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Whispers of Redemption	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2244 -:- Recommendations : 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.

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Year Thirty-two

Elizabeth's Journal

There has been four sunrises since the last of the men stricken by the Gripe was able to, at last, return to their duty. That would also be four sunrises since Jack returned to sleeping in the cabin, which seems to have caused a great deal of consternation among the crew. Now, our captains do not hide something of the nature behind their relationship. It is there, for any who have eyes to see, and I have become quite aware of a new anger on the part of certain members of the crew, the chief among these being Henriette De la Hoya.

Our physician has made a habit of working among the men abovedeck during the first part of the day, in the rigging more often than not, and then takes several hours to see her myriad of patients in the afternoon, when all is too hot to be endured and many do drowse in what shade we might have to hand. But, it is when she works among the men abovedeck that I find myself a bit perturbed as to her intentions. She is hostile and appears to enjoy a game of baiting me to petty argument, when she has the chance, but is very careful to never upset either of our captains. I have worked diligently at not allowing her words to draw anger from me and I have no interest in a fight of any kind, as it is not worth the trouble of what must happen if the young woman did strike me in a rage. However, she is quite efficient at her work and thus escapes notice from all unless she wants to be seen or heard. To the other hand, when she does choose to be noticed, it is difficult to avoid her sense of logic and impassioned speech. She is hot-tempered but quite intelligent, and I find myself swaying to the things she might say, when she does speak to be heard.

I think there has been a disagreement between our physician and Captain Sparrow, for Henriette is only barely polite to Jack, but if there is some discord between them, it is worse when the physician is forced to speak with Captain Barbossa. The animosity is so heavy betwixt them as to suggest a brewing storm, yet one is always polite to the other if a bit brusque.

It was only this evening that I did discover the nature of what has been happening right around me, this last four days, which I was quite unaware of. As Jack was at the helm, checking the charts with Gibbs and Cotton, Captain Barbossa did invite me to share supper in the cabin. He did have much to tell me and a proposition the likes of which I am loathe to turn down. It would be exactly what I might need, so after speaking with Jack, I have decided to agree to the terms. But, perhaps, for clarity's sake, I should start with dinner and the conversation which did take place in the Captain's Cabin.

Captain Barbossa did begin by explaining that he has a man who tells him that our physician has started gaining support among the crew. She seems to be very disgruntled by the manner in which the Black Pearl is captained. Captain Barbossa has said that he and Jack are very concerned that this could be the seeds of a mutiny, but one that they mean to stop by the most unusual of means. Those means have been explained to me and I am utterly flabbergasted at the thought that this might be seriously conceived by these two wily captains, who have little reason to trust one another. Yet, as Captain Barbossa did say, it is his duty to push for the mutiny, moving among the men with the false intentions of taking the ship from Jack. He needs my assistance in assuring that this false mutiny does happen. I am not to block his attempts and I am not to take a side unless it be his. In exchange, the Pearl will wait for me at Tortuga one month after I am put ashore in Port Royal. After I have had my honeymoon with Will, I am to find a captain named Mick Downey, whose merchant ship does make berth at Kingston. Captain Mick Downey, upon hearing my request and reading the letter which Jack will provide to me, will use his ship to get me to Tortuga in time to rejoin the Pearl and make the journey for the treasure which Captains Barbossa and Sparrow do intend to take, near or on the coast of Florida.

I am, for my troubles and my efforts, to have part of that treasure, which will ensure me immortality. Captain Barbossa has made it impossibly alluring, the thought of being able to keep my youth and my life for as long as I might see fit. As he points out, Will shall live forever and remain young and handsome. But, mortal as I am, it will be only three or four decades before I am too old to be held by my true love and that is if I do live so long. Four days with Will, out of forty years of marriage, seems terribly unfair. Captain Barbossa has pointed this out with all due sympathy and suggested that I might share youthful immortality and thus remain young for all time, meeting Will for one day every ten years. He has even intimated that, with immortality in my bones, I may be able to stay aboard the Flying Dutchman for those times when she comes to the land of the living. That might give me a few extra days every ten years and this is a prize I cannot resist.

I did doubt Captain Barbossa, at the first, as he plied me with wine and sweet poetry concerning the duty for which he wishes my assistance. I did doubt him until Jack Sparrow involved himself in the conversation, entering the cabin during this supper. As Jack helped himself to a plate and food, I did tell him of what had been offered to me and what service was being asked in return. I thought to catch Captain Barbossa out in a lie, but there was no lie to be seen. Jack has agreed with the deal and urged me to help, as he has already cozzened Mister Gibbs for the same duty. Mister Gibbs will await us all in Tortuga and be the one I shall look for, if I do arrive to dock and find not the Pearl's black sails. I have been told that, if this be the case, I shall go looking for Mister Gibbs in all the taverns and introduce myself as Captain Barbossa's first mate and to say that I'm seeking Captain Sparrow's first mate. Any mention of the Pearl will be unnecessary and might even herald some danger to my person, if the wrong soul does hear.

I have agreed and will actively assist Hector Barbossa, the new �quartermaster� of the Black Pearl, in slowly laying the coals for a mutiny against Jack. All done, of course, in the interests of subduing the real mutiny which seems to be brewing among us. Our mutiny will overtake the other mutiny and, then, when it is all finished and the fire of the larger, sanctioned mutiny has been rescinded, our captains will both be aboard and do intend to share the command of this ship for the foreseeable future or until a fitting second ship shall be found. Captain Barbossa will be our quartermaster until that day, as quartermasters have as much power if not more aboard a ship as the captain himself, while Jack shall remain as captain. Mister Gibbs is to be first mate, and I will keep my place aboard the Black Pearl, but stand as quartermaster's mate. Thus, the nature of my contract shall change, upon the end of said mutiny, and I will sign Articles in all earnest faith.

I do, of course, intend to speak with Will of this.

I hope he can understand the complexity of what I am to do.

***

Games Without Frontiers

The ship was quiet and it was the hours of the dog watch; Gibbs had taken to keeping the helm at night and that had suited him, since leaving Mozambique. Now, as he sat looking over Sao Feng's mystically-inclined charts, Jack felt some measure of peace with the world. He did suspect that some part of his sense of peace came from the plan which was now being implemented by its four players, one for each of the ship's watches.

As of yet, he had not received from Hector any sign of being prepared for any resumption of pleasurable pursuits. They did share the cabin and they did share the bed, but to this time, that was all they did share, even after nearly a sixty-day onboard the same ship.

They were currently docked at Paramaribo, being resupplied, and he was spending his evening in the cabin looking over the charts, to better mark their path up through the Caribbean. They hadn't meant to come ashore at Paramaribo, but the calculations, using the Chinese charts, had been slightly askew. He'd set a course for Salvador, in Brasil. They were considerably north of there. Remarkably off-course, because of the winds, but for the better. They were much closer to their destination. They were, in fact, within the southern part of the Caribbean now.

He had commandeered four bottles of the newly brewed beer; three of raw grain and one of ginger and grain. T�wasn't a bad taste, the fresh and sour tang malt. Tomorrow, he'd have rum, as the men had orders to make sure that rum was brought aboard on this resupply.

The circles on the ancient charts fascinated him.

With his fingertip on a tiny brass button, he shifted one of the inner circles and watched as the chart changed and became something far more familiar to his eyes. The Caribbean, both south and north, all the way to Florida. There, at the top of the circle, now, was the prize they were seeking. The Fountain of Youth was shown as a cup between Florida and Nassau. Well. That did make things a bit difficult. Would they find the treasure on Florida's tip or on Nassau? The compass would solve that query. There was, however, a small notation right below the stylish cup's flourish of an flag. Jack leaned closer over the charts to squint at what appeared to be writing in some miniature script.

It was not Chinese, he knew. But nor was it any language he recognized.

Three tiny symbols that were perhaps words---if such gibberish could be considered words---which could mean anything at all. Studying them carefully, he scratched at his brow and then rubbed a tired hand down over his jaw and chin, scrubbing his dark beard with two fingers.

Well, it would work itself out...it always did, for him.

He wouldn't worry overmuch about those symbols at this moment.

Not when he had other things to consider.

There was only a small handful of men aboard the ship. After two months at sea without respite, the men had drawn lots to decide who would stay the watch this first night docked. Gibbs had drawn the short straw for the helm, which had caused much grumbling from his first mate, but at least that meant someone competent was on the quarterdeck. He himself, he had wanted to go ashore, too, but after a discussion of the situation between himself and Barbossa, he had decided to stay aboard. Hector went ashore to find a tavern with the men, those men who were slowly coming around to the idea of mutiny and discord. Elizabeth was with his co-captain, so he was at least guaranteed of some justice in the matter---he couldn't really trust any of them, not yet, but at least Lizzie would be fair to all sides. T'was just her nature, aye? Even when leaving him behind to die, the lass could be said to be right and just.

No, no...bad thoughts. He wasn't going to think on it anymore.

Even if the dreams of the Locker did still plague him from time to time.

So, they had two conspirators aboard and two ashore. Most interesting.

'D'ye see how he watches you, then?' His other self sat in Hector's chair, legs asprawl, using a knife to clean filthy, tar-lined fingernails. 'Like a man satisfied to starve to death while standing before a full table. The man's worthy of sainthood, to be so patient.'

Jack sighed, taking a drink of raw beer. He winced at the hard flavor and set the large bottle down once more. He answered his other self with a shrug, tapping his own fingers against the side of his jaw. "I know, mate. I see. T'is sore miserable, to be sharing a bed with that banquet and to not tuck in."

'T'is your own fault, Jacky-boy.' His other self sneered. 'Nobody said you had to forswear the feast. You even acknowledged as how you'd be ready and willing to go so far, when you took this deal.'

Slouching into his chair deeply, he cupped the side of his face with one hand, fingers spreading over one eye and brow in aggravation. "Hmm, yes, but I did think t'would be somewhat easier."

His other self laughed softly with narrowed eyes, studying the fingernail he was cleaning. 'Must admit, I didn't expect ol' Hector to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself this long.'

"I think he's concerned with how I might decide to break the accord or cut his hands off." He touched the edge of a circle on the chart he had studied. There were strange lines there; lines, he knew, would become words when fixed with the next circle.

'His hands or his prick?' His other self, the wily Jack Sparrow, offered with much humor in his voice.

Jack gave a low chuckle, tracing his fingers over a landmass on the map.

The other Jack pointed the knife at him, shaking it. 'If you're a-waiting for him to make another move at bedding you, might be a waste, as you did tell him before the accord was redefined as how you weren't inclined to give any quarter in that direction.'

The lanterns were lit and afforded the room a bright glow that made him feel comfortable, when mixed with the beer's languorous affect. Jack dropped those self-same fingers flat to the chart, making his hand look like nothing so much as a sinewy starfish. "Mayhap I need to redefine that part of the accord, too. We did agree to make it seem as though we were in accord, sharing the cabin and the bed, and I�m most assuredly enjoying it. But, I thought I might be willing...and I find that I am willing...but, he's not taking the..." He lifted his other hand to wave expansively at the well-made bed. "Advantage! What does he expect from me? That I'll do for him one fine morn without so much as a by-your-leave and nay warning?"

His other self laughed, slapping at the arm of the chair with a flap of sleeve and palm. 'T'isn't a bad idea, taking the battle to him.'

"Wasn't a battle I was considering." He grumbled.

But, his other self was sure of it. 'All's fair in love and war, Jack.'

He couldn't disagree with that. Nodding in consideration, he gave real thought on how wonderful it would be to have Hector Barbossa wake him with a hand and a mouth. That delightfully sinful mouth. He was still thinking on it when his old matelot banged through the door and let it fall shut with a thump. The lock was turned as Hector grunted in greeting at him and then came across the cabin's rug-strewn deck.

"I've half a mind to hang 'em all, ev'ry time I hear th' wee bits o' discord they're fomentin'." Hector, wearing only breeches, a linen sark, and the black, beaded scarf that covered his plaited hair, plopped down into a sprawl on the chair where, until a moment ago, Jack's other self had been sitting. "T'isn't what I thought to feel, aye? I've ne'er been involved in th' starts o' a mutiny, lad---if this be how one begins, t'is a messy business."

It was a relief, to know that his co-captain could admit to something so grand. It was said in all honesty, which did tell him that Hector hadn't had much to do with the first mutiny's starting. He could ignore the sour, tight feeling the memory gave him. Jack tossed the other pirate a bottle of the frothy, new beer. Hector caught it in one large hand.

After a few moments, he muttered his own thoughts on the matter. "I don't see why I couldn't be the one to lead a mutiny against you for a change."

Hector had taken several drinks of the strong beer and set it to the deck, pulling at his boots. Now, his matelot laughed in genuine sarcasm. "Aye, I can see ye tryin'. Tryin's all ye'd manage to do. None o' these men would take ye seriously enow for such devious actions. Yer nay th' type a-tall, Jack."

"Henriette would follow me in a heartbeat---" He argued. "If I started talking real foment against you, I could win her and she'd win the crew."

"True enow." His co-captain admitted with a wicked chuckle and a glance in his direction; the glance was half-lost beneath the fall of graying ginger hair that swayed with each tug at one of the boots. "Our missy, now she's one to beware. She t'was wi' us this e'en. Not much to say, but she did hear all as passed betwixt me an' those men who did talk. I didna see signs o' her disagreein', but nay signs o' agreein', neither."

Jack sighed, sitting back in his own chair as he spoke. "I could lead them to it, Hector, but a distinct problem with that is...if I lead the mutiny against you, I may not be able to convince the crew to circle back and retrieve you, once it�s finished. Not with our missy involved. She'll turn them against me, right then and there. T'would be a nasty affair."

"I did think these thin's through, afore I came to ye." Hector had finished with his boots and was now working on the buttons of his worn linen sark. "I suggested meself b'cause o' that very reason. I wanted to suggest that it be yer mutiny against me, for th' idea o' how it must seem safer to ye, what wi' ye nay ready to trust me. Does work better wi' me as th' mutineer, aye? History an' all."

"Sounds like you've it all very neatly sewn up, son." He watched the way his matelot's be-ringed fingers worked on the front of that shirt. Button after button gave way. It was an art of seduction, the ability to undress so slowly.

Hector gave him a nodding smile, grim, now tugging off his beaded scarf to scratch at the top of his head. It made the graying ginger-blonde hair stand up on end for a bit and Jack could do nothing but grin at that. But, then his fellow pirate smoothed it back down and reached for an apple from the bowl that sat on the table between them. Now, the other man looked truly disreputable, what with his long hair falling around his angular face and plaited in a thick braid down his back. Only half-dressed.

He found himself wanting to sit himself down on Hector's lap.

It was almost overpowering, that desire.

Hector answered him now, studying the red fruit he held in long fingers. "I'll nay ha'e gained th' lass' ear yet, but she's nay th' one to spend time wi' me. Th' gunners are grumblin' more'n usual. What they say, I'll warrant she's behind it. I ha'e a feel for this, Jack...she'll offer to help me, soon. In exchange for a place as first mate. Then, we'll ha'e her."

Jack made up his mind, then. He�d waited long enough.

Rising, he stalked around the table, speaking softly to the man who had walked into his cabin talking of mutiny and strategy in such a dark, knowing way. "You enjoy it, don't you, Hector? Planning revolt. You're truly loving this thing, plotting with the men to take my ship from me. I can see it in your face, then, you know. I've been seeing that look in you for as long as we've known each other. T'was what drew me to you, see, that disagreeable nature of yours. You have a look about you, Hector, a look that shouts rebellion." His tone had dropped to a purr. "I think I do like it, after all."

Hector was watching him from hooded eyes, holding the apple he'd just taken a bite of. His voice was low, thoughtful, and somber. "T'isn't a real rebellion, Jack me lad. Be reasonable. If'n ye can."

He arched a brow, grinning as he put his hands on either side of the chair where his matelot was sitting. He stood straddling either side of Hector's sprawled legs. It was there that they touched, at his inner thigh; the brush of their breeches was a tickle that sent a tiny warm shiver up his backbone. He leaned in close and whispered at the other pirate's ear. Hector smelled like sweat and beer and bread. "Well, you know that and I know that, but I think it might be interesting to pretend for a bit that we don't know that."

The man under him pulled back just enough so as they could look at each other from the corner of an eye. Hector gave a little, dark smile of his own, which stretched at the scar on his right cheek. "T'isn't a game we should be playin' lightly. But, for th' sake o' argument, Jack...what are ye seekin' here?"

He shook his head, tipping it to the side so that he could brush his lips and mustache against his matelot's ear. He was all sly smile and hunger now. T'was a battle he wanted, but for a different sort of stakes. "Let�s say�I have stopped your mutiny and now you'll convince me, aye? Convince me to leave you alive and on my ship, you mutinous scallywag, instead of marooned or...dead."

Then, he moved back and went around the table, swaggering. His heart was thudding crazily in his chest and a part of his mind was demanding to know what the hell did he think he was playing at, but he considered that simply a bonus to what he was daring to start.

Seated once more, Jack waited for an answer. Would his co-captain play this game or not?

Hector jumped up from the table so violently that the chair fell back and struck the deck with a loud thump. But, he wasn't watching that. Instead, he stared up at the tall, half-naked pirate who moved at him with no hesitation or pause for thought. Before the other man's shadow eclipsed his sight, he caught a glimpse of the weathered face that loomed over him. Hector was livid, but not with anger or hate.

Before he could scramble backward, to escape the ferocious man's hard approach, Barbossa had grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him bodily off the chair---by more than a few inches. His face was directly under Hector's and he stared up at the other man, caught between excitement and alarm. He'd started this game, offering a door of opportunity, but now...he actually feared what Hector might do.

Everything moved too quick, out of time with his thoughts.

The dingy white shirt he wore was wrapped around the large, callused hand of his co-captain and he found himself staring upward into the shadowy face of a grinning, sweaty pirate who breathed hard from nothing more than lust. Hector smelled fierce and he found himself growing hard instantly behind his placket at the idea of what could happen next. Neither of them was unarmed---Barbossa hadn't removed the pistol he wore at the front of his breeches, but nor had he.

"Mister Barbossa." He was hanging off his chair, trying to find his feet. Play the game, his mind whispered. His voice sounded strange to him, as if he'd been running for his life. "Explain yourself, sir. You want to stay aboard the ship you tried to steal from me---"

Hector growled something that could've been 'shut up' and pushed him down into the chair again. Their faces collided; the other man's wet mouth sealed over his, slick and noisy. Beard and stubble alike burned at the bare part of his cheek as his matelot urged his mouth open with a deft, violent tongue. Jack felt the shock of their faces pressing together, his own scarf pushed up away from his brow, and the rush of a warm, slow, beery exhale as Hector Barbossa breathed a groan around his lips.

The older pirate was handling him roughly, bending over to keep their faces together. He was frozen with the surprise of it. He had figured that Hector would take another route---seduction and conversation and then the offer to be his personal bedmate. This was new---and yet---not so unexpected. Hector didn't do many things half-way and a slow seduction would be expected, so it wasn't what his matelot would go after. Not this time. Hector was many things, but predictable wasn't one of them. Not really.

Jack raised his hands, finally, to shove Hector backward---to break the kiss---but found himself unable to. Hector was kissing him with an intensity that bordered on fanatic, a sound of enjoyment and hunger vibrating up from his bare, almost-hairless chest. Then, just as he pushed at his matelot's sweat-slicked body, the other man's tongue slid against his in a coaxing, offering way---the sound changed, became questioning. The rough brush of Hector's chin rubbed against his own beard, sending a frisson of pleasure through him.

The last time he'd kissed Hector, he hadn't been growing a beard.

This was definitely a new place.

Jack stopped trying to fend his co-captain off; instead, he slid his fingers up the front of Hector's chest. A few tiny hairs grew there...they were going gray. His hands crawled onward to touch the sides of Hector's throat; more stubble and a little sweat and the tension of sinew and muscle moving ever so slightly as he gave in and responded to the kiss. He didn't care anymore that this was a man who'd betrayed him once before and who had a strange, danger-fraught accord with him now. He felt shock at his own reaction---he'd wanted this, but it still came as a surprise. His blood was pumping fast with the force of the other pirate's need, his own need. He could feel himself getting even harder as Hector let go of his shirt and slipped both naked arms around his ribs in an embrace.

Jack slid his hands into the long, lank strands of graying hair before him. It was wet at the roots, wavy and thick; it gave way to his fingers, ruffling deliciously at his touch. The other man gave a sigh, a moan, and began to lick at his tongue harder, urging him to do more. The arms at his ribs moved and he could feel Hector's hands stroking at his back through the loose-fitting shirt he wore.

With deliberate slowness, his matelot sank to the deck, shifting...so that, in only a few moments, his own face was tilted down and over the face that pressed up at him. Now, the arms tightened, held onto him with the clinging, fierce need of a drowning man. Hector was on his knees, on the rug and the deck, clutching at his back and hips, face lifted up to the kiss that went on. Jack gave himself up to the hunger he felt at the touch of a man he'd known and loved for most of his life. This was someone who wanted him, needed to be touching him.

Suddenly, it didn't matter at all that Hector Barbossa had once mutinied and stole his ship. He had the Pearl back and he had Hector. And Hector's vitality lent fire to his desire for warm, willing flesh. He was tired of being alone, unable to assuage the dreams he had of this very body and what it offered. Nothing had helped...not even his accord with Hen. Now, close to three months after being reunited onboard the Black Pearl with Hector Barbossa, he was going to take back what he'd lost fourteen years ago.

Hector gave a strange, pleading sob as he began to push his lips up and away from the anxious, offering mouth. He murmured, kissing at the other pirate's high, sharp cheekbone. "Shh, love...t'has been long enough, to my mind." It was a reassurance for himself as much as for Hector Barbossa, who had never asked for any kind of reassurance before.

Jack breathed harshly through his nose as he bit at the curve of Hector's hairy jaw and chin, using his fingers to trace the shape of the man's skull through the long hair that fell loose from its plait under his hand. The other pirate's head dropped backward to his kisses, giving him room. Hector had become a supplicant to his kiss, happily willing to do anything for his touch. Hector, who in this moment, seemed raw and clumsy; he was angles and muscles and eager need. Taking his time, Jack ran his hands down along Hector's sides to the heavy woolen breeches with the six-button placket. Here, he wrapped his fingers around the flintlock and pulled it free, letting the weapon drop to the rug beneath the table. Then, he tugged his matelot closer into the fork of his thighs and Hector leaned into him, muscular arms loosened at his waist.

Hector had said to him that he was the closest thing that the man had to a conscience.

He liked the thought of that.

They would take back the last fourteen years of animosity.

He drew back and stared down into the face that tilted up to his inspection, his kisses. The play of golden lantern light gave Hector a holy gleam, changing the contours of his features. This was not the scarred and weathered face of an enemy. This was the face of a man who couldn't bear to be alone anymore, who needed a redemption. A redemption only he could grant. He imagined it could've been his own expression, the look he found in Hector's slanted blue-green eyes.

Did his own face show so much need?

Then, the quiet moment of thought was finished and the hunger built again, driving him. He crushed his lips down onto Hector's, determined to taste the very bottom of what the other pirate offered. He felt the fingers that stumbled at his breeches, pulling the pistol away. He didn't stop them. He went on, tugging the firm, sharp-angled body into him, sliding his fingers down to the curves of Hector's arse. There, he squeezed, jerking the man closer still, making Hector's hands lose their place on his placket. He was aching now, inside and out, wanting more than the kisses that his matelot gave.

Hector's fingers flew at his breeches again, fighting to get the placket open with short wrenching jerks. It made him throb, made him want to mark this man---the one who would dare to look so wantonly up at him. It made him want to grind himself into Hector's skin. He clutched at the other pirate's tight arse, biting at the throat that was offered up to his teeth. Then, his hard, sweating prick was exposed to the air and he sighed in relief. He trembled at the feel of fingers that closed over his length, lifting him free of the constriction.

Jack gave a whimper of desire as Hector reared back from his mouth, meeting his stare with darkened, knowing eyes. This was no mere lust...this was a moment of truth. Hector had been starved, beaten, and left to crawl off into a corner as a lad; only their friendship had changed things for the other man. Betrayal hadn't come easy to Barbossa, when it had happened, and fourteen years had taught his matelot a valuable and terrible lesson. It had taught them both a valuable and terrible lesson; one that hadn't killed their hearts or their spirits, but only made them more determined. In the amber-yellow glow of light, Hector looked devilishly smug, darkly grinning...showing teeth that gleamed wetly in the curving swell of his soft, stretched lips. He could almost imagine, now, that the last fourteen years hadn't happened at all.

He drew a hissing breath of surprise at what he saw in the other pirate's expression. It didn't last long...he broke off in a groan of disbelief as Hector dove out of sight, mouth opened wide. He sank into the chair, falling against its back, bouncing on the wood. His hands dropped away from his matelot's body, clutching at empty air. Hector's lips were hot, sliding on his foreskin, pushing it down and away from the horrible sensitivity of the weeping, wet head that shivered and grew tighter at the attack.

Hector scraped his teeth along it, making him jerk and strain and grind his jaws together. It was as if he was being physically held down in the chair. But, just as he thought he might scream from the sweet agony of his lover's mouth, the other man began to slide down his length, taking it all in...one long sheathing. In only a few moments, he was completely in Hector's mouth and throat, to the very root.

He began to groan, over and over, as his matelot flexed his agile tongue, caressing his prick with the curving slick of it. The other man was a master...he could feel it in every move of that mouth, that tongue. He'd forgotten what this felt like, the teeth that lightly danced against the sides of him. Now, he managed to lift his hand and touch the back of Hector's head, sweaty fingers tangling in the wild waves. It only seemed to push his lover on; Hector gave a muffled laugh, sounding relieved, and began to move on him.

Jack fought to hold off his release, wanting more...Hector wrapped one arm around him, sliding large fingers down inside his breeches to grasp at his hip. The other hand joined his matelot's mouth, sliding along the spit-slicked shaft of his prick right below the lips that massaged and worked and swallowed him whole. Impulsively, he clenched his fingers in Hector's graying hair and began to push, dragging the other pirate's head up and down at a different rhythm. Trying to slow things down, as it were. But, as he did, Hector groaned and pushed himself harder downward; the tightness, the vibration of it...it set him off. Jack coughed, tensing up to try stopping the inevitable. His lover flicked the flat of his tongue at the head of his prick and he lost himself. Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth hard and thrust his hips up instinctively, his muscles locking. There was a moment of falling, of being out of control, and then he jerked, sobbing against the pressure as he came.

It was painful, perfect, rough. Hector didn't pull away, didn't move. Just held onto him tightly, swallowing in time to each spurt. He could feel the slickness as it changed the texture of the tongue that still worked, now slower. He sagged, his hands numb and tingling from holding onto his co-captain's hair. He could feel the blood rushing into them, into his face. He gave a sigh, letting his head drop back onto the chair; he'd nearly slid out of it. Hector suckled at him as he grew limp, not pulling away. For long moments, that was all that happened and he watched the inside of his eyelids, lost in the dark there.

Finally, his lover sat back, letting go of him. Jack raised his head and opened his eyes, lifting a finger to push at his exposed, sloppy ballocks. Hector was watching him, blue-green eyes still full of hunger and need. The other pirate licked away the last smears of spunk from the cush of his lower lip. In the shadows, Hector's face looked much younger. He stared in surprise and a smile began to creep up and out of him.

Fourteen years...fourteen years and it had been well worth the wait.

Hector's mouth curved up on the outsides, smug again. The other man's voice was hoarse, as if untested. "What say you, Captain Sparrow? Is that a fine explanation, then?"

He was utterly drained and sleepy, now. It made a fool of him.

Jack rolled his head back again, going boneless.

He moaned his agreement. "Aye, a fine explanation."
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Whispers of Redemption