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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter Seven:

Confrontations and Reunions

Dressed in garments that had been acquired and stowed at some time during the previous year, Jack tied his clean hair with a bit of ribbon into a neat queue and then washed his face before shaving. He would not face their prisoner looking so roughly treated.

As he finished readying himself with a long study in the wear-flecked mirror, he asked a question that was slow to dawn in his mind. "When did you know where I was, mate?"

Barbossa held out a frock-coat in darkest blue for him. It was a new thing, to see his friend with a growing beard that offset the lean, narrow planes of his freckled face. "Nearly a month gone, I heard th' rumor that ye were alive an' in Singapore. Beckett had th' story told that ye were hung for thievery. I knew no different, Jack."

"No..." He mused, taking the coat; there, with them both holding the heavy, fine cloth, he met his friend's hooded gaze and let all his other questions go. True acts of piracy or not, Hector was still the man he'd sailed with for half his life. "You couldn't have known."

Now, with a cutlass buckled at his hip and once more looking the part of a gentleman sailor, Jack followed Barbossa out on deck, where they were greeted with a hail from Bootstrap Bill Turner, who was steadfast and easy at the wheel. He tossed a hand in return and promised himself a chance to talk with the man over a mug of grog once he'd dealt with Beckett. He noticed that the ship was flying the merchant colors proper to a minor captain employed by the EITC; an excellent disguise. A glance at the horizon showed that they were within sight of land, anchored in an atoll. He looked at his friend and lover, who answered without needing the question.

"We're ten leagues from Jakarta."

Ah, so they had not come so very far from Singapore, then.

Down into the sternhold they descended, to the brig. At Barbossa's nod, they were joined by two sailors who looked much less reputable than the men he'd usually hired for crew. In the dimness of the brig, Jack stood near the cage and examined the prisoner.

Beckett looked as if he'd seen a bad ten-day. Naked, dirty, wet, and covered in muck and missing his powdered wig, the short merchant master was chained to the bulkhead by both hands. Jack was taken aback by the welts that could be seen through the dirt. The man's chest hair appeared to have been burned off with powder flashes, probably for the shock and fear value behind such an action.

He slid a hand into the front of his sash, letting his fingers linger on the handle of the knife Hector had given him, as he considered the abused Beckett. "You know, mate, it's a good look for you. Without the wig, you look like one of our cabin boys."

It was true, in a perverse way. Beckett's short hair was curly and ginger-brown and, without the white powdered wig, he looked like a lost lad. A beaten, lost lad. Difficult to believe, it was, that this man had been responsible for the destruction of his career as a captain with the EITC.

Barbossa tapped long, dexterous fingers on the black iron cage bars. "He's yers, Jack. Do what ye will."

Then, his friend left, going up-top to the deck.

Once the bootsteps had faded from his hearing, Jack glanced at the two sailors who had remained behind. He had an idea that it was these two who'd inflicted the damage that could be seen. Was he expected to kill Cutler Beckett? What did Hector think he meant to do?

Beckett raised his head, tilting his young face to the side so as to see better from the eye that wasn't bruised and swollen shut. The merchant master's voice cracked. "Jack Sparrow, I might say it's good to see you alive and well, but I find myself unable to care much for your health while my own seems open to debate. Was it at your orders that I've been taken captive?"

"Of course, mate." He grinned, using the key to unlock the brig cage. It rattled and then clicked. "I was in fantastic shape to give orders when we left Singapore, so I insisted Captain Barbossa have you beaten within a hair of your life."

"If you kill me, the entire Royal Navy and East India Trading Company will be seeking this ship and its crew. It will be a massacre...you know how these matters work." Beckett croaked, his broken mouth barely able to form the words. "You're a smarter man than this rabble you've aligned yourself with, Sparrow. If you have them put me to shore in a friendly port, I shall make sure you're not hunted down. It has the advantage of allowing you to continue sailing at your whim without fear of being destroyed immediately."

He was now in the brig's cage and standing before the naked merchant master. To steady himself---it would take weeks, by Neptune, to regain his sealegs---Jack held onto the bars closest and pondered what Beckett was saying. It was true that Barbossa's ship and crew would be hunted now. He and Hector both knew what that entailed; they'd seen what happened to pirates the EITC captured. Did he want to take the risk? Or could he offer his ex-employer an accord, a lesser punishment than death in exchange for a release to shore?

"Keep talking, Cutler...I've been informed this pretty little ship is currently anchored only ten leagues from Jakarta and very near to shore. I suspect that we're taking on fresh supplies and water with the plan of a much longer voyage in the near future. If I believe what you blather at me, perhaps I'll have Captain Barbossa put you to shore before we leave this place." He leaned back on the cage bars, casually crossing his arms in the interest of looking unbothered when in fact, his mind was circling all the possible angles from which Beckett could play even while locked in the brig.

Beckett silently accepted what he said and then gave an insolent chuckle, watching him with genuine mirth from his one unswollen eye. "You do not want me dead, Sparrow? The most expedient and permanent method of dealing with prisoners is death and I've certainly warranted it, with how I've destroyed you. You've no choice left, I think, but to become one of these worthless brigands now. But, if I'm released, I can ensure that you've a good headstart...you might escape prosecution for this outrage."

With care, he pushed up the sleeve of his coat and shirt, to reveal the pale-skinned brand that marred the skin below the blue-inked tattoo that served as a marker of his tenth year before the mast as a sailor. "I've a mind to repay you in kind for this. What say you to that?"

Now, Beckett was mum. The merchant master only eyed him with stolid passivity.

Jack gave a nod, ready to leave the brig cage. As he closed it behind himself, he promised. "I'll give it some thought, Beckett. You'll have your answer by tomorrow. Let's all hope it's to your satisfaction, eh?"

Then, without a glance backward, he made his way up-top to the deck.

***

He'd asked for Bootstrap to join him and Barbossa in discussing what might be done about Beckett. He trusted Bill; in the years they'd served together as sailors on various ships, Bill Turner had proven himself to be worth trusting. A good man, William Turner. The last time he'd seen the tall, brave sailor from Portsmouth, they'd been putting London to their rudder, three years ago. It seemed that Hector had made another trip to England, in the last year, and convinced Bill to re-join the crew...to go pirate.

It seemed that the last year without him had changed Barbossa in minute ways that would take re-learning. His lover had always possessed a cold, dark streak that he'd accepted without comment, but now, it seemed that Hector took to pirating with ease. But, then, being captain of a ship full of desperate men who could find employment no other place meant proving oneself as the top dog among the lot of them. That could call for a touch of brutality, he supposed.

"Might be best to put him to shore without any further delay." Bill leaned back in the chair, lightly touching the rim of his clay mug. The sailor's blue eyes were serious. "If he can write us Letters, so much the better. We need not stay in Indochin, aye? There are other seas to sail."

"It would have to be a provisional Letters of Marque." Jack closed his eyes and sighed, his breath a rush of frustration. "The law requires the King's signature on all Letters of Marque. The Governor's, too. The Governor would have Letters, complete with the King's seal, ready for use, but that would, I think, require Beckett's assistance in convincing the Governor of our 'good intents'. But, without the Letters, as a merchant master, Beckett doesn't have the authority to give us much, but he can give us a clean headstart..."

He personally wanted to just leave Beckett on a sandy beach and make their escape while it was still possible to do so without being overcome in a battle with heavily armed ships. Bill was right; there were other seas to sail with less dangerous prey and, perhaps, better swag. Approaching the Governor of Singapore was a sure trap.

Barbossa poured another cup for him and handed it over, his pale gaze thoughtfully inscrutable. With a ringed hand, Hector scratched at his bearded jaw. "We could set Beckett to shore with an understanding that we'll return for th' Letters of Marque in a six month. He can go visit th' Governor hisself an' weave his pretty words. But, for our protection, in th' waiting, we'll make do with a provisional allowance from th' wee bastard. What say ye?"

It sounded as if it might work...if they could dare to trust Beckett.

�I still say we should gut th� git an� leave him to rot on th� beach.� Hector went on, continuing with an afterthought. "But, if yer determined to let him live, Jack, we have a need to scare th' man, I think. He's a cold one, Beckett is. He'd be more than happy to betray any accord we offer."

Jack drained the cup he held and rubbed at the bandage on his right wrist; the wound was itchingly maddening, so he supposed it to be healing. He licked his lower lip in consideration and then rubbed a finger along his clean-shaven jaw. "Aye, I'm having a thought. What if we make him think he's getting off lightly, eh? Scare him badly, Barbossa, and the scallywag'll remember to play by the rules of any accord we set."

His lover and friend got a crafty gleam in his blue-green eyes. "Aye, there is that."

***

With the plan settled, Bootstrap Bill Turner returned to his watch on the quarterdeck of Barbossa�s ship, The Victorious. Twilight sank the bloody-gold sun into the sea at the horizon. With the ship at anchor and safely in an uninhabited atoll, the world narrowed down to the sound of music and singing from the main deck. The sailors were entertaining themselves, heavy in the grog.

"Th' lad's tucked away in his hammock." Hector seemed to have read his mind, the simple concern he felt for Wee Tam. "I've no understandin' for why ye must care, Jack. It's naught but fear o' buggery that sets th' lad to worryin'."

"Yup." He was halfway through their second bottle of rum and feeling pleasantly tipsy. "It's one thing for a lad to be buggered when he wants it...but I think Wee Tam's been pressed a bit hard by someone among your crew, Hector."

Barbossa gave a heavy, annoyed sigh. "Fine. I'll speak with th' men in th' morn, make it understood that th' lad's to be left untouched."

He nodded, using a free hand to rub at his tired eyes. "Thank ye."

"Healin' be a slow business, Jack." His friend's voice rumbled, almost soft enough to be a whisper. "Ye needs to eat an' sleep, me thinks."

It wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was to be reminded that he was still alive. After a year of being left to the darkness in a prison cell, he felt disjointed, as if he'd come out of death itself and back into the world of the living. Only one thing for it, really. He murmured over the lip of his cup, masking exhaustion with a cunning smile. "Aye, but I can think of more pleasurable pursuits."

Hector's breath caught in a hiss and it was a moment before the answer came, hoarse and questioning. "Are ye sure then, Jack?"

"Aye." He opened his eyes and fixed Barbossa with a stare. The other man was flushed already at the idea of it. Hector tugged at the edge of his short, reddish beard. "I've made up my mind. If you can see your way clear to...it's been more than a year, mate. No mercy."

"I think it be a grand thought." Was all the agreement he needed.

***

Hector crossed the last yards and grabbed him, holding his uninjured wrist tightly away from his body even as he thrust his face upward to catch his lover's mouth with his teeth, roughly, gracelessly. His clean-shaven chin and cheek ground into the older man's beard and it made him hungrier for what he'd asked of Barbossa, who gripped at his queue with an insistent tug. Mindless as he sucked at Hector's mouth, Jack let himself be pulled up from his chair and then pushed stumbling along the cabin's floor. He urged his tongue past the lips that opened for him, tasting a hint of blood.

His mouth was being raped and he pushed back with an equal fervor. Hector wasn't fighting him and he breathed harshly through his nose, eyes squeezing shut at he clutched at his lover's shoulders, tugging him closer. Gingerly, he used his injured hand to strip away the scarf that covered the hair he longed to touch. It fluttered to the floor, naught but a scrap of forgotten green calico. He wrapped his fingers in Barbossa's long hair, holding his face in place as he plundered the kiss.

He could taste rum and perhaps the fruit they'd halved at supper. Hector was holding his face with both hands. He shoved himself harder, from chest to hip, at the older man, feeling a depraved hunger to grind himself into his lover's skin...mark Hector with his colors. He turned loose of the hair he held and reached for the buttons of Barbossa's linen shirt, trembling with his hunger. He fumbled them, finally managing to tug each free. As he slid the shirt off his lover's shoulders and let it fall to the rugs of the cabin's floor, Hector used the movement to slide a hand down the back of his trousers and squeeze his bum. He moaned into the kiss, nearly melting at the touch of callused fingers rubbing and stroking at his skin.

He reciprocated, using his fingers to slide and squeeze at Hector's bared ribs. He felt new scars that needed to be examined, but they could wait----now, his shirt was being taken away, Barbossa's hands moving stealthily. Underneath, he was bare-skinned and hairless and he whimpered at the touch of Hector's fingertips scratching at his nipples.

He thrust his tongue along his lover's lips and then took Hector's jaw in his hands, pushing upwards to bare the older man's throat. He could feel the pulse there as he opened his teeth on sun-bronzed skin, sighing with appreciation at the taste of salt and musk. Familiar territory and one that he'd thought he would never have the pleasure of, again. Hector moaned at the sharpness of his teeth, jerking against him. Now, his lover's hands returned to the curve of his bum, blindly hooking two fingers in the top of his trousers, tugging his hips closer. Against his own hard cock, he felt the burgeon of hot flesh that rubbed through two layers of cloth.

He ached to make love to Hector, to take what he could. To give back what his lover had lost, this past year. Blatantly grinding his crotch against his lover's, he nipped at the offered throat, husking his desire to the skin he sucked at. Meaningless words that would be ignored, forgotten.

Hector was breathing harder, gasping a little at the scorching tease of his mouth, and he felt hands at the buckle of his belt. He bit down on his lover's throat, just below the ear, murmuring endearments as he followed suit, working the buttons on Barbossa's trousers. As he did, Hector kissed his face, his cheekbones, his forehead, the corner of his eye, panting and wordless in gleaming-eyed anticipation. Soon, he had the hot length of his lover's prick in the palm of his hand. It was soft-skinned, tight with need, and it excited him more to feel the wet drip of spunk welcoming his grip. He found Hector's mouth now and forced his way in once again, taking what he needed childishly, fast, not caring if he bruised his lover's lips with roughness.

The older sailor bucked against him with a cry, hungry for it, and he took the sob with his tongue.

Twisting his face free, Hector stared down at him, hot-eyed and ferocious with lust. "Ah, no mercy. On yer knees, Jack me lad."

The command made him harder still.

He obeyed quickly, finishing the job of removing his trousers; nakedly hitting the deck with his knees in front of his lover, he found himself growing even more desperate for Hector's wet, open kisses. His blood was pumping with the forceful touch of Barbossa's grip on his shoulders and neck. It was shocking, how he needed to be used so. He feared that, with gentle caresses from the man who'd claimed him so many years before, he might break at the very bottom of his heart---gentle would wait for a day when he was less fearful of his mortality.

For now, in this hour, he needed more a reminder of how dreadfully loved he was.

A few seconds' fumblings had Hector as naked as a babe. Jack pressed his cheek to the silky, taut skin of his lover's belly, seeking something he had no words for. Comfort and perhaps a return to home. Breathing faster, he licked his wet lips and closed both eyes, tipping his face in offering. Hector's naked hips moved under his fingers as he gripped at them and then he felt the push. He laughed, the sound muffled in the heat of his lover's sweating, thinly haired groin as he opened his mouth for the first, rough thrust.

Hector Barbossa growled, taking his head in both hands for a second time, keeping him there and motionless, as he pushed up and into his hot mouth. Jack licked at the shaft as it slid over his tongue and into the back of his throat. The taste was perfect, remembered. He could be cleansed of his imprisonment, stripped free of the deep-seated fear he held that he would be somehow captured and returned to the gaol in Singapore.

He was tugged back and forth, then, and he quickly fell into rhythm, opening his throat to swallow the rich taste of spunk driplets as they seeped from the foreskin he teased with each backward pull. His lover was making wounded sounds, urging him without words at first and then choking out things he needed to hear as he sheathed Hector's hard cock over and over again in his throat. He wrapped his tongue around it, working the smooth skin flat against the roof of his mouth, and that elicited a jerky shiver from the older man, whose grip tightened on the back of his head. The ribbon had come free, lost to the deck under his knees, and he felt the sliding pull of Hector's fingers holding his long hair back from the sides of his face.

Hector's hips bucked hard, forcing deeper into his throat, as the other sailor trembled and gave voice to the pleasure of being sucked. Jack reached, blindly, for the hands that held his head and clasped them there as he began to sweat. Even the nails that dug at him was delicious and he shifted his knees to better plant his balance.

A knock sounded at the door and, at first, it didn't register with him.

A second knock brought Hector to a dead stop. Jack shifted back on his heels to look up at his lover. Barbossa's face changed, went dark, as he called out. "Aye? What be the problem?"

It was the cabin boy's voice, squeaky and low and worried. "Captain, sir? Bootstrap sent me to ask ye if there needs be a change in th' watch."

"Has there been a ship sighted? Any movement on th� shore?" Barbossa moved away from him now, as if preparing to dress.

Jack rose, naked and hard, and turned to face the closed door.

"Nay, Captain sir. All's well." Wee Tam exclaimed. "Need th' watch be changed, then?"

He approached the carved wooden door, speaking up. "Aye, Bootstrap to bed, Bo'sun to quarterdeck til eight bells. Tell them that if they can give the captain a full night's sleep without interruption, there be a triple ration of grog in it for them---and you---on the morrow."

"Aye, Mister Jack." The lad sounded excited and there came the noise of bare feet running back along the deck and up the quarterdeck steps over their heads.

He grinned, only a few inches from the door. He was glad he hadn't needed to open the thing and frighten the sweet-faced boy. Barbossa might've lost himself a cabin boy at the first opportunity, if he had taken that tack.

Then, Hector was right behind and he found himself shoved to the wall face-down. Now, the sweet nothings were a low, muttered threat. "I be th� captain, Jack...yer th� first mate here, if ye be anythin'. If ye be givin' orders to me crew, ye might want to take care. A crew like this, if they think me weak enough to play second fiddle to th' likes of ye, there'll be mutiny. Leave th' orders to me, aye?"

He could feel the heavy shaft that pushed at his naked arse. Wriggling himself backward at it, he grinned, his face pressed tightly to the wooden wall. "Aye? Is it to be ten lashes for me impertinence or did you have something else in mind, Captain Barbossa?"

Before he could take another breath, Hector grabbed him by his good wrist and forcibly turned him. He was frog-marched to the wide, comfortable bed, his arm twisted up behind his back. He couldn't resist grinning, at the show of violence. He needed Barbossa to remind them both that he, Jack, was alive. Being pushed and ordered around like a little lad had its advantages, it did. He'd learned well how to govern from his knees and from on his back.

Hector's hands stroked up and down his bare thighs, urging him to open them wider. As he relaxed his legs, his friend's fingers ran along the crack of his bum, pressing at the tender flesh there. It made him whisper an oath of need as he began to respond again; he thrust his hips up, offering, unable to do anything else.

He was rewarded; Barbossa held his bum open and he felt the hot wetness of the older sailor's tongue retracing the path his fingers had only just abandoned. Jack gave a moan, clenching his jaw against the urge of beg. Hector circled his bunghole with the same wetness, dipping into the tightness again and again, teasing him with the offered tongue-fucking.

"Ask, Jack...ye have to ask." Hector's breath was like hell-fire on his skin.

"Do it. I want you to fuck me." He hitched a sob through his teeth, clutching at the bed's side with his good hand.

Again, there came a reward.

His cock hardened more almost immediately as Hector licked him, diving into the tensed muscles of his bum. He began to whimper, begging without words for more as his lover pushed and massaged his backside. Then, as he rocked his hips at Barbossa's bearded face, the tongue surged up into him and he wailed between his teeth, crying out in whining ecstasy.

Hector roughly tongued him, making him hump upward faster...his cock was being ignored, leaving a trail of spunk that slicked the hair of his belly. He began to beg harder, managing to get the words out, desperate to be fucked and desperate for relief.

"Ye want me prick up yer arse, don't ye, Jack?" Barbossa moved back from his body on the bed and grabbed him by the side of his head, dragging him up viciously. He found himself being turned over, pushed to the bed again. His lover and friend grinned down at him, sweaty face glowing in the lamp-light. "Ye want it, aye?"

"Aye." He whispered, lowering his face to the bed to hide the flush that would reveal his desperation.

"Up on yer knees, Jack me lad. Do it now or be whipped for disobeyin' orders."

With a whine of frustration, he obeyed quickly, bending his face to the bed, pushing his bum up. Behind him, Hector knelt. Two quick fingers drove into his body without warning and he sobbed loudly despite the oil that was used, his breath harsh in the blankets under his cheek. His hair covered his eyes, a dark sheaf that blocked the light. He couldn't care. All he lived for now was the body that pressed close, tormenting him. The fingers that moved inside his bum, forcing him to open.

He jerked forward as Barbossa twisted those large oily fingers in a circle and then leaned close, bending over his back and shoulder, to whisper in his ear with a growly chuckle. "Relax, lad...I won't hurt ye."

Aye, but he'd been locked up for a year and had been forced twice, maybe three times, in all that time. Those violations were naught but a dim memory and nothing to fear, but he was inescapably tight, back there. Yet, something in him wanted to be taken, boarded. He could bear it---he needed this as much as Hector and there was no need to explain.

Hector's other oily hand came down to tease his cock, using the leak of spunk to wring at him, to make him shudder. It was nearly enough to take his balance, to take his mind. His friend and lover pulled both fingers free of his body and then he felt the piercing strain of the greased prick pushing into his bum. The pain was intense and he let out a groan, protesting. This only made the other sailor whisper a placation and stroke at his sweating back as if to gentle a spooked animal.

At last, Hector filled him completely. His lover gave a shove, rolling their hips together in a half-circle that nearly lifted his knees from the bed. Jack cried out, caught between the sharp, luscious torture of being touched, of being filled, of being fucked.

"Aye..." Barbossa sighed. He echoed the sentiment.

He shuddered, racked with pleasure. His cock throbbed in Hector's fingers; the older sailor's other hand grasped at his hip, pulling him harder back onto the invading prick. He could imagine Hector's smile of satisfaction and it made a spasm run along his spine, spreading through the very blood of his body.

"Snug, it is." His friend moved inside him, forcing the muscles to stretch for the hard length that impaled his body. "Ye wanted this for yerself, Jack...did ye dream o' me, when ye were locked away? Did ye touch yerself, dreamin' of me?"

He could hardly breathe for the darkly devious words being hissed at him. The naked skin that slid against his, the hard muscles that rolled like a ship under the force of a fresh breeze. The thick shaft that slid back and forth, gathering some speed and rhythm. It was terrifying and wondrous and he felt himself aching for release with every pounding thrust of his lover's hardness, with the sailor's fingers that rubbed and massaged his cock.

"Ye did---" Hector chuckled again, nipping at his ear with a breathy sigh. "Ye did an' they watched, aye? Yer guards, Beckett hisself---they knew what ye were about."

Jack sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut to hide behind the long strands of his hair that bounced in rhythm with each thrust. The assault of his body was nothing compared to the libidinous words being whispered by a breathless, gravelly voice. Hector drove harder into him, spearing his bum fiercely, as if determined to claim every piece of flesh possible. As if to make a whore of him, driving him insane for pleasure with the hot hand that wrung at his erection, causing him to arch forward to the tug-slide and then back to the plowing of his depths.

He was a puppet being dragged on his strings.

"D'ye wonder at what I be doing, Jack?"

"Hector, now�s not---" He whimpered and bit down on his lip, to silence himself.

Instant pain descended. Barbossa turned loose of his cock and slapped his backside hard, cruelly. It came with a barking order. "Answer yer captain, Jack---did ye wonder?"

He found himself unable to.

It was followed by repeated slaps, each one stinging worse than the last. He wailed into the bedding, wriggling his hips, trying to escape the beating even while his insides melted before the prick that was forced deep into his bum, bottoming in his depths with each new stroke. He rocked onto Hector, groaning harder, louder, giving himself up to the fucking he couldn't escape...didn't want to escape.

"D'ye know, I could find no pleasure in any woman." Hector said it almost conversationally, despite being breathless. "I tried, Jack. I thought ye gone, thought to go on without ye. But, I felt nothin' but a canker in me heart. Damn ye, Jack, for makin' me feel so."

It was a declaration of long-suffering love, spoken in a voice that broke with emotion that he couldn't dare to look upon. He came hard at the thought of how badly Hector had missed him, bucking back and up to his knees, the spasms forcing a roar from his throat that he could not quite muffle.

Hector's hands held him close, from behind, gripping his ribs and his shoulders, to keep him from moving away. His lover's cock continued to thrust, up into him. He spread his knees a bit, to allow the access as Hector kissed a line of fire along his spine, tongue dancing delicately like wet flames.

"Ye like this, d'ye? Ye do. My prick in yer arse, beaten like a slave. It's what ye dream of, Jack. Yer a slave to the sea, so why not to me body?"

Hector was at his ear again, pulling his head backward even while claiming his bum in a ferocious, animalistic manner. His lover's knees were between his legs and the wet slap of their skin was a drum that nearly matched his heartbeat. Back and forth, Barbossa arched into his hips, parting the cheeks of his bum to drive home into his body.

"Ye want me to fuck ye so hard ye can't sit on the morrow..."

Hector laughed, quietly, licking and nibbling at his shoulders, blonde-brown hair like loose-strand silk sliding along his sweat-slicked skin. It made him want to fight and turn and force the other sailor down to the bed, to take his lover for a change. To brutally fuck the larger man, crossing a forbidden line. But, now, one of Hector's hands cupped his finished cock from behind, tugging. He fell forward onto his elbows and Hector rose up, pushing at him, making him fall completely to his chest in the smothering-soft bedding.

Barbossa's hand held his cock, cupped his ballocks, and the man thrust between his thighs, crying out with each move, coming closer every moment to his own release. Jack wept, tears soaking the blankets and his free fingers, the bandage on his wrist, where he held his face in desire and shame. He was dying for this, begging without a sound for the things he'd nearly lost forever. He'd thought to never have Hector again.

Hector was fucking him raw and he wanted more of it.

Then, Barbossa was at his ear, kissing him through the waves of his hair, whispering profane promises as he pumped harder and deeper into his aching bunghole. "Yer takin' ev'ry bit of me, Jack...it's what we are, what we've always been. From the start, aye? It's not all, is it, Jack? Ye want to fuck me like this, aye? Ye want to crush me, take me, claim me...an' ye could. If ye dared. Yer here with me again, and ye know what I am, Jack Sparrow, and ye know what I'm not. None other knows, but ye do...ye do."

Jack cried, trembling with each hammering thrust into his body, with each word.

Hector laughed again, breathing harshly into his ear. "Ye want more than a ship and the sea and rum and profit, Jack...ye want me."

He grit his teeth as his lover bit down on his shoulder and cursed, going tense. Then, wildly, Barbossa bucked into him, over and over, making that familiar strangled sound. Coming to release.

At last, Hector went limp on his body, laying flat...but, still buried in him.

He lay motionless and accepted the claiming. He was drowsy, ignoring the pain in his bones and in his wrist, when he felt the kiss. Hector kissed the burning circle where, moments before, he'd been bitten. Tenderly soft and nuzzling, the kiss. A brief second in time of peace. Mild sailing.

Hector's voice was just as mild, a demanding whisper. "Don't ye ever leave me on shore waitin' for ye, again, while ye go off doin' somethin' so daft as to get arrested and thrown in prison. I won't countenance it, Jack. Next time, I'll leave ye to rot."
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Wi' A Wannion