Tar And Ember
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,249
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,249
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The PotC franchise belongs to Disney et al. I make no profit out of using their characters here, monetary or otherwise.
4
4
There were still times, especially on days like these, when Will found the mundane, everyday things highly luxurious. Take a shower for example, how the water rushes through the pipes and you can step under the stream, adjust the temperature to whatever happens to strike your fancy. It was cold on a hot day, when you most needed it, and with just a flick of a hand, it turned hot, when the gray upon gray upon black forced windows to be shut, and men seek warmth from wherever they could.
Tea had been the first option, but since it could do only so much, and Will’s hands were still cold, there he stood, in the shower, remembering a time when running water was a God’s miracle at the least, and laughing quietly at the first time he’d seen a water closet… and had been too coy (Jack? …never mind,) to ask how it worked.
The bathroom door opened and Jack walked in, cracked the shower curtain enough to tell Will that it was just him, withdrew again and unbuttoned his jeans, casually announcing that it was raining outside while taking a leak.
Had Will not had his face lathered with soap, and the rush of the water in his ears, he might’ve detected the peculiar colour of Jack’s voice, but, as they were indeed, Will replied only with an unalarmed, soapy mumble.
Noticeably more warm, Will dried his hair in a towel, and wrapped into a luscious burgundy robe, he trod barefoot into the kitchen, where Jack sat at the dining table looking out, jaw propped on his hand.
The raindrops drummed to the glass as if knocking, asking for a permission to enter, to get inside from the cold autumn, to be allowed shelter, before they could do any more harm.
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, having found a rhythm from the rain to line with, and Will did not have to see his face to get his guts plummeting with dread.
Yes, it had become easier, somewhere between after the last soul lost on the Edinburgh Trader had found their peace and the harsh realization and long - endless - talks how there was nothing in Will’s power to do. He had accepted his place, and if the smile on Calypso’s lips were anything to judge by, that’s how it had been written on the day Will was born, to be a servant of not gods, but… Humanity.
“You said ‘rain’.” Will tossed the towel over a door to dry, and went to Jack, who did not reply nor turn.
His other hand curved around his half-full cup, Jack, leaned forward as if to see better across the lawn, then regained his posture, silent still, except for a ruminative hum.
“And your tea is cold.” Not that it mattered much in a world where one set of eyes saw both hope and despair, and the other saw love and loss, but it gave Will something to say through the thickness in his throat when he embraced Jack from behind, and saw nothing but their yard in the direction Jack was looking.
Fingers stilled from echoing the weather, Jack hugged Will’s arms to him tight, resting his head to the soft fabric of Will’s robe, and to the even softer, the unwavering mainstay of his love.
“I did say rain, didn’t I?” The quiet repetition spoken with even more gray, made Will want to object, to accuse Jack of playing games with serious matters, to hope against hope that it was all false, in fact, Jack hadn’t so much as looked at Will, so it must be --
“I meant storm,” Jack released his hold, yet not letting go entirely, and twisted around enough to face Will. “A really big one.”
When it comes to the difference between lost love and love lost, the surest way to know for certain, was paying note to the amount of bitterness in Jack’s voice.
When there was none, and Jack’s eyes were clouded with another layer to the gray upon gray upon gray, as it happened to be now, it was time for loss and despair.
Without making any effort towards doing such things, “We should get ready,“ Will suggested decisively, staring into Jack’s unseeing eyes, selfishly wishing that it was all over already, so that he could drown into the beauty once more, instead of being blindly looked through.
A wide grin suddenly glamoured Jack’s face, and so much as a wink for a warning, Will was grabbed onto Jack’s lap and his mouth captured with a passionate kiss.
Jack parted with a chuckle, then nuzzled Will’s chest, conveniently revealed by the robe slipping aside, “Have you forgotten what I do see, or need I remind you, dear William?” Replacing his nose with his hand, Jack caressed the tell-tale scar gently with his thumb while pressing his palm to Will’s skin.
“Jack,” following as his counterpart’s gaze brewed storm, shade by shade darker, Will voiced reason; “We don’t have time for this.”
“Yes we do,” Jack lifted his chin toward the window, and through the rain, Will could make out a child in a yellow raincoat, splashing away in his wellies excitedly, chasing a paper boat boldly cutting through the forces of nature in the gutter.
“This happens to be precisely what we have time left for,” Jack nodded, as if agreeing with what Will was seeing, his eyes slowly turning the blue of a raging sea. “Before it’s time for us to lend our time to the ones who have no…time. Left.”
Will took another contemplative glance through the window, and swiftly concluded that Jack was right.
Life, even as it was destined to serve the dead and dying, was still for the living. And living with the destiny to serve the dead and dying, well, it was easier to live with, when there were cornerstones (Jack… How does it work?), such as the feel of his love‘s arms finding their way underneath Will‘s robe.
“Yes, Jack.”
“Yes, Will?”
“Yes you do need to remind me.”
The eyes, where love was blue, looked directly at him.
-----------------
There were still times, especially on days like these, when Will found the mundane, everyday things highly luxurious. Take a shower for example, how the water rushes through the pipes and you can step under the stream, adjust the temperature to whatever happens to strike your fancy. It was cold on a hot day, when you most needed it, and with just a flick of a hand, it turned hot, when the gray upon gray upon black forced windows to be shut, and men seek warmth from wherever they could.
Tea had been the first option, but since it could do only so much, and Will’s hands were still cold, there he stood, in the shower, remembering a time when running water was a God’s miracle at the least, and laughing quietly at the first time he’d seen a water closet… and had been too coy (Jack? …never mind,) to ask how it worked.
The bathroom door opened and Jack walked in, cracked the shower curtain enough to tell Will that it was just him, withdrew again and unbuttoned his jeans, casually announcing that it was raining outside while taking a leak.
Had Will not had his face lathered with soap, and the rush of the water in his ears, he might’ve detected the peculiar colour of Jack’s voice, but, as they were indeed, Will replied only with an unalarmed, soapy mumble.
Noticeably more warm, Will dried his hair in a towel, and wrapped into a luscious burgundy robe, he trod barefoot into the kitchen, where Jack sat at the dining table looking out, jaw propped on his hand.
The raindrops drummed to the glass as if knocking, asking for a permission to enter, to get inside from the cold autumn, to be allowed shelter, before they could do any more harm.
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, having found a rhythm from the rain to line with, and Will did not have to see his face to get his guts plummeting with dread.
Yes, it had become easier, somewhere between after the last soul lost on the Edinburgh Trader had found their peace and the harsh realization and long - endless - talks how there was nothing in Will’s power to do. He had accepted his place, and if the smile on Calypso’s lips were anything to judge by, that’s how it had been written on the day Will was born, to be a servant of not gods, but… Humanity.
“You said ‘rain’.” Will tossed the towel over a door to dry, and went to Jack, who did not reply nor turn.
His other hand curved around his half-full cup, Jack, leaned forward as if to see better across the lawn, then regained his posture, silent still, except for a ruminative hum.
“And your tea is cold.” Not that it mattered much in a world where one set of eyes saw both hope and despair, and the other saw love and loss, but it gave Will something to say through the thickness in his throat when he embraced Jack from behind, and saw nothing but their yard in the direction Jack was looking.
Fingers stilled from echoing the weather, Jack hugged Will’s arms to him tight, resting his head to the soft fabric of Will’s robe, and to the even softer, the unwavering mainstay of his love.
“I did say rain, didn’t I?” The quiet repetition spoken with even more gray, made Will want to object, to accuse Jack of playing games with serious matters, to hope against hope that it was all false, in fact, Jack hadn’t so much as looked at Will, so it must be --
“I meant storm,” Jack released his hold, yet not letting go entirely, and twisted around enough to face Will. “A really big one.”
When it comes to the difference between lost love and love lost, the surest way to know for certain, was paying note to the amount of bitterness in Jack’s voice.
When there was none, and Jack’s eyes were clouded with another layer to the gray upon gray upon gray, as it happened to be now, it was time for loss and despair.
Without making any effort towards doing such things, “We should get ready,“ Will suggested decisively, staring into Jack’s unseeing eyes, selfishly wishing that it was all over already, so that he could drown into the beauty once more, instead of being blindly looked through.
A wide grin suddenly glamoured Jack’s face, and so much as a wink for a warning, Will was grabbed onto Jack’s lap and his mouth captured with a passionate kiss.
Jack parted with a chuckle, then nuzzled Will’s chest, conveniently revealed by the robe slipping aside, “Have you forgotten what I do see, or need I remind you, dear William?” Replacing his nose with his hand, Jack caressed the tell-tale scar gently with his thumb while pressing his palm to Will’s skin.
“Jack,” following as his counterpart’s gaze brewed storm, shade by shade darker, Will voiced reason; “We don’t have time for this.”
“Yes we do,” Jack lifted his chin toward the window, and through the rain, Will could make out a child in a yellow raincoat, splashing away in his wellies excitedly, chasing a paper boat boldly cutting through the forces of nature in the gutter.
“This happens to be precisely what we have time left for,” Jack nodded, as if agreeing with what Will was seeing, his eyes slowly turning the blue of a raging sea. “Before it’s time for us to lend our time to the ones who have no…time. Left.”
Will took another contemplative glance through the window, and swiftly concluded that Jack was right.
Life, even as it was destined to serve the dead and dying, was still for the living. And living with the destiny to serve the dead and dying, well, it was easier to live with, when there were cornerstones (Jack… How does it work?), such as the feel of his love‘s arms finding their way underneath Will‘s robe.
“Yes, Jack.”
“Yes, Will?”
“Yes you do need to remind me.”
The eyes, where love was blue, looked directly at him.
-----------------