More Seductive Than Purity

Chapter Four



Will tensed at the sound of the low murmur of the door swinging open on its hinges, but kept his eyes shut and continued to feign sleep, concentrating on keeping his breath shallow and even. One of his favourite things was Jack waking him with a line of soft kisses across his shoulders, so much better than in his dreams, marking the way to his soul. He heard the floorboards creak in reply to Jack’s weight as he stepped carefully across the cabin towards the bed, accompanied by the faint chiming sound that always announced Jack’s arrival, as the charms and beads in his black mane vied for attention. Will heard a soft tap as Jack placed the oil lamp on the table next to the bed, and even as he felt a thrill run across the surface of his skin, he kept perfectly still. Waiting…



Will was sleeping, so Jack advanced as quietly as he could, silently cursing the floorboards lest they gave him away before he could fully enjoy the sight in front of him. He gingerly placed the lamp on the table next to him without taking his eyes off Will, folded his arms across his chest, and mutely appraised the slumbering form. Will was facing the wall, the thin sheet rumpled down around his waist, exposing the long arc of his back and the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. In the close, still air of the cabin, Will’s skin was covered with a faint sheen of sweat. Jack’s eyes rested on the dip at the base of Will’s spine, thrown into sharp relief by the wavering lamplight. This was the place (‘Well, one of many,’ he mentally corrected himself) where he liked to run his fingers and feel the shivers coursing through Will’s body in response. His eyes continued their languid exploration over the broad-muscled curves, and came to a sudden halt where they always did; at the sight of perfection interrupted. Jack frowned, his eyes narrowing, and a tiny thread of guilt tied a knot around his heart. The map of their history marked Will in the same way that Jack’s body was covered with welts and scars and ink. They spent hours reading each other. This thought softened the tightness in Jack’s face as he looked at the pattern of pale marks striating the tawny skin. With a wry smile, he thought, ‘Silver and gold.’ Everything about Will reminded him of metal (steel, fires, forges, burnished ore, copper, gold, sharp blades, honing, whetstones, and the iron taste of blood in his mouth). His eyes darted to a sudden shimmer as a slow trickle of sweat ran across Will’s shoulder, sliding into the damp, bronze curls at the back of his neck. A wave of heat radiated from Jack’s throat, across his chest, and settled squarely, predictably, between his legs, throbbing once, twice, three times. Suddenly Jack remembered that he had senses as well as that of sight, and that he’d sooner put out his own eyes than deny those other senses their due indulgence a minute longer. With a broad grin, he sighed a small, happy sigh, and raised his hands to the rows of prudish buttons dotted about his body that were doing their best to keep his skin from accessing Will’s.



Why wasn’t Jack moving? All Will could hear was the occasional susurration of Jack breathing, and he was aware of the flickering glow of the nearby lamp as it made red and gold patterns behind his closed eyelids. Otherwise, all was silence and stillness. What was Jack waiting for? Will was starting to grow impatient and began to regret his decision to pretend to sleep. It seemed foolish now, a reminder of his past coyness. He’d eventually overcome his initial insistence in waiting for Jack to make the first move, much to Jack’s delight and his own (now rather well substantiated) sense of sexual pride. But here he was acting like he had been months before, when this (“All this.”) had actually started, whenever he wanted Jack to touch him but was too… What? Ashamed? Possibly. Afraid? No, never. Overwhelmed. Ah, yes. That was it. Too overwhelmed to ask, let alone reach out his own hand to the man next to him.

Will thought about the first time Jack had touched him when they weren’t fighting, or he hadn’t ‘accidentally’ brushed against him in mid-conversation. Will had groggily woken up from the long, agonisingly hot dream he was having, very disorientated by the unfamiliar surroundings and dazzled by the sunlight. He eventually discerned with more than a little alarm that he was in Jack’s cabin. In Jack’s bed. Will felt lightheaded. The images he was fuzzily recalling did not seem like figments of his imagination. He remembered the island; Beckett and Mercer; Jack surrounded by four men; the flash of Mercer’s blade; blood; his own blood. Then, nothing, except a pain so intense he winced again at the thought of it. It was still there, at his side. He lay motionless, willing it to subside. He hazily remembered the face of a stranger bending over him, looking at the painful place on his waist, and strong hands holding him down as he thrashed and swore while the doctor, “Must have been,” he thought, spread ointment over the sore skin. He remembered the concerned faces of the crew swimming into his line of vision now and then. But, aside from the pain, there was only one constant throughout the spaces between that long dark, like the light of the North Star to guide him home.

Jack. Jack’s voice and hands, soothing him. Jack’s face, never far from his side, and always so fretful, the expression. Not the Jack Sparrow he knew. Will wondered again if he was dreaming still, and felt very confused. This was not like the old dreams he had had. He was starting to come to properly now, regaining the sensations in the rest of his body as well as the unremitting ache at his waist. He thought how very thirsty he was, and had another vague flashback of Jack, squeezing water from a sponge into his mouth. Will’s stomach lurched and he shut his eyes to stop the spinning sensation. He wriggled his toes and fingers, trying to alleviate the numbness in his extremities. His right hand was tangled in something soft, and when Will moved his fingers it made a gentle jingling sound.

“Oh no, it can’t be…” Will tried to raise his head with some difficulty, panicking slightly as the thing appeared to be moving. His efforts were rewarded with the sight of a pair of rather sleepy dark eyes looking into his own. Jack’s hair. The thing wound round his fingers was Jack’s hair. Jack was seated next to the bed, and had slumped forwards and fallen asleep, his head resting next to Will’s hand. “Please, let this… let this be a dream,” Will thought anxiously, his stomach churning again. The dream spoke to him,

“You’re awake! You…Ow, hang on mate, let me just…” The dream looked and sounded exactly like Jack, and was now doing its best to unravel itself from Will’s hand. “You seemed to like doing that while you were asleep. Must’ve been a comfort thing, like sucking your thumb.” Will went crimson, and croaked,

“Please tell me I didn’t do that as well?”

“No, no.” Will saw the habitual grin split Jack’s face, but his eyes were somehow different. Will couldn’t quite place what it was. The familiar voice continued,

“Just an example, like. It’s good to see some colour back in your face too,” he smirked, jabbing a finger towards Will’s reddening cheeks. Ah, so he had imagined the other, compassionate Jack.

“Anyway, how’d you feel? Ready to get up and tie a few reef knots?”

Will smiled feebly,

“Just give me a few more minutes to swab the deck, and I’ll step to it.” He thought again how thirsty he was, and tried to sit up; then he thought against it as the pain went through him. He saw a flash of anxiety cross Jack’s face, the same expression he had worn in Will’s dream. Not possible. Will felt the sinking nausea in his stomach again.

“Jack, is there any water?” Will had almost hoped Jack would flippantly gesture towards the sea out of the window behind him, and quip about being inundated with the stuff. But Jack sprang up and passed Will a mugful of water that sat by the bed. He hovered awkwardly as Will attempted to pour the water down his throat without sitting up or choking. Will got very frustrated as he poured about as much on himself as in his mouth. Will saw Jack start forward several times as though he was going to help hold up either the cup or Will’s head, then he sat back down as if he had thought better of it. When Will had drained the mug, Jack stood up immediately again to refill it from the pitcher on the big table in the centre of the room. As Jack moved out of the way, Will could see what lay outside the window. Trees, and the very tops of buildings.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?” Jack swayed back to the bedside and set the mug down. “You hungry, mate?”

“No. I mean, yes, but… Jack, where are we? I can see land.”

“Land is right. Tortuga, to be precise. ‘Fraid I couldn’t find anywhere better to set you down, but I knew there’d be a good chance finding a doctor here who’d treat you without having to be kidnapped first.”

“Set me down?”

“Yes. Nearest port, and all that.” There was a glimmer of another alien expression on Jack’s mercurial face. Jack’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, his eyes flicking upwards away from Will’s gaze.

“You can go when you feel ready,” he said, his voice blank. Then Will remembered their argument. How angry he’d been. How close to the bone Jack had been with his taunts. That he must have come to suspect the truth. That Will was… sick.

“Oh, yes, port… Thanks.” Will turned his head away, suddenly feeling very tired. Jack’s next words came out in a rush.

“That is, if you still want to go, mate. Like I said before, I can always do with a good deckhand.” Jack’s mouth stayed open at the end of the sentence, as if he was rather surprised and annoyed that the words had come out at all. His expression darkened and became unreadable again.

Will lay silently for a moment and closed his eyes, the pain throbbing in his side. He didn’t know what to think, or even how to think at the moment. There were too many things in his head, too many emotions conflicting and warring, cancelling each other out to leave a heavy numbness in their wake. There was an ache in Will’s chest that had nothing to do with the wound at his side.

“I’ll consider it,” he said quietly.

Jack’s reaction was unexpected, his voice uncharacteristically bitter.

“Really? Despite everything I’ve put you through? Wouldn’t you be better off without a scoundrel like me gettin’ you into a fix at every given opportunity? Don’t you think maybe you should go?”

“I said I’d think about it,” Will replied, and the little voice in his head piped up again, making him suddenly grow angry. Not at Jack, at himself. “What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll have to leave. Seems like that’s what he wants anyway. Besides, what kind of a man are you, if you’re fearless in a fight but terrified of yourself?” Will swallowed hard, ignoring the thrashing feeling in his stomach, then said, almost too softly to be heard,

“Besides, I like being around you.”

There was a silence that lasted long enough for Will to hear the blood hammering in his chest four times before Jack spoke.

“Why?”

“Oh Jack, please,” Will thought, “don’t go and spoil everything again by talking, and by asking me questions I can’t answer.” Will attempted to formulate some kind of reply,

“Because…” he failed to get any further. “Just because,” he sighed, smiling faintly as he remembered that this had been Jack’s own unsatisfactory explanation.

“Will, I have to tell you something,” Jack said earnestly. Will felt the nausea rising again, worrying what Jack was going to say next.

“I didn’t sail to the nearest port when you asked me to.”

“Ah. I didn’t ask you to sail to the nearest port. I said I’d leave at the next port. And I did know what you were doing. I just don’t know why you…” Jack interrupted him.

“Wha’…? You knew?! Whatcha mean, you bloody knew?!”

“Everyone knew. It was fairly obvious.”

“Ah, Well,” Jack shifted uncomfortably on the chair, and seemed to come to some kind of decision, “so, you know that it’s, um, possible to interpret it as, er, my fault that you have ended up,” he made an expansive gesture towards the bed, “thus incapacitated, due to the aforementioned guilty party’s incapacity to keep his bloody mouth shut, and his grimy neck out of trouble. Savvy?”

“Mmm. Is that supposed to be some kind of circuitous apology? It is your fault, Jack. But I could have let you die rather than intervene and end up getting injured myself. I chose not to let you die.”

“Why?” Jack asked quietly. “I probably deserved it.” Will made a noise of exasperation.

“Why do you keep asking me ‘why’?”

“Because I need to know.” Jack was looking at him strangely.

Will turned his head away again, exhausted.

“I don’t know why,” he said, sounding hollow. The little voice in his head shrilled, “You coward! You do know!”

Jack spoke again, “Will, you don’t have to answer that.” He sounded pained. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. ‘M just glad you’re talking to me at all, considerin’. It’s good to have you back anyways, for however long you stay…” his voice dwindled away. Will realised he was holding his breath. “Well,” Jack’s voice had a strange lilt to it, “if you’re going to go, I just want to say something. Just so you know, eh?” He stood up and leaned over the bed. Will opened his eyes again, but kept his head turned to the wall, thinking, “No. Don’t say anything else.” Will lay perfectly still as he heard Jack take a deep breath, and saw him from the corner of his eye resolutely nodding his head once or twice. Jack gave a quick sigh, then said,

“Will. ‘M sorry. And thank you.” He bent down, one lock of his hair slipping forwards and brushing against Will’s neck. Will turned his head automatically towards the sudden movement, and the kiss that Jack had been aiming at Will’s cheek landed square on his lips. Neither one of them was quite sure who was more surprised. Jack leaped backwards behind the chair, his hands pressed together in the entreating prayer pose he adopted when distressed, probably thinking that Will would somehow find more than enough strength to rise from the bed and punch him.

Will had raised his hand, but not in aggression. His eyes were very wide as he touched his fingers to his lips and stared at Jack. He felt for a moment that he had fallen out of time. Nothing moved, and he could hear nothing except a crashing sound inside his head as the rush of blood washed away every question and every doubt he had ever had; the answer lay silently beneath his trembling fingers.

The world spun again as Jack moved, imploring,

“Oh, bugger! It was an accident. Will, it was...” Will shut his eyes tightly and shattered into little pieces. Yes, that’s all it was. An accident. As soon as he could walk, he’d go. Perhaps they could stretcher him off the ship right this minute. Will bit his lip and turned his head away again, trying to make his voice as harsh as possible to stop it from cracking.

“It doesn’t matter Jack. Just go. Leave me alone.” His voice trailed off. There was no response for some time. The room was completely still and silent, then Will heard the floorboards creak, and the purposeful sound of Jack’s footsteps. They were not going towards the door.

Jack leaned over the bed again. Will kept his eyes shut as he felt the weight of Jack’s hands indenting the pillow at either side of his head. His heart was hammering so hard he thought his ribs might crack, and he vaguely noted that the churning in his stomach was not nausea; it was longing. Then he heard Jack say in the low, rich voice he remembered from his fever,

“It is allowed, you know.” Will felt a tight rush of heat, and opened his eyes as the sweat broke out over his body. Jack’s face was inches from his own, and Jack was staring at him, irises dilated black with desire. Then Will realised that was what was different about Jack’s eyes. They caressed him with every glance, like he was the most precious thing Jack had seen. Will’s head spun and he closed his eyes again, breathing unevenly, his body and mind unable to keep up with this onslaught of sensation. Bewitching Jack, who confused and tormented and fascinated him completely, was so close to him he could barely breathe at all. He didn’t recognise his own voice at first as he heard the words, “Help me,” spoken in a gasp. He considered opening his eyes again, but was afraid that Jack wouldn’t be there. “Please, don’t let this be a dream,” he thought, and peeked. He was still there. Will felt another rush as he saw the intense expression on Jack’s face. He was half-aware that he ought to feel some sense of shame at the heat and hardness growing between his legs, but then Jack’s mouth was moving again and he forgot what he was supposed to do.

“Will, I promise you that kiss were an accident.” Will’s eyes shut again and his brows creased as he desperately hoped this wasn’t some elaborate ruse or feverish delusion. Jack must have recognised the consternation on Will’s face, as Will felt a finger hesitantly brush over the furrow on his forehead. Jack put his lips to Will’s ear, and whispered,

“This one ain’t…”

Then Jack had kissed him, slowly and softly, full on the mouth. And as Will dissolved completely, he didn’t dare to move because he never wanted it to stop.

That was the first time.

But it was different now. Now he could just turn over and pull Jack to him. And he would, because frankly he was bored of waiting and his whole body ached to touch Jack, and Jack still wasn’t moving and… Ohhh. Abruptly it dawned on him why Jack wasn’t moving. The revelation flooded his brain with static. Jack was watching him. Just standing there and watching him. This realisation sent a tremor through Will’s stomach and a flush spread over his body. Suddenly he felt self-conscious, and his shyness returned for real this time. In the heat his skin prickled, and he felt the ticklish slide of a bead of perspiration across his shoulder. Then Jack sighed, and from that tiny noise Will knew he was smiling. Will heard a soft, rustling sound, and silently cheered as he listened to Jack undressing at last, waves of delicious anticipation lapping over him.