Love Taste

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.

Warnings: Slash, non-consensual mutilation, dark, angst, ambiguous consent
Notes: Written for the "The Will Turner Fic-A-Thon" hosted by siryn99 and for sin_of_pride on LiveJournal.com
Requirements:
Character(s) and/or pairing: Will/Jack, Will/Jack/Norrington or Will/Jack/Elizabeth
Up to two requests: Something dark, with a bittersweet twist to it
Up to two restrictions: No fluffy romance plot, nothing under PG-13

Xposted to:
Yahoo: POTC_Slash, CharactersInBloom, piratesofthecaribbeanslash, Caribbean_Pirate_slash, caribbean_slashers, CIBArchive, JackXWill, Pirate_and_Blacksmith, PotCSlash_JustFic, Savvy_fiction
LiveJournal: jackwill, noeunuchshere, pirategasm, pirateslash, potc_fic, blackened_souls


::Love Taste::


“So this is love then, is it?” Jack asks setting the gilded birdcage upon the nearest flat surface. The young smith gives him a shy smile, happiness bright in velvet brown eyes.

“Yeah.” The pirate smirks and taps the side of the cage, all his attention seemingly absorbed by the little brown bird bouncing agitatedly upon a delicate swing.

“That’s good, Will. So how about a little celebratory drink? Toast your upcoming matrimony. Your last day as a free man.” Jack sways upright and fixes the content boy with a suggestive grin, which goes right over the pretty boy’s head. Jack swears he can almost hear the whooshing sound.

“I don’t drink, Jack.”

“Just one, for old times.”

“I’ve never had a drink with you before,” Will points out with a slight upward twitch of his dark brows.

“Then we should start a new tradition. Just one on the Pearl, for good luck.” The lad chuckles and shakes his head wryly.

“Alright, but only one. God, Elizabeth will kill me if she finds out.”

“Then it’ll be our little secret.”

As Will precedes him out the door, Jack can’t help but wonder how the boy will taste. Will his flavor be of the ocean or the land? What would Miss Elizabeth Swann say? She already knows, the slut.

~*~*~

“I don’t love you,” Will hisses belligerently from his drunken sprawl on the floor of the captain’s quarter. Jack plants one foot upon his chest, toe digging into the lad’s throat, and slowly presses down, all the while grinning merrily.

“It don’t matter much if you do, mate. The outcome’ll still be the same.” He grinds his heel against the boy’s clavicle until unwilling tears catch in the young smith’s sooty lashes. Authority firmly in place, he removes his foot and takes a sweeping inventory of his prisoner’s flushed and disheveled form.

“Elizabeth--!”

“Is not here. And you’ll not be going back to that harlot.” No, indeed. There will be no going back to the milky embrace of Miss Swann if this pirate has any say. The bint is more trouble than she’s worth; and she had the right audacity to try and steal from him. No one steals from Captain Sparrow, as Barbossa learned well enough.

“God damn it, Jack!” The boy struggles valiantly to right himself, but several bottles of rum (“I’ve never had any before,” the boy admitted wryly when Jack handed him the bottle) have robbed him of all necessary coordination. If only it had drowned the sweet lass as well. “I’m getting married in a week.”

“You were,” the pirate replies with a satisfied smirk. “But there can’t be one if the groom is missing, now can there?” Will releases an inarticulate snarl of rage and flounders on the floor. Jack watches him, eyes brimming with amusement and lust. He’d shove his tongue in the lad’s mouth faster than a blink if only he wasn’t fairly certain that said lad would bite it off.

He licks suddenly parched lips. Rum has not quite flushed the taste of the forge from the boy’s sweet mouth.

~*~*~

“I don’t…God! Don’t love you.” The boy pants harshly into Jack’s mouth as he coerces his body closer and closer to that exquisite peak. Muscular arms straining against the coarse ropes stretching them, Will convulses against the pirate and curses and denies with all the passion of his soul.

Jack doesn’t particularly care. He’s slowly but surely erasing golden curls and fiery blue eyes from the boy’s mind, and replacing them with calloused hands and smoldering looks.

“That’s it, lad. That’s it,” he growls, hands clenching upon Will’s hard cock. Slim hips buck up wildly and the lips beneath his tremble violently. He pumps his fist brutaly and forces the boy into ecstasy.

Right now it doesn’t matter that Will still loves Elizabeth; he won’t be seeing her again. She tried to keep him away from Jack, but a governor’s daughter is really no match for a hardened pirate.

He licks a line up the boy’s sweat-slicked neck and savors the bitter and salt. The boy slumps against the thick mattress and watches Jack lap his hand clean with languid revulsion. Will’s seed is of the same flavor, but with the addition of smoke and metal. The forge still plumps his fragile veins. Jack feels unaccountably offended.

The lad’ll taste only of the ocean when the pirate’s finished.

~*~*~

“Is this love?” Jack hisses drawing the blade deeply into the sun-touched flesh over Will’s heart. Odd whines issue from the gag cutting into the corners of the smith’s mouth. The pirate ignores them and finishes the sweeping line. Crimson wells up and gathers in gleaming beads. Another cut here and another slash of red fills his vision.

“I don’t think you understand love, William. You know infatuation. You know lust, but you don’t know love.” Slowly a bloody set of wings blooms in the lad’s living flesh. Jack wields the knife skillfully and precisely. His dark eyes gleam in the afternoon light. The pale face and fearful contortions of his prisoner soothe the smoldering rage in his belly.

“Your sweet miss does not love you.” Unable to resist the beauty of his etchings, Jack sips the upwelling blood delicately. Still the boy tastes of the forge, of land. He growls lowly.

“Love isn’t the world, mate. Not by half.”

~*~*~

“This isn’t love, is it?” Will mutters huskily as Jack breaches his body. Gritting his teeth against the virginal tightness, the pirate huffs in amusement.

“No, it isn’t,” he affirms, driving his hips forward. A peculiar tightness coils in his stomach as he finds himself clasped deeply within the boy’s lean form. Delicate internal muscles pulsate around him delightfully. Oh, so good. Will gasps and moans and convulses against him.

“Slowly, lad.” He presses a hand firmly down against the barely healed carving above Will’s heart to ease the frantic bucking of his hips. He grins tightly as he languidly rolls his hips, nudging against the boy’s inner walls. Strong thighs squeeze his waist with punishing strength.

“Get this over with, Jack,” the boy growls. Jack digs his fingers into Will’s flesh and withdraws abruptly and slams in. Will chokes on a scream and arches into him. Frantically he pulls upon the silk cords twined about his wrists and arms.

“God. God!”

A feral grin lights Jack’s face as he watches the lad twist and writhe through a red haze of painful pleasure. This is how it’s supposed to be: angry, tight heat and salt.

Poor, pretty Elizabeth can cry her eyes red and her cheeks pale for all Jack cares. He’s too busy fucking his Turner. He smashes his mouth over the boy’s and forces his tongue in to its deepest extent. Yes, now Will is starting to taste like the ocean.

~*~*~

“Is this love?” Will traces the silver etching upon his flesh and gives Jack a challenging look. The pirate looks up from the maps spread out on the large table dominating the center of the captain’s cabin. He regards the young man with dark amusement.

“Love doesn’t exist, William.”

“You’ve been saying that for six years. I think you say that because you cannot think of anything more original.” Will gives a satisfied nod of his head and buttons his shirt up.

“Or maybe I say that because it’s true.” The young man frowns at him and sighs gustily.

“Then it must be hate.”

Jack shrugs diplomatically and fingers the dagger resting conspicuously to his right. He carved wings over the ex-smith’s heart to free it from Elizabeth; now he must find a way to inscribe himself into the pulsing, sanguine organ.

“What are you doing, Jack?” the young man demands as the pirate stands, knife blade held loosely between thumb and index finger. Will backs away from him.

“Hate it is, love.”

And Will tastes of the tang and salt of the ocean.


_______

On an end note, feedback is always appreciated as long as it doesn't burn (i.e. flames).