Lost in Translation

Part Seven

****
With intense curiosity, Will stared at the woman who was standing waist deep in the ocean. She had waded into the water ten minutes prior, and no one had any idea why. Her hips swayed every now and then, rippling the sea around her. The immense interest finally made the young man tread away from the rest of the crew and make his way to stand beside her. Tia Dalma gave him an acknowledging nod and a broad grin.

“What are you doing?” he inquired softly.
“’Dere is life on ‘dese waters. ‘De sea is kind to us and will bring ‘dem here.” She closed her eyes, rested her palms on the surface, and uttered a series of words to herself.
Will studied her as he turned the words over in his mind. After a moment, he said, “You mean crews of ships. The sea will bring one here to rescue us.”
“Aye,” she replied contently.
“How?”
“She has to be called at just ‘de right moment. Calm and beautiful.”

He did not understand the mystic’s statements and was about to return to the beach, but something caught his eye. In the great distance, sails of a ship appeared. He gazed at it in awe.

“Come, William Turner,” she beckoned and began her way to the shore.

Will followed after her, smiling at the excited reactions from the crew.

All that was left to do was wait.

****
Jack groaned from the vicious thrusts in and out of his body. He accidentally bit down on the erected member in his mouth when the male behind him gave an extremely powerful shove, causing the man in front to strike the side of his skull with great force. Everything was misty for a moment as he recovered from the impact. Regardless of the aching throb of his head, he continued on with his ministrations, sucking with precision, while the other male’s propulsions became faster.

Semen flooded his mouth, followed by the ejaculation within his body from the man behind him. They pulled themselves out of his orifices, buttoned their clothing, and returned to the deck. Jack quickly spewed out the creamy liquid, and worked up his own spit in hopes of getting rid of the sickening taste. His injured shoulder abruptly reminded him of its pain, and he emitted a small whimper. Barbossa had been generous enough to tend to it; a long cloth began atop his left shoulder, went across his back, under his arm and over the right shoulder, made another path across his back, and wrapped around his left shoulder. A complicated “figure eight” is what the captain had called it. It would ensure that the break would heal properly.

He was about to get to his feet, but another man came down the stairs. He sighed dejectedly and prepared himself for the next round of assault.

****
It was an odd thing; Jack did not understand it. As the days progressed, the men had taken a serious fancy to his thick, black mane. His beads and trinkets were played with; some even tried to yank them from his hair. They stroked and combed their fingers through the loose strands and dreadlocks before and during their exploitation of his body. For reasons unknown to him, the molesting of his hair became a harsher punishment. It made him feel even more degraded than when the men climaxed within him and groped him.

As he sat at the table watching Barbossa eat one evening, he absentmindedly began winding a strand of the beloved hair around his finger. The older man took notice and laughed. The sound unsettled Jack immensely. He gazed suspiciously at the captain, growing incredibly apprehensive when Barbossa stood and strolled to him. A hand gently swiped the locks resting on his shoulders back; the action made him tremble. The grimy fingers began to pet the mane tenderly, fondling a dangling charm every now and then.

“I must admit somethin’, Jack,” Barbossa stated, amused. “This be the finest head of hair I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ me eyes on.”
Jack remained silent, though flinched in revulsion.
“Soft and coarse all at once. All the way down to here.” He trailed down Sparrow’s back until he reached the ends of the hair. “Beautiful, like a woman’s. This was, and still is, the best of your attributes, Jack. It be too precious to be harmed in any way.” He picked up the long braid draping over the bandana’s knot and caressed it as if it were a new born babe. “Ye remember when ya always asked me to do this?”
Jack’s breathing accelerated ever so slightly and his eyes blazed wildly.
“I fucked ya so hard and rough that it would always come undone. And you would always ask me to re-do it. Ah, if ye only knew how much pleasure it gave me – touchin’ it and workin’ it under me fingers.”
“Stop it,” Jack stated quietly. His tone was utterly agitated.
“Don’t like rememberin’, do ya? Don’t like thinkin’ of yourself lyin’ willingly under me, do ya?”

Jack clenched his teeth and did not answer. Barbossa chuckled and made his way toward the bedroom.

“Ya best be in here soon or I’ll turn ya over to be whipped senseless,” he said over his shoulder.

The younger man exhaled a shaky breath and took a strand of hair to hold with his fingers. He stared at it with tremendous sadness in his eyes. Tears formed as he settled on a decision.

Among the pleasant recollections, there were simply too many memories he wished to forget. Barbossa had done a good job of making his mind reminisce over them after having forgotten them years ago. He hated the fact that the cruel man was so fond of it. He despised the foul men becoming just as enchanted with it as their captain and handling it carelessly.

He was determined to execute his plan the next morning.

****
The sun had just begun peeking through the gray clouds of the fading night. It did not provide much light to illuminate the room, but with the dwindling candle flames, it would suffice.

Jack crept with all caution from his corner to Barbossa’s hanging coat at the other side of the area. His heart thumped achingly in his chest, and his pulse sped with anxiety. A noise from the sleeping captain made him turn around to observe, eyes dilated with panic. Barbossa shifted onto his side, putting his back to the pirate. Jack swallowed a knot in his throat and tried to steady his fast breathing. Silently, he turned around to the coat, reached into a pocket, and fished around. Nothing. He exhaled a frustrated breath and put his hand in the other. Yes, it was there! He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, merely settling on a sigh of gratefulness.

The mirror was close by, and he ventured to it gradually with the knife handle between his teeth. He sat cross-legged in front of it and gazed at himself. The image was nothing like he remembered; there was no resemblance to the blithe man he had been. The rich eyes were overcast with extreme weariness and unbelievable sorrow. The happiness and vivacity had been snuffed. His beaten face was gaunt and dull; no longer did he feel that he possessed any attractiveness. Too many discolored bruises painted the skin among the cuts and dried blood. He was on the verge of tears from scrutinizing his marred self up close for the first time, but hurriedly shoved the urge away.

Nimble fingers untied his bandana and laid it out on the floor. Their next task was to unravel the thick braid; as the hair loosened, his mind wandered to a time when Barbossa had sat behind him, brushing and tending to his mane gingerly while carrying on a casual conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed obscenities to himself for thinking on it.

The freed, dark locks cascaded onto his back. He parted the tousled hair and draped the halves over his shoulders. With utter tenderness, he obtained a small amount and stroked it lovingly. He brought the strand to his lips, kissed it, and whispered, “Goodbye, beautiful.” It was enough to release the tears he had been withholding.

His left hand grasped the end firmly and held the strand out in front of his countenance. The dagger was in the other; leisurely, it was lifted for the edge of the blade to rest underneath the black lock. A period of hesitation overcame him, though he fought it off quickly.

The knife tore into the hair madly as he sawed away. When the freshly cut strand landed before him, he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out somberly. Another lock was retrieved, and he speedily sliced a long portion of it off. He soon began to take handfuls of his treasured mane to hack away at in order to get the heartbreaking procedure over with as quick as possible. In silence he wept mournfully; the ground became blanketed with the sleek hair. His fingers were shaking incessantly as he fulfilled his task, and his lips quivered as tears forged their way down his sullied cheeks.

At last he was entirely finished. He put the weapon on the floor and stared at his reflection. The ends were jagged and varied slightly in length, but overall, the mane that had once reached almost to his waist was now barely brushing the tops of his shoulders. He left the two strands of beads and the one that lay on his forehead alone. His fingers ghosted over the raven hair for a minute, but instantly stopped when he heard movement behind him.

There was no chance of making it to his corner; Barbossa sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes landed on the younger man. Jack started to quake from the expression of extreme rage and mercilessness that swept over Barbossa’s visage. The captain got up and moved to stand in front of Sparrow, who kept his eyes downcast to the floor.

“What the fuck did ya do to yourself?” he asked venomously.

Jack was trembling uncontrollably, making him unable to answer. It did not matter anyway. Barbossa struck him hard; he fell to the side with a pitiful whine. The older man knelt beside him, hoisted him by the front of his shirt, and punched him again. Blood spurted from Jack’s mouth. Barbossa proceeded to hit Sparrow’s face relentlessly and with tremendous force. Jack could not move, could not think. His head felt as if it were being stomped on unremittingly by the heaviest boot imaginable. His nose bled; his lips bled. Red liquid leaked from his mouth. There was nothing he could do other than groan from the pain.

He was abruptly flung against the floor, allowing him a chance to catch his breath. The break did not last long. Barbossa was once again beating his thin frame, yet it was not with his fists. Jack emitted a strangled whimper as his body succumbed to the blows from the captain’s pistol. He was certain the result of the cruelty would make his skin horribly bruised beyond belief.

There was no use begging for mercy; it would simply cause Barbossa entertainment.

After ten minutes had passed, Sparrow lay on the floor in a bloodied heap, breathing raggedly. An indistinct, tremulous moan came from him as he weaved in and out of consciousness. The agony was indescribable. It was beyond anything he had endured previous. His face had been severely bashed to the extent of hardly being recognizable. The tears that dripped from his barely opened eyes were now the color of red.

“That hair was mine to do whatever with,” Barbossa growled in a feral tone. “It did not belong to you. It belonged to me just as you do. Ye did not have the liberty to do such a thing without permission. What have ya accomplished by doin’ it?” He spat on Sparrow’s countenance before stating harshly, “Nothin’ besides being punished for it.”

The voice was distant and was not easily comprehended by Jack from the pulsating anguish his skull was putting him through. He did not even realize that Barbossa was dragging him away until the sun warmed him. More voices pervaded through his ears before he was pulled up to stand. His wrists were shackled and then tied to a ratline. Incoherent mumbling constantly filtered out of his mouth; he had no idea what was happening around him.

The sudden sensation of the lash made him scream as it tore open the flesh of his back. His throat constricted, making him unable to breathe at times. The cat scratched persistently at his body, creating a number of new wounds and splitting open the older ones that had not healed completely. Though he tried to contain it, he vomited wretchedly from the excruciating torture.

The intense flogging continued even after Sparrow finally passed out.

****
Everyone was astonished to discover James Norrington aboard their rescuing vessel. He seemed to be quite amazed at them in return. The Commodore, or rather former Commodore, was dressed in the same garb Elizabeth remembered seeing him wear in Tortuga. He explained his situation to her as the ship made for the expansive ocean. Serving under Cutler Beckett for a time was not as glorious as he had imagined it to be. The taste of freedom and lack of strict rules he experienced while in Tortuga and aboard the Pearl with Jack called to him. He did not, however, tell Elizabeth that his second resignation was in part due to her as well. She no longer was the proper Governor’s daughter she had once been; he knew that his only chance of being around her was to take up the adventure of the sea as she had done.

“James, I must ask a favor of you,” she said after they had discussed his new-found captainship of the vessel they were on.
“What is it?” he questioned, concerned from the intense desolation in her eyes.
“We must find the Black Pearl. None of us has a ship, and it would be unlikely that any crew would want to spend time searching for just the one.”
“Why must we find her?”
“Jack is being held captive by Captain Barbossa, and we must try to rescue him before he’s killed.”
“Killed? That seems a bit drastic. Surely he can get himself out of the situation; he’s done so many times before.”
“This is different. Please, James.”
“What does the rest of the crew think about this endeavor?”
“They are up to it. Most, anyway,” she added softly, thinking of Will. “Please, I beg of you.”

James smiled and took her hands in his. “I would do anything for you, Elizabeth. Do you have any idea at all as to where the Pearl may be headed?”

****
Will avoided Elizabeth as best as he could while ambling around the deck. If she was on one side, he was on the opposite. He could not bring himself to talk to her at all. It saddened her, and it made his guilt flourish. Nevertheless, he did not feel like taking the risk of having his emotions smashed again. Besides, she seemed quite content in James’ company.

He went to reside beside Tia Dalma, who had secluded herself from everyone else by standing at the bow. Her enchanting eyes were fraught with grief, nothing like Will had ever witnessed before.

“What is it?” he inquired quietly.
She did not answer right away. Instead, she sighed dejectedly and stepped away from him as she gazed at the sea. “He grows weaker each day. I fear we will not make it in time.”
“Can you see what’s happening to him?”
“No, but I can feel ‘de torment he has. His spark dwindles.”

Not until he heard Tia Dalma speak of the rogue did he worry for Jack. The thought of the eccentric pirate suffering in ways unimaginable to him finally trickled into his mind.

“Do you believe we’ll find him?” he asked, hoping to be assured.

She shook her head solemnly and said gently, “It is up to ‘de sea to decide whether we find him or not.”

****
The instant he gained consciousness he immediately wished he had not. He felt as if his skull would burst; his whole being throbbed as if someone was constantly squeezing him aggressively. Soft murmurs escaped him, and he hoped that by voicing his discomfort, it would make him feel better.

He could scarcely open his eyes; but even with his eyelids opened just to slits, he was able to see darkness. Stifling blackness. He touched his finger to his eyelid and winced as he pulled it down a little. No, he was not dreaming.

“Hello?” he asked in an intensely faint, hoarse voice. “Barbossa? Anyone?”

Nothing. He was wholly alone. It was at that moment he became aware of the fact that he was lying in a small amount of water.

Something suddenly darted across his legs, making him yelp in surprise. Tiny squeaks came from every which way. Another creature scampered up his torso, and he almost shrieked from the feel of the animal’s petite feet on his face. The rat began to nibble on his cheek, making him frantically grab hold of it by its tail and throw it to the side. He sat up and wailed from the wave of anguish that engulfed him. His back was burning; the bilge water that had soaked the lacerations certainly made it worse.

He brought his knees to his chest as he started to sob uncontrollably. The shackles were still encompassing his wrists; immense frustration plagued him as he tried to break free of them.

Two rats made to climb his arms. The moment he felt them, he thrashed about and tried to seize them by their necks. A scream ripped itself from his throat when they finally flew off him. The endless chatter of the beasts threatened to drive him insane.

It did not matter that he was enormously worn out. He could not sleep knowing the creatures were everywhere.

He vowed to remain alert.


Part Eight

****
There was no way to keep track of the time that passed by. Jack withered away in the locked dark area of the deepest part of the hull. He refused to sleep; no matter how difficult it was and the protest from his body, he was afraid of the consequences. His furry company had taken more and more of an interest to their new resident. Because Jack could not see at all, the animals had the advantage of taking him by surprise. Instead of just one or two scurrying over his legs, waist, and swatting at his hair, it was now five or six all at once. The territory was not just surveyed out of inquisitiveness anymore either, resulting in frequent piercings to his flesh from pointed teeth instead of a small nibble every once in awhile. The beasts would bite him fiercely in hopes of a feast. He snatched as many as he could and as fast as he could when they swarmed him. Loudly, he screamed, yelled, and pounded the ground in attempts to scare them off. It worked for several minutes at a time before a few latched onto him once again.

He could not stop crying; anger, horror, torment, stress, and exhaustion made the tears ceaselessly reproduce in his eyes. The fatigue captured him whenever he dared to stretch his stiff muscles and move around. Seconds after he would collapse to the ground after a bit if exercise, the creatures would be crawling everywhere on him. There were numerous times when he was tempted to surrender – to lie where he was and be devoured by the rats. Yet something within him always made him get up and fend them off.

There were no noises other than the squeaks, the snarls every now and then from two of the animals fighting, and the swishing of the stagnant water as the ship rocked. He sang and talked to himself to drown out the sounds, though his throat would hurriedly became raw, stifling his voice and making him unable to speak without it hurting.

Desperately, he struggled to keep his eyelids from closing, but he finally could not prevent it. His head drooped, letting his chin rest on his chest as he dozed. The rat on his right shoulder began to play with his hair, occasionally putting a strand into its mouth to taste. Another climbed onto his head and dug through his mane curiously. When one bit his toe and then proceeded to gnaw on his ankle, he let out a grunt but did not wake. A creature made its way up his left arm to his shoulder and scratched lightly at his ear. It sniffed about the body part before letting its teeth sample the flesh. One of the beasts moved underneath his shirt and created a tickling sensation when its tiny paws scuttled over his abdomen and chest, making him squirm a little. Still, his eyes did not open.

A sudden boom sounded, rattling the wood around him. It took two more thunderous noises before he awoke. He gasped and shouted helplessly as he twisted violently. A couple of the animals went flying, but he had to manually yank off the others from him.

He strained his ears to decipher the blasts. Warily, he felt his way to the other side of his enclosure and pressed an ear to the wood.

“Canon fire,” he whispered hoarsely. His face lit up after a moment. “Canon fire! A ship!”

He started to laugh madly and slumped against the wall.

It was his first real flicker of hope to be rescued.

****
“All alone. Down in the hull. Among the vile vermin. They’re all I have, and I’m all their food.” Jack paused from singing as an idea took shape in his mind. “All their food,” he said slowly.

His stomach caused him tremendous distress; it pleaded for something to eat. This in turn made him weaker by the hour. He put his hand against his abdomen and winced. His frame was extremely emaciated, and it made him worry dearly. The garments he wore had seemed to become bigger as days passed, but he had not believed that his body had shrunk to such a radical degree to make the clothing so loose. Without the shirt tucked in, the breeches slipped off his thinning waist and were slack about his hips; the shirt seemed to swallow him from its bagginess.

He groaned from the sudden pounding in his head. No doubt it was in part due to being overwhelmingly famished.

“Come here,” he said and felt around the floor in front of him. “Come on, you fucking little monster.”

His fingers landed on one in seconds, making him grasp it with both hands. The rat snarled and hissed at him while struggling to break free. Jack was not intimidated by the show of ferociousness; instead, he laughed dementedly.

“Either you or me,” he croaked. “And I’ll bet I’m the hungrier of the two of us. You probably had a taste of me already anyway. It’s my turn to have somethin’.”

He kept hold of the creature as he thought of exactly where to sink his teeth into. The animal twisted as it continued to fight in order to liberate itself. It almost succeeded, though Jack hurriedly recovered it. The victory, however, did not last long.

Fiercely, the rat tore into his hand with its incisors. A wounded shriek came from Jack as the teeth bore into his skin and almost a bone. He lost his secure grip, and the vermin shifted to just above the cuff around his wrist. Another cry of pain sounded from the pirate as the sharp teeth made to devour his flesh. He slammed his arm against the ground, praying that the rat would come off or die – whichever came first. After four tries the animal finally let him go and scurried away.

Jack clutched his hand to his chest and sobbed. He could feel the blood flowing down his arm and onto his fingers wrapped about the injury.

“God damn it!” he roared. “Stay away from me! Fucking stay away! Fucking devils!”

With little time the demons became aware and attracted to the bleeding gash. He knew what was to come from the excited noises, and it made him cower against the wall defenselessly.

In one vast mob, the rats attacked him, burying him under their multitude. He wailed and screamed from the vicious bites everywhere on him, the scratches from small claws, the feel of whiskers and wet fur, and the loud, squeaking noises that filled his ears.

****
What was once heavy breathing was now nothing more than shallow gasps. He did not have the strength to pluck the filthy creatures from his body anymore. Sometimes, a couple of them curled up on his lap and slept. The faintest hint of a smile would form by his lips as he stroked the fur gently with a finger.

“This is it, Jackie,” he thought gloomily. “This is the end. I am to die alone here. In this Hell. In my ship. No warm, comforting embrace to come as I cling to those last moments of life. Only the rats – the rats that will gorge on this wretched body until there’s nothing left. I was supposed to succumb to death aboard my ship, but not like this.” He sighed and said aloud, “Maybe I was wrong about the canons. Maybe there was no ship. Just as well. Doesn’t matter. If the crew was captured, they’d do me no good anyway.”

All at once light flooded the room. It blinded him and made the animals begin to chatter. He turned his head and squinted; his eyes felt like they were bleeding. Two looming figures shrouded in shadow treaded toward him. A few of the creatures darted off of him and into the darkness, while the others continued crawling on him. Low voices reached his ears, though he could not understand what was being said. Gruff hands started to rub themselves against his frame, causing the remaining rats to flee. He grimaced from the pressure applied to his battered body and quaked in fear.

An arm went under his knees and another beneath his shoulders. Swiftly, he was swept up and carried out of the space. A comical grin spread onto his face, and he began to chuckle ridiculously. He had not made it to Heaven. No, he was still stuck in the horrendous Hell. It was just a change of scenery he was being moved to.

A soft whimper escaped between his dry, cracked lips. The sunlight was utterly unbearable. He kept his eyes shut tightly, even after the brightness was gone. Another voice sounded, yet unlike the other two, this one caused him to convulse in sheer terror.

“Put him on the floor. I’ll deal with him.”

The man holding him laid him carefully on the wood floor before leaving with his fellow crewmate. Jack at last opened his eyes halfway to find Barbossa standing over him.

“Horrible lookin’ thing, ye are,” the captain said as if disappointed. “I see you were a bit of a meal to those fiends. It’s gonna take a lot to get ya cleaned up.”

Sparrow recoiled away from Barbossa’s touch when the older man started to unbutton his breeches. An upsetting cry emitted itself from him as they were removed. He did not expect what happened next. The shackles were unlocked, and he sighed happily from having his sore wrists freed. His shirt was stripped from him, leaving him to lie naked for the captain.

Barbossa sat down beside him and set a relatively large bowl of water on the floor nearby. Sparrow heard the liquid slosh around in the dish, causing his tongue to lick his lips greedily. How he yearned for a drink – even a simple drip would do.

“P-Please,” he whispered wearily. “Some. So thirsty.”
“I’m sure you are. Don’t fret, Jack. You’ll get some when I’m done takin’ care of ya. Now just relax and it’ll go quickly.”

Jack was submerged in sensational bliss from the words. Finally, a scrap of mercy. Water. He would treat his throat very soon.

Barbossa started with the younger man’s immensely beaten visage, drizzling a medicinal liquid onto him before dabbing at cuts and wiping off dried blood and dirt. The skin was then cleansed with water. Sparrow moaned quietly; whether it was because of pain or delight of the refreshing water, he did not know.

“I won’t lie and say you’re lookin’ well,” Barbossa said bluntly. “Ya look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Jack muttered with a smirk.
“An awful shame. Your face was a fine attribute as well.”
“Was?”
“Is. It can still be salvaged. Just give it some time; you’ll look like yourself again. Mostly.”
“I certainly hope so.”

Was that a kind grin on the captain’s countenance? Jack was unsure. But he was astonished to find himself calm while in close proximity with Barbossa, and he was sure that it was his imagination that caused the older man to be humane at the moment. It could not be real.

“How long was I in there?” he asked in a frail voice.
“About five days. That’s why after I’m done with this, you’re goin’ to get a pretty good meal.”
“Five days?” Jack repeated in shock.
“It would’ve been one less, but we were a bit distracted at one point.” He pressed against a lesion on Sparrow’s chest, eliciting a quivering whine from the pirate. “My apologies. Rib must be a bit bruised.”

Gradually, Barbossa moved down the extremely purple and black splotched body. The recent wounds from the rats brought on the most anguish for Jack when the cloth bathed them meticulously with the medicine before washing them with water.

“Roll over and I’ll do your back,” the captain said after he was finished with Sparrow’s front side. As Jack obeyed, he continued, “I’ll treat that one on your arm after.”

Jack whimpered and hissed at the light pressure applied to the countless slashes on his back and from the unbelievable stinging that resulted from them being cleaned. Rapidly, he reminded himself that the reward was food, and it made the intense torment decrease.

“There. Done,” Barbossa stated. “Sit up.”

He fetched a long piece of fabric as Jack did as he was told. The pirate waited patiently for him to return.

“Arms up.”

Once Sparrow did so, Barbossa began wrapping the cloth around the man’s torso and abdomen. Jack stared at him contently with exhausted eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly.
Barbossa secured the fabric and gave him a nod.

All that was left was the gruesome bite on his right arm from the rat. The captain retrieved a different bottle, gripped Jack’s wrist firmly, and poured a small amount of the contents onto the injury. Sparrow cried out and fidgeted, but was kept in place by the older man. It was then washed with water before Barbossa wound a similar piece of cloth about his arm; it started at his wrist and reached to the middle of his limb.

“There. Come on, now.”

He helped Jack to stand and handed him a clean pair of breeches. The gratitude was conveyed on the pirate’s face without having to say a word. He put them on and followed the captain to the main room. In an instant he was practically foaming at the mouth from the gorgeous sight. A feast was laid out for him along with five glasses of water. There was no chance of stopping himself from shattering into tears.

It was like a dream. Was it his? Truly for him? He looked to Barbossa with his brown eyes glimmering with anticipation. It was as if he were a child asking a parent for permission to go off and play.

“It’s all yours, Jack,” Barbossa said sincerely. “Dig in.”

There was no need to prod him. Sparrow raced to the table, grabbed a goblet filled with water, and drank voraciously. He downed the entire amount in seconds. Time was not wasted; he snatched up a leg of meat and ripped into it. As he chewed on it, he at last took a seat.

There was nothing that compared to the rapture he experienced as he indulged himself. He laughed. He cried.

And he was allowed to enjoy the fantastic meal all alone – not worrying about anything else except for how much food he could consume.

****
Though his stomach was in discomfort from the bountiful amount he ate, it was tremendously better than the feeling of starvation and dehydration. It did not even bother him that he had to vomit a couple of times afterward from having that much food in such a short amount of time. As he leaned back against a canon on deck, he had no troubles. He savored the moment of tranquility, knowing it would only last for the rest of the day.

His mind was so inconceivably gone in a state of bliss that it did not upset him in the slightest when a crewman ridded him of his breeches and claimed his body roughly. He even chuckled happily as if nothing were wrong.

He was absolutely numb to everything other than the lingering elation he possessed from the extravagant meal.

****
Jack stayed out on the deck even after the moon had revealed itself. Usually, he was stored away in the captain’s quarters minutes before the sun entirely disappeared.

Something unsettled him as he glanced around. He frowned and got up. Barbossa was nowhere to be found. Leisurely, he sauntered to the cabin doors and entered. He stopped near the table and studied the captain from behind. The older man swallowed the rest of the rum in his bottle and turned around to Jack. He was wholly drunk; Sparrow saw it immediately.

Without warning, Barbossa threw the bottle at the wall behind the pirate. It was not aimed for him, but Jack ducked away nonetheless. He shook from the trepidation that engulfed him and scrutinized his former first mate. Barbossa did not seem to notice anyone was with him. He took up another bottle and began to gulp it down. Taking advantage of the man’s obliviousness, Sparrow crept away into the bedroom silently.

Tiredly, he sank to the ground by his designated corner and stretched out on his side. He sighed, relieved to know there would not be any rats to assault him.

Ten minutes passed before Barbossa stumbled into the room. Jack watched him intently as he sloppily undressed. In minutes he was left in his shirt and breeches. The young man curled up, anticipating a harsh blow when Barbossa was in front of him, but it did not come.

“Come,” the captain ordered in an astoundingly tender tone. “You can sleep on the bed tonight. Come on, get up,” he encouraged.

Sparrow eyed him warily as he got to his feet and shuffled to the bed. Barbossa slid under the sheets first, and Jack lay as far apart from him as possible and with his back to the man. The covers were at his waist, yet he did not dare bring them to his chin without Barbossa’s permission.

“You’re so sad, Jack,” the low voice stated from behind him. “Have I clipped the Sparrow’s wings at last?”

Jack swallowed to reduce the knot rose in his throat. He closed his eyes and started to tremble as fingers ghosted over the back of his neck. They slid over his collarbone and to his hip. The next time Barbossa spoke, it was closer to his ear.

“Shame it had to be like this,” he said sincerely. “But you had everythin’, and I had nothin’. Not even you despite the fact we slept together every night. Right here. In this bed. Do ya remember?”
The younger man’s chocolate orbs had the appearance of glass from the tears forming.
“Someone had to tame ya. Someone had to break ya. I can see the cracks formin’ with each passin’ day. It’s a beautiful thing, Jack. And yet, there’s still somethin’ within me that hates to see ya hurt. But even that fades away every day.”

He kissed the pirate’s shoulder delicately and commenced making a trail to the lashes that were not covered by the shielding fabric. Jack arched away from the fingers that started to trace each one.

“No need to be afraid tonight, Jack. I won’t harm ya. Rarity, is it not?”
Sparrow eased into the touches, producing a light chuckle from the other male.
“That’s it, lad. Perhaps it could finally give ya pleasure instead of pleasure bein’ had at your expense.”
Furiously, Jack reminded himself that Barbossa was completely drunk, and anything kind that he said could not be the truth. But the affectionate caresses were quite satisfying.
“Feels like the old days. We had some good times, yes? And how you yielded to me in bed. You were quite a splendorous sight. But your hair….A tragic loss. Eliminated part of your beauty. Shame, that.”

Sparrow wiped his eyes and was hesitant about what he was about to do. He inhaled deeply before sitting up. He turned to Barbossa, pushed him to lie on his back, and straddled him. The uncertainty and purity in Jack’s eyes made Barbossa exhale a breath of ecstasy. After a brief period of debate, Sparrow leaned down and kissed his former lover ardently. The captain groaned, aroused, as Jack’s smooth lips worked deliberately with his own. His hands cupped the younger man’s face and stroked the flushed cheeks with his thumbs.

He easily voiced his enjoyment; however, Jack never uttered a sound.

His memory had served him well over the years, but having Sparrow’s lips entwined with his own made it finally come alive again. He took hold of Jack’s short hair and pulled, raising the male’s head. Erotically, he licked the pirate’s neck and sucked on it for several minutes. When he at last let go and kissed Jack properly once more, a darkened spot was left on the man’s skin.

Hands traveled up and down Sparrow’s torso before venturing to grasp his round backside. The faintest noise of pleasure sounded in Jack’s throat. It made the captain’s member harden more. Upon feeling the contained erection, Jack grinded against him fervently. Barbossa emitted a husky groan and closed his eyes. The sensations of Jack rocking against his arousal as if they were committing the actual act – as if he were truly inside of Jack – stimulated him beyond belief.

“Ye always did know how to ride a man better than anyone else,” he panted heatedly.

Sparrow ignored the comment, merely focusing on the movement of his hips to rub himself against Barbossa. He tossed his head back, closed his eyes, and was unable to contain the gratification he wished he did not have.

He moved faster, creating continuous grunts to come from the older man as he neared his peak. Barbossa grasped Sparrow’s hips and pushed down in order to cause more friction as the younger male went quicker still. Jack bit his bottom lip and his expression grew tense as his member became erect. The vision sent powerful tremors through Barbossa’s anatomy.

With a loud groan, the captain climaxed within his breeches. Jack slowed his motions to a stop and matched Barbossa’s heavy breathing with his own. He gazed at the older male, observing him as he recovered from the intense, sexual exertion. When the afterglow faded, Sparrow crawled off of him.

“Come here, Jack,” Barbossa said gently.

The captain sat up and patted the open space between his legs. Jack settled himself in the offered spot and rested back on Barbossa. Barbossa snaked his arms around the pirate’s waist and unbuttoned his breeches. With one hand, he held the end of Jack’s erection as the other began to slide up and down the firm flesh. Sparrow let out a whimper and let his head fall back into the crook of the man’s shoulder. His fingers dug into Barbossa’s thighs as the captain stroked and massaged him. He moaned wonderfully and started to pant.

“Let me have you,” the older man whispered hotly into his ear.

Barbossa rubbed along the length steadily for a few minutes before increasing his speed. The sounds that filtered from Jack’s opened mouth were quivering and dripping with unabashed pleasure.

“Hector,” he gasped vehemently. “Please. Ohnn….More. More.”

Barbossa worked Jack to the brink. A shudder went through Sparrow’s body before his orgasm overtook him. He spilled himself onto the captain’s hands and went limp against the male. Barbossa enveloped him snuggly and kissed his cheek several times. They stayed that way while Jack’s respirations slowed to normal.

“Get some rest,” Barbossa said quietly when Sparrow was able to breathe evenly.

Jack nodded and withdrew from the man’s embrace. They lay with their backs to one another, and it was not long before Barbossa was asleep.

Sparrow stared ahead as he pondered what just occurred. His emotions were a giant mess; all was in chaos in his mind.

It was only one tear that fell to the sheet at first. It was soon followed by a number of droplets.

Softly, he cried from everything.