Legends of the Treasure Child

Jack wanted to pee. He wanted to pee so badly he got out of bed by sliding down on the floor on his stomach as not to upset the terrible wound in his ass. He got up, minding to keep his legs together and his hips at the same level so it wouldn’t hurt so much, and tiptoed aimlessly around in the quiet and dark cabin. John was asleep on his bed in the other side of the richly decorated captain’s quarters. No help there. Not that Jack wanted any. He felt like a burden, a cut-off, handicapped and severely troublesome old man. And he simply couldn’t get rid of the Thyrion’s words about cutting Sparrow’s wings. For its true meaning had come to Jack during night following their escape, and that’s what awoken him, realizing that he also needed so very much to pee.
But how is an old pirate to make do without his best friend? Where’s it supposed to come out when one no longer has a trunk? Jack rubbed his face in his palms, trying to rub away the smirk of the demon in his mind.

*Come here, Sparrow and let me clip your wings*

The awful truth, Jack told himself as he absentmindedly flipped through some old maps, was that Jack would have survived it. Losing his little first mate was one thing, but he’d live through the maiming also. Simply because the Thyrion wanted it so. Jack pictured what it would have been like to have to remain in that tower, alone with the Thyrion. Without penis, without arms in his sockets and a huge, round belly. Kind of like a ripe blueberry. And what of his legs? Would the demon have let him keep his legs? Not likely. For they weren’t really needed. All the Thyrion had to do, was simply to cut his belly open when the time was ripe, remove the ready to be born infant and lick his wound right back together, preparing him for more. How many were there? Jack wondered. How many humans elsewhere, throughout the times, had the Thyrion reduced to living cocoons? The thought was sickening and all his sympathies and all that, but right now he had to pee. He just so very much for the love of God had to pee!
So what? He knew he was holding back, but what happened if he tried to pee? He tiptoed over to his bed and found, well, a wooden bucket. Nothing neat and nice in porcelain, so very well the bucket would have to do. Maybe John could make him a bucket of gold?! That would have been something. Should he squat? Or perhaps stand? What if he missed? Could he miss? Was there an unseen opening somewhere? The women, they sat down didn’t they? He’d seen them do it. He tried squatting, imitating the women. Everything in his guts told him the golden shower ought to come straight forward, but there was nothing to shower from. He squeezed his inner muscles, the tip of his tongue lurking just out from his lips as if to keep everything in balance and focus, waited patiently and soon there were results. Jack nearly rolled on his head as he curved his back, arching his neck to the maximum to get a look at what was going on down there. He then flexed to look up at the ceiling, sighing relieved to the sound of steady flowing water from his bladder. For the love of his mother’s green socks what a joy! He could still take a piss!! He couldn’t say the same for his poor puckered entrance which at the moment didn’t want to know him or be anywhere the searing urine. Jack hissed at the pain, dried himself with the end of his nightshirt, picked up the bucket and went to the cabin door. He felt his heart pound a little faster, imagining for a moment that the demon lurked outside. He undid the bolt, opened the door just wide enough for the bucket to be allowed through and pushed it outside with the door. He then bolted the door, and upon thinking twice about it, put a chair in front of the door as well. Hm, maybe the desk wasn’t too heavy. Maybe he could move it without waking the dem—, err, John, he corrected himself. He began to drag the desk towards the door. It was heavy, and he had to push and pull quietly and a little by little. But john did of course notice, and woke to sit up. John looked outside to the moon, then back at his father.

“It’s three o’clock Dad. What are ye doing?”

“The witching hour. That’s when he comes. I can feel him John, he’s standing right outside the cabin door, can’t you?! He wants me.” Jack said, still trying to move the desk. John got up and moved over to the door.

“I don’t sense anything” he said to Jack. Instead he added: “smells like urine in here. Did you take a piss?”

“Just help me move the desk so he won’t get through. And we must close the shutters so he can’t get through the wind—“

“—he’s not on the outside Dad.”

Jack let go off the desk and stopped to stare. In his head, there was in deed a ghost version of the Thyrion and he stood where the doors had disappeared.

“He’s come to clip me wings, son. He’s goin’ tha’ chew them right off and then he’ll eat me legs one by one, just as he did with my little Jackie—“

John hurried over to him, took Jack in his arms and held him tight, held him so close. The warmth and feel of another warm body against his made Jack come back to his senses, made him sob uncontrollably, and he felt the fear and the stress pour out and onto the floor.

“Come and sleep with me, Dad. I understand. I really do. Maybe you’ll feel a little safer. He’s not out there right now, I can’t feel it.”

He let John lead him to his bed, and tried to lay down. But Jack got up again, urging john to sleep by the wall. For if the Thyrion decided to crash through the wall, then he’d get John instead of him. But that left Jack exposed to the doorway, should the demon choose to barge in that way. Jack really ought to move the desk.

“Come Dad”, John said, growing tired with his father’s indecisiveness, urging him to take the place by the wall. They lay down, and when Jack finally settled in and began to relax, he actually felt quite safe.

“He was going to eat my arms off, John” Jack whispered, his eyes gazing into the golden eyes of his son. “How many more—“ he was cut off as John kissed him carefully. Jack tried to speak, but John kept decorating his mouth, his bearded lip with soft kisses, soft like feathers, shushing him, telling him to let it go. You’ll go mad if you don’t let it go – John’s eyes spoke to him. So Jack kept quiet, watching his son’s beautiful eyes fill with tears, watched them drop silently, and turning to gold on the pillow, next to his cheek. And Jack could see that this had taken its toll on John as well. The boy was tired and exhausted.

“What are ye thinkin’, John?”

“That I’m going to have…brothers. And that they’ll push me away from you. For they will need you, and your precious milk. And there won’t be any room left for me.” John tried to smile. Jack couldn’t help but to kiss him in return, laying so close, feeling John’s warm chest against his own. It was soothing and tender, and he returned the kisses, stroking John’s hair, speaking softly to him.

“I don’t know what they’re goin’ to be like, John. But I assure you that you can always come to me. There will always be room for ye right here, in me arms. But you’re just to big to be sittin’ on me lap” Jack half joked, kissing John’s sweet lips again and again. It felt good, felt very reassuring, and it helped heal Jack’s battered and raped mind, for he desperately needed normality. And chaste kisses were all right, he decided. It was all right.
They fell asleep again in each other’s arms, and slept so until the morning when John awoke with an incredible hard-on and a terrible need to take a leak. He sipped out of Jack’s embrace, tiptoed over to the empty bed on the other side and discovered to his horror that the bucket was gone. Woe to all bucket-stealers! Where was it?! Just where was it?!! In his desperate need, John opened one of the starboard stained glass windows and exposed his proud manhood to the sea gulls. Would it lower already? Please?! The sea gulls circled about the Pearl, mocking it with their monotone cries of ‘seen-it-before, seen-it-before’.

“Oh you just shut up!” John cursed. Then finally, at half mast, he got it right and had a good long wee. It was that sort of good long wee you just feel right down to the very marrow of your bones, and John wriggled his hip a little to toss off the final droplets before he closed the window and went back to bed. Jack was still asleep, and John spent a few minutes counting Jack’s gold teeth. There was so much about Jack he really hadn’t seen before, and he suddenly remembered that he’d actually spent a great deal of time studying his golden teeth while he was a baby, nursing from Jack’s nipples. And he’d study their shapes and form while he lay there, peering up at Jack who smiled down at him, babbling away on some gibberish baby-language Jack thought John would understand.
John didn’t care what Jack said back then. It was all about the milk. And so it always would be. Any eventual siblings quarrel would end up being about that too. For as long as Jack kept on smelling of milk, his children would be drawn to him like iron to magnets, no matter neither age nor size. John lifted up the hem of Jack’s shirt, peering inside to his chest. There it was. Right there. A quarter-sized, brownish pink nipple, about one-third filled with milk, -yes John was very good at judging the contents. It jutted out like a small mountain top, like uncharted territory waiting to be conquered, and it was laughing right in his face, saying ‘haha, I’m not yours anymore. Want me? Come and get me if you dare.’
To suck or not to suck, that was the question. Permission to suck was a whole different matter, and John did what Sparrows do best. He ignored the dilemma, and let the nipple keep laughing in his face while he started stroking himself. His rod was long overdue and he kept it quiet. Really quiet while he dreamed of bathing in chocolate. In a golden tub. Aye, that’s it. Together with a hot looking demoness, red in the flesh, with sultry lips and a big—.

There was of course a knock on the door. John sat up, and in his anger he sent a fire bolt at it, blasting it to bits.

“We’re trying to get a moment’s worth of peace here! What be it, Mr. Gibbs?!” John shouted, his eyes turning angry red, his cock erect and menacingly pointing towards the first mate. Jack got up, baffled and surprised to see Gibbs outside the door, covered in soot, smoke rising from his hair.

“I—“, he looked bewildered from Jack to John and back at Jack, “the—, uh, harbour—Tortuga, in sight, Sir“.

“Very good. Dock when ready, sailor.” Jack said, turning back and laying down next to John. Then he remembered something and turned to Gibbs again: “Oh, and get us a new door. It’s kind of windy in here, savvy?”

“And I want my bucket!” John added angrily before tucking himself under the sheet again.

“Bloody Sparrows” they heard Gibbs muttering to himself as he limped away, barking at his men to go find a new door for the royal family.