Blood and Roses

Author’s Note: This was written after watching the Spanish movie Viridiana, a movie that was banned for being “too risqué”. A very interesting movie, you don’t need to actually have seen it, but I figured I should at least reference where I’m coming from with what started out as a drabble, yet wound up growing into a full fledge mini-novel. And since I’m lazy, and I want to get right to the part that popped into my head:

This is AU. Somehow (I don’t care how), Barbossa survived Isla de Muerta (sp?). He escapes onto another ship… and this is where we start…

Legal Crap: I am only playing in the sandbox; I don’t own the playground. Besides I have no real money to speak of. The mouse owns the characters. I was just inspired to write a plot line.

We begin!!!!

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If it was one thing that Hector Barbossa had learned over the past decade, it was the value of patience.

After ten years of waiting, he could once more feel. True to his word, he had eaten his fill of apples. Barbossa had then gone right to Tortuga, to have his fill of wine, women and a few beautiful boys. He was a man who appreciated the value of beautiful things.

That was what truly separated him from Jack Sparrow (in his mind). Jack liked pretty things, but quickly grew bored and threw them aside. Hector liked to keep his pretties. Keep them tucked away and safe, for his eyes only.

So, when after ten years of enforced solitude, a creature that bore the face of Bill Turner appeared, Hector knew he had to possess this boy.

Bill “Bootstrap” Turner had been a true find for Hector. A man of ideals and morals, honor, things that meant little to Barbossa. Yet this was what made Bill a challenge, and so very perfect to behold.

The problem lay in that Barbossa didn’t know how to deal with a man of morals. Want a woman? Throw jewels her way, and she’ll do anything you want… at least the kind of women Hector knew. Want a pretty boy? A bit of extra rum usually would do the trick. If not, Barbossa had a bottle of powder given to him by a Voodoo priestess that would convince a young man otherwise.

But Bill would have none of these things. He would not drink much, if he ever imbibed alcohol at all. And he was wise to the powder, so would not take anything that came from Barbossa that he had not seen prepared directly in front of him.

Barbossa had tried gifts. Everything from a new sword to a set of cloths spun from the finest blue silk from China.

But Bill refused, politely every time. I have a wife, Hector, and a child. It just wouldn’t be right.

Never out-right denial.

Seeing him that night, the night before the mutiny. Bill was holding that blue shirt in his hands. Knowing that he couldn’t stand against the might of the crews’ will, but still insisting that it was dishonorable. That there had to be another way.

It was the only time Barbossa had ever seen him drink to the point of intoxication. Bill didn’t even notice the powder that wound up in his drink.

At least put on the shirt for me, Bill. Just this once.

Bill lying under him, incoherent. Moaning, and wanton. The blue shirt open, silk ghosting over sweat-sheened flesh.

The next morning, after all was said and done and Jack was left behind, Bill wouldn’t even look Hector in the eye. He wouldn’t give more than grunted answers, would cringe every time Hector tried to touch him.

Six months later, Bill betrayed the crew. Betrayed Hector.

And betrayal could not be tolerated.

It was out of rage that Barbossa tied him to the canon. Only too late did it occur to Barbossa that he would never see Bill again. No chance to seduce him away from wife and child.

Ten years, and a second chance. A glimmer of hope.

Bill had a son.

A glorious young man who was Bill’s near spitting image. Will even had his father’s temperament. Barbossa had the boy in his possession, but had no way to truly get what he wanted.

And just as fleetingly as the boy had come into his life, so quickly had he fled. Off to marry his pretty lass once the curse had been broken.

But Hector was willing to be patient. He would get what was his. And he had learned from his mistakes. Unlike Bill, Hector would take his time with William. Yes, woo the boy, seduce him.

Corrupt him.

Make him desire what Hector had to give. Convince the boy that it was his idea for them to be lovers. That it was what Will wanted, to be had, to be taken.

A final act of revenge against the one who had spurned him.

And he would keep Will, oh yes he would. His perfect, debauched angel would know only comfort, locked away in his room. There only for Hector to see.

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The first thing Hector needed was a place to keep his prize.

Barbossa returned to Isla de Muerta. Jack had not yet completely cleaned out the treasures. Hector loaded his new ship, The Raven, with what he could and went to Tortuga. Years ago he had bought a home there with the intent of retiring one day. The house had fallen into mild disrepair. A bit of gold spread around town, and the home was once again livable, with strong locks on the doors and windows. All locks on the outside, so Will would not be able to pick them when he was alone.

He set about making it more comfortable, with furniture, books, lamps, a chess set, anything to keep his pet from getting bored. For Barbossa couldn’t stay with Will all of the time.

It was a gilded cage, that Barbossa would not deny. But it was a comfortable cage. A cage that had been set to show off the beauty of his prize, for his eyes only.

Tapestries on the walls. Silks… ah, yes, the silk. Barbossa had kept and managed to preserve the blue silk shirt that Bill had once worn for him that ill-fated night. Will would wear it for him. And there would be other things. Beautiful things for his William to wear.

This house will need servants, Hector realized. He would not have his pet working. Will’s only concern would be to be beautiful. What more would he need than that?

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A few stops later, and the stage was nearly set.

With a sword at his hip and more of his powder tucked out of sight, Hector Barbossa came to Port Royal. His crew was told to stay back from the port for three days. This was something he needed to do alone.

Fortunately, during his last visit to Port Royal, Hector had opted not to go to shore and so there were few here who would recognize him. Still, Barbossa kept to the shadows for two nights.

It was from the shadows that he had learned that his Will was soon to wed.

Ah, then I have come not a moment too soon!

There was nothing quite like the thrill of the chase to heighten desire. And a good hunt was in order.

The first task was to make the boy feel utterly alone. A lonely boy was a desperate boy. And Hector knew how to play the sympathetic ear.

It would be easy enough to get rid of Miss Swann. Merely let her see Will in his arms. A little bit of impassioned thrashing wouldn’t hurt either.

Hector had no intentions of repeating the mistakes he had made with the father. No, this time everything would be… “Perfect,” hissed from Hector’s throat.

But a bit of the powder may have to find its way into the boy to convince both him and his little miss that they were not meant for each other.

Barbossa remembered something about his Will, something about him being a black smith. It didn’t take long then to find the smithy where his prey was busily working, banging away too loudly to hear Hector slip in and duck out of sight, to watch, to wait.

The boy’s master yelled something about a dinner party and not to be late, then staggered off somewhere. To drink some more, from the stench of him.

Filth like that should not be near what’s mine!

Before going off to clean up, Will set about to preparing tea and then disappearing. Perfect. Hector put powder into the tea. It worked faster with rum or wine, but there was no time for that.

And Hector could be patient.

Barbossa slipped back out of the shop, waiting in the shadows to follow his query.

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Will detested these parties, but understood that they were a part of Elizabeth’s life. Tonight, men from the East India Trading Company had come to do business with the governor. And Will was expected to be in attendance.

He normally found these “parties” quite dull; mostly men preening like peacocks to impress themselves.

And while the dress cloths were uncomfortable, tonight he felt unusually strange. As they sat to their meal, Will became fascinated with the feel of the linen napkin between his fingers.

“Will, what is wrong with you?” Elizabeth hissed at him.

Will’s head jerked up. “Huh? Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping the napkin in his lap and placing his finger tips on the table. What an amazing texture this tablecloth has! he mused to himself, tracing the flowery pattern with his fingertips.

“What is wrong with you?” Elizabeth asked in a low voice. “You look as if you are in a trance and you’re sweating unbelievably. Are you not feeling well?”

“Huh?” Will was finding it difficult to speak in more than one word answers at the moment. “I… just need… air. Yes, air.” Will managed to get fluidly to his feet and out the doors and into the garden. The night air was near heavenly against his skin. Glancing about, Will had the strangest urge to strip naked and roll around the grasses and flowers, just to see how each would feel pressed against his flesh.

A hand ghosted along the back of his neck.

“Sit down, Will.”

Yes, sitting would be good. Sitting would be nice. Sitting would allow him to run his fingers through the grass.

Oh, I am sitting down. When did that happen?

Will began to massage the grass, reveling in the feeling of dirt squishing between his fingers. And those hands at his neck and shoulders! Oh, had nothing ever felt better?

“Here, let’s get this coat off ye, Will. Ye must be feeling so hot right now.”

Yes, now that Will thought about it, he was hot. And with no coat, he would better be able to feel the hands. Hands that were peeling the coat away, opening his shirt. Fingers skimming over his arms, lightly clawing down his back.

“Yesss,” Will hissed, arching into the touch.

A familiar voice chuckled in his ear, warm breath huffing across his cheek. But Will was too ecstatic to worry about the whom, only wanting to focus on the what was happening right now.

One hand snaked around to the front of his body, reaching into his shirt, lightly massaging and tweaking a nipple.

“Don’t…oh, please don’t stop,” Will mumbled, pulling up fistfuls of grass and dirt, leaning back into his blessed tormentor.

Lips pressed tenderly to the junction of throat and ear. Will could feel his pulse fluttering. “Ye’re mine now, boy. All mine.”

“Yours,” Will agreed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Hector Barbossa moved into his field of vision, mouths meeting and hungrily trying to consume each other. Tongues dancing and darting, seeking whatever they could find in this desperate moment.

“Will?”

Oh, who could that be? Leave me alone! This feels too good to stop-

“Will? What are you… oh.” Elizabeth’s voice quickly became very small. She stood at the foot of the garden, her hands primly folded together in front of her.

If it had ended there, she would have believed her first impulse that Will had been drugged somehow. But then Will damned himself.

“Oh, go away, Elizabeth,” Will groaned, reaching up for a shoulder. “Can’t you see I’m… oh, do that again.” Hector had rocked his hips against Will’s, enjoying this almost too much.

Hector turned to face Elizabeth. “You heard him, little miss. Off with ye then, it ain’t you he be wantin’ tonight.”

A simpler woman would have screamed and scratched, but Elizabeth was too proper. She ran from the garden to do her crying in private.

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Hector wanted to consume the body underneath him. This thrusting, writhing, begging body that nearly demanded to be fucked.

But this is what had turned Bill against him.

And Hector would not make the same mistake twice.

“Sorry, my pet, but not tonight,” Hector admonished regretfully. The boy sobbed with need. Well, no reason for him to completely suffer. Barbossa snaked his hand down the front of the boy’s breaches and grasped the hardness that jutted up, demanding attention. A few short strokes and the boy was coming messily over his hand.

“More.”

Oh, that little statement almost complete undid Barbossa. It would be all too easy to just-

No! Not yet. You’ll never be able to keep him if you force him.

So, Barbossa picked up a small rock and knocked the boy unconscious. Hector stared in mild fascination at the rivulet of blood that began to trickle down the side of Will’s head. He lightly brushed some of the blood away.

Blood the color of roses…

Hector scooped the boy up and made his way out of the garden, towards the beach. His crew would be returning shortly. They would make good time, for the wind was quickly becoming favorable.

Yes, favorable winds to take his pet home.

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