Tar And Ember
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,251
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,251
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.
7
After departures, there is always the returning; the best part of the day, when the anticipation alone creates the otherworldly experience of hearing the key turn, the door open, the beloved, familiar steps walk in. When one can feel the presence mere moments before two souls are finally sighing in relief, lips joining in a grateful greeting, a lingering touch, a teasing little blow to one’s ear, brushing aside curls escaped from their cue.
Time it self has the courtesy, at times, to slow down in celebration of the lonely vigil one has kept in an empty house, when nothing is worth doing, thoughts flit though an aggravated mind, agonizing when a part of a whole is missing…
But the waiting! The restless excitement of expecting, the relentless butterflies in the stomach fluttering away stretched fractions of seconds. The electricity felt in every limb, the cadence of the tap of the fingers to the arm of the chair! The meaning of it, the depth, the never ending craving manifesting itself in little quirks. That troublous sigh.
And the rattle of the key sounds, and Jack springs to his feet, tossing aside his book, incomprehensible, no matter how many times he read the same page.
And the door opens, this time in this world, in this time, bringing home the other half, and Jack’s heart leaps at the sight of the speck to soot garnishing the side of Will’s cheek, the red tip of his nose, colored by the cold outside.
Jack fidgets as Will kicks off his shoes, eyes fixed on Jack, his brow quirked in an amused arch in anticipation of something special having happened.
He’s right, you know. Today is a day when Love is not blue, but shines in myriad hues, through, inside, everywhere, for today the sun shines brighter, the world turns a new leaf in the trees, and the song of a nightingale was heard.
Life.
It was the same song that was sung mere centuries ago, lighting and evoking, painting roses red and conflating men. These two men, on an ordinary day, weary from work, step forth towards each other, wrapping arms around their counterpart, rest their heads on their supporting pillars, and stay.
‘Welcome home,’ sighs the air around them, carrying the rays of light through the windows so that they can see clearer, find every crook and cranny, revealing, blasting out the emotions evoked, and just standing there is not enough.
Jack breaths in deep the day’s work from Will’s neck, when Will takes Jack’s hand and raises it to his lips, where he can smell the tar, see the smudges left behind by a day of restoration, when Jack burns on the embers of the memories the soot brings forth, the sensation of fire itself roiling inside Will, that fire a lure, that lure his love.
As the materials become immaterial, creating new when they meet, liquid and fluent and ethereal and beautiful, it becomes obvious this is the time but not the place. Suddenly, in a flash, the air is wrong, home is not home. Not now, when past eras pour and fall over them, whetting, bringing them to lather, exacerbating and impossible to assuage even with skin on skin. Not here.
Will’s nose is warm now as he snuggles Jack’s neck, whispering ‘missed you, need you, escape, Jack,’ and his mouth presses hotly against Jack’s heart when he smiles and tells him; ‘take me away.’
There is a place where the smell of tar is forever, and the embers never cause danger. It’s black as pitch and free. It’s times forgotten and caresses remembered. Fervid words and fervent breath, desire and the elusive horizon. It’s home away from home.
“I know just the place.”
-----------------------
Time it self has the courtesy, at times, to slow down in celebration of the lonely vigil one has kept in an empty house, when nothing is worth doing, thoughts flit though an aggravated mind, agonizing when a part of a whole is missing…
But the waiting! The restless excitement of expecting, the relentless butterflies in the stomach fluttering away stretched fractions of seconds. The electricity felt in every limb, the cadence of the tap of the fingers to the arm of the chair! The meaning of it, the depth, the never ending craving manifesting itself in little quirks. That troublous sigh.
And the rattle of the key sounds, and Jack springs to his feet, tossing aside his book, incomprehensible, no matter how many times he read the same page.
And the door opens, this time in this world, in this time, bringing home the other half, and Jack’s heart leaps at the sight of the speck to soot garnishing the side of Will’s cheek, the red tip of his nose, colored by the cold outside.
Jack fidgets as Will kicks off his shoes, eyes fixed on Jack, his brow quirked in an amused arch in anticipation of something special having happened.
He’s right, you know. Today is a day when Love is not blue, but shines in myriad hues, through, inside, everywhere, for today the sun shines brighter, the world turns a new leaf in the trees, and the song of a nightingale was heard.
Life.
It was the same song that was sung mere centuries ago, lighting and evoking, painting roses red and conflating men. These two men, on an ordinary day, weary from work, step forth towards each other, wrapping arms around their counterpart, rest their heads on their supporting pillars, and stay.
‘Welcome home,’ sighs the air around them, carrying the rays of light through the windows so that they can see clearer, find every crook and cranny, revealing, blasting out the emotions evoked, and just standing there is not enough.
Jack breaths in deep the day’s work from Will’s neck, when Will takes Jack’s hand and raises it to his lips, where he can smell the tar, see the smudges left behind by a day of restoration, when Jack burns on the embers of the memories the soot brings forth, the sensation of fire itself roiling inside Will, that fire a lure, that lure his love.
As the materials become immaterial, creating new when they meet, liquid and fluent and ethereal and beautiful, it becomes obvious this is the time but not the place. Suddenly, in a flash, the air is wrong, home is not home. Not now, when past eras pour and fall over them, whetting, bringing them to lather, exacerbating and impossible to assuage even with skin on skin. Not here.
Will’s nose is warm now as he snuggles Jack’s neck, whispering ‘missed you, need you, escape, Jack,’ and his mouth presses hotly against Jack’s heart when he smiles and tells him; ‘take me away.’
There is a place where the smell of tar is forever, and the embers never cause danger. It’s black as pitch and free. It’s times forgotten and caresses remembered. Fervid words and fervent breath, desire and the elusive horizon. It’s home away from home.
“I know just the place.”
-----------------------