Touch
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,660
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,660
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Good day
Title: Touch
Author: Ladyjanelly
E-mail:
Feedback: gives me a reason to type and post instead of just playing with pretty images in my head.
Type:FPS
Chapter: 2/?
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: R
Archive: Feel free, just let me know where.
Warnings: More of a recovery fic than hurt/comfort, but there are still mentions of child abuse (nothing graphic) and it is Slash.
Lying down beside Jack Sparrow was one of the most difficult things Will had done in all his young years. It was harder than dueling with Jack, or facing Elizabeth's father. He stretched out, and the bed was the softest he had ever known. He lay tense, expecting something unseemly to happen at any moment, but nothing did. Jack rolled over on his side, turning his back to the former blacksmith, and soon the sounds of his snoring filled the lush cabin.
They slept like that every night afterwards. As weeks and then months passed, Will became more comfortable with the situation, with having another body so close to his while he was sleeping and vulnerable. Some nights were hard, when the smell of rum on Jack was too much like whisky. Some nights were pleasant, as they relaxed together after a day of sailing and sport. On occasion he would wake to the feel of Jack's hand resting on his shoulder or hip, and after a while it stopped sending him into a panic. He still slept in everything but his boots. Jack often chose only close-fitting breeches to sleep in.
The nightmares came to Will then, more often than they had in years. Jack would always wake him with soft touches to his hair and reassuring babble. A strange sort of uneasy peace seemed to settle around him. It struck him as improbable that Jack would choose to share his cabin forever, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to worry what would be his lot when this comfort too was taken from him.
If the nights were uncertain, his days aboard the Pearl were a joy. Some nights he went to bed feeling as if his skull must be stretching apart with all of the new knowledge filling it. He learned the art of the sail, and the craft of caring for wood. He learned to read and write more than the few words that a blacksmith would need. At the helm beside Jack he learned to listen to the Pearl's whispers, though he didn’t understand what she was telling him yet.
He learned the dance of shipboard-fighting and the strange mix of acting and improvisation required to cheat and win.
The year he had begun sword-work back in Port Royal had been the last that Mr. Brown had any interest in him. The exact opposite was true with Jack. The fire in Will's veins seemed to kindle the fire in Jack's eyes. The harder they fought, the stronger Will could feel the attraction Jack held for him. In the steel-clad shell he had made of his emotions he began to feel an answering stir, a longing.
Will had his first real tastes of piracy as they plundered a British colony ship, and a Dutch shipping vessel. Jack could be fearful when he chose. His voice and manner did more to end those conflicts with a minimum of bloodshed than Will would have believed possible before seeing it with his own eyes.
They never spoke of the past. Jack never asked what happened with the engagement to Elizabeth. Will never asked about his father or Jack's history. Sometimes Jack would amuse him with some fanciful tale, but those were safe and silly and he enjoyed listening to the colorful fabrications.
One morning, months after he had joined the crew, Will woke to find himself pressed tight against Jack's hip, tense and hard against the older man's lithe heat.
"Need a hand with that, whelp?" Jack had asked, his voice filled with mirth and innuendo. He hadn’t touched without asking, which Will appreciated.
"Whatever makes you happy, Jack," Will had said, rolling over onto his back, laying his forearm over his eyes, closing out the sight of the room, of Jack.
Without comment Jack carried through on his offer, his work-worn hands coaxing unimagined pleasures out of the boy's body. When it was over Will took the proffered cloth and cleaned himself, then rolled back to face the wall.
"Thank you, Jack," he whispered, knowing he should have offered more, done more, but he could not.
--------
Almost as good as rum, Jack thought as he worked the boy's shaft with his lips and tongue and the muscles of his throat. It took almost a month for Will's desire to awake, for him to begin to respond to Jack's attraction in a way that had nothing to do with commerce. Another fortnight passed before Jack sensed the opportune moment and made his offer. Months went by before Will would let him use his mouth, or hold him afterwards.
A strangled groan burst from the former blacksmith's throat as gold-capped teeth grazed hard across over-sensitized flesh.
Jack was careful to keep his hands only on the clothed parts of the boy's hips. Will was dressed, because he didn’t like to be naked. Jack was naked because he did. Jack's mouth didn’t tease, he didn’t play. If there's one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow understood of the world it was that there's things a man can do, and things he can't.
Right now, Will could not do more than lay there in their bed, his hands clenched in the sweat-dampened sheets and accept the pleasure Jack was giving him. He could not be touched too much. He could not be kissed. He could not return the joys that were given to him. Jack had never felt Will's hands upon his hot and needy flesh. He had never experienced those calloused fingers leaving him undone and satisfied.
And Jack could live with that. For now.
It was enough to be the one that Will would whisper please to in the middle of the night. It was enough to hold him as he slept. It was enough to watch the boy writhing as he experienced more sensation than he could cope with. To be the one holding those sharp hips flat against the mattress. To be the one to taste his sweat and his desire and his completion.
With a cry that sounded more of anguish than pleasure, Will filled his mouth and his throat and Jack swallowed it down. Not a drop was wasted, though the boy tensed as Jack's agile tongue cleaned the smoothness of that skin.
"Thank you, Jack," Will whispered, as he had every time Jack gave him relief.
Jack rolled over onto his back, wrapping both hands around himself, tugging and stroking. It had been too good, seeing Will as he climaxed, tasting him as he spent. His eyes rolled back and his chest bowed up towards the ceiling. The candles flickered, as if the Pearl herself was sharing in his enjoyment of the moment, as it were.
And then a touch, rough fingers against his throat, light as a ghost. It started his nerves to singing in pleasure. It tasted like rum, felt like battle. A string of words were flowing from his lips but he paid them no mind. His own wet heat splattered across his chest, almost to his collarbone. He was panting and gasping and still swearing, and that hand was still touching him.
The wave of pleasure tossed him and turned him and at last swept him in to a calm and sheltered shore. He blinked his dark eyes up to meet the boy's.
"Thank ye, William," he said with a crooked grin, utterly spent and limp and happy.
It had been a very good day.
Author: Ladyjanelly
E-mail:
Feedback: gives me a reason to type and post instead of just playing with pretty images in my head.
Type:FPS
Chapter: 2/?
Characters: Jack/Will
Rating: R
Archive: Feel free, just let me know where.
Warnings: More of a recovery fic than hurt/comfort, but there are still mentions of child abuse (nothing graphic) and it is Slash.
Lying down beside Jack Sparrow was one of the most difficult things Will had done in all his young years. It was harder than dueling with Jack, or facing Elizabeth's father. He stretched out, and the bed was the softest he had ever known. He lay tense, expecting something unseemly to happen at any moment, but nothing did. Jack rolled over on his side, turning his back to the former blacksmith, and soon the sounds of his snoring filled the lush cabin.
They slept like that every night afterwards. As weeks and then months passed, Will became more comfortable with the situation, with having another body so close to his while he was sleeping and vulnerable. Some nights were hard, when the smell of rum on Jack was too much like whisky. Some nights were pleasant, as they relaxed together after a day of sailing and sport. On occasion he would wake to the feel of Jack's hand resting on his shoulder or hip, and after a while it stopped sending him into a panic. He still slept in everything but his boots. Jack often chose only close-fitting breeches to sleep in.
The nightmares came to Will then, more often than they had in years. Jack would always wake him with soft touches to his hair and reassuring babble. A strange sort of uneasy peace seemed to settle around him. It struck him as improbable that Jack would choose to share his cabin forever, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to worry what would be his lot when this comfort too was taken from him.
If the nights were uncertain, his days aboard the Pearl were a joy. Some nights he went to bed feeling as if his skull must be stretching apart with all of the new knowledge filling it. He learned the art of the sail, and the craft of caring for wood. He learned to read and write more than the few words that a blacksmith would need. At the helm beside Jack he learned to listen to the Pearl's whispers, though he didn’t understand what she was telling him yet.
He learned the dance of shipboard-fighting and the strange mix of acting and improvisation required to cheat and win.
The year he had begun sword-work back in Port Royal had been the last that Mr. Brown had any interest in him. The exact opposite was true with Jack. The fire in Will's veins seemed to kindle the fire in Jack's eyes. The harder they fought, the stronger Will could feel the attraction Jack held for him. In the steel-clad shell he had made of his emotions he began to feel an answering stir, a longing.
Will had his first real tastes of piracy as they plundered a British colony ship, and a Dutch shipping vessel. Jack could be fearful when he chose. His voice and manner did more to end those conflicts with a minimum of bloodshed than Will would have believed possible before seeing it with his own eyes.
They never spoke of the past. Jack never asked what happened with the engagement to Elizabeth. Will never asked about his father or Jack's history. Sometimes Jack would amuse him with some fanciful tale, but those were safe and silly and he enjoyed listening to the colorful fabrications.
One morning, months after he had joined the crew, Will woke to find himself pressed tight against Jack's hip, tense and hard against the older man's lithe heat.
"Need a hand with that, whelp?" Jack had asked, his voice filled with mirth and innuendo. He hadn’t touched without asking, which Will appreciated.
"Whatever makes you happy, Jack," Will had said, rolling over onto his back, laying his forearm over his eyes, closing out the sight of the room, of Jack.
Without comment Jack carried through on his offer, his work-worn hands coaxing unimagined pleasures out of the boy's body. When it was over Will took the proffered cloth and cleaned himself, then rolled back to face the wall.
"Thank you, Jack," he whispered, knowing he should have offered more, done more, but he could not.
--------
Almost as good as rum, Jack thought as he worked the boy's shaft with his lips and tongue and the muscles of his throat. It took almost a month for Will's desire to awake, for him to begin to respond to Jack's attraction in a way that had nothing to do with commerce. Another fortnight passed before Jack sensed the opportune moment and made his offer. Months went by before Will would let him use his mouth, or hold him afterwards.
A strangled groan burst from the former blacksmith's throat as gold-capped teeth grazed hard across over-sensitized flesh.
Jack was careful to keep his hands only on the clothed parts of the boy's hips. Will was dressed, because he didn’t like to be naked. Jack was naked because he did. Jack's mouth didn’t tease, he didn’t play. If there's one thing that Captain Jack Sparrow understood of the world it was that there's things a man can do, and things he can't.
Right now, Will could not do more than lay there in their bed, his hands clenched in the sweat-dampened sheets and accept the pleasure Jack was giving him. He could not be touched too much. He could not be kissed. He could not return the joys that were given to him. Jack had never felt Will's hands upon his hot and needy flesh. He had never experienced those calloused fingers leaving him undone and satisfied.
And Jack could live with that. For now.
It was enough to be the one that Will would whisper please to in the middle of the night. It was enough to hold him as he slept. It was enough to watch the boy writhing as he experienced more sensation than he could cope with. To be the one holding those sharp hips flat against the mattress. To be the one to taste his sweat and his desire and his completion.
With a cry that sounded more of anguish than pleasure, Will filled his mouth and his throat and Jack swallowed it down. Not a drop was wasted, though the boy tensed as Jack's agile tongue cleaned the smoothness of that skin.
"Thank you, Jack," Will whispered, as he had every time Jack gave him relief.
Jack rolled over onto his back, wrapping both hands around himself, tugging and stroking. It had been too good, seeing Will as he climaxed, tasting him as he spent. His eyes rolled back and his chest bowed up towards the ceiling. The candles flickered, as if the Pearl herself was sharing in his enjoyment of the moment, as it were.
And then a touch, rough fingers against his throat, light as a ghost. It started his nerves to singing in pleasure. It tasted like rum, felt like battle. A string of words were flowing from his lips but he paid them no mind. His own wet heat splattered across his chest, almost to his collarbone. He was panting and gasping and still swearing, and that hand was still touching him.
The wave of pleasure tossed him and turned him and at last swept him in to a calm and sheltered shore. He blinked his dark eyes up to meet the boy's.
"Thank ye, William," he said with a crooked grin, utterly spent and limp and happy.
It had been a very good day.