A Sparrow or A Swan

A Sparro A S A Swan

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean... blah, blah. You know. I know. Gore Verbinski hopefully doesn't know...
Rated: R
A/N: 2 pm now. Haven't had sleep for more than 32 hours. I need to do something to de-stress. Hit iit is.
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Sometimes, when the urge hits him, he would sit out on the cliff where he last saw him, swimming for his life, his freedom, towards a future that was denied to him by circumstance. He did it when the moon was pale in the sky, when everything looked as deeply blue and gorgeous as the days he spent with him on the rolling Caribbean.

When he's there, he thinks about the things that might have been, or as a secret part of him claims, what ought to have been.

Well, he was wretch. He could have dived in after him, but he did not. The memory of that night, when the crew was below and the waves were gentle, stung his pride. His eyes had rested upon him and softened even though his turn of phrase was still coarse, the words struck a chord within.

"I wonder what makes you so sure you'll be happy with the little lass. I bet the governor'll be overjoyed to find out you'll be wanting the hand of missy governor."

"I... never said I wanted to marry her."

He gave him a long look -- as always on the sly side-- and he felt his breath hitch. Will looked out into the black waters to avoid meeting his knowing gaze. They both knew that hoping for something, anything, withzabezabeth was impossible without social criticism.

"It's plain on your face lad, same as the foam on your brow."

His fingertips brushed over Will's face in a touch so uncharacteristically tender that the latter started back.

"What is it ye really want? Why chase after the fancy skirt, eh?"

"I love her with everything I have!" he half-lied defensively.

"Ahhh. Well, if you insist. You got that bit of your old man in you. Always hungry for the tastiest bite of the treasure, and *that* is a rare jewel indeed."

He was incensed by the careless dismissal of his loyalty to Elizabeth, yet eager for more information about his father.

"Tell me more."

"'Bout what?"

"My father of course!"

"Oh well... he was a good mate."

"I know that part already."

"We went through a fair... bit of water together."

He had stood on the deck with his had on his hip, the chill breeze throwing his wild hair back. Something in his voice had made him wonder what it was he meant.

"Not very informative, are you?"

"How informative do you want me to be?"

The angle of his head had just been wrong. It was too sultry, too coy. It was then Will realized he couldn't place his age. He was older than 30 years, surely, but seemed wiser or craftier than any one man he had ever known.

While he had still been trying to fathom the years Jack had seen, a brush of garments against his made him draw back against the rail. A long fingered hand had insinuated its way under his shirt, and had grazed his ribs with the cool skull ring. He foundselfself examining the beads on the spry man's goatee at unusually close quarters.

"Ah!?"

"That the answer you were looking for?" The darkly glittering eyes were shrewd.

"You're mad. My father--"

"Well, yeah, depends on what you mean by mad, hmm?"

Apparently mad enough to draw him into a deep-throated kiss that left Will drowning in the taste of rum. The hand snaked lower this time, exploring the reserves of compact muscle, reaching past the snug belt and lingering just shy of touching him. All that was received was a quick stroke of his inner thigh. He sucked the boy's lower lip before backing away, gold teeth catching stray light. Will wiped away a trail of saliva left by Jack's deft tongue, swallowing large mouthfuls of air. It had been electrifying, this sudden close contact, but he found himself wanting moreit. it. More exciting than crossing swords with the man, this had made him feel ten times foive.ive.

"Just like old times," Jack stepped back, arms spread, hip jutted. Coquettish and serpentine, yet undoubtedly masculine, this was the perfect combination of man and woman in one. He was an ungodly sprite in the darkness and Will was fast falling under his languid bewitchments.

Will reached and caught the battle scarred hand. "I--"

"Didn't know how to say it, well, I must admit I'm a man of considerable charm. William used to say it all the time."

A pause.

"But I am not my father."

"Yes well, you certainly have enough of him in you."

It had come to a pretty pass. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of no return. He could have chosen to follow his instincts or to follow his honor, but Jack had decided for him. Jack had his crew, and viewed him, if anything, a replacement for his dead father. It was something he could not at that moment accept.

"Come on, luvvy. Y'know ye want to. All you ever need to do is give a squall."

"I'm sorry. I can't. Really, I can't. Elizabeth is--"

"Aye," Jack had muttered in half disgust, and more than genuine hurt. "Rush off and be your bloody gentleman."

And that, had been that.

Jack's exit was swift, timed exactly to be comedic, timed to mask the hurt that he had caused for choosing Elizabeth over him. He had watched him dive like a dolphin into the surf, sparing a glance behind but it was too distant for him to see its pain.

He had to be with Elizabeth. He was all she could have wanted. She needs him still, as his own man, rather than the shadow of what had passed on. But while he does love her, what he feels for her cannot come close to the strange elation that steals over him when he sees that dizzy gait and hears that rolling drawl. The swan arches its neck gracefully from its lake, but the freedom that called to him is found on the wingtips of something sharper and bolder; borne on the lilting cry of a sparrow.

For now, he fancies seeing him on the docks, still dyed blue by the moon. His ragged hair, his fey eyes and puckish step. They seduce him like siren call, entice him into something greater than being marooned on a land of petty manners and lofty airs. On him is the scent of salt spray that means irrepressible freedom.

He's tempted. He did say that he only needed to send some message, cry out in some way and it would be heard. Still, Elizabeth...

A lamp lights one of the windows in the Swann mansion, and he resolutely turns his back to the sea.

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FIN

Right, who couldn't tell I'm a Johnny Depp fan? Sort of fan? Errr..