves a hand at someone. "Not you Jack, you need your sleep, I don't believe you got a lot last night."

Will winces as he hears Jack's voice, faintly sad, faintly bitter. "Well, dear friends, I do believe I shall have every chance of rectifying that sad lack this evening. So, off, off with you, but wake me if anything untoward develops with this breeze, won't you?"

Gibbs and AnaMaria are now both in the doorway, looking at Will. AnaMaria looks fierce, as if she could easily become very angry with him. As she passes him, she leans down and hisses, "Thank your lucky stars, boy, and don't waste what Mother Fate is trying to give you!" Then she's gone.

"AnaMaria," comes a plaintive growl from the cabin, accompanied by footsteps, "I know you were raised in a tent, et cetera, but could you occasionally close a door beh-"

Jack stops talking as soon as he comes to the doorway and spots Will, still on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Hello," he says.

"Hello," manages Will. Silence. Then: "Jack? I'm sorry about this morning. I was rather... unkind, I fear."

To Will's unutterable relief, Jack's face is transformed with his familiar grin.

"Oooh, it'll probably take more than a little bit of unkindness to terrify the Dread Pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, don't you think? So, forgiven, luv. Come in, and we'll talk about forgiveness all round." He leans a hand down to pull Will to his feet. "Oh, and you've come bearing gifts. Well don't that just seal it!" And, easy as that, Will is back in the cabin he left in such distress this morning, and the door is closed behind him.

Jack sits at the table, his feet up on one of the other chairs, peeling an orange, whose sweet citric tang fills the air. This is interesting, isn't it? He decides he'll let Will do it his way. So he says nothing.

Will stands there, rather aimlessly, hoping that Jack will read his mind, and take control. But he doesn't.

"Orange?" queries Jack politely. Will, mute, shakes his head.

"Drink?" Another shake, and the belated depositing of a bottle on the table.

"Right-oh," says Jack agreeably. At this rate they will be at the Isla before Will determines his course. At least, thinks Jack, he gets to look at the boy while they're doing nothing.

Eventually the silence becomes too much even for Will's rum-dampened senses. He sits unsteadily on the edge of Jack's bed, which somehow seems the most appropriate place, and after an initial "Um" which goes nowhere and receives no reply beyond a quizzical eyebrow, he takes a deep breath, and says:

"Well, Jack, I've been thinking a lot today."

"Mmm?" says Jack, not thereby enlightened as to the gist of the thoughts.

"About, you know, last night. And everything. And this morning, well, I was rather taken aback about it all. I was so confused, was really in two minds, half of me was quite rightfully appalled, but... well..." He can't meet Jack's eyes now and looks down at his hands, which are fidgeting in his lap, and crosses his arms to stop them. "Well, I... you said...well, you were right, really, and..." Oh, why doesn't Jack do something? This is just so agonising! And worst of all, his treacherous body is reacting to Jack's presence, to the sound of his breath, to the salty smell of him, to this very room, and he hopes (in vain as it happens) that Jack will not notice. Don't be such a coward, William Turner, he berates himself. Just let it out. When in Rome!

"What I mean to say, is, it did feel right, in fact it felt good, and I want to do it again." The words come out in a rush, and at last Will manages to raise his eyes to meet Jack's gaze.

Jack's face is a study, he looks as though God and all his choirs of angels have just descended, and presented him with the gift of utter delight. It's as though every part of him is smiling, especially those black, black eyes. He stands slowly and sways his way over to Will; by the time he gets there, Will has revised his opinion, and decided that the Good Lord has a lot less to do with Jack's expression than His fallen angel does. Will feels a delicious frisson of delighted fear down his spine and shudders oh-so-slightly. Here it comes!

Jack kneels in front of him, parting Will's legs so that he can come close, close. He puts his arms loosely over Will's shoulders, and Will feels his own unfold, and reach round Jack's pliant waist. Their faces are only inches apart and they remain there for a moment, staring at each other, feeling their hearts speeding up, pumping harder, and breathing in each other's breath. Will feels himself falling into the dark well of Jack's eyes and pulls himself back for a moment. "But, Jack—"

"Oh, no," murmurs Jack teasingly, right against Will's lips, and darting out a tongue to touch them, "not a But... unless of course it's..." (a hand slides down Will's side and round to the curve of his buttock) "...this butt."

"Well," says Will, "That's sort of it, really." Certain portions of his body are cursing him, begging him to shut up until he has some relief from this beautiful man and from the desire he engenders, but he's just too up-front a man to give in to them. Jack, sensing what is coming, begins a campaign of distraction, beginning with a delicate tongue sliding over the curves of Will's lips, and the sweet, sweat-beaded notch between his nose and mouth, and flanking this manoeuvre with one hand running up through Will's curls, pulling him closer, and the other abandoning the disputed territory to explore underneath Will's shirt, over the perfect smooth skin of his back. Will utters a tiny groan and tries to complete his thought.

"Jack, I... yesterday felt so good, and... ohhh... but I'm not going to let you... you know..."

"What... not kiss you?" murmurs Jack cruelly, doing just that. Will's mouth opens of its own accord, lets in the dark gold heat of Jack, and all thought leaves him. The kiss is just as he remembered, hard and soft, deep and tremulous, wet and oh-so-good. Oh god, yes, this is what he wants! Will's chest, his gut, are filled with a heavy hot balloon of desire, and he has never felt so utterly concentrated on one thing in his life. His hands start to move of their own accord, roaming over the planes of Jack's back, sliding down to feel the taut curves of Jack's buttocks, making Jack arch against him, which only inflames him more. I was right, I was right, thinks Will, realising that he has fallen deep into a place driven by senses, by his unthinking animal's body, and that he is going to find intense pleasure here. He can't stop himself smiling into Jack's kiss.

Jack feels it, and thinks this might be an opportune moment to discover the "rules" that the boy clearly wants to apply. He pulls his mouth away from Will's and begins to kiss Will's neck, throat, jawline, ear, making Will clutch fiercely at his flesh. "So..." Jack murmurs. "I can definitely kiss you then."

"Mm!" comes a breathy affirmation from Will.

"And I can touch you here..." (running his hand, under the shirt, down Will's back) "and here" (running his tongue over the rim of Will's ear, bringing his hand round to the boy's chest, tracing diaphanous arcs over his nipples) "and probably even here" (a hand insinuates itself between their bodies, slides firmly up Will's tense leg, pushing into the warmth of his inner thigh, but stopping short of where Will wants it, with all his being, to be) "but" (judging from Will's panting breath and his closed eyes and his bitten lip, the opportune moment is right now) "I daresay it would be improper to touch you anywhere else."

Will's eyes fly open, to see whether Jack is just teasing him, but the pirate's face is serious, and has a hint of a challenge in it. "N-no," is all that Will manages.

"No?" Jack's thumbs circle over Will's nipples, his fingers sliding over the tender flesh beneath his armpits, and his lips dip to Will's collarbone, but despite the motions he is clearly waiting for explication.

"You... you know what I want," says Will, pleadingly.

"Sadly, no," mutters Jack into Will's throat. "I know what I want, which might be a different thing altogether. So tell me what you want, and we'll... negotiate from there, hey?"

Will's face is a study in desire and exasperation. "I want... oh..." he can't find the words, doesn't have the language to explain himself , but then they come to him, and he smiles. He lifts Jack's face to his, slides a gentle kiss over Jack's hot lips, and whispers, "I want to come in Jack Sparrow's dark, wicked mouth."

Jack's only response is a grunted moan of desire, and a harsh, victorious kiss, in which he captures Will's seeking tongue, drawing it deep into his own mouth, mirroring Will's request. He breaks off only to draw Will's shirt over his head, finally runs his fingers over the hard, twitching shaft under the harsh linen of the boy's breeches, making him shudder and gasp. Jack reaches round behind Will, pushing the breeches down over the beautiful curve of his arse, till the boy lifts his hips from the bed, begging to be released from them. Jack complies, and Will's eager, engorged cock pops free. Jack closes his eyes momentarily, just so that he can open them again and see this glorious naked sight.. Too, too beautiful!

"Lie down," orders Jack throatily, and as Will obeys, Jack stands and begins to disrobe. Will watches, fighting back trembles. Jack's half-remembered beauty is not a sea-dream, but real, and unutterably lovely; the dark bronze skin of his torso, his hair falling over his shoulders so that Will's skin feels the remembered tickle and shudder of it falling on his own skin; the strong slim thighs and narrow hips, so pale in contrast to his chest; the terrifying, strange beauty of another man's erection, full of promise and menace. Will reaches out, pulls Jack down on top of him, and loses his breath at the sensation of this body against his, heavy, hard, silky and hot. Jack kisses him deeply, and he kisses back, with his tongue and teeth, the way Jack has shown him.

"Jack Sparrow's dark, wicked mouth, eh?" murmurs Jack. "Yours ain't too light and virtuous either, William, as I recall, but by Christ, it's beautiful." And with that he begins to kiss and stroke and rub and lick his way down Will's body, eliciting harsh breaths, whimpers, groans, writhing and twitching from the boy.

Eventually he is kneeling between Will's legs, the boy spreadeagled before him, staring at him with eyes that are almost feral with desire and anticipation. Holding his gaze, Jack licks a finger, and runs it slowly round the head of Will's cock, which jerks and weeps in response, making Will bite his bottom lip.

"You'd be surprised," murmurs Jack, "how much better that feels when it's a tongue."

Will's hands clench at the sheets, stretch out as if to pull Jack down to him, but can't reach. He's sinuous, arching. "Please, Jack! Please!" He can see mischief in Jack's black eyes, and is unsure if he will be given what he craves, and resorts to begging. "Please, Jack... make me come... !"

A long slow breath, closed eyes from Jack. Which is actually a result of the utter joy and desire that Will's words engender in the pirate, but which Will fears may be a sign of boredom or a changed mind. "Oh, god, Jack..."

"I don't believe," says Jack, opening his eyes suddenly, "that we had terminated our negotiations successfully. In fact I believe that this was merely your opening demand." The statement is unexpected and further confused by the fact that his hands are sliding over Will's hips, around the flat planes that lead to his thighs, flickering over his cock, doing nothing but teasing—something at which Jack is peculiarly adept.

Will's scrambled brain tries to take the backward steps that this statement requires. "I—oh, Jack!—do you mean—ahhh—what?"

"I mean," says Jack patiently, "that I now know what you want, but I don't believe we've discussed what I want."

A dark shiver runs through the pleasure that Will's enmeshed in. "What?" he whispers.

"I want..." says Jack, and his voice is low, and hard to hear against the creak and rush of the ship and the sea, "to show you a delight beyond this one. To take you to a point of coruscating pleasure, and to come there with you."

If this sounds good to Will, it's surely nothing compared to the goodness that Jack now bestows on him, bending and licking a slow deliberate path where his finger had been. "In short, William..." (and he repeats the action, and takes it to the small, wet opening at the end of Will's quivering cock, licking repeatedly, making Will's stomach muscles tense and shake with the effort required not to buck upwards and force himself into Jack's mouth) "... I want, very badly, to fuck you."

And with that, Jack takes Will's long shaft deep into his mouth and throat, causing explosions of delicious sensation, making Will cry out and screw up his face in what appears to be pain, but is really the desperate attempt not to come straight away.

Clever, clever Jack. For the words I want to fuck you are now indelibly burned into Will's brain along with a burst of impossibly intense pleasure, and the boy's certainly not able to argue the point right now. His hands are tangled into Jack's hair, grabbing at his shoulders, as they begin to move together, Jack's hands guiding Will's hips into a rhythm that matches his own movements. The pirate is bringing every piece of black knowledge that he has gained in the his peripatetic love life, from whorehouses to high houses, to bear on the helpless Will, and it's working like black magic, as is evidenced by the flushed face, the tossing head, the restless body of the boy, transported to delight.

Rhythm established, Jack's free to find other uses for his hands, one of which at this point simply has to be his own relief, and the other being a wandering, rhythmic exploration of the rest of Will's extremities, fondling, cupping, sliding undemandingly towards the opening of that gorgeously fuckable arse... but not quite making it before he feels that the boy is really about to lose control entirely.

Jack wraps his hand round the base of Will's cock, leaving the rest of the length to the hot delights of his mouth. Will can't wait another moment, and with a groan begins to fuck Jack's mouth in wild earnest, clutching (painfully) at a handful of his hair, and is entirely undone when Jack begins to make a low groaning hum deep in his throat, which feels as if it is vibrating through Will's very soul. Will arches and stiffens and cries out as he tips over the edge into delight and oblivion, where for long and outrageously beautiful moments he exists only as a bright hot point of physicality and sensation.

As the first twitching rush of heat erupts in his mouth, Jack does the same, and shudders and grunts at the depth of the feeling, and at the glory of Will's pulsing bursts in his mouth. He sucks the boy through the aftershocks, then gently releases him from his mouth, and moves up to lay beside him.

Will, eyes still closed, moves over to make room for Jack. His heart is still hammering, lungs still working overtime. That was incredible. All he can say is "Oh... Jack..."

"Did you like that, then?" drawls Jack, lazily.

"Mmm... yes, oh, it was... Jack?" Will rolls onto his side, facing Jack. "What about you, I mean, did you...?"

Jack lifts up his hand, still webbed with the answer, before wiping it on the sheets and grinning. "Why yes, thank you, I most certainly did, dear William."

Will flushes slightly. "Well, that's good, but I truly had every intention of... of, returning the favour."

"The night is but a babe," Jack assures him, "and I'm nowhere near finished with you yet." His hand traces lazy lines over Will's flank, his arm, his chest, but they don't halt the little alarm bells that this statement sets off in Will's mind.

"Jack, I don't mean to be repetitious, but truly, I think you understand that I... I just don't want to... to do what you said before."

Jack sighs, and looks at Will with an expression of utter regret. "You mean, you don't want me to fuck you?" He mostly says this just to see the boy blush, which he does so deeply and hotly that Jack can actually see the blood rush to his skin and the sweat drops emerge on his top lip. But, to his credit, Will does manage to reply with some degree of dignity.

"That's right, Jack, I don't want that."

"Fair enough," Jack forces himself to say equably. "Although I really should like to know, what the basis is of this definite decision."

Will frowns. "The basis?"

"Aye, what's it based on? What knowledge have you of the practise? What empirical evidence that it's just not for you? Did that blacksmith master of yours...?"

"No, no!" protests Will, screwing up his face. "No, Jack, he... he tried occasionally, when I was younger, but no-one's ever done that to me."

"Right, right," says Jack, thoughtfully, and with a deal of cunning, continues: "Whereas, clearly, someone had previously sucked your quite irresistible cock until you came like a breaking dam?"

"No!" cries Will, getting irritable now. "Jack, did I not make it obvious to you that this is... is a new thing, an aberration to me? This isn't something I'm in the habit of doing!"

"True, you did make that clear," soothes Jack. "I just became a little confused, see, because you let me do the sucking" (he bites back the words, In fact you begged me) "not knowing a thing about it, but yet you won't try my suggestion—which, if you know what you're doing, is a wholly delightful experience—on the basis that... you don't know a thing about it."

Will squirms, not having expected to have to argue his way out of this. "It'd hurt, Jack."

Jack's expression says, What kind of pirate worries about that? But his words are not so harsh. "Not much... not done right."

"But it's... it's not clean."

Jack looks up at him from under lowered lashes. Oh, those eyes! Will thinks that Jack could turn a vicar to sin, with his eyes alone. "Sweetheart, I've swallowed your prodigious seed. No part of you is unclean to me."

Will looks away, rolls his eyes beseechingly. "But, Jack, what's the point? When we can already bring each other such pleasure?"

Jack's eyes glaze over slightly, as if he's remembering something half-forgot, and long ago. "It's a... different sort of pleasure," he says finally. "There's a... a place, a point, a chakra, that I can show you, deep inside you, that'll... well, I swear you'd enjoy it, let's put it that way."

Will feels his resolve teetering. After all, Jack has shown him some very unexpected, and very delightful things. If anyone had asked him a week ago whether he would be lying here, naked, with a pirate, having just had the most intensely erotic experience of his life, he would have either laughed, or challenged them to a duel, he suspects. And yet, here he is. Many of his conceptions have turned out to be wrong.

And somehow... he trusts Jack. Trusts his knowledge. Trusts that Jack—for some, not quite comprehensible reason—cares for him, and will not hurt him. And the idea of utter closeness to Jack, of forging a way of connecting Jack to him, is a warm and tempting one.

But really! This was the guideline, the restriction that he had set for himself. Made a deal with his better judgement—I will indulge in this wickedness with Jack, but I will not let him bugger me, and then it will just have been...

Been what? Will doesn't know. Suddenly, he realises just how little he does know about his current situation, and the man lying beside him. He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Jack, who's splayed on his back. "Jack, tell me why I'm here," he demands.

Jack looks up, his mind having been far away in a dark sweet place where young Will was offering up his chakra eagerly to Jack's ravishment. What on earth is this question about?

"Why you're here?"

"Yes, I want to know."

"I could ask you the same question," says Jack. "Delighted though I am at the outcome, I'm not sure why you're here either."

"Because you asked me to come, of course," says Will, frowning.

"And do you obey all missives from pirates, vagabonds and ne'er-do-wells that might make their way through your door?"

"Perhaps I would," counters Will archly. "I've never had the opportunity to find out, you're the only ne'er-do-well that's summonsed me recently... which brings me to my original question, being, why did you do so?"

Jack feels somewhat on-the-spot. Will's leaning over him, he can't weasel out of the bed without actually climbing over the boy, and the piercing brown gaze, topped off with straight black brows, and that delightful frown line, is skewering him most effectively.

"I thought I explained this," begins Jack, countering his discomfort with a dose of patronisation. "Ten year curse, loss of all capacity for physical experience, want to do it properly for the new first time, et cetera, et cetera?" Fuck! Should not have said properly.

"Properly, Jack?"

Fuck! See! Jack sighs, wriggles, briefly considers trying to distract Will with promise of more sexual favours. But is thrown off course when he looks up into those eyes again, full of such inquiry, confusion... a strange sort of hope. Jack remembers another strategy. When the truth is too ridiculous, just tell it and no-one will believe you anyway.

"Well," he says, "I tried hard to think of who the perfect person would be, and thought my way through most all of my acquaintance, and searched the whorehouses of Tortuga, the populations of which are well embedded in my memory, but no, who came to mind? You did."

Will looks non-plussed. Aha! thinks Jack. Working like a charm. Truth! Who'd have thought it would be such an effective lie.

"Why?" asks Will again. Will's heart is beating hard, but he's trying not to show Jack anything yet. Can't let him know that he has haunted Will's thoughts, day and night, for weeks.

"Why?" Jack parrots. He's on a roll now. This is going down a treat. So therapeutic, telling the truth, and so risk free when it's this unbelievable! "Because you're the most glorious thing I've seen in ten years or more!" he says, flamboyantly, intending it to be construed as sarcasm. "Your face is quite indescribably lovely, and you've a body made for the worst kind of sin, a body that reacts like nothing I've ever seen before, and yet you're so... so fucking good! It inflames a man, you're so brave, and you've integrity oozing out of every fabulous orifice, and a smile that lights up the entire ocean, till all I can think about is finding a way past what you know you ought to do, into what I know you want to do, and putting that look back on your face, the look that you get when you no longer care about the right and wrong of it, but only about the pleasure, because it makes you look like-"

Suddenly Jack stops short. Will is staring at him with an intensity that implies he is either about to punch Jack, or kiss him.

"—an angel," finishes Jack in a far smaller voice than he began.

Oh, thank fuck, he's kissing me. Mmm. Which is good. But wait! Which is quite disastrous! Which means that he heard the truth, and I've just laid my damned heart on the table for him!

Will pulls back from kissing Jack, his heart still singing from Jack's words. He wants to make Jack's heart sing, too, but when he looks at Jack, he's too afraid. He buries his face in the spicy warmth of Jack's hair, nuzzling against his neck, and murmurs, "I felt it too, Jack, I thought it about you. But I didn't know what it was that I thought. I didn't know that this was what I wanted, that you were what I wanted. But now I do. For you're brave too, and clever, and astonishing in every way, and you're..." Oh, I can't say it, I really can't!

But Will doesn't have to tell Jack how beautiful he finds him, because Jack has pulled Will round on top of himself, and is kissing him with fierce, hot abandon. Jack's tongue delves into Will's mouth, and the push and swivel of Jack's hips against his own has made Will hard again, brought them both back to arousal. The howl of the storm outside echoes the howling in his heart, and when a sudden pitch of the ship makes the lantern sputter out, the darkness is utter.

Will feels abandoned, elemental. Jack could have chosen anyone, anyone, but he chose me. He thinks I have a body made for this, and Lord knows he does. My body thinks he is right. I want him. I want him. He kisses Jack in a frenzy, hands flurrying over the hard, hot flesh beneath him, loving the feel of Jack's muscles moving, of hip bones clashing, above all the movement of his cock, snug alongside Jack's. He feels Jack reaching for something in the dark, hears glass knock on wood, then... ahhh! Long fingers insinuate their way between their bodies, and Will lifts himself a little to give Jack room. Oh... Jack's hand is slick, oily, and he rubs and coats their bellies, their cocks, with warm liquidity. His hand doesn't leave, gripping and sliding. Will is enveloped in black and red heat, his body a savage creature that knows only desire and delight, and the noise that escapes from his throat is the closest thing Jack has ever heard to the moan of the wind.

Will's shoulders are shaking, trembling from the effort of holding himself above Jack as he writhes and grinds; Jack feels the tremble, and throws a leg over Will's hip, rolling them both over so that Will is beneath him. He removes his hand, slows the frantic pace that Will had been setting, holding himself above the boy and slowly sliding his slick erection up and down Will's.

"Do you like the slide?" he murmurs, throatily, lazily.

"Yes," says Will, shameless in the dark, arching uselessly against Jack, who only raises himself, teasingly, keeping the contact light and slow.

"Do you want me to do more?"

"Yes!" And Will wraps his legs around Jack, locking his ankles together, and pulling Jack down to him. The sensation of full, hot, slick contact makes him groan, and arch, and Jack is almost undone by the movement of this incredible body beneath him, around him, and thanks god that he's already come once this evening, because he's not ready for this to end. He fumbles for the oil jar.

"Will, sweet Will, beautiful Will, don't be afraid. I'm just going to touch you..."

Will stops moving for a moment, and Jack licks gently at his neck, at his ear, sending further shudders through his overloaded nervous system. "I'm just going to show you," Jack says. "Only with my finger, nothing more. Do you trust me? Can I do that?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God. I want him. I want to know. But... but... "Al-alright."

More hot kisses over his ear, his cheek, down to his mouth, and Jack's hand is back between them again, circling the throbbing head of his cock with a thumb, then sliding down, gentling his balls, then further, until, slowly and gently and in time with the rhythm that Jack dictates, circling him there, at the entrance to his body.

Will cannot stop his treacherous body from flexing, reaching up towards Jack; he cannot stop his legs, still wrapped around Jack's waist, from reaching higher, helping Jack to access him. He thanks fate for the dark, as his state of mindless desire is temporarily invaded by thoughts of how depraved he must look, and how utterly vulnerable he has made himself—he is pinioned, knees spread, by a pirate who has clearly stated that he wants to fuck him, and yet—how?—Will has a sense of the upper hand, of holding the balance of power between them, just because he has put his trust in Jack. Jack would not violate that, Will knows it somehow.

Jack's touch makes him catch his breath; so inconceivably intimate a touch, in such a place, and it is making Jack tremble just as much as himself. There is nothing, for long moments, but the sound of the sea and the wind and the ship, and their harsh breathing, and the gentle circular pressure of Jack's finger, and the rapid pulsing of their blood.

Jack's breath is ragged and he mutters, "God's blood, you feel so beautiful, so utterly perfect... I won't hurt you, Will, I won't..."

And Will feels a pressure and a stretch, and the strangest fullness he has ever known. It makes him feel as though he is growing, expanding, distending. It burns a little and he waits, still, hoping that it will hurt no more. Because there's a rightness to it as well.

Jack tries to hold still, to concentrate on what he is doing, to take it slow, when his cock is screaming at him to thrust, push, move, come! Shh, shh... the hot strong velvet around his finger is so muscular, so divine, god, he wants so badly to fuck it. So take it slow, Jack. Little further... little further...

"Unh!" cries Will incoherently, as the searching digit finds its target, and muscles spasm around Jack. Jack grins to himself in the blackness. He lets himself slide against Will, hard, and Will thrusts back, and Jack crooks his finger again, and they crush blindly against each other and Jack doesn't know who comes first, but they both feel the hot liquid rush between them and their muffled shouts are simultaneous. Will feels suspended in bright blackness, pinioned between Jack's searching finger and his pressing body as the waves of pleasure push through him, and he wants to be held and taken like this forever.

As it subsides, fatigue washes over Will like a blanket. He cannot move, beyond letting his legs drop back down to the bed. Jack still lies over him, his face buried in the pillow, his hand still buried in Will's nether regions. Will takes a calm moment to contemplate. It's not so bad, really. He tenses his sphincter, experimentally, feeling the invader. It feels very large, although he knows it's not. Jack's cock is so much larger...

Hot blood rushes to his face as it leaves its haunt of the past half hour—he realises that he is contemplating what it would be like. For him... and for Jack.

Jack, despite his further proclivities in the direction of Will's arse, is temporarily but utterly sated. He wishes he could see the boy's face; imagines the flush, the swollen lips, the long lashes. He feels Will squeezing his finger and imagines him doing the same to his cock... oh, please, let him get that far one of these coming days!

Jack slowly removes his finger, and a tiny whimper issues from Will, filling Jack with remorse. Has he hurt him? He slides off the warm body, feeling cool air turn the warm wetness on his belly to cold. The cabin is small enough that he does not need to leave the bed to reach over and take a napkin from the table, and he begins to clean Will, with a tenderness that surprises them both.

"Are you alright, Will? Not hurt?"

"I'm... I'm fine."

"And did you feel it? The chakra?" Knowing the answer full well.

"Aye." It's not much more than a whisper, full of sleep and sex.

Jack completes his ministrations, lies down next to Will. The boy rolls towards him, and extends an arm over him, curling and sighing in preparation for sleep. It doesn't seem to have occurred to him for a moment that Jack might not want to share his bed the whole night long.

Which is good. Because, more than anything, Jack does.

This time, when he wakes, Will is once again brought to utter alertness by rushing memories. But this time, he doesn't loathe himself. This time he can't stop the spread of a slow, languorous smile, as he realises where he is, and why, and who is warm and solid beside him. This time, the thought of his real life, and of Elizabeth, fills him less with remorse than with a burning desire to keep running away.

Oh, what's he to do? He's engaged, for goodness' sake. He covers his face with his hands and curses gently. Feels Jack wake and move beside him.

"William, I know you're young, but peek-a-boo? I can still see you, you know," teases Jack.

Will drops his hands and turns to him. He sighs. Jack is even more rumpled and kohl-smeared and dishevelled than usual, and yet, even more lovely. It simply isn't fair.

"What am I going to do, Jack?"

"Today? Why, by late afternoon, we'll be at the Isla, and we'll all take a share of booty, each man ten guineas' worth, and then we'll vote on where to head to spend it, and we'll have a fine time, I promise you, we could go to—"

"No, Jack," Will interrupts impatiently. "Not today. All days. What am I going to do? I should be heading home. I left a note for Elizabeth to say I'd be gone for a week or two, but she'll be fretting, and she'll never forgive me."

Jack's heart sinks. He doesn't want to hear about the damn girl. Oh, she was a fine brave filly and all, but he can't help but see her as a competitor for the sweet hot affections of Will. Although he's certain she has no idea just what a prize it is she's competing for. He stoppers a sigh, and says flippantly, "I'm sure she'll forgive you if you bring her some loot, she seemed rather enamoured of pirate gold as I recall."

But it's not what Will wants to be told, at all. He rolls away from Jack, presenting him with his back. "Do you think I should return, then?" he mutters. And waits for Jack to treat this thing—which has changed Will's life like sunlight breaking into night—as no more than a diversion, a jaunt, and tell him to go home.

Jack puts up a hand to stroke Will's shoulder, but stills it. He has heard Will's words, and knows the power they give him. The responsibility. Which is not a thing he has spent his life seeking. His hand twitches. Jack pulls a face, closes his eyes, and lets his hand make the decision for him.

It slides, unerringly, down the sharp ridge of shoulderblade, the thumb tracing the hillocks of Will's long spine. It knows what it wants.

"No, on my granny's grave, I don't," Jack admits. The warm body beneath his hand seems to stop breathing.

"What do you think I should do, Jack?"

"I think you should do what you think will make you happy, mate, for we're on this sweet earth but once, and often not for long."

At last, Will turns back to him, and they lie face to face, inches apart. As he turns, he can feel Jack's morning hardness against his stomach, and can't but smile.

"I think... it would make me happy to stay. For a while, at least... I'm sure Elizabeth would understand a few weeks, if there was pirate gold in the offing."

"What say we form an accord, then," says Jack, happily, wriggling closer. "You can play at being a gentleman of fortune for a while, and I can play at trying to convince you to carry out shameful but irresistibly delightful acts with me, and there'll be gold, and freedom... and if you can ever bring yourself to return to civilised society, you've less of a pirate soul than I thought."

"An accord, it is," smiles Will, whose heart and body are singing with joy at these thoughts. "And a toast, though it's hardly the time for it... to first times, and to first times for the second time."

"Aye," says Jack with a grin, "I'll drink to that." And takes Will in his arms, and drinks deep.