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Snapshots:
BY: WednesdayPirate & Blacksmith *** "You must be joking." Jack Sparrow narrowed his eyes at Will Turner in blatant disbelief. "I would never joke about anything so personally painful to me, nor so embarrassing to Elizabeth." Jack wavered momentarily. "What I just heard you say is worse than being a eunuch. Tell me that I didn't hear you right. Tell me again why you parted." "Elizabeth cannot bear my touch," Will said again. "So I did hear you right the first time." Jack considered this for a moment while weaving gently back and forth on the deck of the Black Pearl, in rhythm with the rocking of the ship. "What do you mean..." He waggled his fingers. "...Your touch? That's a nebulous sort of description, mate. Care to be more specific?" With a sigh, Will pushed away from the Pearl's railing and confronted the older man. They were standing so close, he could see the blurred edges of the kohl lining Jack's eyes. So close that he could smell the faint scent he'd come to associate with the pirate, and only with him. It was a good smell, Will's subconscious decided. Even in his pain, he liked being near it. [Elizabeth couldn't bear my scent either,] Will reflected, sadness welling up in him, [but I'm not about to tell Jack that. One confession a night is about all I can stand.] "When you look at my hands," he told the captain. "What do you see?" Jack peered blearily across at Will in the gloom of dusk and found that he was still annoyed to find the younger man was two inches taller than him. Setting aside the thought, Jack turned his attention to the hands in question. They were hanging at Will's side, just as they usually did when they weren't brandishing an oar to bash out a pirate's brains, or better yet a sword that at least gave Jack a fighting -- if cheating -- chance to live. Reaching for the appendages in question, Jack held them lightly in his own hands before turning them over and peering intently for a further, closer inspection. They were obviously a blacksmith's hands, a swordsmith's hands. Married to the forge, to its bellows and harsh tools of fire and hammer and tong since he'd been but a boy, the palms of Will's hands had born the brunt of his mastery. Constant daily exposure to hot smoke and fire had etched permanent black lines across his palms. No amount of soap and water would ever remove those lines, Jack knew; Will would carry those marks all of his life. In addition, thick callouses graced the base of each finger and the tip of each finger. Those were no less lined with black, and some of the callouses were torn and jagged. Jack could well imagine how those hands would feel against a maiden's pure, sensitive skin. Elizabeth's skin, the pirate knew, had never felt anything against it except the kiss of a Caribbean breeze and pure silk underpinnings from England. "I hurt her," Will said simply, lifting his hands out of Jack's and curling his fingers into hard fists. "Every time I tried to touch her, I hurt her. She tried to tolerate me. Tried to bear it, become used to it. But it got to the point that she would flinch whenever I so much as reached for her." "What happened then?" Jack asked quietly. "What do you suppose happened? What could happen? I went to her father and told him the marriage could not take place." Turning away, Will bent over the railing once more. His hated hands he folded tightly, viciously together. [Good thing he trims his nails,] thought Jack. [If he didn't, he'd be drawing blood.] "I told the governor why his daughter could not marry me," Will continued. "In that moment, I accepted that Elizabeth would never be mine. No woman will ever be mine. The governor indicated that it would be best if I were to leave Port Royal, so that Elizabeth might be free to marry Norrington after all. His hands are perfect, of course. I agreed readily to Governor Swann's suggestion, and that is how I came to be languishing in Tortuga when the Pearl came into port." The strong jaw was tense, the dark brown eyes more cynical than Jack could ever remember seeing them. Will had been wary and mistrustful when they had met six months ago, but Jack knew he wasn't always so. The pirate had seen the younger man drop all guard, and all too easily, before the oh-so-perfect, elegant, and aristocratic Miss Swann. [So young and so naive, he was ready to die for the wench,] Jack reflected. [Devotion like that is all too rare. A pity she threw it away. A pity he's not devoted to me. But wait... isn't he?] Casting his mind back to the moments before he was to be hanged, Jack remembered a rash, determined glint in a pair of brown eyes that had dominated his vision in those moments. He remembered a sword thrown with absolute confidence beneath his feet to create a far stronger foundation for his life than he'd ever known before. He recalled the defense he and Will had perfected together against Norrington's men mere seconds after Will had managed to set him free, and the exhilaration they'd both felt fighting their last battle side by side. [I didn't want it to end, and the whelp was ready to die for me. He called me a good man, too, which must count for something. Wish I knew what,] the pirate thought in blossoming amazement. [Well, well... what do you know?] Aloud, Jack observed, "It's far better to find out such things before the wedding night, my lad." Will turned his head and looked startled by the simple observation. "What do you mean?" "Better to find out before things are done that cannot be undone." Boldly, he laid a hand across the middle of Will's back. When the blacksmith did not tense or pull away, Jack smoothed his way up the younger man's spine. "I know that the wench hurt you, and your pain is deep. But there are others in the world who would welcome your hands on them." The smile Will gave was self-mocking. "Most of the whores in Tortuga made that very clear. Unfortunately, my tastes do not run to whores." "All who desire you are not whores," Jack said quietly. "Some... captain ships." Will snorted and stared back out at the sea. "If you're referring to Anamaria, she has no boat much less a ship. And she has eyes only for you." "And who, I wonder, do I have eyes for?" Cocking his head, Jack trailed a bold finger down his friend's muscular arm. His hand covered Will's own, to pry a fist free of the railing with much determination. Only then did Jack murmur, "To me, young Will, your hands are beautiful and strong." The younger man straightened in shock when Jack turned the hand over to kiss the tips of Will's fingers. "All of you is beautiful to me," the pirate said earnestly. "Given the slightest encouragement, I would go so far as to insist that you consider your hands not your own, but mine." Jack allowed his expression to reflect the hunger he had felt from the moment Will had appeared at his cell door, to ask for help in the liquid-smooth baritone that belonged to the man Jack was only now coming to silently admit that he loved. Rocking back slightly, he met Will's brown eyes head on. "I assure you, Mr. Turner, that I would very much welcome your touch, wherever and whenever you might choose to lay hands on me." Returning Will's fingers to the railing, Jack patted them affectionately before turning away to check the nearest lanyard. Will might think him mad or drunk, but the pirate had the feeling his words would not be forgotten. [Plant the seed, watch it grow,] he thought gleefully while moving off in the darkening gloom to check his ship. "The mist is rolling in," he observed, mindful of always-listening ears. [Let them think we were only discussing the weather.] "There will be rain by morning." Left behind, Will could only stare in deep shock after his erstwhile companion. [Did he mean that -- the bit about thinking my hands... beautiful? And what about the rest of me?] he wondered. Shivering slightly, Will had the feeling that he'd just been dropped into the deepest part of the Caribbean. At the same time, he was left with no doubt that someone had already thrown him a rope and was planning to rescue him -- again. He'd never felt what he was feeling now -- a tingling up his spine and an insistent something shooting through him that had nothing to do with the fatigue he'd felt after fighting cruel, evil, immortal pirates in the cave on the Isle de Morte. His skin burned where Jack's mouth had touched him. As soon as he could find the courage, he thought he might see if Captain Jack Sparrow could in fact bear the touch of a blacksmith. If so, Will thought he might also try to discover what, exactly, it took to make the pirate forget the weather and burn with him, as well. END |
