Tell Me a Tale
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Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
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Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,734
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Tell Me a Tale
Disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to the Pirates of the Caribbean
or its characters, which solely belong to Disney, et al, but that hasn’t
stopped me from writing about them.
Warning: This story
contains the themes of heavily implied male/male relationships, a.k.a.
slash/yaoi, mild to severe bashing of the conventional use of Original
Characters, and fluff. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If,
however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then
I have to say it is your own fault.
Note: I will not accept
any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the
assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference
between flames and criticisms so I don’t have to explain it. Here are some
reason why I don’t accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on
the author’s character without regard to previous or future works that may or
may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they
make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material
contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to
improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something
is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten
and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time
reading and then deleting it, 6) it won’t do you any good to point out
my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don’t
I care, but I t lit listen.
Thank you for your kind regards and any reviews (not flames)
that you will allocate to me.
::Tell Me a Tale::
Forty-eight. William Turner, former blacksmith and reputable
non-pirate young man, counts forty-eight times that Captain Jack
Sparrow has sung his favorite yo-ho-ho song without once singing it correctly.
He has resignedly given up pointing this out around the twenty-first time. After
all, the man drinking rum and hitting notes Will never thought humanly possible
is a notorious pirate prince (or so he would have others think) and can do
whatever he damn well pleases, thanks kindly. However, young Will has a plan to
distract his captain without using his body, which is still recovering from the
wrong end of a sword.
Besides rum, sex and singing, there is nothing Jack loves
more than to tell a tale, the taller the better. If Will can just quiet the
pirate long enough to hear his request, he won’t have to listen to the bloody
song for the rest of the night.
“Jack.” The man in question continues to sing and then hum
when the next words escape his mind. “Jack. Jack!”
Jack sways dangerously and turns to give the bedridden boy a
questioning, slightly unfocused look. “What’s that, love?”
“Would you tell me a story?” The swaying becomes more
pronounced as a mildly confused look settles over the inebriated pirate’s
exotic features.
“What’s that? A ‘story’? My dear boy, pirates don’t tell
‘stories,’ that’s for the nursery.”—drink—“Now, if what you want to be hearing
is a tale, then I’d be happy to oblige you.”
Will pats the empty space on the bed and motions for Jack to
come over. The pirate captain, always willing to indulge a pretty face and
body, especially that of a certain retired blacksmith, sashays over and plunks
himself down. The boy winces slightly as the soft bed shifts and the wounded abdominal
muscles pull. In a tinkling of aent ent the flighty, unpredictable pirate is
replaced by a mother hen of the most overprotective sort.
The boy bats away Jack’s frantic hands and profuse apologies
for jostling him. The man has been smothering him nigh unto death with all his
fussing. Actually, Will finds this all quite endearing. Fussy Jack is as
adorable as possessive Jack, and both warm the cockles of his heart.
“Jack.”
“I didn’t hurt you too bad?”
“Jack.”
“Do you need another pillow?”
“Jack!”
The pirate pauses in his attempt to stuff another pillow
under the amused and exasperated boy’s back.
“Yes?”
“Stop, please. I’m fine. It’s just bit tender.” Dubious
black eyes survey white bandages wound about Will’s stomach. Slowly the older
man’s hands creep back to rearrange the pillows and bedding. “Jack, if you
don’t cease this infernal fussing I will hurt myself while throwing you out.”
The captain pouts until Will takes his elegant hands in his
own and nuzzles them affectionately.
“Just tell me a tale, captain-mine-own.” Small kisses
and the occasional nip and lick pepper Jack’s hands.
“It be bad luck to tease a man when he can’t be doing
nothing about it, Will lad.”
“But you can, just not yet. Soon, though. When I’m healed we
can find a nice little port to dock in, then make our way to some tavern and commandeer
their nicest room and…the captain can has his wicked way with the cabin boy.” A
low, needy groan rumbles from the pirate’s throat and he looks to be on the
verge of sexually frustrated tears. “But, for now, I need some less taxing
entertainment or cabin fever will surely take hold.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you a tale…”
“Good.”
“Well, several years ago…”
~~~~
op. op. Stop, no more!”
“What?” Jack gives will a severely affronted look as he
breaks off from his tale of cross-dressing in order to infiltrate a well
guarded Portuguese fort in Brazil to steal some valuable gold trinket with an
unpronounceable name. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s a very nice st—tale, but I was interested in something
a bit different.”
“How about the one where I dressed meself up as a cleric
and—”
“No. No tales about dreg upg up in ridiculous outfits.” Will
stoutly ignores Jack’s comment about looking quite dashing in a maroon silk
skirt. “Tell me about something with a bit of romance.”
“You be wanting romance, eh? Let me think…”
~~~~
“She did what?”
“The point is, lad, she wasn’t one, a ‘she’ that is.
Honestly, you’re harder to please than AnaMaria’s granddame. Small thing,
monstrous temper. Gives ole Jack chills just thinking about her rolling pin.”
The man shudders dramatically to emphasize his point. Will makes the
appropriate sympathetic noises.
“Jack, do you know any normal tales? Ones where the
woman isn’t a whore or a man?”
“What? You be wanting virgins in chastity belts and
proper-like kisses under the moonlight or in rose arbors? I’ll tell you now,
boy, a pirate doesn’t have time for that. Not half as interesting as you may
think, any the way.”
“Oh please, are you honestly telling me that you haven't cut a
swathe through a good portion of the world’s maidens?”
“Look, William, virgins might sound all tempting and
whatnot, but they’re a bloody nuisance. Tell me truly, why would an honest,
hard working pirate”—Jack ignores Will’s derisive snort—“Go and try to carry off
some screaming maid? Why go through all the trouble of planning to kidnap the
lass; avoiding all the guards virgins seem to have around them; kidnapping the
virgin; taking her out from underneath the noses of previously mentioned
guards; getting her struggling body onto your bloody boat—ship; keeping her
from pitching herself over the side to escape; enduring her vaunted lung prowess;
restraining her so she stops trying to claw your eyes out; and finally getting
to the petal plucking? Seems a mite unreasonable, doesn’t it?”
“So you’ve never had a virgin?” Jack gives the boy a pointed
look. Will flushes and shifts as much as his wound permits. “You know what I
mean.”
“Aye, male virgins are much preferable to their female
counterparts. You get the blushing without the vapors, not to mention slapping,
and they rarely scream at you before or afterwards. During is a completely
different matter, of course.” The captain slowly nibbles his way up Will’s
tanned arm. “And the temperaments and actions of men are far more on the
predictable side.”
“I can never predict what you’re going to do next,” Will
answers a tad breathlessly. Jack grins rakishly and plants a small kiss on the
boy’s shoulder.
“It’s not easy to be unpredictable. I’ve had many a year to
practice, I have.”
“No doubt. Such an old man, truly.”
“Insolent boy!”
“Indeed. Now tell me a proper tale of romance or I’ll tell
AnaMaria where you hide the good rum.”
“You wouldn’t!”—pause—“Would you?”
“I would.” The stubborn boy refuses to back down in the face
of the pirate’s more than evident displeasure. Eventually the man relents. “Perhaps
you could read me something? That is, if you have any books and can read them…”
“I can bloody well read, pup. I’ve learned me letters, never
you mind, thank you very much.” The boy smiles with patient expectation and
releases the pirate’s warm hands in favor of clasping his own in his lap.
Grumbling that a jaded whore is far more of a challenge to
seduce than any bloody virgin, Jack stands and stalks to a corner of the cabin
hidden behind an assortment of illegitimate gains. Will listens with furtive
amusement as the prince of rogues knocks about and makes many a reference to a
certain exasperating lad. The bonceonceals a wide grin behind his hands as Jack
emerges holding a thin, badly worn book. Looking immeasurably pleased with this
accomplishment, he sits back down and cracks it open.
“What’s that one?”
“Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole[1].
It’s got your bleedin’ romance.” With his delightful, rough silk voice, the
captain begins to read.
~~~~
“Wait!” The book snaps closed and Jackels els annoyed black
eyes upon the frowning cabin boy. Will has interrupted after only the third
page.
“What now, love?”
“Where did the giant helmet come from?”
“It’s a miracle, lad. It’s not the point to know where it be
from.”
“So I’m just supposed to accept the fact that a giant iron
helmet crushes this poor boy without further explanation? How did it get there?
African swallows[2]?”
“It just is, boy. Some things defy the explanation of men.”
“Like randomly falling helmets that kill the heir in the
first few pages?”
“Precisely, love. It’s about faith and fate.”
“Faith and fate? Sounds ominous”—pause—“Giant falling
helmets aren’t that romantic, Jack.”
Tight smile. “Would you like me to find something else for
your pretty little ears?”
“Yes, please.”
Jack mutters many an imprecation just below his breath as he
once again goes off to search for some literary entertainment.
“Now, lad,” the pirate declares as he reappears with a stack
of cheaply bound novellas, “I hope there’s something among these that doesn’t
raise your objections, or I’ll be going mad, hear?”
“You’re not mad already?” A menacing growl elicits a hasty
apology. “Carry on, captain-mine-own. I shall try and reign my tongue.”
“I’d like to reign your tongue,” the man mutters as he sits
down and proceeds to read from the work entitled On the Waves of Hope by
Agnes Reddingfield[3].
_
“A e-goe-gold beam of morning light streamed through the
loft window and gilded the suspended dust motes. Slowly, as dawn grew to
adulthood, the shaft swept lower and lower till it came to rest upon the face
of one Emmarella Melifluez. The girl—or rather young woman—had just reached her
nineteenth year not a fortnight ago, and with another year gone by her beauty
had only increased.
“Her eyebrows were like—”
_
“The author describes the lady’s eyebrows?”
“Yes. Now shush.”
_
“Her eyebrows were like two delicate lines of gold ink. Her
hair was winter sunshine crystallized and spun into silken threads. Beneath the
delicate, porcelain veil of her eyelids t twt two jewels of deepest, most
vivacious sapphire. Her cheekbones were proud and high, her nose aristocratic
and perfect. The red of her full lips would shame the ripest autumn apple. All
of these perfections failed to overshadow the sheer exquisite sublimity of her
heart-shaped face, which was always likened to that of an earthbound angel—“
_
“How long does this description go on for? I think I have
comprehended that the heroine is of rare symmetry.”
“Would you like me to skip the description?”
“Very much so.”
“Let me see…‘Proud bosom…Willowy and elegant body…ankles.’
Look the chit even has perfect ankles.”
“Yes, yes. She’s perfect in every conceivable way.”
“Oi, she’s got a birthmark on her ‘creamy thigh’ and it’s
shaped like ‘the flaming sword guarding the entrance to Eden.’ I’ll wager it
is!”
“Jack!”
“The birthmark is important, love. It’s an obvious device to
further the plot. No doubt it will spring up with some strange relevance later
on. She may be a secret princess or something along those lines.”
“Fine. Can we move on then?”
“Surely, my heart.”
_
“‘Emma!’ a harsh, feminine voice screeched from down below.
‘Get yer lazy arse downstairs this instant, you ungrateful child!’
“The young woman’s luminous eyes snap open and she jerks
awake. She blinks against the light shining her eyes and hastily scrambles to
her feet.
“‘Coming, aunt,’ she calls down to the irate older woman
waiting her. Quickly she dresses in her tattered cotton dress and runs her
hands through her hopelessly tangled hair.
“How she hated her aunt. The woman did nothing but order
Emma about box her ears when she didn’t work fast enough. This had been going
on since the young woman could remember: ever since her parents had been killed
by pirates on their way back from England—”
_
“Jack?”
“Will lad, if you don’t cease these infernal interruptions
I’m not reading another word!”
“This tale is boring me.”
“What?” One kohl-smudged eye twitches.
“Two pages of physical description and now the beginning of
the girl’s tragic circumstances, at least the previous work killed someone
after the first few pages.”
now now you be wanting action with your romance?”
“No, just…When does she meet her romantic interest? Can we
read that part, please?” Velvet brown eyes meet the pirate’s pleadingly.
“Fine. Fine.”
_
“‘Y-You’re a pirate!’ she gasps, sword dropping from her
nerveless hand. The dashing rogue smiles enigmatically.
“‘No, love. I be—’”
_
“‘Captain Jack Sparrow!’”
“It doesn’t say that! Jack!”
“It does, see?” Jack flashes the novella before the boy’s
eyes before whipping it away.
“Wait. Give me that.”
“‘Captain Jack Sparrow?’ Emma repeats in shock and awe. She
had heard many a tale about that rakish blackguard.”
“It does not say that. Let me see that page.”
“I just showed it to you.”
“For a bloody second only!”
“It’s not Jack’s fault that you never learned to read with
haste.”
“Give it.”
“No.”
“Jack!”
“Either you accept that it says Captain Jack Sparrow, or I
stop reading, savvy?”
“Fine. I yield—for now.”
~~~~
“‘She couldn’t be falling in love with a pirate, could she?’
Amazing. The girl uses denial like a flawed sword.”
“You and your swords, Mister Turner. I’d be saying you might
have a bit of a fixation.”
“Oh be quiet”—pause—“As if you aren’t, as well.”
“True. I don’t mind a bit of dueling with swords…tongues…cocks.”
“Fixation, Captain Sparrow?”
“Have I ever left you in doubt?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good.”
~~~~
Jack closes the book and regards Will with quirked eyebrows.
The boy looks a bit green about the gills.
“Thhat hat was horrible. The whole premise of the—the thing
was…” Will groans and rubs his temples as his mind attempts to articulate his
thoughts. “The girl hates pirates, repeated more times that you can
count—”
“Oi!”
“And then gets kidnapped by one who is simply interested in
a little petal plucking, as you said before. I…I think I’m beginning to agree
with you about virgins.” Jack grins wolfishly. “The pirate’s only intention was
to bed her when he captured her, yet one poorly defended young lady manages to
thwart him by refusing him. He could have simply raped her.”
“Where would the fun be in doing that? Isn’t life about
conquests and treasure, darling?” Jack coos as he nibbles on the boy’s bare
shoulder.
“Well, it wasn’t like she was important: a niece of a
shoemaker? Why kidnap her? To ravish her, which he doesn’t do? I always thought
pirates plundered for objects of value.”
“They do. But she was a blood-heiress of a vast fortune.”
“Yes, but no one knew that until the end.”
“Didn’t you find her rescuing him from the gallows at the
end to be a bit nostalgic? Risking life and love to save him from the final
fall?”
“Perhaps if she hadn’t spent the majority of the book before
that slapping and screaming and insulting. Young woman? She was a child in an
adult’s body—perfect, flawless body.”
“So judgmental. This has really stuck in your craw, hasn’t
it?” The captain humors the seething boy.
“If I had been him, I would have dumped her off in the
middle of the deep.”
“The pup has teeth. It’s just a bit of fiction, love.”
“Captain Geoffrey LeShaw!” Will pushes the novella in
Jack’s face and points with smug vindication at the hero’s name. “You lied.”
“I’m a pirate; we’re a dishonest bunch.”
“About everything?” Will’s voice is pleasant enough, but
Jack senses the verbal traps lurking in the question.
“We-ell, not about the important things.” Gently he traces
the boy’s bottom lip with his dark finger. “We’re deadly serious about them.”
Mindful of Will’s injury, he leans in and kisses him reverently. Reluctantly he
pulls back well aware that they cannot continue.
“The question really is, love, why you’re so keen on reading
about fluff and flowers? If I didn’t know better, intimately, I would say you’d
be a eunuch.”
“Are you saying a man can’t desire softness and tender
expression?”
“No. Though why now? Feel the absence of something?” Will
bites his lower lip and gazes at Jack’s hand gently massaging his upper arm.
Shifting with discomfiture he mumbles something too lowly for the man to hear.
“Will love, what was that?” Tenderly he tilts the boy’s face
up. An embarrassed blush colors his cheeks a wine red.
“It’s nothing, truly, Jack.”
“Will, I told you to tell me if something was bothering you, if if there is something you want me to do.”
“Well…” Will picks at the embroidered coverlet and ducks his
head. “You’ve never given me flowers.”
“Flowers, lad?” Jack throws back his head and laughs deeply.
The boy glares darkly at him.
“If you’re just going to laugh, then you can leave, Captain
Sparrow.” The man instantly sobers at the boy’s angry words. He brushes his
fingertips against the upset furrow between Will’s brows.
“I wasn’t laughing at your request, precisely.” He holds up
a placating hand to forestall any further outbursts by the irate cabin boy. “It’s
simply this, Will-mine-own, you could ask for anything within my power to
grant, jewels, rare treasures, exotic animals, daring feats, and I would expend
my last breath to give them to you. But out of every conceivable desire in the
world, out of everything that possesses a man’s fancy, all you be wanting are a
few flowers.” He chuckles softly and kisses the boy’s soft cheek. “Just
flowers.”
“Well, I like flowers,” Will grouses, though a small smile
curves his lips.
“Then flowers you shall have, my word upon it, mate.”
“Is this the serious kind or the not serious kind.”
“Ah Will, with you I am always serious. Unless it’s some rot
about not touching you. Then I’ll have to regretfully renege.”
“‘Regretfully’, I’m sure.” The pirate hums in response,
which, to tell the truth, isn’t much of one, but Will lets it go graciously.
“Now, would you like me to read you another book?” Mischief
lights Jack’s dark eyes and he grins slyly.
“Dear Heavens, no”—pause—“Jack, why exactly do you have
these? You don’t…read them, do you?” It’s hard to tell, but Will swears
he can see a slight blush beneath the sun-color of the man’s face. “Jack!”
“Well…Maybe I, too, have a spot for things romantic-like.”
“You are a deep man, Captain Sparrow. Fathomless.”
“And don’t you be forgetting that, boy.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
*~*~*~*
[1] Castle of Otranto was originally
written in 1764. I am fully aware that this is several decades after the time
period of PotC (1720’s). However, I believe that I am allowed to take some
literary and historical license for the glory of the Parody and the majesty of
the Satire. I guess you could say this is merely an endnote for the nitpickers
out there.
[2] I couldn’t resist a reference to Monty Python. My
apologies.
[3] The book and its author are fictitious to my knowledge.
However, if they both exist, then I, by no means, imply that what I have
written to be true or authentic.
Final Note on OCs: This story is not meant to
be a personal or impersonal attack on the writers of OC characters of the Mary
Sue variety (invented character serving a role as a major character and
becoming romantically involved with a canon character. The pairing looks like
this Jack/OC, Will/OC, etc.). I myself have written quite a few when I first
started out writing in eighth grade (I remember those days…Everything seemed so
much simpler…no taxes, no budgeting for food and other expenses…). I am, also,
not attacking the use of OCs, merely parodying and exaggerating them. This
whole piece is meant to be a bit of fun. I personally do not enjoy reading OC pairings,
but that is all. I never flame. I take the philosophy that, if I don’t like
something, I try not to involve myself in it.
I find it more of a challenge to write a romance between
canon characters (especially of the slash variety) and find that, sometimes,
not all the time, an OC is merely a perfected characterization of aut author
writing the fic. At least, that was how it was for me. I liked a character and
I wanted to have some part of myself become romantically entangled with
aforementioned character. Thus, I gave birth to a girl who could play me within
the confines of the world of fiction. I don’t know if this is true for other
writers, but I just felt like putting this out.
or its characters, which solely belong to Disney, et al, but that hasn’t
stopped me from writing about them.
Warning: This story
contains the themes of heavily implied male/male relationships, a.k.a.
slash/yaoi, mild to severe bashing of the conventional use of Original
Characters, and fluff. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If,
however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then
I have to say it is your own fault.
Note: I will not accept
any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the
assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference
between flames and criticisms so I don’t have to explain it. Here are some
reason why I don’t accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on
the author’s character without regard to previous or future works that may or
may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they
make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material
contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to
improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something
is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten
and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time
reading and then deleting it, 6) it won’t do you any good to point out
my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don’t
I care, but I t lit listen.
Thank you for your kind regards and any reviews (not flames)
that you will allocate to me.
::Tell Me a Tale::
Forty-eight. William Turner, former blacksmith and reputable
non-pirate young man, counts forty-eight times that Captain Jack
Sparrow has sung his favorite yo-ho-ho song without once singing it correctly.
He has resignedly given up pointing this out around the twenty-first time. After
all, the man drinking rum and hitting notes Will never thought humanly possible
is a notorious pirate prince (or so he would have others think) and can do
whatever he damn well pleases, thanks kindly. However, young Will has a plan to
distract his captain without using his body, which is still recovering from the
wrong end of a sword.
Besides rum, sex and singing, there is nothing Jack loves
more than to tell a tale, the taller the better. If Will can just quiet the
pirate long enough to hear his request, he won’t have to listen to the bloody
song for the rest of the night.
“Jack.” The man in question continues to sing and then hum
when the next words escape his mind. “Jack. Jack!”
Jack sways dangerously and turns to give the bedridden boy a
questioning, slightly unfocused look. “What’s that, love?”
“Would you tell me a story?” The swaying becomes more
pronounced as a mildly confused look settles over the inebriated pirate’s
exotic features.
“What’s that? A ‘story’? My dear boy, pirates don’t tell
‘stories,’ that’s for the nursery.”—drink—“Now, if what you want to be hearing
is a tale, then I’d be happy to oblige you.”
Will pats the empty space on the bed and motions for Jack to
come over. The pirate captain, always willing to indulge a pretty face and
body, especially that of a certain retired blacksmith, sashays over and plunks
himself down. The boy winces slightly as the soft bed shifts and the wounded abdominal
muscles pull. In a tinkling of aent ent the flighty, unpredictable pirate is
replaced by a mother hen of the most overprotective sort.
The boy bats away Jack’s frantic hands and profuse apologies
for jostling him. The man has been smothering him nigh unto death with all his
fussing. Actually, Will finds this all quite endearing. Fussy Jack is as
adorable as possessive Jack, and both warm the cockles of his heart.
“Jack.”
“I didn’t hurt you too bad?”
“Jack.”
“Do you need another pillow?”
“Jack!”
The pirate pauses in his attempt to stuff another pillow
under the amused and exasperated boy’s back.
“Yes?”
“Stop, please. I’m fine. It’s just bit tender.” Dubious
black eyes survey white bandages wound about Will’s stomach. Slowly the older
man’s hands creep back to rearrange the pillows and bedding. “Jack, if you
don’t cease this infernal fussing I will hurt myself while throwing you out.”
The captain pouts until Will takes his elegant hands in his
own and nuzzles them affectionately.
“Just tell me a tale, captain-mine-own.” Small kisses
and the occasional nip and lick pepper Jack’s hands.
“It be bad luck to tease a man when he can’t be doing
nothing about it, Will lad.”
“But you can, just not yet. Soon, though. When I’m healed we
can find a nice little port to dock in, then make our way to some tavern and commandeer
their nicest room and…the captain can has his wicked way with the cabin boy.” A
low, needy groan rumbles from the pirate’s throat and he looks to be on the
verge of sexually frustrated tears. “But, for now, I need some less taxing
entertainment or cabin fever will surely take hold.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you a tale…”
“Good.”
“Well, several years ago…”
~~~~
op. op. Stop, no more!”
“What?” Jack gives will a severely affronted look as he
breaks off from his tale of cross-dressing in order to infiltrate a well
guarded Portuguese fort in Brazil to steal some valuable gold trinket with an
unpronounceable name. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s a very nice st—tale, but I was interested in something
a bit different.”
“How about the one where I dressed meself up as a cleric
and—”
“No. No tales about dreg upg up in ridiculous outfits.” Will
stoutly ignores Jack’s comment about looking quite dashing in a maroon silk
skirt. “Tell me about something with a bit of romance.”
“You be wanting romance, eh? Let me think…”
~~~~
“She did what?”
“The point is, lad, she wasn’t one, a ‘she’ that is.
Honestly, you’re harder to please than AnaMaria’s granddame. Small thing,
monstrous temper. Gives ole Jack chills just thinking about her rolling pin.”
The man shudders dramatically to emphasize his point. Will makes the
appropriate sympathetic noises.
“Jack, do you know any normal tales? Ones where the
woman isn’t a whore or a man?”
“What? You be wanting virgins in chastity belts and
proper-like kisses under the moonlight or in rose arbors? I’ll tell you now,
boy, a pirate doesn’t have time for that. Not half as interesting as you may
think, any the way.”
“Oh please, are you honestly telling me that you haven't cut a
swathe through a good portion of the world’s maidens?”
“Look, William, virgins might sound all tempting and
whatnot, but they’re a bloody nuisance. Tell me truly, why would an honest,
hard working pirate”—Jack ignores Will’s derisive snort—“Go and try to carry off
some screaming maid? Why go through all the trouble of planning to kidnap the
lass; avoiding all the guards virgins seem to have around them; kidnapping the
virgin; taking her out from underneath the noses of previously mentioned
guards; getting her struggling body onto your bloody boat—ship; keeping her
from pitching herself over the side to escape; enduring her vaunted lung prowess;
restraining her so she stops trying to claw your eyes out; and finally getting
to the petal plucking? Seems a mite unreasonable, doesn’t it?”
“So you’ve never had a virgin?” Jack gives the boy a pointed
look. Will flushes and shifts as much as his wound permits. “You know what I
mean.”
“Aye, male virgins are much preferable to their female
counterparts. You get the blushing without the vapors, not to mention slapping,
and they rarely scream at you before or afterwards. During is a completely
different matter, of course.” The captain slowly nibbles his way up Will’s
tanned arm. “And the temperaments and actions of men are far more on the
predictable side.”
“I can never predict what you’re going to do next,” Will
answers a tad breathlessly. Jack grins rakishly and plants a small kiss on the
boy’s shoulder.
“It’s not easy to be unpredictable. I’ve had many a year to
practice, I have.”
“No doubt. Such an old man, truly.”
“Insolent boy!”
“Indeed. Now tell me a proper tale of romance or I’ll tell
AnaMaria where you hide the good rum.”
“You wouldn’t!”—pause—“Would you?”
“I would.” The stubborn boy refuses to back down in the face
of the pirate’s more than evident displeasure. Eventually the man relents. “Perhaps
you could read me something? That is, if you have any books and can read them…”
“I can bloody well read, pup. I’ve learned me letters, never
you mind, thank you very much.” The boy smiles with patient expectation and
releases the pirate’s warm hands in favor of clasping his own in his lap.
Grumbling that a jaded whore is far more of a challenge to
seduce than any bloody virgin, Jack stands and stalks to a corner of the cabin
hidden behind an assortment of illegitimate gains. Will listens with furtive
amusement as the prince of rogues knocks about and makes many a reference to a
certain exasperating lad. The bonceonceals a wide grin behind his hands as Jack
emerges holding a thin, badly worn book. Looking immeasurably pleased with this
accomplishment, he sits back down and cracks it open.
“What’s that one?”
“Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole[1].
It’s got your bleedin’ romance.” With his delightful, rough silk voice, the
captain begins to read.
~~~~
“Wait!” The book snaps closed and Jackels els annoyed black
eyes upon the frowning cabin boy. Will has interrupted after only the third
page.
“What now, love?”
“Where did the giant helmet come from?”
“It’s a miracle, lad. It’s not the point to know where it be
from.”
“So I’m just supposed to accept the fact that a giant iron
helmet crushes this poor boy without further explanation? How did it get there?
African swallows[2]?”
“It just is, boy. Some things defy the explanation of men.”
“Like randomly falling helmets that kill the heir in the
first few pages?”
“Precisely, love. It’s about faith and fate.”
“Faith and fate? Sounds ominous”—pause—“Giant falling
helmets aren’t that romantic, Jack.”
Tight smile. “Would you like me to find something else for
your pretty little ears?”
“Yes, please.”
Jack mutters many an imprecation just below his breath as he
once again goes off to search for some literary entertainment.
“Now, lad,” the pirate declares as he reappears with a stack
of cheaply bound novellas, “I hope there’s something among these that doesn’t
raise your objections, or I’ll be going mad, hear?”
“You’re not mad already?” A menacing growl elicits a hasty
apology. “Carry on, captain-mine-own. I shall try and reign my tongue.”
“I’d like to reign your tongue,” the man mutters as he sits
down and proceeds to read from the work entitled On the Waves of Hope by
Agnes Reddingfield[3].
_
“A e-goe-gold beam of morning light streamed through the
loft window and gilded the suspended dust motes. Slowly, as dawn grew to
adulthood, the shaft swept lower and lower till it came to rest upon the face
of one Emmarella Melifluez. The girl—or rather young woman—had just reached her
nineteenth year not a fortnight ago, and with another year gone by her beauty
had only increased.
“Her eyebrows were like—”
_
“The author describes the lady’s eyebrows?”
“Yes. Now shush.”
_
“Her eyebrows were like two delicate lines of gold ink. Her
hair was winter sunshine crystallized and spun into silken threads. Beneath the
delicate, porcelain veil of her eyelids t twt two jewels of deepest, most
vivacious sapphire. Her cheekbones were proud and high, her nose aristocratic
and perfect. The red of her full lips would shame the ripest autumn apple. All
of these perfections failed to overshadow the sheer exquisite sublimity of her
heart-shaped face, which was always likened to that of an earthbound angel—“
_
“How long does this description go on for? I think I have
comprehended that the heroine is of rare symmetry.”
“Would you like me to skip the description?”
“Very much so.”
“Let me see…‘Proud bosom…Willowy and elegant body…ankles.’
Look the chit even has perfect ankles.”
“Yes, yes. She’s perfect in every conceivable way.”
“Oi, she’s got a birthmark on her ‘creamy thigh’ and it’s
shaped like ‘the flaming sword guarding the entrance to Eden.’ I’ll wager it
is!”
“Jack!”
“The birthmark is important, love. It’s an obvious device to
further the plot. No doubt it will spring up with some strange relevance later
on. She may be a secret princess or something along those lines.”
“Fine. Can we move on then?”
“Surely, my heart.”
_
“‘Emma!’ a harsh, feminine voice screeched from down below.
‘Get yer lazy arse downstairs this instant, you ungrateful child!’
“The young woman’s luminous eyes snap open and she jerks
awake. She blinks against the light shining her eyes and hastily scrambles to
her feet.
“‘Coming, aunt,’ she calls down to the irate older woman
waiting her. Quickly she dresses in her tattered cotton dress and runs her
hands through her hopelessly tangled hair.
“How she hated her aunt. The woman did nothing but order
Emma about box her ears when she didn’t work fast enough. This had been going
on since the young woman could remember: ever since her parents had been killed
by pirates on their way back from England—”
_
“Jack?”
“Will lad, if you don’t cease these infernal interruptions
I’m not reading another word!”
“This tale is boring me.”
“What?” One kohl-smudged eye twitches.
“Two pages of physical description and now the beginning of
the girl’s tragic circumstances, at least the previous work killed someone
after the first few pages.”
now now you be wanting action with your romance?”
“No, just…When does she meet her romantic interest? Can we
read that part, please?” Velvet brown eyes meet the pirate’s pleadingly.
“Fine. Fine.”
_
“‘Y-You’re a pirate!’ she gasps, sword dropping from her
nerveless hand. The dashing rogue smiles enigmatically.
“‘No, love. I be—’”
_
“‘Captain Jack Sparrow!’”
“It doesn’t say that! Jack!”
“It does, see?” Jack flashes the novella before the boy’s
eyes before whipping it away.
“Wait. Give me that.”
“‘Captain Jack Sparrow?’ Emma repeats in shock and awe. She
had heard many a tale about that rakish blackguard.”
“It does not say that. Let me see that page.”
“I just showed it to you.”
“For a bloody second only!”
“It’s not Jack’s fault that you never learned to read with
haste.”
“Give it.”
“No.”
“Jack!”
“Either you accept that it says Captain Jack Sparrow, or I
stop reading, savvy?”
“Fine. I yield—for now.”
~~~~
“‘She couldn’t be falling in love with a pirate, could she?’
Amazing. The girl uses denial like a flawed sword.”
“You and your swords, Mister Turner. I’d be saying you might
have a bit of a fixation.”
“Oh be quiet”—pause—“As if you aren’t, as well.”
“True. I don’t mind a bit of dueling with swords…tongues…cocks.”
“Fixation, Captain Sparrow?”
“Have I ever left you in doubt?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good.”
~~~~
Jack closes the book and regards Will with quirked eyebrows.
The boy looks a bit green about the gills.
“Thhat hat was horrible. The whole premise of the—the thing
was…” Will groans and rubs his temples as his mind attempts to articulate his
thoughts. “The girl hates pirates, repeated more times that you can
count—”
“Oi!”
“And then gets kidnapped by one who is simply interested in
a little petal plucking, as you said before. I…I think I’m beginning to agree
with you about virgins.” Jack grins wolfishly. “The pirate’s only intention was
to bed her when he captured her, yet one poorly defended young lady manages to
thwart him by refusing him. He could have simply raped her.”
“Where would the fun be in doing that? Isn’t life about
conquests and treasure, darling?” Jack coos as he nibbles on the boy’s bare
shoulder.
“Well, it wasn’t like she was important: a niece of a
shoemaker? Why kidnap her? To ravish her, which he doesn’t do? I always thought
pirates plundered for objects of value.”
“They do. But she was a blood-heiress of a vast fortune.”
“Yes, but no one knew that until the end.”
“Didn’t you find her rescuing him from the gallows at the
end to be a bit nostalgic? Risking life and love to save him from the final
fall?”
“Perhaps if she hadn’t spent the majority of the book before
that slapping and screaming and insulting. Young woman? She was a child in an
adult’s body—perfect, flawless body.”
“So judgmental. This has really stuck in your craw, hasn’t
it?” The captain humors the seething boy.
“If I had been him, I would have dumped her off in the
middle of the deep.”
“The pup has teeth. It’s just a bit of fiction, love.”
“Captain Geoffrey LeShaw!” Will pushes the novella in
Jack’s face and points with smug vindication at the hero’s name. “You lied.”
“I’m a pirate; we’re a dishonest bunch.”
“About everything?” Will’s voice is pleasant enough, but
Jack senses the verbal traps lurking in the question.
“We-ell, not about the important things.” Gently he traces
the boy’s bottom lip with his dark finger. “We’re deadly serious about them.”
Mindful of Will’s injury, he leans in and kisses him reverently. Reluctantly he
pulls back well aware that they cannot continue.
“The question really is, love, why you’re so keen on reading
about fluff and flowers? If I didn’t know better, intimately, I would say you’d
be a eunuch.”
“Are you saying a man can’t desire softness and tender
expression?”
“No. Though why now? Feel the absence of something?” Will
bites his lower lip and gazes at Jack’s hand gently massaging his upper arm.
Shifting with discomfiture he mumbles something too lowly for the man to hear.
“Will love, what was that?” Tenderly he tilts the boy’s face
up. An embarrassed blush colors his cheeks a wine red.
“It’s nothing, truly, Jack.”
“Will, I told you to tell me if something was bothering you, if if there is something you want me to do.”
“Well…” Will picks at the embroidered coverlet and ducks his
head. “You’ve never given me flowers.”
“Flowers, lad?” Jack throws back his head and laughs deeply.
The boy glares darkly at him.
“If you’re just going to laugh, then you can leave, Captain
Sparrow.” The man instantly sobers at the boy’s angry words. He brushes his
fingertips against the upset furrow between Will’s brows.
“I wasn’t laughing at your request, precisely.” He holds up
a placating hand to forestall any further outbursts by the irate cabin boy. “It’s
simply this, Will-mine-own, you could ask for anything within my power to
grant, jewels, rare treasures, exotic animals, daring feats, and I would expend
my last breath to give them to you. But out of every conceivable desire in the
world, out of everything that possesses a man’s fancy, all you be wanting are a
few flowers.” He chuckles softly and kisses the boy’s soft cheek. “Just
flowers.”
“Well, I like flowers,” Will grouses, though a small smile
curves his lips.
“Then flowers you shall have, my word upon it, mate.”
“Is this the serious kind or the not serious kind.”
“Ah Will, with you I am always serious. Unless it’s some rot
about not touching you. Then I’ll have to regretfully renege.”
“‘Regretfully’, I’m sure.” The pirate hums in response,
which, to tell the truth, isn’t much of one, but Will lets it go graciously.
“Now, would you like me to read you another book?” Mischief
lights Jack’s dark eyes and he grins slyly.
“Dear Heavens, no”—pause—“Jack, why exactly do you have
these? You don’t…read them, do you?” It’s hard to tell, but Will swears
he can see a slight blush beneath the sun-color of the man’s face. “Jack!”
“Well…Maybe I, too, have a spot for things romantic-like.”
“You are a deep man, Captain Sparrow. Fathomless.”
“And don’t you be forgetting that, boy.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
*~*~*~*
[1] Castle of Otranto was originally
written in 1764. I am fully aware that this is several decades after the time
period of PotC (1720’s). However, I believe that I am allowed to take some
literary and historical license for the glory of the Parody and the majesty of
the Satire. I guess you could say this is merely an endnote for the nitpickers
out there.
[2] I couldn’t resist a reference to Monty Python. My
apologies.
[3] The book and its author are fictitious to my knowledge.
However, if they both exist, then I, by no means, imply that what I have
written to be true or authentic.
Final Note on OCs: This story is not meant to
be a personal or impersonal attack on the writers of OC characters of the Mary
Sue variety (invented character serving a role as a major character and
becoming romantically involved with a canon character. The pairing looks like
this Jack/OC, Will/OC, etc.). I myself have written quite a few when I first
started out writing in eighth grade (I remember those days…Everything seemed so
much simpler…no taxes, no budgeting for food and other expenses…). I am, also,
not attacking the use of OCs, merely parodying and exaggerating them. This
whole piece is meant to be a bit of fun. I personally do not enjoy reading OC pairings,
but that is all. I never flame. I take the philosophy that, if I don’t like
something, I try not to involve myself in it.
I find it more of a challenge to write a romance between
canon characters (especially of the slash variety) and find that, sometimes,
not all the time, an OC is merely a perfected characterization of aut author
writing the fic. At least, that was how it was for me. I liked a character and
I wanted to have some part of myself become romantically entangled with
aforementioned character. Thus, I gave birth to a girl who could play me within
the confines of the world of fiction. I don’t know if this is true for other
writers, but I just felt like putting this out.