"Overtaxed yourself, eh?"

Standing carefully still by the door, Will glared at his captain. "I know it's difficult for you, Jack, but don't be ridiculous."

Jack perched on the edge of the grand bed and gave Will a stern look, which effect was somewhat hindered by the fact that the water from his sopping hair was slowly bleeding out the color from his new coat. Being Jack, he pretended not to notice that his shirt was beginning to turn pink. "I dunno what precisely you got up to on the gundeck during the battle, lad, nor what you strained whilst the storm was raging, but any fool can see you're in pain."

"I am perfectly fine," Will snapped, irritated anew at Jack's nagging. He'd been hard and demanding ever since Will had stepped onboard, watching him closely, waiting for the inevitable mistakes, criticizing the way Will reefed a sail or spliced a rope or tied his shoes. In point of fact Will was feeling more out of place here than he had in the governor's parlour, pouring over place settings and flower arrangements. Every day of the past month had seen him less and less certain that he had made the right decision by asking Jack to take him on, but since he could hardly run back to what he'd run from in the first place—he could only imagine Elizabeth's expression after all their questions and angry words—there was nothing doing but to keep at it until the captain deemed him worthy of honest treatment.

Or until Will reached the end of his patience, killed Jack in a fit of rage, and took a boat to the nearest port.

His fingers were clenching around an imaginary hilt (and doing that shoulder no favors) when Jack suddenly whipped a dagger from his boot and hurled it at the door, missing Will's head by inches. Will cried out in alarm as he jerked aside, and then again as his muscles screamed protest. One hand went to the small of his back, the other to the back of his neck, trembling fingers kneading fruitlessly at the soreness beneath the skin

"Aye, and you look it," Jack drawled with a raised eyebrow.

Will lifted his chin as high as he could under the circumstances and reached for the handle, calculating how much strength it would take to slam the door. At least he would be on the other side and Jack would not be witness to his winces.

"Hold, Mr. Turner." Jack sauntered over and cocked a hip against the door, unperturbed by Will's scowl. He jerked his head back at the bed. "Lie down."

Will blinked. "Excuse me?" He'd slept in Jack's bed once, that first night, before Jack had begun to come over a shrew, and after a toast or six of rum had laid him out cold. Will vaguely remembered feeling disoriented and upset as he curled up beneath the fine sheets, possibly making some kind of whimper, and slender fingers upon his overheated face. Not for the first time he'd dreamed of that curious, mercurial touch; but in the morning Jack had complained about Will sleeping late and turning him out of bed.

"You heard the order. On your belly." Jack flapped his hands as if shooing a disobedient puppy. Will bristled at his tone, but hesitated at the word 'order.' He didn't want to give Jack any more excuses to ride him. If honey truly was better for catching flies, he hoped the same applied to weasely pirate captains.

As he gingerly sat and swung his legs up, Jack snapped his fingers. "Shirt off first."

Suspicious, Will slit his eyes at Jack, whose expression was perfectly serious, without a hint of coyness about it. "Why?"

"So's we can get the kinks out proper," said Jack with a snort, as if it were perfectly obvious. He rubbed his hands together and knelt by his trunk, behaving so matter-of-factly that Will had the buttons undone before he'd even thought about it. He flushed a bit when he pulled his shirt off—there was hardly room for modesty aboard the Pearl, but undressing in front of the mates was hardly comparable to stripping in the captain's bed, even if he did receive his share of appraising glances.

This was not, apparently, a concern of Jack's, for he barely glanced at Will's bare chest. "Over," he instructed, twirling his finger and settling on the bed. There was a small sealed jar in his hands. Will frowned at it as he obeyed, but was distracted by the twinge in his muscles at being stretched out upon a proper mattress. The pain in his shoulders had begun a few days ago, after he'd wrenched the right one loading a gun, and it had only worsened and spread throughout the miserable weather since. Even the slight disturbance of Jack's weight on the bed made him catch his breath.

It seemed a very bad idea to be caught in this situation, however he looked at it, and only the thought of relief from the tension kept Will steady as Jack gently touched his upper back.

"Christ," he said, pressing a bit harder. "You're stiff as a plank." Will closed his eyes, pulse jumping in his throat, determined not to let on how much it hurt. Perhaps feeling it anyhow, Jack shifted his attentions, rubbing very lightly above Will's shoulder blades. And that was—oh, better, yes...

He jerked at the sensation of something slick dribbling over his skin, muffling a curse against the pillow.

"Just oil," said Jack, smoothing it over Will's shoulders, warming it with his hands. Will's discomfort at being dirtied faded along with the worst of the aches.

"Oh," he sighed, flexing his toes into the bedclothes he had kicked into a pile.

Jack chuckled, kneading a knot with both thumbs. "Better?"

"Feels—God—wonderful," Will mumbled, eyelids fluttering. Those hands were entirely wasted on wood and canvas. Don't stop, he thought in time with the strokes, don't stop, don't stop...

"Good to know I haven't lost me touch," said Jack with satisfaction, pressing the flesh on either side of Will's spine with his knuckles. Will squirmed gratefully, fearing he might melt straight through the mattress. "'S been quite awhile since I worked a man out like this."

Will grunted in acknowledgment, paying only half a mind. There was no substitute for human touch. He'd been long enough without it to be sure of that—so long, so often that beneath Jack's touch now, he felt quite intoxicated with the pleasure of it. And to think that Jack had been so caustic lately...

"Jack," he said, voice as heavy and languid as his limbs, "you can..." He paused as Jack pressed a knee into the small of his back, the resultant crack drowned out by Will's groans. He was barely cognizant of the words expelled between them. "Work me out... whenever you wish."

The lovely pressure stopped abruptly, but when Will tried to crane his neck to implore Jack to continue he was struck by a wicked spasm.

"Right, neck," said Jack, clearing his throat. His oiled fingers stroked up to the base of Will's skull, curling into his hair. Will buried his face in the pillow again, inhaling its musky scent—no perfume, he reflected, but it could certainly be worse. Mostly Jack smelled of rum and salt air, and his cabin was much better aired than the crew's sleeping quarters.

Still massaging his neck, Jack continued, "This is certainly the most agreeable I've seen you in ages."

Lifting his head without trouble this time, Will looked as balefully at Jack as he could manage out of one eye. "Me? You're the disagreeable one—always finding fault with my work—" Jack began to squeeze the exhausted muscles of his upper arms and he had to fight to keep his rant on track. "When you have a word for me at all, that is..."

It came out much sulkier than he had intended and he expected Jack to tease him, but Jack just skimmed his hands back down Will's spine and said quietly, "You think I've been hard on you, eh?"

"Yes," said Will, eager to have found voice for his complaints at last. "I know you demand the best for your ship, but never once have I seen you hold the rest of the lot up like me, sniping at them, needling them..."

He trailed off. Jack's hands were at his hips, rubbing with the same slow, steady rhythm through his thin breeches; and all at once Will realized that the innocent pleasure of touch had taken a turn for the sensual somewhere along the way. There was no proof that Jack meant it in such a way, but considering the way he lingered, and indeed his very nature—But he's paid me hardly any attention!

"Perhaps I have been unfair," said Jack after a long moment of silence, his hands now stroking over the small of Will's back, into the groove of his spine. Will shivered, trying to keep his arousal under control, but Jack did not seem to notice. "For your father's sake I wanted you to learn the sea, and I figured you wouldn't be with us long."

Understanding—a sudden rush of it that made his stomach twist—Will pressed his cheek to the pillow and said, "I'm not going back to Port Royal, Jack."

"But your girl—" Jack's voice was rough and forceful, his hands clenching on Will's shoulders.

Of course I never offered a word of explanation—I didn't want to say what I lost, and he didn't want to hear what he feared. "I left that life behind me. What's done is done."

Jack went still. He brushed his fingertips against the nape of Will's neck, almost too light to be felt. "Aye," he said softly, then in his usual boisterous tone, "Aye, so that's the way of it." His hands dipped low again, and Will was definitely not mistaking his intent now. Lying on his belly was becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

As if he could tell—and he probably can, damn him to hell—Jack leaned down, his breath hot against Will's ear. "Why don't you turn over, then?"

For a moment Will debated resistance, ashamed at his state and peeved that the balance had once again tipped in Jack's favor. When he finally did roll onto his back it was more out of defiance than anything else, and though his cheeks flamed he crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Jack's low, rich laugh.

The mirth faded as Jack held his gaze. Without taking his eyes from Will's, Jack reached out to brush the back of his knuckles against the bulge in Will's breeches. A tremor washed over Will's body and he bit down hard on his tongue.

"Like I said," Jack remarked with a grin, "stiff as a—"

Deciding he'd taken quite enough, Will clapped a hand over Jack's mouth. "Yes, you're terribly clever. But Jack?"

"Mmm?" Jack flicked his tongue against Will's palm as his hand glided up to Will's ribs, his breast, a pebbled nipple—

"Shut up," Will gasped, jerking at a pinch, gripping the back of Jack's neck and yanking him down to kiss.

Muscles tightened and tensed under Jack's care as easily as they'd relaxed. Will felt like a spring coiling in its proper direction after having been twisted the wrong way for far too long, and he suspected the impression was dependent on more than just the wet, gold-speckled mouth beneath his or the wiry arms wrapped around his waist.

As it should be, he thought, catching his breath at the press of Jack's thigh between his legs, shuddering at the low, husky invocation of his name. No 'Turner,' no 'lad,' no 'whelp,' no 'greener-than-a naiad's-hair boy'—the captain closed his painted eyes and said again, like it had been dammed up in his throat, "Will."

Strange that kissing a man should feel so right, when he had never done so before and only thought of it in half-remembered, indecent dreams. But this was Jack, after all, and he went where he would—

"Wait," he choked out when Jack slipped a thieving hand under his waistband, suddenly fearing the single-minded focus of release. But the touch on his straining cock was light, the rough lips gentle against the bridge of his nose.

"Easy," he murmured, smiling as Will moaned under slow, lazy strokes. "I'm as fair a hand at this as I am at t'other, love."

His hands weren't fair but dark as ink, even against Will's flushed skin. Will brought the free hand to his face to see if it tasted as exotic as it looked. The flavor was much the same as the rest—wood and water and wind—but he was very much gratified by Jack's reaction to the suction of Will's mouth on his fingertips. He made a sharp, hungry sound in the back of his throat and gripped Will's cock with a bit more urgency. By now Will was feeling bold enough to pay him back in kind, prompting more interesting noises.

"I could do—with a bit of a stretch meself," Jack soon ground out between his teeth. Will blinked and began to draw away, concerned that he'd hurt Jack by rolling on top of him, but Jack kept a firm hold as he fumbled for the forgotten jar. He released Will briefly to pull the cork stopper and then his hands went roving again, one smearing warm oil down Will's shaft and the other disappearing beneath his own body. Distracted by the slippery cradle of Jack's fingers and palm, Will had no earthly concept of anything else until he was nudging up against Jack, pushing inside him with more instinct than art or thought, and it all became so startlingly clear that he froze. Poised on his elbows, shoulders shaking with the effort of being still, he stared down into Jack's smug, self-satisfied face.

"You bloody bastard," he said, softly but with feeling.

"Pirate," Jack rejoined, smirk fading as Will rocked his hips. That's done it, Will thought, delighted to have made such a discovery, and so he did it again, harder.

Jack murmured to him as he moved, dark promises and shameless entreaties, fingers sliding on Will's arms with sweat and traces of oil. Head aswim with the pleasure and the daring of it—taking the captain in his bunk, fucking Jack Sparrow—Will had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from spending himself too quickly. Jack stroked fingertips along his clenched jaw, thighs gripping his sides like a vise.

"Aye, just so, just—now—" His free hand tight on his own cock, Jack arched his back and swore. Will usually soaked up any piratical speech with eager ears, but he was too busy shouting nonsense into Jack's neck as he came to pay attention to the words.

He fell heavily, trembling, barely hearing Jack's breathless exclamation at the pressure. Will shifted as best he could, considering his legs were rubber and his higher thought functions non-operational. Jack let out a long sigh and draped an arm over Will's hips.

After a moment he frowned and fidgeted, and Will pulled himself out of a drowsy haze. "What is it?"

"M'back," Jack complained, squirming beside him. Will dropped his face into the pillow and laughed until his ribs hurt.