William loved the ocean. He loved the way sails billowed, white, shifting with the salt-laced breeze. He loved the sun glinting off miles of unsullied waters: one could go for weeks without seeing another ship, or sign of man. He loved stepping onto a ship after too long on land—that first rocking swell restored a balance in him, made him more certain of himself, reasserted his control.

On the other hand, being aboard this particular ship, the Black Pearl, had absolutely nothing to do with control. Once there, his will—as well as that of the crew, mankind, and the ocean itself—was entirely overcome by the person of Captain Jack Sparrow.

This is not to say that Captain Sparrow was a harsh taskmaster, or one to inspire fear. He was not a man to confuse respect and terror. This captain was well-loved by his crew, and Will knew that this was a kind of cruelty in itself. The ability to inspire devotion was a rare one; especially when a single person could arouse the kind of loyalty that would send a person into raw, unbridled, soul-deep horrors—when loyalty could force a score of men to fight, and die, for one man's whims and manipulations.

Jack Sparrow reigned over his crew rather like a king, in that sense. Will could see it, even as it controlled him. Unlike the distant kings of Europe, Jack's particular gift lay in his ways of not asking for devotion. They followed him of their own volition. So blatantly did he play with people's lives, so obscurely were his plans laid, that people distrusted him as a matter of course. Rather than protecting themselves with their suspicions, as they thought, Jack could manipulate them all the more easily.

It was lucky, Will thought, that he no longer bothered with suspecting Jack.

He grinned, turning his attentions to his work. Pulling on one of hundreds of long sail-lines, he absently tracked his captain's lazy stroll around the upper deck. Jack seemed, as always, to not be paying the slightest attention to his surroundings. Those who made the mistake of believing that... well. Only Jack knew what would happen to them.

It was with Jack's apparent omnipotence in mind that he made his request, later. A windless, sweltering afternoon surrounded the ship. The crew, weary of watching the empty sails, soon retired below decks. Just a luckless few remained in the humidity, ostensibly keeping watch.

Pirates, though, had a terrible time with such militant concepts. Will wasn't even noticed as he made his way across the seasoned planks of the Black Pearl's deck to the captain's cabin.

He didn't bother knocking, and the door swung open under his hand. Curtains hung lifeless, the windows flung open in hopes of catching some hint of a breeze, and the brilliant afternoon light was thankfully strained through the thick material. The captain sprawled messily across the bed, half-undressed, face buried in his crossed arms.

Will paused a moment, then allowed the door to swing shut behind him. One dark eye opened, peering up through a nest of tangled braids. Seeing who disturbed him, Jack promptly closed the eye again. The younger man could detect a hint of humor in his voice, though, when he asked, "And how may I help you, young William?"

Will hid a grin, strolling to the desk in the corner. "I was wondering about something," he replied.

"Is that so?"

He toyed with a few treasures carelessly dropped on the desk, watching the captain in the dimness. A wayward shaft of golden light, fractured by the slatted windows, spread over a lean back. Will paused a moment, to admire the scarred, weathered skin. "I'd like to be in charge."

Jack opened his eyes, frowning, and rolled to his side. His face was in shadow. "That is a positively decorous attempt at mutiny, Mr. Turner." Will gazed at him steadily, and his expression eased.

"Ah," he murmured. Something in the air between them shifted. Will noticed the slight stirring of long legs, the way the kohl-rimmed eyes grew darker. "Are you certain?"

He took a deep breath, scenting the sweet rise of beeswax smoke from candles around the room. "I am."

Jack nodded. "All right, then," he said casually.

What followed was a blur. Later, Will would recall the way Jack's mouth curled up on one side, and how he'd found himself suddenly leaning over the bed. He would remember how their mouths tangled easily together, and that despite his best intentions, he found himself naked nearly before he could pause to draw breath.

He came back to himself, though, in time to be able to fully appreciate the sight of the indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow rolling onto his back, and spreading his long thighs in anticipation. Will took a deep lungful of air, letting the smoky-sweet stuff leave his mouth slowly, and looked his fill. Miles of tanned skin (tanned everywhere), marked by old wounds and tattoos; lean, strong limbs, laying lax on the pallet; the brown, familiar face, docile but for the eyes—which, as always, held a secret humor.

He knew the process. He settled on the bed, Jack's knees rising on either side of him, and took hold of the smooth oil Jack kept under the pillow. He was surprised when Jack ground against him, though, after the stretch of only two fingers; when Jack was in control, Will was forced to wait through two fingers, three, sometimes even four.

"Come on, lad," Jack said, a faint note of pleading entering his voice. Will startled, glancing up. "I'm not going to break."

The younger man kept his eyes on Jack's face as he finished his preparations. He knew better than to watch the expressions, though. The only truth one could find in Captain Sparrow was in his eyes. When Will withdrew his damp fingers, lashes flickered; when he poised himself to enter, the eyes opened wide; when he began to press in, they sparked fire.

He remembered to go slowly, despite the pain of holding back. Settling his palms firmly on either side of Jack's disheveled head, Will nudged forward, bit by bit, until he hit bottom. He nearly lost all semblance of control when Jack clenched fiercely around him.

"I thought you said I could be in charge," he murmured shakily, staring down. He could feel a trickle of sweat forming between their stomachs, pressed together. At the words, Jack closed his expressive eyes, and let his knees—which had been clamping ever-tighter around Will's waist—fall to the bed.

"Of course. Silly of me to forget," he mumbled.

Cautiously, Will pulled back a little, and moved just as slowly forward. The tight grasp of it made him tremble; he lowered himself to his elbows, pressed chest to chest with Jack, and continued.

He knew that it would be impossible to rule Jack Sparrow. It was beyond the realm of comprehension. He could tell that Jack was growing impatient with his gentle pace; tension made the muscles of his neck grow taut under Will's mouth. Will had to still his hips several times, as Jack strove against him, craving more.

Long fingers clenching around his biceps made Will look up from his ministrations. He caught his breath. Jack's throat was slick with sweat, glimmering as he swallowed; his mouth, generally set congenially, was a grim line; tangled braids spread across the thin sheets. Most importantly, his eyes held no humor—only heat.

"What are you doing?" he demanded hoarsely.

"You said—"

Dark brows drew suddenly down. "Not like this," he growled. The younger man nearly quailed, but then Jack's capricious nature took hold, and a grin pulled at his charming mouth. "What are you, a eunuch?"

The hands around his arms loosened, and trailed teasingly along his back—so much smoother than Jack's. "Put some spirit into it, lad," Jack recommended, allowing himself to sink further into the thin mattress.

Will sighed, relieved. "How's this?" he asked, with an experimental thrust. Jack didn't reply; he only closed his eyes and accepted it. Will pressed forward a few more times, trying to get some response from his partner.

Jack's eyes slit open some time later, and the erstwhile blacksmith was frozen by the fiery, mirthful expression in them. "Lad, you clearly have no idea what you're about," the captain announced, though his nip at Will's chin took any sting from the words.

He'd known that it would have been impossible to claim Captain Jack Sparrow.

The seasoned pirate wrapped his legs firmly around Will's waist, and deftly flipped them over. Careful to keep Will inside, he knelt on the bed, knees planted in the vicinity of the younger man's ribcage. "Now," he said softly, a mischievous grin still tugging at his expression. "Like this..."

Will gasped, hands flying to steady Jack's waist. The pirate slyly twisted his hips again, rising up slowly and coming down hard. "I thought you said I could be in charge," Will repeated breathlessly, staring up.

Jack cocked his head, setting the silver trinkets twined in his hair to tinkling. Caught in a shaft of sunlight, his grin spread, one golden tooth sparkling as he lazily rolled his hips. "I lied," he said simply.

Moving deliberately, he raised himself until Will nearly slipped out, making the hands on his waist tremble. "Come now, lad," he murmured, watching his partner shake. Will was arrested in the roguish warmth spilling out of the dark eyes, which narrowed at him. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Will nodded unsteadily. "That you are," he admitted, and let out a loud cry when Jack rewarded him, grinding down mercilessly.

Nearly unable to keep himself from a haze of dark bliss, Will struggled to maintain his gaze on the man above him. More than the joining of their bodies (though that was certainly an event that caused a renewed belief in heavenly powers), the most precious memories Will carried with him on the days he could not see his captain were those times when Jack did lose control. They were brief moments, but exhilarating.

With Jack's stamina unflagging as it was, Will had to wait for a long time. The delay was much more odious from this side, he realized—when Jack was in his position, Will was allowed to reach his peak several times before the captain was satisfied. He realized anew the control Jack so ably hid as he ruthlessly reigned in his own building climax.

When it finally happened, however, the wait was more than payment enough. Will watched, rapt, as Jack's grin faded, the lower lip caught in punishing white-and-gold teeth. His hips faltered in their smooth movement, and Will groaned as he was brought to the hilt into the warm depths of Jacks' body. Dark lashes fluttered closed, and the long-held grip on Will's shoulders loosened. The younger pirate raised instantly off the bed, wrapping his arms around the captain's waist.

Will latched his teeth into a muscled shoulder, listening intently. It was coming. As soon as he heard a tell-tale hitch deep in Jack's chest, he pulled back and stared up into the tanned, lovely face; the clever mouth dropped open into a moan as Will curled a rough hand around his sex; he made a few, convulsive movements with his hips, making Will unconsciously tighten his grip—and with that, Captain Sparrow let out a nearly violent cry and came.

Poised at the brink, Will watched as the muscles relaxed by increments. When Jack sighed, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "Will," and let his head drop to nestle into the curve of one tense shoulder, the younger pirate could hold it off no longer, and let himself fall.

In the long moments of lassitude that followed, Will managed to retain the presence of mind to lower the two of them to the bed gently, wrapping his arms around Jack to support him. They lay silent. At long last, feeling himself slip from the warm confines of Jack's body, Will sighed—and felt his captain's long eyelashes flutter against his neck, and heard a contented, rumbling groan as long legs were stretched out more comfortably to either side of Will's own.

A steady hand turned Will's face toward a kiss, tasting of rum and sour sleep. Will stroked his hand along the brown, scarred back, coming to rest at the swollen entrance.

Before he could ask, Jack pulled back. "Are you all right, lad?" he asked softly, still gentle.

Will blinked. "I'm fine," he said blankly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

In response, Jack's ever-expressive eyes darkened further, and he captured Will's face in both hands, confining him for one more kiss which lasted far beyond their supply of breath.

Still confused when Jack released him at length, Will opened his mouth to question—but was stopped by the slightest shudder that racked his partner. "Don't ever change, young William," he heard, as the whisper ghosted along his skin.

Then they both felt the ship rock, and the limp curtain fluttered, bringing with it the smell of a stiff, salty breeze. Will glanced at the window, turning back quickly; but Jack's expression had already sharpened, and he was already moving up and off the bed.

"Finally," he said accusingly, apparently to the wind. "Took you long enough."

He was dressed and had clapped his hat onto his head before Will managed to struggle upright, fighting a disappointed feeling.

"What are the bearings, Captain?" he asked, bending to pull his trousers out from under the bed.

A pair of scuffed boots entered his vision, and a strong hand pulled his chin up. Will had to catch his breath, again, as Jack's eyes softened once more. He seemed to struggle with words for a moment, as Will blinked at him. "Will..." He trailed off. "Get dressed, and I'll tell you," he said at last, dropping his hand.

Will watched the door swing shut, and scooted back on the bed as he heard Jack's voice exhorting the slumbering crew into activity.

He smiled, letting his own fingers trace over his lips, which still swelled slightly with force of Jack's kisses. He thought of how spectacularly his plan had failed, and listened as Gibbs' heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs over the cabin to the foredeck.

"Crew assembled, sir, saving Mr. Turner. Have ye seen him?"

Unexpectedly, Jack took a moment to answer. "I have not, Mr. Gibbs. Try looking in the hold."

Will stood, and went to the window, brushing aside the curtain. The breeze lifted the damp curls from his neck. He thought of the way Jack had felt, cradled in his arms, and the utter abandon of their sprawl, there at the end.

"Oh, Captain, my Captain," he whispered. Jack had taken charge, indeed, but Will realized that he held a measure of control over the indomitable Jack Sparrow, after all.

"Mr. Turner! You're wanted on deck!" he heard Gibbs bellow.

He flinched, and spun away from the window, flinging on his clothes haphazardly. He had to time his exit from the main cabin carefully to avoid being seen, and once on deck had to restrain his sex-tossed hair. He didn't think he'd be able to bear the embarrassment of being caught with the captain—especially considering his privileged position amongst the hands.

Then he caught a glimpse of Jack, clambering ably up the main mast to the crow's nest, and relaxed. "Oh, my Captain," he repeated, smiling, and then hastened to find the first mate.