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Wi' A Wannion	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2357 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Five:

Instant Pleasures

The next few days, Jack got a chance to see London, a city he had considered somewhat mythical until now. Barbossa, along with several other sailors from The Flaming Sword, had decided to go take a look at the palace and the Tower and several famous points of interest as advertised by street vendors selling pasties and sausages and ale. These things were fine by him and surely interesting for a lad who had never laid eyes on London-town before, but what he really wanted to do was hole up in a dirty little room again with naught but a bottle of rum and Hector Barbossa.

Why not? It had worked wonderfully the last three nights.

So, on the fourth day, when the twilight came and the other sailors drifted off to find their own pleasures, he stayed right on Barbossa's heels and hummed to himself as he watched the decline of the neighborhoods they walked through. Hector never said a word to him, only walked.

As they went along, Jack considered the older sailor. Hector was a head taller than him and so naturally English, by contrast, with his freckled skin and blondish-brown hair. He found himself fascinated by the idea of the rigger's mouth. That mouth which could become so expressive in a single moment, but which usually seemed dour and thinned with some deep, inner conflict that he wasn't privy to. Yet.

He did want to know the secret, of course. He just knew it would take time.

It did niggle at him, how easily Hector had killed the man who'd attacked him in the service alley, the night before. But, he considered the problem solved; he'd suspected that Barbossa was a fighter, from the first day they'd met on ship. Men didn't get bruises, scrapes, and cuts on their knuckles and face from simply floating along on the breeze, and that was something that no one could accuse the lean rigger of.

At last, Barbossa stopped in mid-step and turned to stare at him, his long hair caught back under a dark green half-turban. His friend's mouth curled in a sneer, pale eyes traveling over him in a half-scornful manner. "I suppose ye want more rum an' wenching, boy? Is that why yer trailing in me wake?"

Jack nodded, tugging at his forelock---it had slipped free of the queue he wore, once more---and gave a wide grin. "Aye, mate. That'd be it."

His friend grunted with a nod. "On, then."

An hour later, they sat at a table in the back of a tavern, sharing a bottle of rum and chatting up a haggard-looking wench who seemed quite taken with him. Dinner had been simple enough; they had agreed that what money they had left was better spent on a room and rum and the woman they chose to take with them.

But, it wasn't quite what he wanted.

The wench looked old enough to be his grandmum.

When she got up, obviously intending to visit the alley, Jack leaned close to Barbossa---who was steadily downing rum at a pace to make any manjack proud---and whispered, his voice almost lost in the noise of music and gambling and loud laughter. "Hector, I don't think she's the right one. She looks poxy, she does. Do we need a woman?"

Barbossa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and then the edge of his mouth curved up in a sardonic grimace. The rigger drawled. "No wench for ye, ye say? What if I say nay to that? I might be wantin' one..."

He bit his lip and kept silent, worrying his fingers over the edge of the rough table they sat at. Was the first bloom already wilting? Did Hector not want him now?

Finally, Hector nodded sharply and got up, pushing his chair back. One hand grasped the bottle, the other reached for his collar. "To bed with ye, Jack me lad."

At last.

***

Behind closed doors, with only a candle to light them, Jack took several long swallows of rum and then held the bottle down at his side limply as he swayed. Hector was washing up in the bowl of cold water provided for the room and he couldn't take his eyes off the blonde rigger's body. He watched until he couldn't anymore and needed to shut his eyes.

He didn't see Barbossa approaching.

Hector tipped his face up and, as he sighed with pleasure, strong lips nibbled at him. One arm slid around his ribs. The other moved slowly down across his shoulder and back, then grasped at his bum and pulled him tightly close. He was hard, now, almost to the point of pain, but the engorged cock he could feel pressing at him only made him more aroused, in a different way---and he began to realize that seduction was two thirds in the head that sat on his shoulders and only one third in his pants.

Hector wanted him more than any wench---no matter how lovely and buxom.

The tongue that brushed his lips tasted of rum and that was fine. Jack ran his arms up to slide around his friend's shoulders as he gave into the kiss. As he did, Hector began undoing the buttons on the shirt he wore, quickly baring him to the air. His nipples grew hard instantly, as if touched by icy water. Soon, he was as naked as a newborn and laying under the man he lusted for.

There on a creaky bed, with a small vial of lamp oil nearby, Hector tugged him into an embrace, sealing his mouth shut with a kiss that set his whole body on fire with fresh need. The body that held him was powerful and in control. The last vestiges of his mind melted. He moaned, giving himself up, desperate to devour and taste everything that could be found in the mouth of another man. His friend knelt up between his knees, arms encircling his naked hips; paradise on earth lay within the older sailor's mouth. Hector's large hand firmly clasped his cock, thumb massaging the underside of his foreskin. He sobbed, clenching the blankets hard enough to rip them asunder, but he refused to deny them both this exquisite act.

Hector reached up to pry his hands loose; they were pulled down and then his fingertips were sliding through the loosened sun-bleached blonde hair that seemed to become pure gold in the candle's light. His heart was in his mouth as Hector prostrated himself over his body. His cock was under the other sailor's chest and throat and he could hear harsh breathing, murmured words. He couldn't make out what his lover was saying, but it didn't matter.

"Bloody hell..." He whispered an oath of torment and began to twist his fingers in Hector's lank waves as his lover's hand worked up and down slowly on his erection, slicked with the copious dribble of spunk. Hector was grinning wickedly up at him, pale eyes narrowed with a new and fierce glee. He moaned it, his guts on fire with the need for release. "Damn your mouth..."

Hector fell on his cock like a starved beast, mouth opening for the length of it; his tongue snaked out to lick at him and he watched with hooded eyes as his lean, hard-muscled lover sucked his hardness in with a gasping, wet noise. Barbossa's hands and arms were holding him close, at the hips, and he felt the lift and pull as he was tugged upward, his length driving deeper into that hot, brazenly tight sheath.

It made him shout with shocked pleasure.

He saw how Hector closed his eyes, concentrating. His lover sucked at him, snuffling every few breaths in a way that sent cool air over his length as the foreskin was tongued repeatedly. Hard and insistent, Hector worked his mouth up and down, rough and snug. He watched as a new flush rose in the other sailor's face...there was a dew of sweat now gracing Hector's brow. These things excited him just as much as the warm wetness of those lips, that tongue. Soon, he was groaning and unable to stop it, his pleasure vocal as he used his fingers to caress his lover's pie-bald face and blondish-brown hair.

Hector's hands moved now, touching and exploring his skin as if it was new territory. Fingers skimmed and tenderly rubbed along the shaft of his cock, circling his ballocks over and over. It was not long before he began to grit his teeth, wanting to prolong the rush of release...needing to hold back the tide.

He bit his tongue to keep from shouting as his hips rocked up, filling his lover's throat. Heart thumping, hands trembling with the intensity of this sensitive moment, Jack murmured, feeling as if his throat was full. "Hector...you're killing me."

Hector pulled him along and he heard the light, audible thump of his lover's knees hitting the floor. Now, his legs hung off the edge, wide open, and he was being licked from ballocks to foreskin. Long blondish hair brushed teasingly back and forth on his belly and hip. He rolled his head on the bedding, groaning through his teeth at the tongue that worked its tormenting magic on him. Deep in his chest, the whimpers started.

"Hector---" It came out of him in a squeak and he felt-heard the answering chuckle.

Jack touched his lover's cheekbones, the smooth forehead, everything he could touch. As he did, Hector reached for and caught the vial of lamp oil that had been tossed on the broken-down bed. Blindly, deftly, it was uncorked between two fingers and a thumb. He felt the odd softening of Hector's throat on him; his lover's tongue enfolded and caressed, kissing his hardness with deep, wet strokes.

The back of Jack's throat tightened with a spasm.

He felt oiled fingers against his bunghole and made himself relax even as he lost his breath. He wanted to kiss the lips that were driving his heart like a team of spooked horses. Barbossa wriggled, shifting position, and he wondered---only for a second---what was happening. Then, a slippery finger pushed into him and he whispered a moan, shivering.

Hector rubbed his nose and cheeks into the nearly hairless flesh of his ballocks, his breath warm and heavy. That one finger moved around in circles and his hips followed involuntarily, lifted in agonized need. He could feel the burn in his belly. He sighed, tilting his chin toward the leaky ceiling, sweat popping out all over his skin. Letting go of Barbossa's hair, he gripped the blankets again, wordlessly whining at the constant, dancing pull inside his bum. Then, another oiled finger slid in and he cried out, biting his lip.

"Bugger..." It was all he could say and he said it over and over.

Hector's hand clasped him, gripping tighter, tugging him into that hot throat; his lover grunted, sniffing in a feral, hungry way and pushed him to open further, teasing with a twist of two fingers. He squirmed, his naked feet finding his lover's hips, where Hector knelt in the floor. He tugged at the older sailor's ass with his heels.

He was ready to beg---but, after a few nights, he'd realized that this was Barbossa's special brand of torture. The rigger showed no mercy when it came to coupling. He sighed and moaned, changing position, putting his legs over Hector's shoulders just as his lover leaned forward, fingers going fast and then slow, around in circles. The cruel tongue moved in the same way on him, breaking his concentration every other moment.

Then, the fingers moved in a new twist and his nerves jangled like a string of coins; Jack rose up off the bed in a crazed spasm at the surge of pleasure. Staring wildly, he looked down to find Hector's pale eyes on him, full of a deeply self-satisfied amusement as his mouth continued to pull at his cock. He knew...his lover's lips wanted to curl in a smirk. He didn't have much chance to wonder at it; Hector's fingers twisted in him again and he began to shake, unable to help the way he was shoving himself into that willing, snug throat.

Grousing noisily at the ecstasy it brought, he tightened his bum, desperate for it as his hips rocked up and forward. Reckless, he threw himself into Hector's face, almost sitting up now. But, just as he thought he might be already dead and in a madman's version of Hell, his lover's tongue flicked down over his foreskin and into the hot, tingling slit, and he cried out, falling back on the bedding, writhing to get away from the sharp, intense feel of his body drawing up, muscles constricting around the fingers buried in his bum.

The tongue on his cock swirled against the exposed tip and he felt the drag of teeth and it became too much. He bit off a curse, rolling his head back to the bedding with a howl, squeezing his eyes shut as hoarse sobs broke loose from his throat against his will as the tide engulfed him and he writhed under his lover's tender mercies.

He gasped, clawing at the bedding, arching up, his teeth gritted hard at the sensation of release.

Then, with a harsh, roaringly loud breath and the pulling sensation of the other man's mouth and throat, swallowing, it was finished and he was drained and all he believed in was the brutal divinity of his lover. Only a fallen angel could destroy a man so.

***

He whimpered as they shifted position, his hands firmly tied before him as if he was Hector's prisoner of war. The thick, hard prick caught the rim of his well-oiled bum as his lover eased backward on the bed. Hands on his hips and waist, Barbossa pulled him along and then he was straddling, just above the penetration they both craved, the joining that would make them one for the night...the dove-tailing of body and intent.

It made his face heat with passion, the somber contemplation in Hector's long face. He trembled, aching for it, nudging the head of his lover's prick with the wet heat of his open bum. They weren't kissing, but something much more dangerous and hot---nose to nose, nearly eye to eye, his lip caught between Hector's teeth. He sobbed brokenly into his lover's mouth and began to shake at how he was being withheld from the raw, terrible pleasure that lingered so close, both teasing and threatening.

He clutched his knees at Hector's thighs and hips and tried to not fight the strap that held his hands captive. With a slight up-lift of his mouth on one side, Hector pushed up at him without pushing down on his hips. He tensed and gave a low, depraved moan. He was shivering, quaking at the fearsome, absorbed darkness he saw within Barbossa's serious gaze.

"I want only what's mine, Jack me lad. What say you to that? Can you give name to it?" Breath puffing against his face, Hector said it with such casual grace, as if they weren't together without a stitch of garment between them. As if he wasn't being held above a hard, invading prick, his fists tied together by a strap of cloth torn from his own shirt. "Name me what's mine here, Jack Sparrow."

He moaned softly, straining to impale himself, maddened to welcome the hot burn of flesh burrowing to the very core of his guts. His long, coffee-brown hair was damp with sweat and clung to his cheeks and his brow, his throat. His thighs ached from being kept in a constricted position; he couldn't catch his air. The words escaped in a hiss, his plea. "Not fair of you---Hector, I beg---for the love of God---"

"Nothin' fair in what we're about, boy." Barbossa's smile grew sharper. "Mine, eh?"

He nodded emphatically and went limp, giving up sovereign power over his pleasure.

Then...only then...Hector let him ease down by centimeters. He cried out and pushed his mouth against the one that smiled under him as if he could find a way to fuse them together. It was what he wanted...Hector's body, his body, made as one. He clutched his hands together, devouring his lover's lips, clenching his fists in frustration---he could not touch, had to accept what was given.

Barbossa groaned, going tense at the heat and tightness and laughed, pushing his nose against Jack's cheek. The hands that held his hips gave a squeeze; Jack could feel his arse shuddering in rhythm with each shift of the prick that slowly shoved up and into his very belly. At last, he was seated fully on Hector's iron-hard length. It felt like a belaying pin in his gut. It was devastating and he trembled as his bum twitched and ached. He caught his breath with a hitch that shook his chest and shoulders.

The hips under him began to rock in a slow, undulating way that made Hector's prick wriggle and grind inside his arse. He shifted and met his lover's tongue, needing to have his cries silenced. He worked his thighs, sliding up and down on Hector, being forced open afresh each time. Riding the rigger's lap, he moaned in his throat, giddy that the sound would be felt but not heard.

Hector lifted him in one arm, cupping the back of his head as they kissed, and then shifted deeper in his bum; with a long pull on his arse, he was almost emptied of the heavy prick that had been nestled in his belly and, now, he did protest with a whine. But, his lover held him there. Green-blue eyes hot and challenging studied him in all stolid seriousness as Barbossa tipped his head to the side.

"Like this, do ye?" It was asked in the tones of a man needing to plot out his next move.

Nodding, he closed his eyes and pushed himself forward, captive hands fisting once more as he burrowed into Hector's throat, unable to stop the hiccupping sobs as they broke free of his chest. He flexed his back as he tried to hold still while poised on the air.

With a hard wrench, his lover jerked him downward and onto the wet prick again; he felt the tension in Hector's jaw against his cheek. Even that didn't stop the older sailor from crying out with him. Jack mewled at the driving thrust, banging his head against Hector's neck. He was no longer holding himself tightly. He went limp, the only hard bit of him his cock...it bounced and rubbed against Hector's flat, silky belly. He gave another deep shudder, settling deeper on his lover's lap.

On the other hand, Hector pushed him up and down with one strong hand, wriggling his bum to depraved positions, driving him to sharp, sudden yelps as long, slender fingers found his hardness and began to stroke it in time with each down-thrust. Jack gave a gasping shout at it and jerked, no longer quite willing to be complacent to the fuck. He moved faster, harder, thighs screaming as he bit down on Hector's jaw, right below the ear.

Barbossa barked a yelp of his own and the hand on his cock tightened. Soon, he was being dragged up and down with hard, deepening thrusts that rattled his bones, forcing him open roughly. He felt he might break, inside, but couldn't find the mind to care. Instead, teeth open at his lover's jaw and throat, he drove himself harder---using Hector to abuse his body.

He babbled and whispered, his body responding with craven writhing at Hector's demanding, his bum split and burning as he made demands of his own. Under his tongue, he loved the warm, salty taste of rasping, new stubble and sweat and frantic, reckless lust. He craved Hector's hips and ribs moving against his as he stopped his moans with a mouthful of responsive, male flesh. Every tendon was taut to the snapping point as he bounced faster, shouting muffled obscenities.

Hector was wringing his cock like a heathen, the rhythm suffering each time he thrust up and back. His lover howled, caught between flinching away from his teeth and pushing himself closer to the mouth that ravaged his throat. Jack rolled back and wrestled his bound hands and arms down around his lover's shoulders, to bring them fully chest-to-chest. Finished, he began to lick at the scrape he'd made on Hector's throat, refusing to be deterred even now.

Outside, in the street, there came shouts---a fight had broken out, perhaps---but it was far away, on the other side of the wide world. With his face tilted up and his breath coming in rough spurts, Hector went stiff. Jack felt the twitching thrum of his lover's orgasm, the constricting fist that slicked at his foreskin, and strangled on his coughing yell as he came, spunk arcing on both their chests and Barbossa's hand.

Instantly, Jack wanted to melt and lose his identity in the little vertigo that came as he gasped, flushing, mouth still at his lover's throat and his tied hands still engaged around Hector's shoulders and neck, made wet with sweat from both their bodies. Holding him tightly at ribs and bum, Hector was making a strange noise---something between whimper and snarl---his eyes closed and his mouth open slackly. His lover was breathing hard, shivering with the crazed muscle spasms of a race horse. He'd never been so aware of the difference in their sizes until now---

Barbossa was easily half his build again.

It was incredible to see and feel. Lifting his face, Jack watched.

Hector took several minutes to calm down, and, even then, his lover occasionally gave a tendon-breaking shiver. Several more minutes passed and at last, one blue-green eye opened and studied him with fuzzy bemusement.

The other sailor's voice was stern. "I've fucked ye silly, Jack. Will ye let me sleep now?"
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Wi' A Wannion