Taxes 4 - Die Hard with Pirates

It began, as everything does, with getting up in the morning.

Specifically with Will Smith, absolutely no relation to the actor of the same name, awakening from dreams of shooting sparks and ringing, pounding metal, where he'd been making not swords, but wrought-iron doorknobs. Hundreds and hundreds of dnobsnobs....

He shuddered.

//...Sorry...// said the voice of his prior life, Will Turner, blacksmith and pirate. //...I really loathed the doorknobs, but they paid the bills...//
//...'Sokay...// he thought back sleepily. //...Hey, what's that? Feels warm and fuzzy...//
//...Jack was never that warm, nor quite that fuzzy...//
//...You don't suppose he got a cat?...//

And on cue..."Wake up, Will. Got a solution to our squirrel problem."

"Mmm...wha...izzat where you went last night? Why'd you have to be so sneaky if you were just gonna get a cat?"

"Open yer eyes, love. You'll see."

Sounding very Sparrow there. This was definitely going to be trouble.

And the long, lean, and very soft thing that was draping itself across his ankles was definitely not a cat.

"Jack, that's not a cat."

"Nope." And Jack Byrd smiled his own unique smirk.

"Jack, what the hell *is* that?"

"Ferret."

"Ferret?"

"Ferret."

"Squeak," commented the ferret, who'd turned to sniff Will's calves, tickling him with its whiskers. It really was adorable in a bizarre way, Will thought consideringly, and tried to shut that thought down. But then it looked at him with black button eyes, from a tan mask on an otherwise black face and body. "Squeak?"

"...You know ferrets are illegal in California."

"And your point is?" They watched the little beast's eyes close. "Ah, Will, he *likes* you."

Will knew defeat when he tasted it, and sank back down into the pillows. "So what are we going to call him? Squeak?"

"Nah. He's already got a name. It was Sparrow's pick, actually."

"So..."

"So we named the ferret Hector."

"Let me guess. Barbossa's first name."

"Got it in one."

"Huh. Guess a late revenge is better than none at all. Anyway, I sure can't think of a better name for a weasel." Will looked at Hector. Hector looked back. "So, where are we going to put his cage?"

"Cage?" Sad eyes that Will had ever fallen for. "I couldn't *cage* him, love."

Will shook his head and wondered idly if Sparrow's love of freedom would continue to triumph over Byrd's need to protect his furniture. Probably. "I'll bet you aren't going to have him fixed, either."

"Oh, now, if he doesn't behave, I'm quite capable of making him a eunuch."

"Squeak!"

"I think he heard that."

"That or you leaned on his tail."

"Oh. Sorry." //I'm apologizing to a ferret.//

//...and holding regular conversations with your past life is any less strange?...//
//...can it, Turner...//
//...as you wish...// But the smirk in the thought-voice lingered.

The furry beast slinked its way up Will's side, then jumped to the pine log headboard, finding a perch. Master of all it surveyed, it blinked, and said, of course, "Squeak!"

"So. As it's time to get up," Byrd's voice flowed, quicksilver, turned modern again, "coffee, breakfast, me? Not necessarily in that order?"

"Oh, no, I agree," Will replied, voice sultry. "Definitely coffee first."

"Whelp!"

"Squeak!"

* * *

While Jack set the coffee machine to whirring and grinding, Will removed crepe batter he'd prepared over the weekend, heated a pan, and poured. While he executed left-handed flips with the spatula, his right hand sliced strawberries into precise eighth-inch sections.

Jack, observing his dexterity, asked, "Been practicing?"

"Part of it's just Turner's instincts coming back, but, yeah. I'm not nearly up for three hours a day, but the corporate gym does have a fencing setup."

"Wouldn't know. Not an employee, so no access." Jack paused and Will waited for it. "I especially love the steam room."

"Knew it," Will said mildly, then grabbed whipped cream from the fridge. He spread out the fixings and dug in. Jack eyed the whipped cream speculatively and certain parts of Will could not help but answer. Then Jack eyed Will speculatively, and it was all he could do not to launch himself over the table, spilling strawberries to have his once-captain instead.

Alas, his stomach growled in protest, ending the fantasy. Though, he promised all of himself, it wouldn't remain a fantasy long if they had any time at all. That was if what he had to confess over the strawberry crepes didn't kill the mood entirely.

Jack, savvy as ever, downed one crepe and milk-laden coffee, and said, "So, what's on your mind? And which you, anyhow?"

"Me. Smith, capital S. Sort of..."

"Go on," Jack said, gesturing with both hands.

Deep breath, tension mounting, utterly spoiled by a furry critter winding about both their ankles as Hector nosed his way to a dish of canned salmon. Time to out with it.

"I called my Dad last week."

The coffee mug came down just a little too hard. Jack's head cocked and his eyes took on a far-off stare that belonged to neither self entirely. "By all the ocean's names, lad. With all that's happened, I'd barely had time to think of it, and hardly dared t' ask ye." Back to Byrd, with, "Your dad would kind of have to be Bootstrap Bill, wouldn't he?"

"The way things have been going, heck yeah."

"So, you told him..." both hands moving again, the 'get on with it' gesture.

"That I had a serious boyfriend, who I was practically living with. He was really happy for me."

"I'm happy for you that he's happy for you, you know?" Jack's grin was the particularly genuine version that made Will melt.

"Yeah. I know." Will paused. "He also said..."

"Yes?"

"That he had to come out to meet you. So he's coming to town." Will gulped down his coffee. "Today."

Coffee spewed in an arc, and then Jack started coughing.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a few deep breaths. "I could have sworn you just said..."

"Dad's coming to town to meet you today."

"And that was what I thought." Absently, Jack continued to eat breakfast, though Will thought he came dangerously close to swallowing his fork. The thousand-yard stare was definitely back.

Apologetically, Will shrugged. "I didn't want to give you too long to think about it, considering what happened last time."

"Last time he bloody near took me head off!"

"Well, Dad wasn't all that stable for the first few years after he got out of the water...and I mean you can imagine - first you find out your best friend is alive, and then you find out your son is alive, then you find out they're both right nearby, so you go to find them..."

"And ye walk in to find your best friend soundly buttering your son from behind. Aye. I suppose I can understand his frame of mind." Accents switched. "That was kind of a shock to the system. Anyway, we looked back on it and laughed, right?"

"Once the various cuts and gashes healed, sure." Will blinked at Byrd. "So you are nervous."

"Hell yeah. I don't know that I've even met your father in this life, but things have the weirdest way of repeating themselves...I mean, Annie Mae's car..." Jack sighed. "Maybe you did the right thing. I won't have time to work up a serious fit of nerves, and the Captain won't have time to decide to help me out with a shot or ten." Jack's eyes unfocused, then came back. "He's amused. Still wants massive amounts of rum, now, but he's definitely amused." A smile. "He likes it when you're sneaky."

Will felt inordinately pleased and returned the grin. "Well, at the very least, this should make Thanksgiving v-"

"If you say 'very interesting,' I'm going to hit you, *savvy?*"

"Would now be a bad time to point out that dueling catch phrases would be incredibly stupid?"

That was about when the whipped-cream laden strawberry hit him on the nose.

"Of course, you know, this means war." His voice, gone to Turner for an instant.

"All's fair..." Jack dodged the return volleys, which hit the wall behind him. And oh, he *did* launch himself over the table, plates skidding, to grab Will by the collar and kiss him soundly. Strawberry-flavored fireworks obscured everything for an instant...

Just long enough for Jack to grab the whipped cream, shove the nozzle down Will's boxers, and press.

"Ghaa!" Will stumbled back, stared. "You cheated..."

"Do I *really* have to say it?"

"Nah. But you're forgetting one very important thing..."

"That's *my* line..."

"Not when I've got the whipped cream."

Will jumped the chair between them, and while Jack was very fast, Will had always been just a touch faster. Jack's hair got a very unorthodox treatment, but Will sweetened the attack with a kiss that pushed Jack against the kitchen counter.

"What a mess..." Jack murmured against Will's cheek. "However will we clean it up?"

*Lick.* "How about..." *lick* "the old-fashioned..." *lick* "way..."

"Ahhh....well, we're both very..." *lick* "old-fashioned..." *lick* "men...after all..." Jack pushed back, sliding off of the counter and pressing Will into a chair, which skidded with a thump against the table. The boxers went off with a yank, and Will's hands tightened on the armrests as a warm tongue cleaned his stomach, moving gradually lower. His back archsligslightly, and he wondered that he was still so much himself. Turner must have a case of the guilts again...

//...come to me...// he essayed. //...come with us...//
//...did not wish to presume...// he heard, and then the wave of desire, //...but oh, *yes*...//

"Oh, *yes,*" they vocalized, one or the other, and now it mattered not. Moist heat that was Jack sliding, licking, humming...was he humming *that* song? Of course he was...and Jack was reaching 'round his back again, and his tongue was low enough to siphon whipped cream from below...God oh god oh...yes...Jack..."Yes...don't stop..." And oh, he did not, and there was more suction, and Jack was rubbing tiny circles on his lower back, tiny distracting oh so warm and welcoming and not that distracting after...all...hips pulled away from the chair and the hands tightened on his back and he tightened too and GOD he was they were going to...

"Yes...Jack..."

Will slumped back into the chair, eyes opening heavy-lidded to see Jack, reclining on the floor with a grin. "That's about the best I can manage," Jack said, "but then I'm only one man... sort of..."

"As am I," Will murmured, "sort of..." But both halves of him, old and new, were of an accord as they knelt between Jack's legs, pulling his own shorts down, then off. The area revealed, however, was perhaps the one clean spot on Jack's body. "Hmm. Not at all fair..." Will kicked the table and caught the whipped cream can as it fell behind his back.

"Showoff."

"Says *you?*" With that, Will filled his hands with sweet foam and applied it to the area in question. Slow, tight strokes... he had the satisfaction of seeing Jack's mast, already full and stiff, rise to its height. Nothing to do now but c it. it...he began below and worked up, methodically, frustratingly slow...or at least, that was how he'd meant it to be. Instead, Jack sighed, eyes closing, and he began to pant, so Will continued just exactly what he was doing with his tongue...oh, interesting...Jack panted harder, louder, great gasps, and Will kept on until they became inarticulate groans and Jack shook all over and spilled himself completely, helplessly. Will, meanwhile, found all himself delighted to add a trick to two lifetimes of repertoire.

"Oh, *my,*" Jack said eventually, stretching. "Is it me, or was that thing with your tongue utterly out of the blue?"

"The best things can be. You were, after all." Will placed his hands on Jack's thighs, preparing to lever himself forward for a kiss. Then a horn honked, and his head very nearly impacted with the tabletop.

Jack, meanwhile, jumped back three feet and up in half a second. "Crap, crap, crap! What time is it!? Don't answer that...oh, hell..."

"Annie Mae?"

"Oh, she's going to *kill* me..."

"Run for the shower! I'll stall her! Go, go, go!"

Jack took off for the bathroom and Will, mind reeling and thinking that this really ought to be the other way around as the half of this relationship made to tell tall tales and generate excuses really was *not* him, left to sacrifice himself on the altar of Jack's carpool.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, a sleek black-furred varmint disdained the scattered strawberries and whipped cream to lick crepe batter from the bowl on the counter.

* * *