Tar And Ember
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,252
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,252
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.
8
8
Chairs huddled together, the two men poured over a book placed on Will’s knees, Jack peering over his shoulder, pointing a finger to each line Will was supposed to read out loud.
They’d gotten past the child’s rhymes, those prayers to God, the heartbreaking images of small graves, shorter than a toddler’s, the sum of the Ten Commandments, and finally, arrived at Some Proper Names for Men and Women.
“Adam, Abel, Abraham, Amos, ” Will recited obediently, Jack’s finger guiding his eyes on each syllable. ”Francis, Gilbert, Giles, George, Gamalial, Gideon,” each name familiar, yet strange, as never before had Will Turner read them, understood the meaning behind the marks, letters forming words…
They had started with their names, at the very beginning. Will knew how to make his own mark, but when Jack asked him to do his, the man had just sat there, quill in hand, helpless and so very child-like in his building embarrassment. That’s when Jack decided it was time for Will to learn how to read.
His methods may not have been approved by scholars and teachers, given that they included an alluring kiss as a reward for each word Will scribbled on the parchment by Jack’s dictation. Simple words, words that Will was familiar with, that he’d used his whole life; Hammer, sword, pirates, mother, father, mister - and on to the New England Primer.
Between The Infant’s Evening Prayer and Easy Syllables, there laid the skeletons of unwritten words. Simple letters, one after the other, and the fever with which Will devoured them all did Jack nothing short of proud.
Late evenings crouched over the book, Jack leaning on Will’s back, arms around his waist and his voice soft as he encouraged his student to utter the sounds that threatened to stick in his throat.
The ’A’s and ’W’s, ’J’s and ’C’s, together with carefully selected counterparts became names, similar to the Johns, Jonas’, Isaacs, Jacobs, Jareds and Jobs, with an important difference;
”There’s no Jack here,” Will looked up at Jack, surprise clear in his tones. ”Or Johannes. Your name is not a name.”
”What do they know?” Jack peered at the page, laughing under his breath, glowing with the same excitement as Will. ”It seems to have a ’William’ there, so not all can be lost.”
And Jack was once more lost in watching Will hunch over the tome, searching, seeking for the familiar word he knew he would recognize. The glow which alighted Will’s face at the discovery lit Jack’s heart with love. ”Good, strong name,” Jack let his hand slide up to Will’s chest, pulling him closer, tight against himself to stop himself from bursting into flames. The spheres and worlds Jack had to offer Will after these first hesitative steps were taken, the thought alone invigorating, strengthened by the happy glimmer of thought that Jack would have someone to share it all with.
Three months into studying, recounting, iterating and repeating, Will knew how to read. He could read anything. Not only the words he’d learned by heart, this was no more memorization. This was learning new. And what it was, what it really was, was a door into realms beyond realms. Imagination had never felt tantamount to reality, yet here he was, anxious to find out what happened next in an imaginary life or two.
For the next three months Jack started to suspect he’d created a monster - the sight of a book, a log, the Bible, sent Will under a spell, devouring the volume in one sitting, whenever it was possible.
The books even invaded their bed - yet the only person Jack could blame for that was looking back at him in the mirror. He was the one who had named each part of Will’s body after a particularly fetching word, an arm an arm, a neck a neck, refusing to touch the man until each part had been spelled properly.
Time had turned, centuries had passed, but the passion had remained. The wearisome days when moments melted into another, when years became decades repeating past mistakes, there was still something new to discover. A book, a novel, a poem, thoughts from minds burning to tell stories, and it was all at their grasp…offering them new venues right in their living room.
”Everything alright, love?” Jack finally uttered after delightfully observing Will staring into the distance for minutes, a smile on his face, his copy of Mentally Incontinent resting on his lap while the man himself was perched in the recliner.
”More than,” Will replied with a happy smile, his eyes gleaming the way they always did when he’d latched onto a particularly fond memory. ”Do you remember when you taught me how to read?”
Jack mouthed a soundless ’ah’ in understanding, getting up from the sofa he’d been languishing on, his own book resting on his chest when he had forgotten all about it in favour of something much more compelling. ”How could I possibly forget the delights of that?”
”I can still remember how ’young Timothy learnt sin to fly.’”
The feeling as old as time overcoming Jack, he leaned over Will’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around him, flipping the pages of Will’s book idly, ”I wonder if you still remember how to spell ’thigh’.”
With a chuckle, Will turned to give Jack a small kiss, ”I’m not so sure. That always was a tricky one.”
Marking his place, Will shut the book and turned around further, urging Jack to take the book’s place.
Happily obliging, Jack hopped onto Will’s lap, the binding cast aside. ”Well, my love, if that’s the way it is, I say repetition is still the father of learning.”
”Jack?”
”Mmm?”
”I seem to have forgotten ’neck’ too. And something that rhymes with it, what was it again?”
”Mr. Turner!” Jack stared at Will in feigned shock, eyes wide as plates. ”I suggest we begin our lesson on the spot, then, as we proceed, mayhaps take things to somewhere… more comfortable?”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chairs huddled together, the two men poured over a book placed on Will’s knees, Jack peering over his shoulder, pointing a finger to each line Will was supposed to read out loud.
They’d gotten past the child’s rhymes, those prayers to God, the heartbreaking images of small graves, shorter than a toddler’s, the sum of the Ten Commandments, and finally, arrived at Some Proper Names for Men and Women.
“Adam, Abel, Abraham, Amos, ” Will recited obediently, Jack’s finger guiding his eyes on each syllable. ”Francis, Gilbert, Giles, George, Gamalial, Gideon,” each name familiar, yet strange, as never before had Will Turner read them, understood the meaning behind the marks, letters forming words…
They had started with their names, at the very beginning. Will knew how to make his own mark, but when Jack asked him to do his, the man had just sat there, quill in hand, helpless and so very child-like in his building embarrassment. That’s when Jack decided it was time for Will to learn how to read.
His methods may not have been approved by scholars and teachers, given that they included an alluring kiss as a reward for each word Will scribbled on the parchment by Jack’s dictation. Simple words, words that Will was familiar with, that he’d used his whole life; Hammer, sword, pirates, mother, father, mister - and on to the New England Primer.
Between The Infant’s Evening Prayer and Easy Syllables, there laid the skeletons of unwritten words. Simple letters, one after the other, and the fever with which Will devoured them all did Jack nothing short of proud.
Late evenings crouched over the book, Jack leaning on Will’s back, arms around his waist and his voice soft as he encouraged his student to utter the sounds that threatened to stick in his throat.
The ’A’s and ’W’s, ’J’s and ’C’s, together with carefully selected counterparts became names, similar to the Johns, Jonas’, Isaacs, Jacobs, Jareds and Jobs, with an important difference;
”There’s no Jack here,” Will looked up at Jack, surprise clear in his tones. ”Or Johannes. Your name is not a name.”
”What do they know?” Jack peered at the page, laughing under his breath, glowing with the same excitement as Will. ”It seems to have a ’William’ there, so not all can be lost.”
And Jack was once more lost in watching Will hunch over the tome, searching, seeking for the familiar word he knew he would recognize. The glow which alighted Will’s face at the discovery lit Jack’s heart with love. ”Good, strong name,” Jack let his hand slide up to Will’s chest, pulling him closer, tight against himself to stop himself from bursting into flames. The spheres and worlds Jack had to offer Will after these first hesitative steps were taken, the thought alone invigorating, strengthened by the happy glimmer of thought that Jack would have someone to share it all with.
Three months into studying, recounting, iterating and repeating, Will knew how to read. He could read anything. Not only the words he’d learned by heart, this was no more memorization. This was learning new. And what it was, what it really was, was a door into realms beyond realms. Imagination had never felt tantamount to reality, yet here he was, anxious to find out what happened next in an imaginary life or two.
For the next three months Jack started to suspect he’d created a monster - the sight of a book, a log, the Bible, sent Will under a spell, devouring the volume in one sitting, whenever it was possible.
The books even invaded their bed - yet the only person Jack could blame for that was looking back at him in the mirror. He was the one who had named each part of Will’s body after a particularly fetching word, an arm an arm, a neck a neck, refusing to touch the man until each part had been spelled properly.
Time had turned, centuries had passed, but the passion had remained. The wearisome days when moments melted into another, when years became decades repeating past mistakes, there was still something new to discover. A book, a novel, a poem, thoughts from minds burning to tell stories, and it was all at their grasp…offering them new venues right in their living room.
”Everything alright, love?” Jack finally uttered after delightfully observing Will staring into the distance for minutes, a smile on his face, his copy of Mentally Incontinent resting on his lap while the man himself was perched in the recliner.
”More than,” Will replied with a happy smile, his eyes gleaming the way they always did when he’d latched onto a particularly fond memory. ”Do you remember when you taught me how to read?”
Jack mouthed a soundless ’ah’ in understanding, getting up from the sofa he’d been languishing on, his own book resting on his chest when he had forgotten all about it in favour of something much more compelling. ”How could I possibly forget the delights of that?”
”I can still remember how ’young Timothy learnt sin to fly.’”
The feeling as old as time overcoming Jack, he leaned over Will’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around him, flipping the pages of Will’s book idly, ”I wonder if you still remember how to spell ’thigh’.”
With a chuckle, Will turned to give Jack a small kiss, ”I’m not so sure. That always was a tricky one.”
Marking his place, Will shut the book and turned around further, urging Jack to take the book’s place.
Happily obliging, Jack hopped onto Will’s lap, the binding cast aside. ”Well, my love, if that’s the way it is, I say repetition is still the father of learning.”
”Jack?”
”Mmm?”
”I seem to have forgotten ’neck’ too. And something that rhymes with it, what was it again?”
”Mr. Turner!” Jack stared at Will in feigned shock, eyes wide as plates. ”I suggest we begin our lesson on the spot, then, as we proceed, mayhaps take things to somewhere… more comfortable?”
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