Haunting

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.


::Haunting::


It is the smooth, purposeful glide of cold fingers across his warm chest that awakens Will Turner. Fingers so cold they burn press here and there, slipping and dancing across his stilled form. Equally cold lips draw forth unpleasant thrills from his body. In the darkness premeditating the first etchings of false dawn, Will keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see blue eyes replaced by black, and turns to face the owner of the hands.

“Please leave,” urmuurmurs, one hand reaching out to press against a painfully chilled chest. The familiar heartbeat has stilled into an echo of death. Those boreal hands grip his and tug him close. He shudders away from the full press of flesh that only causes pain on these too quiet Caribbean nights.

“You said forever, love.”

He had, many times. In the sticky darkness, tangled in sweaty sheets and limbs, he had whispered ‘forever’ with the heart of a child. Perhaps his concept of eternity was finite, unknowing and uncomprehending of time unbounded: twenty-two and still a wide-eyed child looking for a place to call home. Still he searches, but now with eyes pierced by the world about him.

Lips of malleable ice wander his face and a wet tongue pushes insistently against his closed mouth. A phantom beard abrades Will’s skin--or is it merely the manifestation of a memory? The hands that move over his unwilling body are not rough like he remembers, but the voice—warm honey, rum and smoke—is the same.

“I told you that I’d never let you go.” On his back now, Will whimpers as the man’s soleigheight presses him into the soft mattress. He is being flayed alive with chill, long strips of flesh tearing free in showers of frost to reveal his contracting musculature. Or so it seems.

With hot tears sliding down his cheeks from his closed eyes, he spreads his legs and opens his mouth. A satisfied moan breathes ice into his lungs as those painful hands rewhim him with sharp pinches. Soon the sun will rise, he has to keep telling himself that as a finger breaches him. He cries out into the mouth covering his as static bolts of pain tear through his organs. Unconsciousness beckons him closer with velvet wings, but the other won’t let him go there, won’t allow him any respite. It’s his punishment for an unforgivable betrayal.

“You’re mine, and yet you…” the other hisses, releasing Will from the frozen kiss. A second finger works its way inside. Brutally they force him to greater dilation.

“God, please—”

“You’re calling to the wrong One, love.”

Will’s piecing scream leaves his mouth in a cloud of ice-crystals. Transfixed upon the other’s cock, he feels every muscle convulse in a slow shudder. He cannot escape the frost deadening his flesh and working deep into his bones. The other moans softly and begins to move in long, slow thrusts.

This is a prelude to death.

He knows that in his final hours he will feel this same chill creep through him; freezing and burning him till it crawls into his mind and sinks deep hooks into his consciousness.

And he will be waiting.

“Never letting you go, never!”

~*~*~*~

When his lover’s flesh begins to warm, Will sighs in relief. The night has spent herself and now the wanted-unwanted intruder may no longer maintain his hold in the temporal world. Bruised, aching in a thousand new ways, the young man sends a prayer to the breaking dawn and cradles the man now sleeping peacefully beside him.

James is always alarmed the day after the new moon to find Will so utterly exhausted, with purple-black shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes and paper-white skin. If only the smith could unfold the dark places in his mind. If only he could whisper the horrible curse uttered so many years ago in the hazy jubilation of post-intercourse in the dark womb of a sentient vessel.

Hell has frozen over for Jack is so very cold.


~End~


Notes: With the hard drive of my laptop fried and in the shop for repairs, the only thing I can really put out are drabbles/ficlets. Hopefully everything will be squared away shortly and I may finish House of Flies and others.