Title: Corollary
Author: MusexMoirai (psychomk1@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Jack/Will/Bootstrap (in a manner)
Rating: R? NC-17?
Category: General, Comedy
Feedback: If it's nice, that's good. If it's useful, that's better.
Summary: Old memories conflict with new acquaintances.
Disclaimer: Good thing they’re not mine, otherwise that’ll have been one screwed-up movie. Everything in Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney, God bless its black Hilary-Duff obsessed heart.
Notes: First smut fic. First sex scene. Would love someone to reply and tell me if I’ve done well or if I should just shoot myself and spare this fandom the agony..


The lad was tired out after two days at sea. Captain Sparrow, curious as to why Will hadn’t risen with the early sun and wasn’t out savoring the fresh sea breeze, came down to the crews’ quarters to investigate.

He found Will sprawled out across one of the bunks, snoozing loudly. When prodded with the tip of Jack’s revolver, he would simply grumble, roll over and resume snoring.

“Up you go, lad. Hut, hut, rise jolly sunshine and all that.” Sparrow said rather cheerfully.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to have respect for the dead?” Will pointed out. “Oh, my muscles hurt and my head hurts and why does your bloody ship have to keep bloody moving?”

“Your certainly aren’t dead if your mouth moves so much. Up, up. Have you forgotten we’re looking for your lusty lass?”

He got in response a loud snore. Will Turner was fast asleep.

But perhaps it was all for the better. If Will had been awake, he would have seen an odd sight. Sparrow sighed and his shoulders slumped. The breath left him and he was no longer Captain Jack Sparrow, cocksure and reckless and a half-mad pirate whose reputation was widespread but not feared. Perhaps then he was more Jack, an ordinary man whose age showed on his face and dreamt of one day having a family. A man who hoped that one day, the sea would leave his blood, the sea would leave him and not love him. Only then could he hope to die in a bed that didn’t moved, with the sun on his face and no unnatural wanderlust in his heart.

Jack kneeled. His knees hit the wood floor and with one hand, he undid the thong that held Will’s long curls. He ran his hand through the boy’s hair, murmuring, “You’re aching but I’m tired. Tired and weary and wanting for the Pearl and knowing I can’t have her.”

Will turned around to look at him but the eyes weren’t Will’s anymore. Bootstrap Bill stared back out at him. “’Tweren’t the boy’s fault, Jack.”

“If only he had inherited your sea legs or your ability to tie knots instead of your brown eyes.”

“Aye,” Bill’s voice was kind, “but for all his faults, he’s got a sturdy heart.”

“Has he?” Jack inclined his head. “He’s pining for a lass and thinks it the world’s end if he does not reach her. He’s n’er known a harsher mistress, one that would ride him hard and give no rest ‘til he’s broken.”

Bill’s hands alighted on Jack’s face, stroking his cheek and the touch was very familiar. “Have you been broken then, Jack?” He pulled off the red cloth that was bound around Jack’s head and patted his head as though he were a child. “You’re not dead yet.”

“I lose the Pearl and where does that leave me?” Jack said in return, his voice unnaturally savage. “Or worse yet, I get the Pearl and know not what to do with her!”

“You take care of my son and you raise him well.” The other man’s voice was soft, but firm. “You let him make his own choices and he may surprise you yet.”

Jack smiled thinly. “You love him so much, Bill” He stood up to get a better look of Will’s body, the strong limbs and young skin. “And who can blame you? The boy is pretty.”

There was no disgust in Bill’s voice, only understanding. “You love the Black Pearl.”

“But she does not love me.”

“She does in her own fashion.”

“But she is n’er soft but always unreachable.” Bending over the other man, Jack thought about how honest a face that was and did not know if he was referring to father or son. But it didn’t matter anyway. He closed his eyes and brushed a faint kiss over William’s brow.

Then he walked away and Will’s eyes closed, red cloth dropping out from between his fingers and lying crumpled on the wooden planks.

--

It was two hours to noon when Will decided that he was well enough to venture on deck. By then, Sparrow had been manning the ship by himself for a while. He hadn’t the heart to go in the forecastle and try to rouse the boy again.

Will greeted the Captain cheerily and received only a mumble response in reply.

Will smiled. “Have you been working alone, Captain? You should have woken me up. I overslept.”

As Jack was sputtering an appropriate answer and hurling his arms in different directions, Will sat down and sprawled out on the deck. He spread out his legs in front of him and stretched out his arms. Then he turned his head and grinned at Jack.

“Want this? I think you’ll like it.” He asked, extending the red headband toward Jack.

Jack left the wheel of the ship and sauntered down the poop. “Looks a mite familiar,” he commented and snatched the cloth from Will’s hands. “Would suit me too,” he said and fashioned it around his head. He then crouched down next to Will. “So, you’re feeling ready to work, lad?” he asked warily.

“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack suddenly looked uncomfortable and his eyes shifted to the side, not looking at Will’s face. “You wouldn’t happen to…err…remember this morning, would you?”

“Haven’t got the vaguest clue. Did something happen?”

Intense relief washed across Jack’s face. “Nothing important. Now here you go lad, get yourself a rope and secure the foresail, I don’t like the way it’s fluttering about.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

“Spare me your questionable sense of humor, lad. I’m not in the mood for it today.”

And for the whole day, Will was uncharacteristically cheerful and Jack unusually tense, but neither could tell the other why.

--

The daylight was going fast and Will had questions about a loose rigging but Jack was nowhere to be found. He stomped around the Interceptor, brandishing a length of rope like a banner of inquiry.

He eventually wandered into the Captain’s quarters, feeling intensely uncomfortable. This would have been the second time he had set foot in them. He had walked in them the first day when he was still unfamiliar with the parts of a ship.

He almost missed Jack Sparrow crouched down on the floor of the cabin, because the shadows hid him so well. Jack had his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His chin was propped up on his knees. Probably because of the heat, he was bare-chested and a fine sheen of sweat covered his shoulders. He was sitting on top of a pile of blankets haphazardly thrown together in a pile. Except for its missing covers, the bed looked untouched.

He sat near Jack, close enough that he should have felt the heat radiating off the Captain. Surprisingly, he could feel no heat and when he reached over and touched Jack’s arm, the skin was ice cold.

“Why?” he asked and Jack knew what he was asking.

”I need to feel the waves under me, Bill.” He replied, not looking at Will. He didn’t need to because he knew that the person that sat next to him was the father, not the son.

“Why are you like this, Jack?”

“Madness is not a pleasant sight nor a pretty one.”

“You ain’t mad, Jack. Have you played the role so often that you’ve been convinced it’s true?”

“Look beyond the easy words, Bootstrap. There are many different masks to hide an ugly face.”

“Not ugly. Human.” Bill’s gaze felt hot and heavy. Jack could feel it flitting over his bare arms and even through the cloth of his trousers. Bill was staring hard at the cuts in Jack’s arm, wide deep slashes that had barely dried into masses of congealed blood.

Jack knew what he was looking at. “Seeing as you’re dead, Bill, I don’t suppose you’ve ever been obsessed with mortality.”

“You’ve got a death wish then?”

“Perhaps. I’d like for you to get out,” Jack’s voice was deceptively soft. “Savvy?”

Bootstrap Bill looked pained and closed his eyes. It was Will Turner who opened them and said “No.”

“I won’t ask again. Off you go, boy.”

“Not until I’ve got this,” he rummaged around Jack, picking up the cutlass and tossing it to the far side of the room. “And even then, you’re liable to hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to die, Will. I don’t plan to until I reach the Black Pearl and I don’t plan to afterward.” Jack was attempting to rise and Will could see the lines of blood that etched across his chest. It made him winch but he kept a steady eye trained on the other man.

“What?” Jack asked, waving a dismissive arm over the injuries. “Cat scratches is all.”

Then Will’s arm was looped around Jack’s waist and he was practically dragged to the bed. He was unceremoniously deposited on the white sheet. “Sit. Stay. Sleep and get yourself figured out because if I’m following a mad pirate, I need him to at least not be homicidal.”

Will walked around the cabin, picking up blankets but careful to keep an eye on the Captain. When Jack drew a dagger from seemingly nowhere, he was at the bedside in an instant.

“No, no,” Jack said and pulled the blade across his stomach. “Go back to cleaning, you were doing just fine.” A line of blood welled up and filled the cut. Mesmerized and perplexed, Will stared for a moment before trying to forcibly confiscate the weapon.

There was a brief struggle that Will lost and Jack was able to keep the dagger. Frustrated, Will pushed up the sleeve of one forearm, exposing skin and muscle. He shoved it in Jack’s face.

“Here, if you’ve got to carve something up like a piece of meat, at least don’t do it all to yourself.” He didn’t know whether or not he was bluffing but hoped that at least Jack hadn’t lost all sensibilities. Will was fairly sure Jack had a kind heart underneath the mad exterior and a show of sincerity would be enough to shock him back to his senses.

After the initial shock, Jack grinned, slow and sure and Will was not so sure anymore. Jack pressed the dagger up against Will, so that the tip punctured the skin and a drop of blood collected on the metal. All the while, he looked at Will’s face and Will showed him neither fear nor hesitance.

“I could kill you,” Jack said and his voice had a singsong lilt. “Aren’t you scared?”

“If you plan to kill me,” Will’s grated out, “then by all means, go ahead. But get over your arrogant self-absorption!”

Jack ran dagger down the length of Will’s arm, strangely tender, as if Will would bolt at any minute. He had a gasp of pain and watched as Will gritted his teeth. Then Jack admired the vivid crimson of the blood that ran down Will’s forearm. He thought it called to him and its voice was like that of cascading waves.

He leaned forward and slowly licked the blood off Will’s arm. He heard Will’s breath become ragged and harsh and knew that if he looked in the boy’s face, he’d see surprise.

“Salty and bitter,” he said. “It tastes like the sea.”

“There,” Will cried out, his voice strangled. “Is that all you want?”

Jack looked at Will: the wild eyes, the sweat that trickled down his forehead, the chest that rose and fell in heaving breaths, and lower down to the pelvis. He smiled. “You’re excited.”

The boy flushed and he looked painfully sweet to Jack’s eyes. “What if I am?” he said, both nervous and defiant.

Will grew even more panicked as he watched Jack’s knife settle at the base of his neck. “You plan to kill me now, then?” The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline raced through his veins.

Deftly, Jack slid his knife down the center of Will’s shirt, ripping the fabric. He wasn’t overly careful and the blade nicked the skin low on the stomach. Jack ran his finger across the cut and played with the blood, fascinated with the reddish streaks he drew over the skin.

Will was desperately hoping that there was a graceful way to get out of this particular situation. “Jack,” he began hesitantly and his breath caught in his throat. Jack was looking at him with an unfamiliar liquid gaze that both terrified and thrilled him. Finally, he managed to stutter out, “I…I…came in here to ask you about a loose rigging and I was wondering…”

But Jack Sparrow had decided he didn’t really care. He ignored Will and bent his head to the boy’s stomach, tasting the blood there.

Will seemed to make one more valiant attempt to deter Jack, perhaps figuring that the madman did not know what he was doing. He put his hands on the side of Jack’s head and hoisted him up so that they were face-to-face. “You are insane, Jack. I don’t know how much you realize that but you’ve still got to listen. This is not something you want to do.”

Jack thought that either the lad was half-addled or he was just entirely missing the point. He chuckled and turned his head, pressing a kiss into Will’s palm. That was all the answer he was willing to give and that seemed enough for Will. He let the pirate’s head go and made no protests when Jack suckled at his collarbone, pushing the tattered remnants of his clothing aside.

Things seemed to be progressing entirely too fast for Will and not fast enough for Jack. Will’s every nerve was on fire and he kept blinking his eyes, unable to focus and unable to think. Jack, the epitome of self-control, slipped a hand between their bodies and ran it along the bulge in front of Will’s trousers. He felt an answer when Will thrust his hips repeatedly to meet that seeking hand.

Listening to Will’s groans of frustration, Jack smiled. “Not a eunuch then. Are you a virgin, Mr. Turner?” As if he didn’t know. The lad’s lack of restraint was appalling.

“I once…urgh…” Will had apparently given trying to talk after two words. A hard wrist wrapped around Jack’s hand and pulled it insistently to the lacing of Will’s pants. The hand held him hard, squeezing until Jack could feel the bones being crushed and didn’t let up until he had undone the strings and Will was in his hand.

Jack brushed his knuckles along the hard length and earned a surprising string of curses in response. He recognized a few of his favorites. So the blacksmith had been listening to him after all. He cupped Will’s balls and stroked them, oddly reminded of doubloons and booty, and that action made the lad yowl like a scalded wildcat.

Will clawed at his back, his actions pleading for a release from tension even as uttered no words. He certainly needed to learn patience, Jack thought wryly and twisted his hand and that earned him even more of a furious and filthy-mouthed Will.

“You take those hands you are so fond of waving around and you put them to good use or, so help me God, I will take your stupid cutlass and cut off your stupid head.” Will managed to say quickly in one long breath and Jack was quite impressed. He thought he had reduced the other man to blithering incoherency.

His hand moved up and down on Will with a rhythm borne of experience. He knew when to increase the pressure and the speed, the best to highlight sensation and agonize Will.

And when Will could finally stand it no longer and screamed, Jack had pressed his mouth up to Will’s chest, over his heart and was mouthing words that he believed did not mean anything. He closed his eyes and smiled when he heard the name Will cried out at that critical moment, but that smile was fragile and bitter.

“Elizabeth!”

“Thinking of your bonnie lass, Mr. Turner?”

But Will appeared not to have heard his inquiry. He was staring wild-eyed and half-dazed at Jack, even when Jack fell back onto the mattress and stared up at the cabin ceiling. The dark eyes stared at the ceiling then blinked closed and the smile was much surer now.

Jack was completely taken by surprise when he felt hands on his waist. He bolted up and gaped at the Will as the younger man attacked his breeches and quickly removed them.

“You,” Will gasped. There was irritation in that voice and Jack imagined that there was bitterness too. “You were damned smiling the entire time you touched me.”

Will has gotten the clothes off now and Jack felt eerily exposed. There was a feral curl to Will’s lip when he snarled, “But you’re not going to smile now.”

Jack wondered exactly how that is going to happen because, for all his wounded pride, Will still was a virgin. Then he felt heat and moisture at his lower regions and he was utterly surprised. The new discovered innovative streak suited Will well and perhaps the boy had more initiative and more imagination than Jack had ever given him credit for.

It had been a long time since Jack had felt a lover’s touch. Will’s not exactly that, for he is a little too rough and there is no love behind his actions, but Jack didn’t mind that. What Will lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm. When Will’s tongue licked a slow circle under his testicles, he resisted the urge to put his hand in Will’s head and pull the man closer. Then Will’s teeth scraped across his foreskin and his hands fell to the mattress, clutching for vain purchase.

Jack was awash in sensation and delirium. He could hear the sound of waves crashing in his ears and see the play of light on water behind his eyes. He could smell the herald of a storm coming and was powerless to stop it. He tasted the thunder arrive on his tongue and it tasted strongly like blood.

Jack wasn’t smiling any more nor was he even quiet, Will thought with a measure of satisfaction. He never heard whose name Jack called out and, even if he did, his mind had already dismissed it as the ravings of a madman.

Jack opened his eyes to see Will grinning at him. It was disconcerting to see such a smug smile on the lad’s lips. Will’s mouth was moist and covered in messy liquid and Jack could smell the traces of sex in the air. Eyes soft and bright, Will moved forward and tilted his face. Jack moved his head away before Will could kiss him.

He wasn’t looking and so entirely missed the flash of hurt across Will’s features. He wasn’t thinking and so said the completely wrong thing.

“You look so much like your father, Will.”

Will’s eyes widened and he scrambled back. He found words for his suddenly clumsy tongue: “There’s a rigging that needs to be seen to. I’ll get right on it, Jack… I mean, Mr. Sparrow. Beg your pardon.” Jack heard the fumble of clothes being put in place and adjusted.

Then the open and close of the door and silence.

Captain Jack Sparrow was left to lie on the large captain’s bed, pondering the meaning of morality, mortality, and madness. The air felt abruptly chilly.

--

Ship Parts (from http://phrontistery.50megs.com/nautical.html)

Forecastle: fore of ship below main deck, where crew quarters are located

Poop: enclosed structure at stern of ship above main deck

Foresail: lowest sail set on the foremast of square-rigged ship

END